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  THE INTREPID FOX'S VIEW FROM THE BAR: PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE..."THE SEVENTH SEAL"
1 April 2014




"And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder:
One of the four beasts saying: "Come and see".
And I saw.
And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts,
And I looked and behold: a pale horse.
And his name that sat on him was Death.
And Hell followed with him."

Johnny Cash 'The Man Comes Around' (interpretation of Revelation 6:8)


As in the beginning, so shall it be in the end: we finally reach the conclusion of this strange journey. If you've been following the narrative, perhaps you see where this is leading...perhaps not. There have been many distractions and hopefully some entertainment along the way. But now, as Mr Punch, I stand before the curtain; as always, alone...

The spotlight turns its full glare on his impassive, carved face. He jigs towards the front of the stage, the music crashing wildly around him, then, as if on cue, the orchestra stops, mid-note...a silence descends. He takes a few more hesitant steps, then halts. For from the wings, a new puppet appears, in a black hood pushing a gallows before him...

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Perhaps he recalls his past sins; the bleached bones of his losses. Perhaps he misses Judy, and the things he never said. All that space between them, the love that now is dead. Does he think of the Childe he so carelessly abandoned? The Laws he so shamelessly broke? Does he regret his friendship with the Clown?...never the most reliable source of advice. The death of the Doctor who tried so selflessly to heal him? The violence. The anarchic mayhem that he has perpetrated. All that pain. All that sorrow...

Fuck that...he tricks the Grim Reaper into putting the noose round his own neck, just to be able to say "that's the way to do it...!" And as for the Devil: "man, been fuckin' around with that dude all along..." Gleefully, triumphantly, the show comes to a rousing conclusion...

But was a lesson learnt? Through all the deceit and corruption; through all the wonders and joy, the heartache and loss...? I'll tell you something for free: anybody who claims to have done it all, seen it all...is a fucking liar. There is always a lesson to be learned. Something new to experience. Another way. Another choice...

A good friend once asked me this question...When faced with a bridge over a chasm; with a stable, concrete centre and wildly swaying, perilous edges: which way do you choose to cross? Do you walk the wide, straight, well-lit road; or the winding, dangerous path through the dark and tangly woods?

Your ma will tell you, never stray from the safe path...'ain't you afraid of the big, bad wolf?'... "shit mom, I AM the fuckin' big, bad wolf..."

So shall we let the monster out of the box? Fuck, yeah...

Hidden within the statements of the last seven weeks are the words of an invocation, an invitation, to the ancient archetypes that form the antithesis of any and all 'religion' as we know it. Using a combination of surviving fragments of The Book of Thoth, fourth century Syrian text , modern English Wicca and an empathetic bond between the gender duality of real power; somehow along the way the 'game' became something more. Something frightening and exhilarating. Cold enough to freeze blood. Hot enough to sear skin. In purging all the anger, rage and hatred towards my enemies, something that has slept for millennia was convinced to awake. Become aware...

The Ancient Egyptians knew of them as Sebek and Set. In Islamic faith they are known as shaitans, ruled by the jinn Iblis. The bible calls them the 'Horsemen'. The Concise Oxford English dictionary: "an instrument or machine used for tearing or other destructive work"...

They are something that we don't even begin to understand. As a species, humans have come to believe themselves to be the most advanced life-form ever to exist on this planet. When in reality we are mere children; young and ignorant. Lost in the dark. Blinded by the constraints of science. Losing touch with our emotions. Unable to accept anything that we cannot experience within our limited senses...

Casually murdering our own world; a precious gift we were bequeathed by a random clash of atoms. We are the serial-killers of our own existence. We have to learn respect. And they are here to teach us. They come from the deep, dark places where our worst fears reside. And they're hungry...

I hereby re-invoke the "Curse of Falstaff" upon the ground that I stand, the requisite rituals having been observed. With my blood marking the boundaries, I curse those who step foot on this land with malice in their hearts; their descendants, and their fucking descendants...

I curse any business that attempts to trade within the boundaries of this land. I curse those who attempt to make their homes upon this land. Those with evil in their hearts. With my flesh, with my blood, and with a part of my soul sacrificed: may vengeance be visited upon them and those they hold dear...

I hereby seal these 'demons', bury them and leave their shadows on this land. Sleeping. Waiting. For the moment a dark soul crosses these boundaries, whereupon I entreat them to become sentient, to become my agents of retribution. May they become the nemesis of my enemies: may the 'Tower' fall. May Pestilence be visited upon my enemies' children, Famine upon their families, War upon their colleagues and Death upon themselves...

These fucking things are a nightmare of purpose and intent: they are implacable. They will haunt your dreams; stalk your every waking moment. They will tear your flesh, burn out your eyes. They will never cease in their hunt to rip you apart, rend you limb from limb and turn your bodies to dust. From whence you came forth, so shall you return...

You will henceforth be branded as an outcast; you shall wear their mark. Shunned by the living, familiars to the damned. Hung on the branches of the 'poison tree of souls'. For eternity. Enjoy the lake of fire, motherfuckers...

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good-will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness; for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee..."
Samuel L Jackson's monologue from 'Pulp Fiction' (interpretation of Ezekiel 25:17)

And so we bring a close to this chapter of the story, and leave you with this thought. It is April Fool's Day, Mr Punch does like a larf. But he's always got a card up his sleeve, always has a plan. With every Death comes Resurrection: but you need belief, some sort of faith. Some believe in God; some worship the Devil. I believe in myself, and have faith in my 'family'. When you regard life as a series of acts in a play, chapters in a book...the story is never finished, the future still unwritten. Characters come and go; actors play their roles. The villain, the hero, the damsel in distress, the delinquent. They all change their masks; play a different part. But at "last call", all bets are off. All accounts are settled; the only price to be negotiated? The only appointment to be honoured? The one that pays for all. What cost do you lay on your soul? Coming back from the dead can be rough, but in the end, would you have it any other way?

This is the last statement on the life and death of The Intrepid Fox, at this venue. Keep checking www.intrepidfox.com for news, and we ask our many friends out there to please share.

Later, fuckers...















 


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