Time woke up in the middle of his dream. Just in time to miss the point, before
he managed to get to it. Blinked, as if trying to start the conscious thinking
engine. Another blink. And another. Nothing. Only this strange feeling: a sense
of helplessness and disappointment. The mystery of life won’t be solved. Again…
Justin didn’t think he was any smart. Not since American scientists (always the
best in the world) had discovered that people convinced of their high mental
powers usually didn’t have much reason for such claiming, while true ‘walking
brains’ always underestimated their intelligence.
It was eleven o’clock. The 11th Hour. A bad bell’s ringing in his head… A clear
signal in the dream was all blurred up now. But he knew he had to do something.
And the deadline was today.
Failing to grasp his thoughts, he picked up the phone instead. To call his best
friend. Her name was Mary Air. An absolute beauty. Large sky-blue eyes and long
golden hair. And she was… very ill…
are you doing tonight?’
‘I’m meeting Chris at this new restaurant in Arnold Lane.’
‘Chris Mass. You know him. Care to join us?’
was wading his way through the snow, which had easily paralyzed all London
traffic. As usual.
global warming,' he muttered to himself sarcastically.
course, Justin Time wasn’t stupid. Otherwise, White Young Green Plc. wouldn’t
have employed him in the first place. And he wouldn’t have become, soon
afterwards, their best consultant to the built and natural environment,
delivering highest value for their clients on many different projects. He did
realize ‘warming’ might actually mean “freezing” in certain parts of the globe.
cold is just another form of heat,' he thought. ‘Its opposite, to be exact.’
and Chris waved from the table in the corner to greet him. Justin shook Chris’s
hand and gave Mary a long, warm hug. Her face was pale and she looked even
thinner and weaker than usual. His heart sank grief-stricken.
‘You alright?’ He asked concerned.
‘Not so bad,’ She lied.
‘Still dealing with those American bastards?’ Justin hated Mary’s employers:
The Exxon Mobil Corporation. He called them ‘the 3F’s’: ‘fucking fossil fuels’.
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘You could quit,’ suggested Chris, reaching for another pint of lager. It
wasn’t easy, as his huge belly kept getting in the way, making the short arm’s
reach even shorter. He took a few gulps and sleeve-wiped his lips, well-hidden
somewhere deep inside the long, thick, snow-white beard. ‘You always have a
choice.’ He smiled vaguely, catching for breath, and winked one of his green
eyes at Mary.
‘Free will?’ mocked Justin, hoping Mary will never quit. ‘Human blessing or
curse?’ he didn’t ask. ‘And you seem forgetting about something.’
talked for a while. Mary gave Justin a few reassuring smiles. He ‘inhaled’ them
gladly, with his eyes closed, picturing green forests and meadows in his mind…
this is all so simple,’ Justin pondered over a piece of steak on the tip of his
fork. ‘We could all wake up one morning as vegetarians, using technologies in
the environment-friendly ways, understanding what the sustainable development
is all about, recycling every single waste….’
‘What prevents us from going for that?’ wondered Mary.
'Stupidity?’ Chris mumbled, grinning foolishly…
‘True!’ Justin patted the old fat drunkard on the shoulder. ‘If we were any
clever, we would elect better leaders, strong enough to bring the global
corporations to their knees… But yes, we are stupid. And we should all take
responsibility for killing this planet!’
‘Relax!’ Mary laughed bitterly at Justin’s naivety. ‘Nature is stronger than
human mindlessness. Nature will survive. Actually, the climatic change may not
be the issue at all. Ask our grandfathers. They remember frosty and snowy
winters in England. As children they used to sledge and skate here every year.
Pollution, contamination and, above all, industrial civilization as such, with
its materialism and consumerism, do more damage to people themselves than to
nature. I mean, look at us. We are all bloody slaves.’
‘You are right,’ Justin nodded sadly. ‘We are not that powerful to destroy the
planet but “smart” enough to kill ourselves…’
‘But you are all angels, aren’t you? Though some fallen… It’s about being
aware… About living consciously…’ Chris raised his forefinger, with a conceited
look on his drunken fat face. Himself being on the verge of losing
consciousness. ‘I have a present for you…’
Justin arrived home late at night. He didn’t have to check the time to know
that it was already past eleven. The faces on thetelly were trying to guess if the terror
threat alert level would soon be raised from ‘severe’ to ‘critical’.
what did we expect?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘How long can you exploit other
nations before they start fighting you back? It was nice to build our
civilization at the cost of the colonies’ economic deterioration for centuries,
forgetting all about historical justice… Big mistake! Am I talking to myself?’
couldn’t make up his mind who he hated more. Muslims, with their Jihad, or
Americans, with their overwhelming economy, raised on graveyards of the
exterminated nations – the rightful, native inhabitants of the continent – and
their beautiful, ancient culture.
the evil-rooted US/global corporations had been successfully blocking the Kyoto
Protocol for twelve years, minding nothing but their own businesses, totally
careless about the biosphere, other people, future generations…
had taken over everything, including even UK major publishing houses. Minor
ones, like his favourite: ‘Dedalus’, had to collapse, facing the
anti-competition, called ‘free-market globalization’.
can we do?’, he thought. ‘Do we just have to let them rule the world their way?
On and on? Until they kill us all? No, of course, they will not. They need us.
To charge their batteries. And are we going to just wait for the hammer to
It was everybody to be blamed for making corporations so powerful. Everybody
was buying their products. Everybody was following the sick and raging
consumption patterns, supporting mass culture, pop pseudo-art...
are clever enough to make us believe to be gangsters in a ghetto full of (c)rap,'
he wasn’t giving up. ‘Or some techno-party maniacs, who choose to walk down the
path of white. Dancing to death in ecstasy.’
disregarded dancing. His name was Time. Justin Time. James Bond never danced.
Neither did John Wayne. Unless for a good reason. He thought music was meant to
evoke in people something more than just a mere urge to make their bodies move
ridiculously. To him, rhythm was not all that mattered.
Shortly after Syd Barrett’s death on 7th July 2006, he wanted to
arrangea festival in Cambridge in
tribute to the legendary composer and musician. It was to be called ‘Syd
Barrett FPM Festival’. With ‘FPM’ standing for 'Fuck Pop Music'.
It was one of his few projects that had fallen through, actually. Although
Justin always did a marvellous job at White Young Green Plc., when it came to
something beyond the system he simply couldn’t handle it.
have I lost my spirituality?’ he wondered and produced a piece of paper which
Chris Mass had wadded in his coat’s left-hand pocket. He tried to recall what
the old drunkard had told him before passing out…
‘You know,' that must have been one of Chris’s final ‘mission statements’ that
night. ‘It’s about being aware… About living consciously… But how can you make
the lawmakers and leaders perform? And how can you make the majority
comprehend? Well, it’s easy. Just use the corporations’ own methods.
Dissemination. Promotion. Marketing. Propaganda…’ A dreadful cough exploded
somewhere deep in his old lungs. It took him a while to get a grip on himself
and continue: ‘I’ve got something for you. This is where you can find the
Absolute Truth. The Big Picture. And let me tell you something. If this Truth
has not become universal within months, you can forget all about 2013.’
‘Do you mean Nibiru? And its impact on our planet?’ asked Mary uncertainly.
‘I mean bloody ruin, you plonka!’ Chris burst out laughing unexpectedly. He
must have been totally pissed by now. ‘Don’t you get it? It’s irrelevant if the
climate change, real or imaginary, is caused by the nicking corporations,
pollution, contamination, or the trajectory of Planet X or the Black Planet,
or… whatever… It’s all up to us! You know? It all depends on our subconscious
thinking patterns! You know! The collective sub-consciousness! We are a part of
the biosphere and we all contribute to the course of the fate of this planet.
We have the highest level of consciousness of all the creatures living here…
Perhaps, excluding dolphins… And therefore, our thoughts are most creative and
fraught with consequences. Not only for each of us but also for the whole
humanity, the whole planet, the whole solar system, the whole galaxy, the whole
‘So, what have you got for us?’ Justin interrupted. Somewhat anxiously. Chris crumpled two pieces of paper. Looked at their
coats lying on the spare chair at the table. Leaned forward with difficulty.
Pushed one wad into Mary’s coat pocket and the other into Justin’s. Finally,
rested his face gracefully on the table top. Next to the empty jug number twenty
Justin Time smoothed out
the scrap of paper from ‘Santa’, as he nicknamed Chris occasionally, and read: 'Symphonic
Bridges on www.authonomy.com'
remembered Chris saying this ‘thingy’ had to be published. Otherwise the world
would never be saved.
you believe it?’, he couldn’t believe it. ‘A book to the rescue!’
Five to midnight Justin Time finished reading ‘Symphonic Bridges’. It wasn’t
too late yet. He jumped to his laptop and wrote a beautiful poem…
And the night ink writings
link up lots of daily plots which ramble darkly around the spinning threads of
the daylight ray-weaves every time the sun moons about the wave pulses of a bun
dance to clean sing sound vibrations.