K. Morris's Blog, page 763

The Suspect And Other Tales By K Morris Available In The Kindle Store

My latest collection of short stories, The Suspect And Other Tales is available for purchase in the Amazon Kindle Store.

The Suspect comprises a collection of Tales of the unexpected, ranging from stories of crime and vengeance through to ghostly happenings in an ancient mansion. The stories originally appeared on this blog, newauthoronline.com.

To purchase The Suspect And Other Tales or download a free sample please visit http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PKPTQ0U. At time of writing The Suspect And Other Tales does not show up on amazon.co.uk. However, in a few hours time the anthology should be available on both amazon.com and amazon.co.uk. I hope you enjoy reading The Suspect And Other Tales. If you purchase The Suspect or any of my other books I would appreciate it if you would please consider leaving a review.

 

Many thanks

 

Kevin

 

Strange Dream

“They will put the people in cells. Put them to sleep and suck out their brains. They will start with the elderly and disabled then move on to the rest.

The people will feel a sense of freedom when they are asleep but, on waking will have buttons where they once had eyes to operate them. They will feel only a dull headache”.

 

This was, so far as I am able to remember it the dream from which I awoke some 10 minutes ago. I was listening to a narrator expounding his conspiracy theory? Regarding a take-over of the world by an unnamed group, aliens perhaps?

I don’t believe in conspiracy theories (they have caused much suffering. Witness, for example the Nazi’s mad view that Jews are intent on taking over the globe through the manipulation of the financial markets, which lead the Third Reich to murder at least 6 million innocent people of Jewish origin). I remember, in my dream inwardly questioning why the unnamed entity would want to take over the world and wondering whether I was listening to the ravings of a lunatic.

As pointed out above I do not believe in conspiracies. Given this fact I am at a loss to explain my dream. On going to sleep I have no recollection of pondering on the atrocities of the Hitler regime (“they will start with the disabled and elderly first”) has echoes of the Action T-4 Programme under which people with disabilities where sterilised and/or murdered, the Programme being the precursor to the mass killing, in gas chambers of Jews and other groups, including gypsies deemed undesirable by the regime).

In conclusion I do not know why I dreamed thus. However my dreaming was so vivid that I wished to record it before it vanished in the cold light of day.

Brave New World, By Aldous Huxley – A Review

Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (http://www.huxley.net/bnw/one.html) is one of those novels which have left a lasting impression on me. Published in 1932 Brave New World describes a global society in which genetic engineering and social conditioning rule supreme. Society is rigidly stratified with those at the bottom of the pyramid being only of sufficient intelligence so as to enable them to perform the most basic of functions, such as operating machinery, while those at the top are endowed with great intellects permitting the elite to govern the lower social classes. Due to genetic engineering, coupled with social conditioning the overwhelming majority of the population is content and lacks the capacity (or desire) to challenge the system.

Child baring has been outlawed with all children being created in facilities such as The Central London Hatchery and Conditioning Centre. The only exception to this state of affairs are “the reservations” in which “savages” continue to bring forth children in the traditional manner.

Sexual promiscuity is almost universal in Brave New World with lasting relationships being discouraged as they lead, in the view of the world controllers to the evils of attachment which breeds murder and other vices.

A “savage”, John is introduced into Brave New World. At first he is thrilled by the new civilisation and remarks,

“Oh brave new world that has such people in it”.

However, on discovering that his beloved Shakespeare (along with all literature) is prohibited he begins to question the foundations on which Brave New World is built. John’s disenchantment with Brave New World is heightened by his love for a girl who, despite being attracted to him is incapable of showing John the exclusive love which he craves. Lanena is conditioned to desire many sexual partners and can not comprehend John’s desire to have an exclusive relationship with her.

Things come to ahead when John’s mother (a woman from Brave New World who had a baby by traditional means and was abandoned by her then partner, the Director of Hatcheries in the Savage Reservation) is taken into hospital. John is incensed when a group of children undergoing “death conditioning”, to prevent them from grieving when people die, laugh and point at John’s dying mother. John boxes the ears of the children which leads to a full-scale riot requiring the use of Soma (the drug of choice) in Brave New World to quell the disturbance.

On being taken to the controller for Western Europ John begs to be allowed to return to the reservation. However he is told that the experiment to ascertain whether savages can be integrated into society must continue.

Fleeing into the countryside to live the simple life John is pursued by Brave New Worlders. In a fit of anger he whips a girl to death and, the following morning is found hanging in the warehouse in which he has been living.

For me one of the most interesting (albeit minor characters) in the novel is the resident controller for Western Europe. Tasked with upholding the system he admits to John and his 2 friends, to loving literature. He opens a safe showing banned books, his attitude being that as he makes the laws he can break them. The Controller says that he serves happiness, not his own but that of other people. Society is stable now and to allow books and ideas from the past would only unsettle matters leading to the return of jealousy, war and other evils banished by the introduction of Fordism (the philosophy/religion in Brave New World). Art, beauty, all must be sacrificed for the common good. I suspect that behind his smiling exterior the resident Controller for Western Europe is not a happy man.

 

Brave New World raises a number of troubling questions, notable among them being whether the Resident Controller for Western Europe is right in his contention that the sacrifice of high culture is worthwhile as it promotes universal happiness. With a few exceptions, for example John’s friend, Bernard Marx and, of course John himself, all the people in Brave New World are happy. One can argue, as John does that their happiness is meaningless but perhaps, to the observer everyone else’s contentment is vapid. Undoubtedly the inhabitants of Brave New World are genetically predisposed and socially conditioned to like what they do which leads to almost universal contentment, however almost all crime has vanished from society which, on the whole functions like clockwork.

 

On reading Brave New World I am revolted by much of what Huxley describes. The crushing of the individual (not through ruthless violence but via genetic and social conditioning, is abhorrent to my liberal sensabilities). Yet I am left feeling uneasy that I have no killer argument to advance against that of the Controller for Western Europe when he states that society is stable, disease has been eliminated and people are content with their lot. How many of us in such a world (assuming we could see beyond our genetic and social conditioning) can say, hand on heart that we would join with John, the “savage” to upturn the apple cart even if by so doing we would loose the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse (my words not those of Huxley).

Having posed the above question I suspect that a society such as Brave New World would be supremely ill equipped to deal with a crisis due to the narrow tramlines which conditioning compels people to traverse. Individuals possess the ability to think for themselves and the lack of this capacity would, I suspect, sooner or later lead to disaster in Brave New World. When Lynda (John’s mother) faces her own personal crisis, death she is ill prepared for it and can only cope by taking copious amounts of Soma. Despite the laughter, the “Feelies” (virtual reality films), at the end the Brave New Worlders come face to face “with that fell sergeant death” who, as Shakespeare says, “is swift in his arrest”. At the end there is no poetry, no family and friends to comfort the dying, only Soma, Soma and more Soma.

 

(I was prompted to revisit Brave New World by a series of articles in The Daily Telegraph concerning the predictions of Karl Djerassi (the inventor of the contraceptive pill) that by 2050 most sex in the west will be for recreational purposes. Babies will be born from frozen eggs and sperm implanted in women who will, when young arrange for the freezing of eggs and sperm enabling them to pursue careers and give birth at a time of their choosing. This is not Brave New World as there is no state impelling men and women to act thus. Again Djerassi does not point to the destruction of culture. However Djerassi’s predictions have obvious echoes of Huxley’s Brave New World. For the articles please see http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/11219735/Well-defy-all-logic-to-make-babies-in-the-traditional-way.html

Authors: You Got Searched

drewdog2060drewdog2060:

A good first post in an interesting series of follow-up posts. Kevin

Originally posted on Lit World Interviews:

You’ve Been Searched!

Think about that for a moment. Who in the world would Search you? Why?

You sent in a query somewhere.
You self published and suddenly have good numbers.

In other words, there might be people out there in the literary/publishing worldlooking forYOUR NAME. And why do they do this?

Straight Talk With Ronovan: The Search is On

Writing a great book will not always get you published or make you the success you want to be, whatever success that is. Either traditional or self published it doesn’t matter, because people are going to look for information about you.

I Search for you. Yes, when I do interviews, book reviews, anything I do about an Author, I Search. Why do I Search? Why do Agents Search? Why do Publishers Search?

Personally I have a list of names that I want to ask to interview, but…

View original 320 more words

Aquarium

A fish in an aquarium.

Tank brightly eluiminated so he can be observed swimming, swimming.

Encased in glass.

Water just the correct temperature.

Fed, content he swims.

Happily he glides through his regulated world, for ever observed.

 

A man travels on a train,

CCTV keeps him safe from pain.

Watched he sits contentedly munching, crunching.

For “your protection, CCTV operates throughout this train/station”.

The man is grateful, feels “safe” wrapped in his protective case.

Muggers, thieves are watched along, of course with him but, having nothing to fear he smiles, tut tuts at a headline in the paper and dozes, the movement of the train lulling him to sleep in this insulated world.

He dreams of yester year. A boy growing up, unobserved, free to roam.

Waking he shakes his head sadly,

“The world is a different place from when I was a boy. We must give up a little bit of freedom for the good of society. I have nothing to fear for I’m doing nothing wrong”, he thinks glancing at the camera which observes, keeping him, and the other good people “safe” from harm.

 

A woman plants a camera to catch her cheating spouse.

She observes the cheating pair, intimate details to make your toes curl.

 

A couple place tracking software in their teenage children’s mobile devices to keep them “safe”.

 

And still the fish glides serenely, content in his observed world.

 

50percent Of Occupations To Disappear In The Next 15 Years A New Report Predicts

A new report suggests that 50 percent of occupations will disappear in the next 15 years and lists those likely to perish together with those which will survive. The report’s author’s are optimistic that people will find new more interesting occupations to replace those which perish.

I note that authors don’t appear in either list. Not sure what one draws from that! For the article please visit http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2826463/CBRE-report-warns-50-cent-occupations-redundant-20-years-time.html

A Liverpudlian In London

It is frequently remarked by northerners that Londoners are “cold”, “unfriendly” and “always in a rush. As a Liverpudlian born and bred, who has lived and worked in London since 1994 I can see both sides of the coin.

One of the grimmest portrayals of London is that of the poet, William Blake. His poem, London is unremitting in it’s critique of the poverty and exploitation which prevailed in the UK’s capital city at the time when Blake penned the poem.

 

“I wander thro’ each charter’d street,

Near where the charter’d Thames does flow.

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,

In every Infants cry of fear,

In every voice: in every ban,

The mind-forg’d manacles I hear

How the Chimney-sweepers cry

Every blackning Church appalls,

And the hapless Soldiers sigh

Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro’ midnight streets I hear

How the youthful Harlots curse

Blasts the new-born Infants tear

And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse”.

 

I have come across, admittedly in a mild form, the criminal underbelly of that great metropolis. Some 10 years ago I was walking through London’s mainline Victoria station. I am registered blind and had become lost in Victoria’s cavanous interior. A gentleman approached me and enquired whether he could be of assistance. I explained that I wanted to get to Crystal Palace to which my saviour responded that he had just returned from offering medical assistance in Bosnia, his daughter was picking him up in her car and she would be happy to offer me a lift. With a little trepidation I accepted my new found friend’s kind offer.

“I have left my luggage in the luggage lockers, can you lend me some money to retrieve it”, my saviour then said.

Dear readers I have a terrible confession to make. Despite having money in my pocket I said I had none, to which my “friend” responded that he would

“Be back in a minute”.

Readers, the moment I heard his footsteps departing, yours truly walked in the opposite direction!

The above was, almost certainly an attempt to scan me. however, not having been born yesterday I failed to fall for the seeming “kindness of strangers” trick. Such scams go on up and down the UK and in every corner of the globe. However they are more often practiced in large cities, such as London where the chances of being apprehended are remote (in a village, for example the scammer is likely to stand out like a saw thumb).

London can seem uncaring. There is a huge homeless problem in the capital. I have often walked past people sleeping in cardboard boxes on Victoria Street and in other parts of the city. On a few occasions I have given money but in most instances I have not. To the casual observer the actions of busy Londoners hurrying past rough sleepers can appear callous. However, practically speaking one can not give to every homeless person. Again giving to people begging on the street frequently (but not always) leads to one’s money going to feed a drug or alcohol habit rather than going on the purchase of food. Consequently I will readily give to registered charities such as Shelter and The Passage (the latter charity being specifically aimed at helping homeless people in and around the Victoria area). Such organisations have their accounts audited, are regulated by the Charity Commission and one can be confident one’s donation is helping those who genuinely require assistance.

I personally have experienced a good deal of kindness when traversing London. People of all nationalities have gone out of their way to assist me when lost. AgainI’ve witnessed people assisting ladys with prams to negociate the steep steps at my local station.

Londoners are, in my experience wary of falling into conversation with strangers. This perhaps flows from the number of people (real or imagined) who are out to “scam” them. On returning to Liverpool I am struck by the ready manner in which people will engage with strangers. “good morning” is, for example frequently addressed by Liverpudlians to total strangers, something which, in London rarely happens. For instance on entering the newsagents close to where my mum lives I am greeted with “hello love” despite the fact I rarely go in there due to residing in London. This puts a smile on my face and makes the day feel brighter. Doubtless some Londoners could learn from the cheery manner in which Liverpudlians greet fellow residents of that city and strangers alike.

Having been born in Liverpool the city will forever maintain a special place in my affections. However I feel at home in London. I love the vibrancy and tolerance of the city (it is a place where people of many different nationalities and ethnic backgrounds live, more or less harmoniously together). My heart is, in short split between these 2 great cities although the larger part does, I think reside in Liverpool, in the heart of Woolton Woods and Speke Hall.

 

young offender (Part 1)

The clear, sharp bark of a fox pearced the rural solitude. A blackbird sang and a magpie screeched from the uppermost branch of an ancient oak . The tree stood close to the 18th-century farmhouse, it’s boughs almost touching the building’s sandstone walls.

Jennifer Lewes stood at the open living room window, drinking in the fresh Yorkshire air. She was, Jenny thought lucky to have secured the property at a knock-down price. The previous owner had gone bankrupt and wishing to make a quick sale, in order to clear debts, had accepted her first offer.

Jenny turned from the window at the sound of heels clacking on the kitchen’s stone floor,

“I’m bored shitless” her cousin, Luan said.

“Why not go for a walk down to the village? I need some groceries. You could pop into the shop and buy them for me”, Jenny said.

“Don’t wanna do that. There’s nothing in bloody village cept old people. I wanna go back to London. There’s sod all ere”, Luan said, kicking the legg of the kitchen table.

“Don’t do that Luan, it’s an antique”, Jenny said, swallowing down the anger which she felt welling up in her.

“You don’t care about me. All you cares about is things”, Luan said raising her right foot to kick the table again.

Jenny moved in front of the girl, before she could put her intention into action. Luan glared at Jenny and before she had time to react raked her nails across her face.

Jenny raised her right hand. Trembling with emotion she glared at her cousin.

“Go on, I dares ya”, Luan said.

For several minutes the girl and the older woman stood toe to toe, fists clenched, attempting to stir the other out. The grandfather clock struck 10 am. The sound caused Jenny to recollect herself. What the hell was she doing, a woman of 25 raising her hand to a 15-year-old girl. Jenny let her arm drop,and reaching for a piece of kitchen towel began to wipe away the blood which flowed from a scratch above her right eye.

“One more outburst like that and I’ll be straight on the phone to your probation officer. Mrs Maddox can take care of you. You remember what the magistrate said, “this is your last chance. If you come before the court again you will, in all probability be sent to a young offender’s institution”. Is that what you want Luan? Well is it?” Jenny said.

Luan began to cry quietly. Despite her tough demeanour the thought of a young offender’s institution terrified her. She had heard tales of girls being driven to suicide as a result of bullying by other inmates. Stories of physical and sexual abuse made Luan feel sick to the pit of her stomach.

“Sorry Jen”, she said, looking up with tear filled eyes into the face of her older cousin.

“OK, we’ll go to the shop together and, if you can behave maybe go for a trip into Leeds afterwards. It’s not London but it’s a city and we can look around the shops”, Jenny said.

Luan’s face brightened, “I can go by meself. Give me the bus fare”, Luan said.

“You must think that I was born yesterday young lady”, Jenny said.

“I aint gonna do anything”, Luan said.

“I’m not taking the chance. The last time you went to court it was for shop lifting. Either we go to town together or you don’t go at all”, Jenny said.

Luan’s face fell.

“Well what is it to be young lady?” Jenny said.

“Suppose I aint got no choice. I’ll go with ya”, the girl replied, her face a mask of disappointment.

Epitaph On An Army Of Mercenaries By A E Housman

I like the unsentimental nature of this poem which never fails to bring a smile to my lips:

 

 

“These, in the day when heaven was falling,

 

The hour when earth’s foundations fled,

 

Followed their mercenary calling,

 

And took their wages, and are dead.

 

Their shoulders held the sky suspended;

 

They stood, and earth’s foundations stay;

 

What God abandoned, these defended,

 

And saved the sum of things for pay.”

Fireworks

As I sit at my desk I can hear the distant pounding of guns. Oops, for guns read fireworks!

Personally I can take or leave fireworks. I understand the attraction to children and the role fireworks play in celebrations such as Chinese New Year and, of course today’s event, Guy Fawkes or Bonfire Night. Unfortunately my guide dog, Trigger is not so relaxed in his view of fireworks. Like most animals he hates them.

On Saturday evening I had popped out for a couple of pints in my favourite local. On the way home heaven was rent asunder by the sound of fireworks going off. A few bangs and Trigger starts to shake, however a continuous stream of explosions causes him to freeze, begin to tremble violently and to seek shelter in the nearest building. Fortunately, when the noise started we where passing my local Sainsburys and Trigger almost dragged me in there so keen was he to escape what must, to a dog with very sensitive hearing be an incredibly distressing experience. After purchasing a few items (I didn’t really need them but felt, being in the supermarket that I should buy something) I telephoned a taxi so as to avoid Trigger having to experience the racket outside. I live some 10 minutes walk from the supermarket but, by the time the taxi arrived and conveyed Trigger and I home some 40 minutes had passed.

Today I chose to work from home in order to avoid Trigger being subjected to fireworks again. I took him out at lunchtime for a walk and he is now curled up in his bed. Unlike some animals Trigger is fine inside where the sound of exploding fireworks don’t bother him but he won’t go out again this evening, the explosions would only distress him.

I don’t wish to be a killjoy but it strikes me that fireworks should be limited to a few times a year and, possibly to designated displays only. At present, even when November 5th ends people will, no doubt still be letting off fireworks into late November/early December. Then, of course we have New Year’s Eve so Trigger won’t have a complete rest from fireworks until mid to late January. There surely must be a better way than this.