41 Responses to “typhoon in…”

If I would have a chance to see you, then I would not be afraid of typhoon, flood, eathtquake and every bad things. Ohhh I will leave my hometown for seaside town soon.  I will join the army and I will be a sailor.  What you think? 

*gasp* – That is so sad.  Thankgod it didn’t arrive when the festival was being performed.  Aww I was looking forward to seeing photo’s from the gig!  I was also wondering if you were going to perform some new material in Taiwan?  I hope your well Melissa, missing you over here in UK! 

Taht sucks Mel.  Indeed, Mother Nature doesn’t appear happy at the moment.  Not that it would have anything to human-enhanced climate change or anything.  President Bush says that’s all a bunch of liberal bull dookey.  And he should know, shouldn’t he?!  YEEEHAW!  God, Guts and Glory! 

Confinement. 

Even the water in the cell seemed trapped. 

Confined and still. 

The Madrokk touched the surface of the coral walls and tried to remember what he’d read about the tiny sea-animals in his books.  They built external structural skeletons and formed colonies.  A community of thousands; building upon and around the structures of those who existed now and those who came before.  Cell upon tomb, upon cell, upon tomb.  It seemed that his prison was made up of the hardened limestone excretions of countless generations of microscopic creatures, both dead and alive. 

He didn’t find the prospect very encouraging. 

He lay down and shut his eyes, although it didn’t make much difference to him in the watery dark.  After a time his mind, lacking any kind of external stimuli, was drawn back down the dimly lit dual carriageway of his retinas. 

Towards the sprawling community that lay within. 

A drowsy breeze blew through the deserted streets; over the rubble lying on the cracked pavements and bludgeoned tarmac beneath his feet.  Most of buildings and homes he passed looked abandoned or run-down. 

Perhaps this was the bad side of town? 

He walked through the deserted streets for a while without any clear purpose, until eventually coming upon a large, important-looking building which appeared to have fared somewhat better than the others.  A tall skyscraper of chipped, brittle brick, discoloured and stained with age. 

On the front was a sign that read: ‘HEAD-QUARTERS.’ 

The building’s windows were closed or bordered up, yet a high, chain-link fence which hummed and buzzed with what sounded like a strong electric current cordoned off the area. 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. 

The Madrokk turned to find a large man with a coarse, pear-shaped face, a bristle white moustache and suspicious eyes. 

“Here, you!”  said the man with officious indignation. “ Have you got a permit to stand there?!” 

The man was dressed in a jungle camouflage uniform of green and brown, with black, hob-nailed boots on his feet.  On top of his head was a pith helmet with the word: ‘CHIEF’ stencilled across in bright letters. 

“I suppose you’re the Chief?”  asked the Madrokk. 

“NAH!  I JUST WEAR THIS HAT ‘CAUSE IT MAKES ME FEEL PRETTY!!”  barked the man in response. “ FACETIOUS QUESTIONS ARE TREATED THE SAME AS INSUBORDINATION IN THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD BOY-O!  NOW STATE YOUR NAME AND BUSINESS, BEFORE I DECIDE TO KNOCK SOME SENSE INTO YOU WITH MY BLOODY STICK!” 

“I am the Madrokk.” 

The Chief’s eyes grew wide. “ THE GUV’NOR!”  he hissed, dropping to his knees. “ Forgive me sir!”  he grovelled. “ No one told me you was making a visit today!  If I had known, we might’ve tidied up a bit!  Or maybe staged a parade–!” 

“What’s been going on around here?”  asked the Madrokk, bewildered. “ Hey–stop that, you’re drooling on my boots!  Get back up and explain yourself.” 

The Chief shot to his feet, and gave the Madrokk a rigid salute. “ RIOTS, SIR!”  He shouted, his eyes directed fiercely above the Madrokk’s head. “ LOCALS WENT CRAZY-HAD TO PUT ‘EM DOWN SIR!” 

“Don’t shout.”  interrupted the Madrokk. “ What in the world do you mean by riots?  What locals?” 

“SORRY SIR–! ( oops) I mean–sorry, sir!  Riots and more riots!”  answered the Chief more quietly. 

“Yes–?” 

“Whole blooming place has gone mad sir!  Don’t know what’s been going on outside, but the native’s have certainly been stirred up by something!  Used to be real quiet round here.  Used to be a real pleasure for us aficionados, everything calm and peaceful like.  But now its bloody chaos!  They’ve got the Intelligentsia Quartet working on the problem up in Head-Quarters, but there’s still no news as yet!” 

“-Intelligentsia Quartet–?” 

“Yes sir!”  answered the Chief with a sharp nod. “  Shall I take you to them?” 

“I-um-well–”

“Right!  Follow me then sir!” 

Not knowing what else to do, the Madrokk followed and together they marched smartly along the perimeter of the electric fence until they came to a small gate.  On the other side stood a young guard with a slim, acne-ridden face. 

“ATTEENSHUN!”  bellowed the Chief. “ This here’s the Gu’vnor!  He wants to meet with the Quartet!  Turn off the bloody juice, so we can get through!” 

The young guard jumped up like he’d been stung and rushed over to a large switch on the wall.  For several frantic moments he tugged at the handle before it finally pulled down with a rusty creak. 

There was a sharp click and flash of light. 

Then the fence grew silent. 

Shaking like a leaf, the guard rushed to the gate and attacked its formidable-looking padlock with an enormous jangley set of keys.  Eventually the right key was found, and the gate swung open. 

The guard stepped hurriedly away a gave a salute: a quivering two-by-four of discipline. 

“That’s good training for you, that is.”  said the Chief. 

“Looks more like petrification.”  replied the Madrokk. 

The Chief led him to the front of the building, then up the concrete steps to the main entrance.  With a low grunt, the Chief shouldered open the wooden doors and they moved inside. 

“Gasp–!” 

The Madrokk stood before a long, bright corridor of sparkling white tile.  It was a unexpected contrast to the building’s exterior, for inside there was not a mark or blemish to be seen anywhere. 

“Follow me, sir.”  said the Chief. 

As they moved along the corridor, dazzling fluorescent lights shone down from the ceiling, forcing them to cover their eyes against the glare. 

“You’ll get used to it, sir.”  said the Chief

They carried on for a long time; twisting right, then left, up, down, around, then sideways and the Madrokk soon felt quite lost in all the pristine austerity. 

“How do you know which way you’re going?”  he asked. 

“It’s one direction or the other, sir.”  answered the Chief over his shoulder. “ We either go this way, or back the way we came.” 

“Fair enough.”  answered the Madrokk. 

The walls and ceiling of the corridor began to open out as they progressed, creating a wide, high passage that brought them eventually to a great glass escalator. 

Going ‘up’. “After you, sir.”  said the Chief. 

The Madrokk looked to see where the thing led, but the translucent conveyance was too high for him make out what was at the top. 

“Okay then.”  he said. 

They got on the escalator and were borne aloft at a steady unhurried pace.  Multi-coloured lights flashed around, and the air was filled with a ephemeral murmuring: like voices softly singing just beyond the range of hearing. 

“What’s that?”  asked the Madrokk. 

“Muzak.”  answered the Chief, with a broad, moustachioed grin. “ Tom Jones I believe sir.  You know—‘It’s not unusual, dum-dum, dee-dee-dee-dum!’ 

“Oh, right.” 

The escalator deposited them onto the glossy-tiled floor of a wide hall.  The ceiling was high with many beams and the walls were decorated with a fluid wrap-around collage of colours and shapes that appeared to alter their appearance every few seconds.  Looking closer, the Madrokk thought he recognised some of the images displayed on the flowing mural, while others merely flirted with his memory.  In the hall’s centre stood a beautiful onyx fountain that churned up high cascades of water.  The Chief led the Madrokk across the smooth floor to the fountain, where they paused to admire its bubbling charm. 

Eventually he and the Chief turned from the fountain and moved towards a plain, pine wood door. 

The brass plaque on the door read: NERVE CENTRE. 

The Chief gave the door a few sharp taps and it creaked open halfway to reveal the shadowed features of a young woman with dark hair and spectacles. 

“Yes-?”  she asked carefully. 

“Excuse me love, but this here’s the Gu’vnor-.”  said the Chief. “’ He’s come to see you lot about the recent trouble in the city.” 

The woman nodded. “ Yes, he can come in, but he has to promise to be quiet, for we are very busy.” 

“In you go sir!”  said the Chief. “ I shall wait here for your return!” 

The Madrokk nodded his thanks and entered.  Inside, he found a small circular room with bright yellow walls.  In the centre was a burnished blue table around which sat one other woman and two men.  A fourth chair stood empty, which he assumed was for the spectacled woman who let him in. 

On the table, atop an embroidered cloth, lay a shiny red apple. 

“This is the proprietor.”  said the spectacled woman to the others.  They greeted him with impartial expressions, then introduced themselves:

“I am Phil.”  said the man with a red hat. 

“I am Glenda.”  said the dark woman with a yellow ribbon. 

“I am Fred” said the man with a colourful tattoo. 

“Agnes.”  said the woman with the specs. 

Agnes sat down, motioned for him to be quiet, then turned her attention to the apple. 

“Back to work.”  said Agnes. 

“Agreed.”  said Glenda. 

“Before we were interrupted, we were discussing the fact that this-” said Fred, gesturing to the apple. “ -is the crux of the problem.” 

“It is the still-point in the centre of the storm!”  said Fred. 

“The pyjamas on the cat!”  piped in Agnes. 

“It looks like an apple to me.”  suggested the Madrokk. 

“SHHHHHHH!”  hissed the four

“It’s more than just an apple!”  cried Phil. 

“Can’t you see that?”  asked Glenda in exasperation. 

“No.”  he replied. 

“The apple is a symbol.  A metaphorical icon for the centre of your being.”  explained Agnes. “ You know– tart, crisp and juicy.” 

“Unless of course, it’s gone off.”  pointed out Fred. 

“Or there’s a WORM!”  cried Agnes. 

“EWWW!” 

“But how are we to determine which is the case?”  asked Phil. “ Should we eat it?  If we do, then there will be nothing more to discuss.” 

“Aside from whether or not it was any good.”  pointed out Glenda. 

“If we cut it open only to discover nothing wrong with it, then we may have answered many questions, but ultimately defeated our purpose.”  said Agnes. “ That which was once whole, would be then be divided.” 

“Maybe we should just chuck it in the bin!”  cried Fred, excitedly. “ Perhaps this is the solution we seek!  True, we may never know whether or not it was any good, but at least we wouldn’t have to worry about it any more.” 

“We could always spend our time after playing pinochle or something.”  offered Phil. 

“No, that’s too simple.”  replied Agnes shaking her head “Too easy.” 

“I think I’d rather not have the ‘centre-of-my-being’ put into the bin, thank-you.”  said the Madrokk. 

“Be quiet!”  scolded Glenda. “ This matter doesn’t really concern you.  Try and see the apple as an idea, or great notion.  The idea grows and takes shape, eventually acquiring a significance of its own.  It becomes important of and in itself.  More significant, and indeed more relevant than even that its creator!” 

“Rubbish!”  said Fred. “ Your life is of little importance to us.  The symbol, the idea, the apple; this is what concerns us.” 

“But if the apple is something that I’ve brought into being, then surely it belongs to me!”  said the Madrokk. 

“What absolute twaddle!”  cried Agnes. “ How incredibly selfish!  Do you consider yourself unique?  If I were to give birth, the child would not belong to me merely because I conceived and bore it.  Even if I care for and provide for its needs, the child’s life is its own.” 

“What if you were to lose interest in this apple?”  asked Phil. “ Would the apple be obliged to disappear?  Does its existence depend solely on your regard and consideration?” 

“Well, I-um, dunno really.”  stammered the Madrokk. 

“He still doesn’t get it, does he?”  said Glenda. 

“He does look very confused.”  observed Fred. 

“Then again-.”  said Phil. “ -Perhaps we should let him do what he wants.” 

“That’s right, we just work here.”  nodded Agnes. 

“Look, shut-up and let me think!”  snapped the Madrokk. 

“Well, I never!”  exclaimed Fred. 

“He says he wants to think.”  said Agnes, equally miffed. 

“What does he suppose we’ve been doing all this time?”  asked Glenda. 

Ignoring the Quartet, the Madrokk focused his attention on the apple.  It did indeed look to be both red and juicy.  Round, even.  It seemed fine, but how could one be certain?  Was it important? 

“Leave it where it is.”  he said quietly, then turned and left the room. 

Back in the hall the Chief was nowhere to be seen, but his grey pith helmet lay on the floor outside the door. 

‘He must have been called away to put down a riot.’ 

The Madrokk picked up the helmet and put it on, then noticed (without too much surprise) that the mural on the chamber’s walls now only depicted apples.  Apples, apples, and more apples; turning and blending together in a kinetic red haze.  Averting his eyes (and trying to ignore the fruitful implications) he strolled past the fountain and got on the escalator. 

Which was now going ‘down.’ 

At the bottom, he walked briskly back through the gleaming white corridor and left the building.  Outside, he found the electric fence switched off and the gate left open.  There was no sign of the young guard.  With a sigh, he made his way back up towards the dual carriageway of his retinas. 

Oh!  That’s really sad…I always wonder, are these the consequences of all the harm we’ve done to Mother Nature?  If that’s the case, what can we expect for the future?I guess we’ll be in a lot of trouble if we don’t change our ways towards the environment. Huge hug! 

Thats a very strange thing happened there.  Yes, the show has been litterally blown away.  You were very lucky you didn’t fly into it.  Thats a realy close miss if you ask me, close enough to make a person think just how narrowly we cheat death sometimes, even on a day to day basis.  wwhhhooaaa I don’t know. 

…I’m glad you alright…look there was another typhoon( but very harmless&possitive and it was “mother Roisin Murphy” this time) near Kings X in London.  That was her first solo London gig and it waaaaaas ….huge exchange of admiration and energy, hey Auf Der maur- if you like to dance — her ” Ruby Blue” is also for you…and I met her on after party and she kissed me in my forhead( like a mother!)…What an amazing human being. Another one!!!  Earth is full of us!  Ha haha…Take care my dear

The pollutants that we as a speices billow out into the atmosphere go hand in hand with the greed and curruption of the modern day governments and their own short sighted agenders.  to save the planet we must backpeddle.  Devorce ourselfs from technology and mordern convinencies and go back to the caves where we create art by smirearing shit and berries on walls and hunt down innocent deer with spears…… then the earth will be saved!!!!! 

Hello!,  me again!!,  so long time no see!!…  well, i’ve seen this since two or three weeks ago… and now i got the courage to write something, oh… i have a friend who doesn’t know the snow either, we are the snow rejected!!!…  and ok!!!  i know it’s summer!!!…  but se told me to tell you!!!,  see you later in some other time…

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