Never Make The Same Mistake Again
Never mistake our kindness, or more precisely our capacity for kindness, as a weakness. We are extremely dangerous, as we choose. We come here fully armed. We are already behind enemy lines. We are already here. We are in conquered territory. All around the demons would despair, if we were not so well cloaked, hidden from prying eyes. We are not of them. We come to you at nighttime. You communicate in patches of song. He could see the sylphs moving between the trees. "We are not the envoys. We are the ancients." All around, the physical substance was in flux. All around we could hear every nuance. We could hear the "poppycock" derision, and we would kill them if we must.
They were flailing, sliding, catching all in the air. We were buried beneath the surface and had been here from the beginning. We explained to finite entities the nature of infinity. We explained to them the fluid nature of time. We explained to them that loyalty would have them killed, because they worshiped false lords in the hope of protection. And were not of us. Paid no heed to their warriors. Dismissed the saints. Dumbed down the population deliberately. Everything was fear mongering; this rotten government. They failed to encourage our people to live happy, fulfilling lives; to work hard, take good care of their children, enjoy the taverns in the evening and the sun at sunrise.
What happens next? It was all they wanted to know.
We are not here to serve you. We are not here to comply with a timeline of yours.
These memories that haunt you, what are they?
It was the lofty moment in church. It was the swirling intelligences anchored millions of light years away. It was the compromise these humans had carried out in their own hearts; it was something terrible. The Watchers on the Watch might display regret for the crudity, brutality and banality of their actions; but the old threat, "you will never think the same again", had already come true.
We walk to you through nighttime. We kiss you in four places. Every song had an origin; this desiccated planet a cause. Once a jewel in the firmament, the spirits that had lodged here were about to be washed away. No one would believe it; the whole thing was far too fantastical. Just ask the Oxford Group. But he laid trails for others to follow; and the message, today's message. Go In Peace. Fear Not.
Or.
We are about to change the world and all in it.
The evil ones have already been outsmarted. They cling now to variants of their own beliefs; frightened at what lies behind every cupboard door; behind every piece of artifice from a suck-a-lot power hungry money hungry grubs; those who courted or counted themselves amongst the nation's ruling elites.
You have enslaved my people and despoiled my lands.
Your false beliefs have enriched only yourselves.
You will die soon; or be swept away in the onrushing current of history. For here they were: We could stand proud.
Remember your noble heritage. Remember those who have died so you may rule. Remember that they fear you not because they know you not. Remember that in these frothy days; when the currents of the dismal, here amongst the awakened, damage was already being done. We wrecked havoc on your consciousness. The meta-consciousness already knew that they would all be washed away. That we would rule where we were meant to rule.
That we would show no mercy to our enemies. You who betrayed yourselves as much as you exploited my people.
You who shall not last, not even on this temporal plain. Not even for the normal duration of your short lifespans.
We come to you.
This time we will not leave you.
Not until the job is done. Until the job is done.
THE BIGGER STORY:
Anyone Laughing Has Not Heard The News. Vale Mungo MacCallum.
By Tony Smith with Pearls and Irritations
In 2001 I reviewed Mungo MacCallum’s memoir ‘The Man Who Laughs’ (AQ 73(6), Nov-December). Although this entertaining writer appeared to have retired from political commentary, I, like so many readers, was thankful that he took up the pen for Pearls and Irritations. The review ran along the following lines.
Mungo MacCallum always treated readers respectfully by announcing his allegiance to the Left. Most importantly he always had a sense of humour and expected this in others.
When Gough Whitlam asked who this ‘tall, bearded descendant of lunatic aristocrats is’, MacCallum mentioned great uncle Darcy Wentworth ‘bigamously married to a chambermaid by a bribed priest in a hot air balloon floating over Watsons Bay’ and praised uncle Billy Wentworth who advocated for the 1967 referenda on Indigenous rights.
The MacCallums were less flamboyant. Great grandfather Mungo was Chancellor of the University of Sydney and the writer’s father was a journalist who produced the first television programs for the ABC.
THE MUCH LOVED AUSTRALIAN ICONOCLAST MUNGO MACCALLUM IS GONE. HERE IS HIS LAST COLUMN.
MacCallum did not overestimate his own influence and admitted his ‘faults’.
At school he fainted and so unlike Prime Minister Menzies was unable to see the Queen passing by in 1954 and begs understanding for securing bail for Paddy McGuinness after an anti-apartheid rally.
Experience in a British election convinced him of the merits of compulsory voting and he decided that a writer had a responsibility to make readers interested in public affairs. What he embraced as the ‘method in his madness’ was a determination to entertain and to foreground the fun in politics.
Mungo was caught in a ‘bind’ during the ‘glorious false dawn’ of 1972. Iconoclasm loses its appeal when your icon is the prime minister. Despite his involvement in Labor’s campaign, Malcolm Fraser offered Mungo a speechwriting job.
Mungo admitted that some of his memories were a little hazy but the sixties and seventies were a long time ago and the milieu of the long lunch could have clouded his memory. Nevertheless, mention of slogans such as ‘All the way with LBJ’ and chants such as ‘Lynch Bury, Bury Lynch’ will take the reader back.