I, Juxta, declare that I have no prohibited articles of clothing or jewellery and NO items that could give an indication of time or place on my person.
Signed Juxta
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To do list:
milk
blank CDs
phone credit $20
bar book $16
waiter’s friend?
Method was doing a bar course at CIT. CIT was the Canberra Institute of Technology. Canberra was the capital of Australia. Australia was the largest island on Earth. Earth was the third rock from the sun. The sun was one star of billions on the outer edge of the Milky Way. The Milky Way was a glorified collection of atoms arranged in such a way that it was evolving into a living entity. A living entity was what it became - Juxta’s return was a kick-start to its premature existence and the cause of Method’s trip as he walked upstairs to the bar course.
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Must have been the sushi I ate, Method thought as his legs flew away beneath him. He fell on his hands and got up quickly looking around to see if anybody had noticed, he laughed to himself – there was no one around.
He eventually found the class at the end of a long white corridor. There were two other people in the room when he arrived. One was leaning against a wall with his chair and the other was trying very hard not to make eye contact with the other - she had her eyes closed. The tables were arranged into what resembled a horseshoe. Method found a spot to sit, he looked at the other two and then began to flick through the textbook or at least he would have if he had one. Instead he stared blankly at the empty bottles on a small bar that was at one end of the room. And after he exhausted that visual treat he gazed at the old prints that were against all the walls except one, the wall behind him – it was a floor to ceiling window. He was just beginning to think he should say something when the teacher, a young woman, entered the room. If this teacher were in a book she would’ve warranted a description. But if Method were the person writing the book the description would be wholly personal, in other words completely pointless unless you knew Method very well. All that can be said is she had an attractive accent. Method only thought about the accent in retrospect, as right behind this young teaching woman was Di.
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Uluru is a long, long way away from the moon. But it was on top of this monolith that the first person noticed the moon’s difference, or perceptive difference as it wasn’t different at all, it had just turned around.
It wasn’t surprising that the first person to notice the moon’s difference was an aboriginal as the religion of the Australian aborigines is the closest to the ‘truth’ of any religion. They’re still a long way off of the ‘universal truth’ but a hell of a lot closer than the other human faiths. This particular aboriginal was an atheist though.
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Shit, was the first word that was uttered as the teacher found her place. The word wasn’t uttered by the teacher or by Method but by the guy who had been leaning his chair against the wall. He had slipped and knocked his head. It started bleeding, the teacher rushed over pulling a long white piece of green fabric out of her purse. The fabric was both white and green because of the way it shimmered under the fireworks that were exploding outside the window.
There was a flash and somehow Di found her way into Method’s arms. He kissed her on the forehead. She looked up into his eyes in shock. Her eyes were cold like she was looking straight through him and into a bucket of something cold… a bucket of frozen cherries perhaps. He let her go and she fled out the door. He chased after her; the chaos behind him burned through the walls and gave him speed – before he knew it he was next to her trying desperately to form words that would stop her running.
"Why are you running?" Method puffed
"I’m not running, just leave me alone."
"I’m sorry for what happened just then"
"Oh that’s fine, I just really need to go to the toilet – I’ll see you back in class."
That’s how it would’ve gone if it had gone that way, but it didn’t go that way so that’s not how it went.
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Tungsten lights lit the room – they flickered every now and then. Method downed his fourteenth cup of coffee.
"I can’t believe you just did that," Di said, shaking her head.
Method wiped his lips with his thumb.
"So you forgive me?"
"Of course I forgive you. How can I not forgive a guy stupid enough to drink fourteen cups of badly made coffee"
Method and Di were friends again – they had to be if they were going to do the course together.
The fireworks and bleeding where quite an opening to the course. Method had been fast to react; he had done first aid when he was about twelve. But that was not the reason for his quick reactions, nor did it help him in any way. It just so happened that he had put some bandaids in his bag and he instantly remembered this as he heard the word ‘shit’. So he was the first to do something about it, he said "holy fuck," but that didn’t help much.
It had taken one night of awkwardness, one night of profusely apologising, and one night of wanting to discus the uncanniness of the moon’s current events for Di to come around. And the same time for the guy who hit his head to realise he was in the wrong class.
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Bé thought she had the answer – she did in a sense – she said that the cause was human.
"What, someone just put their hand up and spun it around?"
"No Method, this is proof of time travel!"
"Time Travel?" Method was lying down on her green sofa. It was in her office, it was a nice office – lots of light – Method had been coming there for a little while now, ever since he had become her ‘understudy’. Bé was sitting at her desk filling out some papers.
"How does it ‘prove’ time trave?" Method asked.
"Well the only way that the moon could ever possibly appear the other way round – remember that none of the scientific instruments trained on it recorded it spinning – would be if someone went back in time and turned it around."
Method got up onto his elbow, "But if someone did that then why hasn’t it always been the ‘other’ way round for us? We wouldn’t have noticed its change because the way it is now would have always been the right way around to us."
She stopped writing and looked at him over her glasses, "I’m not saying someone from our time went back in time and turned it around, I’m saying someone from the future came back to this time and turned it around."
"Still, wouldn’t we have noticed it spin?"
"Not if time has multiple dimensions we wouldn’t." Bé had crossed the room to close the door. It was at this point that Method realised she wasn’t wearing a bra – wait – she was, her nipples were just hard. "If time could flow multiple directions simultaneously – well actually simultaneously is a funny word because there needs to be time for something to happen simultaneously but anyway…"
"You just like saying the word simultaneously don’t you" Method interrupted.
"Shut up!.. Where was I?"
"You were at the door and then you walked back to your desk and that’s where you are now."
"God you’re annoying sometimes"
"What’s god got to do with it?.." She looked at him with a face that read ‘don’t push me’.
"…Back to the dimension thing." Method said, knowing when to stop.
"Well, there’s multiple times all existing at the same time, kind of like other dimensions but they’re just variations on a theme. So anyway what has happened is that somehow the moon is the other way round in another time, which is very similar to ours and we’ve kind of crossed paths or something and switched moons. Think of time as not just a straight line but with an x, y and z axis…"
Method cut her off. "Nice theory but your just applying your own philosophies vicariously onto this problem. It’s as bad as the newspapers’."
Bé shook her head "You don’t even know what vicarious means," at that she walked out the door. Method slowly sat upright on the couch and looked out the window at a kite that floated past.
"I’m getting a coffee." He heard her say.
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Energy: the lifeblood of the universe, a transfer of power and information through one-dimensional strings. All the energy that has ever existed and that ever will exist was created at the beginning of the universe. It comes in many different forms but the most powerful is the coercive energy force of the mind or more precisely the sub-subconscious mind.
Though unrecorded and dismissed as coincidences and deja vu coercive energy is real. It is the energy used to manipulate events around one’s self, it is below subconscious (and is not really part of the mind at all) but is very powerful as it creates one’s self-interpretation of reality. Using this energy one can and constantly does, coerce visible/tangible objects to do what the viewer/sensor would like them to do. Every living thing has this energy, it is described as Chi in Chinese philosophy, but Chi is only a rough conceptualisation of it. Some entities have more control over the energy than others do, but practicing Tai Chi and other forms of meditative techniques will not increase your energy control, it will only increase your perception of it.
Humans only have a very small fraction of control when alive, but when dead their soul (for want of a word that doesn’t exist) experiences more control of coercive energy, as they no longer have a mass of cells to control. When dead the human’s memory and experience as a human are completely lost. Except for in exceptional circumstances, if one has enough control, one can use the coercive energy to mould their reality into anything, they have control over love and hate, life and death, the universe and anti-universe; any entity with complete control of the energy would be omnipotent.
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Listen to shells and you will hear the sea.
No one smiles in supermarkets – they are one of the most depressing places in the world. It was in a supermarket – the one that Method had had an interview for, but never found himself working at – that Method was shopping for much needed food. The trolley squealed as he manhandled it through the aisles. The other shoppers manifested themselves into queer niches that they hoped were the locations of rice and tomato sauce. The centre reminded him of a body organ – the stomach perhaps – the food is brought in, the customers and workers - like the stomach’s bacteria - process the food and then it is excreted out the checkout.
There was a deafening background noise of beeps, children crying and the morose shuffle of feet - it numbed Method’s senses. Too light lights, vapid smells and the cold crisp stale air, forced method to rely on his sense of proprioception to navigate. Doing this he could sense his own body movement through the massive yet confined space. The close proximity to other people made his brain focus on calculating the complex arithmetic of vector matrices that allowed him to predict where they were moving. It was during an exercise of these vector matrices over an encounter with a young couple that were getting a little too physical in aisle eight, that Method suddenly realised that something was out of place… the music.
It was no normal pop song playing over the loudspeaker - god was speaking. No words were spoken, just the sound of horns, violins, and organised cacophony, an incredibly beautiful and impassioned piece. It brought up a forgotten emotion - It was surreal. It was like stopping next to a hotted-up sports car driven by drunk rowdy youths and hearing classical music coming out – at first sense it seems out of place but at further reception it is unusually suitable.
Method couldn’t pick the music, all he knew was that he felt like a bug in a field of poppies lifting his antennas to heaven.
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On the walk home Method found that he was following someone. At first he thought that they were following him but he realised it would be incredibly hard for them to follow him as he was walking behind them. Method sped up to overtake them but they sped up too, so he walked a little faster and so did she (their hair was fairly long so I must have been a she). This sequence followed for about a block before method finally gave up and let the girl lead him home.
Following the girl reminded him of doing ‘King of the Mountain’ at high school. King of the Mountain was a race from the bottom of Mount Ainslie to the top. Like running up a wall the track was notorious for its steepness, it usually took about twenty minutes but Method did it in seventeen. The first time he did it was in year seven or eight, he remembered he was at the front of the race with another couple guys, but as they got closer to the top the field spread out and Method was running by himself. He heard feet coming up behind him; they overtook him he watched as the gluteus in front of him giggled with each footfall. He wanted to overtake but was mesmerised; it took him away from the race into his own fantasy world – how could he pass something that made him tingle with pleasure? When he reached the end he saw who he was following - a girl – and she had beaten him with her hypnotic butt.
Method walked up his driveway; the girl looked over her shoulder suspiciously, watching him as he went to the letterbox. He reached in and paused, she looked back around, he watched her as she walked up her driveway a few houses up. They both knew where each other lived, but neither knew who the other was.
Method had to do something it was just too strange to follow someone to his or her home, even if it is near by, and not introduce yourself. He got out his writing pad and wrote a letter. Dear girl next door, I don’t normally do this kind of thing… was how his introduction went; he continued on to say who he was and invited her to the play he was doing music for. He quickly burnt a cd of some music he’d made and as the moon rose, dropped it in her letterbox.
"What are you doing!?"
"Ahhh" Method jumped as the words swept out of the darkness. He looked in the direction of the question and saw two eyes like white pebbles gazing at him from the shadows.
"I was just dropping off a letter," Method said kind of shakily.
The figure stepped into the moonlight; it was a girl probably about his age. She was wearing tracksuit pants and had her hair tied back – it looked like she had been running as her forehead glistened. She walked up to Method stuck out her hand and said,
"Hi I’m Ferrí."
"Hi I’m Method," Method replied, stunned at her confidence.
"You’re that guy who followed me home aren’t you."
"I guess, but I wasn’t following you, well I was, but only because you were walking the same way home as I do."
"Ok, see ya" She turned around and started walking up towards her house then paused for a moment and turned back towards Method. "Can’t forget the letter can I." She walked over to the letterbox and took out the letter, "And a CD too – lucky Me."
She turned around again and this time went into the house. The last he saw of her was the closing of the security-screen door as she went inside – she had a nice bum.
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Vanished - gone were the days of straightforward black and white views. Method used to think he had the world worked out but recent events had thrown him into a spin – he now saw the colours of ‘real life’. Or at least the colours of real emotion, he had denied his emotions – bottled them up - they went into a frenzy as Ferrí came to his bedroom’s back door.
There was a noise at first, Method had been watching ‘the glass house’, and as Wil made yet another joke about the Prime Minister a tapping came from his window. He muted the television and listened – the tapping came again. He slowly got out of bed and pushed aside the curtains, jumping as he saw Ferrí looking in. He opened the door.
"Hey" she said, softly and casually.
"Err… hey… what are you doing here?"
"This must seem kind of weird – well it is for me… I read your letter and listened to your CD – I love it. Well anyway I’m leaving for America tomorrow and I thought I might say goodbye. I know it’s weird and that we don’t know each other but you seem nice and…"
"Come in"
She sat on his bed and looked at him, her eyes followed him as he closed the door and turned on his globe lamp. He turned off the TV and they stared at each other awkwardly.
"So… why are you going to America?" Method asked leaning on the backdoor, the door was cold so he sat in the chair at his desk.
"Well I’m going to a flying school over there…"
"You’re a pilot?" Method interrupted.
"No, I don’t fly a plane, I just glide in the clouds – I don’t even use a parachute…" It looked like her body wasn’t the only thing that flew. "I’m going to New England for their winter – clouds are their best in winter and it’s better flying conditions there than here."
"What do you wear?" Method asked, he was really interested.
Ferrí ignored the question; "The school I’m going to has some of the best fliers in the world." She paused and lifted up his bed sheets, "I’m cold can I get under your covers?"
"Sure…" Method said hesitantly.
She took off her shoes and left on her socks.
"You’re shaking – you must be cold too"
Method looked down at his arms – they were shaking – he was only wearing his boxers, it was a bit nippy, but he wasn’t shaking from the cold.
"Why don’t you come get in bed"
Method’s heart stopped, it wasn’t until he was lying next to her that it started beating again.
"How old are you?" he asked. Their faces were close – he could hear her eyelashes brushing against the pillow.
"Fifteen" she answered. He would never have guessed – she looked so much older. As he opened his mouth to say something her lips enclosed around his and they kissed. Her tongue was frantic, but so was his so it didn’t matter. The kiss lasted for an eternity. He slipped his had behind her back to find her bra clip – she was wearing a sports bra so there was nothing to unclip - he went back to her front and eventually found the way to her breast.
"Hehehe" she started giggling, he removed his hand.
"Sorry."
"No, I’m ticklish, do it harder."
He fondled harder, circling his fingers around her nipples – he wasn’t sure if he should just fondle the one breast so he swapped intermediately between the two. His other hand slipped down her back and rested on her bottom he stroked it pushing her forwards against his groin. She arched and his penis slipped out of his boxers and rubbed against her jeans – it was rough but he wasn’t going to let the moment be lost. They kept rubbing against each other getting faster and more forceful until the rubbing on his penis got too painful - so he stopped.
"What?" she said, looking worried.
"I just need to readjust" He took his had off her breast and reached down to put his penis in a more comfortable position, "Do you want a feel?" he asked her.
She gave a little half shrug, half nod and said ok. Her hand crept down, it rested in his pubic hairs for a second then it took hold of his cock and started pumping. Her hand moved erratically - like her tongue the movement was unpredictable. He wasn’t much better as he put his hands down her pants and started fingering her - it was squishy, it didn’t feel like he had imagined fingering a girl would feel - he wasn’t sure where his fingers were going. They both eventually gave up having no success at making the other cum.
"Have you ever had an orgasm?" Method asked.
"No, but I’ve cumed before" she said shyly.
"How can a girl cum without having an orgasm? Like, I can see how it would work with a guy but how does it work with a girl? – Nothing comes out."
"I don’t know."
"Do you want me to go down on you?" He said, the words sliding out before he even knew what they meant. She gave the half shrug, half nod again – it was so sexy – he took it for a yes. She took off her jeans and threw them on the floor.
"You do the rest," She said, laying back on the bed and closing her eyes.
He moved to the end of the bed and pulled down her 70’s wallpaper styled underpants – she spread her legs – for some reason he didn’t expect to see pubic hairs, probably because they’re always shaved in porn. He didn’t care though.
"This is the first time I’ve done this so you may have to instruct me." Method said nervously. He inserted his tongue – she was tight.
"Lower" she breathed.
He went lower; felt around with his tongue until he found what he assumed was the clitoris and started licking. He focused on it, massaging slowly, getting deeper and deeper he was finding it hard to breathe; she stopped him – he had been enjoying it. She sat up and he rested his head in her lap.
"Did it taste bad?" she asked, stroking his hair.
"No, it was fine. I just couldn’t breath."
"Do you want me to go down on you?"
He looked up into her eyes, "Only if you want to."
The half shrug, half nod came again, "I don’t mind."
They both heard a noise from somewhere in the house. Method got up and went to check it out – there was no one there. He returned back – Ferrí had put her clothes back on.
"I better go – I can’t sleep here," she said, tying up her laces.
"Are you sure? Because you can stay here if you want."
"Nah, I have to go. My parents would freak if they new I was here." She opened the backdoor and went out – Method followed.
"Wait…" Method half yelled half whispered. She stood in front of him and they kissed briefly.
"I have to go," she turned and spoke goodbye as she ran off down the street.
"Bye," Method said under his breath. She melted into the darkness.
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Eternal darkness – the losses of sight, sound, taste, smell, touch and place - it is better than any drug. The experiencer, if willing, can call up anything to this blank world – their subconscious can be externalised and they can be free.
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