"I fear that animals regard man as a creature of their own kind, which has in a highly dangerous fashion lost its healthy animal reason - as the mad animal, as the unhappy animal"

- Nietzsche

 
PRESENT (is) TENSE

If someone had said to me a few years ago 'you're a piece of shit'. Without hesitation I would of returned the insult. Purely because that is what one does - respond. If someone had used the divisive word 'wanker' as a denominative gesture against my character, again, I would have closed ranks and thrown back an even tougher insult. Of course we are all reactive and easily offended with comments that declare us in the light of submission.

Not anymore, it's different these days. I no longer return fickle insults. After all isn't it true that everyone has wanked, skanked their juice in some form or another? From those early childish discovery years, right through to our official adult years. Nearly everyone has been there and fiddled with their most intimate body areas.

Haven't we all delved into our own flesh, touched, and caressed our genital parts? So why should words that relate to such things get people riled? Because it literally gets under our skin and throws a shining beam, exposing to the world that we are only flesh and blood. Feral beings shrouded in humanistic clothing. We are all lost in the 'Twilight Zone', a place where all is not clear. Where the many shadows of ourselves reside, ambigious, leaving us confused and uncertain of what we really are.

Actually I feel very comfortable being called a 'wanker', a fucker, or even a piece of 'shit', (a title much more appropriate for who and what I am now). For time and it's ceaselessly grinding inevitability has changed me; I've changed me. Technology has mutated all of us so much now, it has sculpted our behaviours. And yes, I can finally say that I have come to terms with being what I am today. Yes, I enjoy the liberation of being a piece of shit.

Gang of Four explore being Gene-Geanies.

It all started a few years ago, some friends and I had lost faith in that ever conforming and increasingly self-conscious, universal void known as the Internet. Why? Because our hopes of virtual mutation, growth and using such a medium was foiled by too much policing by those greedy chomps. Multinational organizations and various governmental jobs worth's started to spring out of the woodwork like flies round a cows arse. Their only aim was to try and control the freedom and opportunities that the Net had offered to millions originally. We realised that suppression was ruling the day, just like it does in the material world. We got tired of the delusory tricks that distracted us from being what we really wanted to be. Our respect and belief in the virtual communicative world had been worn down. We wanted to be pioneers not commodified pulp-pressing buttons in the name interaction. It was time for us to collect and redirect our energies, putting our actions into something real. No more dreaming, we wanted the chance to experience our own versions of what freedom could be. No more putting all our hopes into one big sublime basket. We had came to terms with the fact that we could mutate by merely tuning into the Internet. Virtually was not the correct means in fact it was the opposite of what we were after, what we were after was a new kind of reality.

We formed a small independent scientific group stealing as much equipment as possible from hi-tech institutions and corporations. Once having pinpointed our similar desires for exploring genetic mutation. Our collective decision to take things further was perceived by all of us as inevitable, it was fated. The notion of physical mutation or change did not come from a place of eugenic philosophy or cultural shifting but out of an inner need to be different, to be other than what we had been designed to be.

After this realization the challenge was to put our minds together and delve into each our fantasies and imaginations creating a fluid emphasis on the scope of the project. If we were successful in our attempts to transmute our physical make-up, then Post-Human ideology would be forced to reevaluate itself. Other than a few selected mice we were the Guinea pigs for own experiments.

It took a while as you can imagine; we spent many months psyching each other out and picking at each other's possible flaws and anxieties. Pushing the sensitive issue of whether we could trust each other, and of course this included even questioning ourselves. We were about to embark on a project that needed complete secrecy and no distractions from its focus. In time we all got bored with this pre-projectory contrivance and decided that the slant on deconstruction and surveillance took too long. It seemed to serve only to reflect the group's own fears, a kind of subconscious decoy. So time caught up with us and we did it anyway before the conceptualizing stopped us.

Have you ever asked yourself what it must be like for the chair to have your butt sit on it? Or imagined what it must be like to be a spider weaving a web? Well, these are the type of questions that we have been asking ourselves. To put ourselves in the chairs' place, to be something completely different from what we are now, an alternative entity, an object or even a non object, either still or in motion; experiencing this as real and not virtual. Now that is what I call revolutionary, and evolutionary all rolled into one.

Our hard work paid off, we've made this astounding machine. We pinched the idea from the Hollywood film called 'The Fly', the original fifties b-movie version. Although the later one did give us few hints blueprint wise, on what our machine could look like stylistically. All you do is put the item of whatever you want to 'be' on one of the transporter pods and tap out the relevant coding on the keypad. Then you sit yourself on the other pod, which is connected to the other pod.

We also found a way of storing the molecular remainder (air-dust and other bits of body waste) by building a vacuum extractor that rest comfortably between the pods.

We were able to transport our own consciousness and ability to feel into the item we were transmuted into, and the individual's identity was left intact and uncorrupted by the change. Once the subject had gone through the process of actual, physical change beyond recognition, it was still possible for the individual to feel what it was like to be something else. It was dangerous and exciting; the experiments were truly a breakthrough for the 'real' Post-Human cause.


At least it worked out fine until...

Darnley Hobbs's true age has always been a mystery and the rest of the gang's age settles within the mid-thirties bracket, he is older than all of us. I guess he is about forty years of age yet his boyish attitude and seemingly constant affairs with more than one woman at a time suggests that he is much younger at heart. Darnley's reputation for bed hopping is infamous, so much so that he was thrown out of university after a senior, female lecturer who also was (unlucky for him) an x-lover, found out about his antics.

Darnley at present is in the form of a blowup doll. 'This is insane', yell's Sarah Stein defiantly as she strokes the simulated, female-like object at arms length, feeling inhibited. 'I hope this isn't hurting you!' Utters David as he carefully pushes a cucumber into the doll's plastic virgina.

Sarah strolls over to the visual, digital recorder, which is poised on a tripod documenting the experiment. She checks that it's all in working order and that it is aimed and framed correctly, capturing the moment at hand. 'I didn't join this project to help Darnley make a bloody porno movie,' she groans whilst adjusting the camera's focus. Her very fine, short black hair shines under the laboratory's strong light. Ever since I've known her, she has always looked unnaturally thin; her skin is pale and worry lines rest upon her forehead.

David Little sniggers nervously, easing the cucumber in and out of doll, Darnley's host. 'The things we do for science', he chuckles in his typically shy tone. David is the most reserved among us, he is what English society used to term as, a gentleman. He is older than his age suggests, he's very polite and of course apologizes far too much for his own good. Yet he is stocky and well built, almost bald and also the only one here who is still into wearing the trad-lab garb. And oh yes, there's me...Robert.

'Wow, that was amazing...' screams Darnley, feeling so ecstatic that he loses his balance whilst trying to pull his trousers up to his waist. 'Did you have an orgasm?' I asked. 'I don't know, just being there was like an orgasm itself.' 'Let me run a quick test on your molecular levels to see if anything has been altered,' murmers Sarah, stuffing a thermometer into his mouth. Darnley immediately pulls it out. 'I've altered all right, my mind is definitely no longer the same.' 'So could it be that you are experiencing your brain patterns mutating?' Asks David. 'Yeah, and my body feels brand new, fresh, it's as if I am reborn,' yells an excited Darnley, wandering over to the sink then splashing his face with cool water from the tap.

'We could transmute a human being into a human host,' Darnley exclaims, buttoning up his blue denim shirt. 'Forget about that for the moment we've got to check your body to see how much you have changed,' says David as he gently grabs Darnley's wrist checking his pulse. 'Oh come on, give it a rest, I'm too exhilarated for this kind of shit'. Darnley reclaims his wrist. 'Darnley, let us do the tests it's important", hoots Sarah, grabbing his wrist again trying to feel his pulse. 'Get off!' He shouts shaking Sarah's hand away. 'look I'm serious, why don't we try it? Imagine it if you were inside someone else's body experiencing their physicality, their sexual identity, wouldn't that be the freakiest of all experiences? What if they masturbated, what would that feel like?' Darnley Jumps onto a chair claiming centre stage. 'Give it a rest man, you've had your fun let's not get too carried away', answers David abruptly, 'but that's exactly what we should be doing', retorts Darnley now getting frustrated and jumping off the chair.

David steps around him and then sits himself onto the chair, 'give it time, we've still got a long way to go. This is our first fundamental test using a human and we don't know how it has affected you yet, what do you expect us to do? Just let you go dive into the void of the unknown without precaution? This kinf od actio is stupidity not science and you know it'. Moans David. 'Don't patronize me, I know what I'm talking about, I can't believe that I am hearing this. Listen, we've all worked bloody hard on this project and everyone has put an equal share into it's development and may be, just may be, we should allow ourselves to be a bit more radical, not just in a formal way but in a joyous way. The least we deserve is some kind of pleasure out of it'. Darnley bends over slipping his trainers back on.

David let's off a tiresome sigh 'the pleasure is in the discovery and the process...' he answers quietly. 'Oh give it a break, don't give me that romantic crap. Christ I've just experienced something magical; you can't just place it in a box and label it interesting. During the moments that I was in this supposedly dead item', he picks the doll up off the floor, 'in this plastic play-woman here, life was actually existing inside it. Thriving, living, an actual being....' Darnley shoves the doll into David's arms. David let's it fall to the ground, 'use your head, we cannot jump in head first, period!'

'Only last week we experimented on mice, did tests on them and they're still alive. And they're humping like there's no tomorrow' bellows Darnley. 'True, but their sexual nature is not a significant barometer for understanding what has happened to them', answers David, with his bottom nervously shuffling on the chair. Feeling slightly hot under the collar he unbuttons his white coat. I myself kept quiet not wanting to get caught up in the argument.

'Well David I'm surprised. Before, you gave us all the impression that you were working with the idea of taking risks, now it seems that you've gone all damp on us', Darnley sneeringly exclaims. 'That's it', shouts David, picking up the doll, 'I'm not gonna listen to your tripe anymore!' He flings the blowup doll at Darnley's face and stands up ready for battle, taking off his lab coat, his face turns into a shade of pinkie, magenta. 'Calm down man, your the one who wants everything to be objective', answers Darnley, keeping his distance. 'You've just made it personal'; sneers David, slowly moving towards Darnley with clenched fists.

Sarah jumps in between them both pushing them apart. 'OK boys. Play time's over, relax. Let's sort this issue out and try to pretend that you are real adults shall we? David!' 'Of course.... Sorry...' David apologizes. 'OK...' Darnley answers, shocked at David's outburst. 'That's better, a sense of decorum', says Sarah, picking up the doll and placing it on the chair. 'I suggest we sit down and deal with this in a sensible manner, as it involves all of us. The way we usually do...remember?' Everybody nods accordingly.

Talking started and then continued till the early morning, by breakfast time we were all for one, and one for all, like the four musketeers. It was considered negative to deny certain avenues, especially when new possibilities were staring at us almost screaming to be acknowledged. After a few slices of toast everybody conceded to the compromise of sleep.

HISTOR-RECTUM-ME

I remember looking at a horse turd when I was a slip of a lad; my family was on holiday. We, my mother, father, sister and I, spent our family break mostly wandering around the countryside on enforced walking adventures. I recall it vividly and the cottage we were staying in did not have a television, which caused much stress for my sister Annie and I. we were immensely disturbed of the fact that we were missing all our favourite children's programs.

Dad was keen on walking and always said that it would do us the world of good if we followed suit. Annie and I were not as infused by the idea but he still dragged us out into the painfully boring, countryside all the same. I never did appreciate the nature scene; there was never any people to accidentally bump into, no policemen for mimicking silly walks. Not enough streets and houses for us to play knock down ginger in, no shops to steal sweets from, just very slow tractors.

Anyway it was a scorching hot day in the year 1976, the Indian Summer. There was a draught across the whole country and we were roasting like bacon under the blazing sun. We came across this field and there it was a massive turd and it smelled wonderful. Flies buzzed around our heads as we all flicked them aside. The horse that had laid the shit stood proud, it was taller than my dad and he was six foot odd. Everyone laughed and made the usual jokes about the size of the horse's dick as it hung, unselfconscious, vulnerable and bare. I was more interested in its droppings, hypnotized as another turd escaped from the horse's ass and plopped onto the dry grass, scorched by the sun.
It fascinated me so much so that my father had to drag me away from the scene as I moaned loudly. He had a different agenda planned, so we had to carry on with the days booked mission, the family's official expedition.

That night in our rented cottage a few hours after everyone had finally gone to bed. I sneaked down the stairs out of the back door and followed the lane for a while, until I came across the field where we had seen the horse earlier that day. My small frame climbed over the steel gate and jumped into the field. There was no sign of the creature so I began collecting as much horse shit as possible and placed it all in one big pile. After spending about half an hour building a heap of horse shit in the middle of the field I decided to undress.
It was very warm and the excreta glistened under the silvery, shine of a crescent moon. My naked, white body stood above the mass, pausing apprehensively. I took a deep breath and smelled the aroma on my hands and stood still captured by the moment, excited and nervous at the same time. I slowly knelt and dipped my hands into the half-crusty, slimy solution and then dipped my nose into it. Then immersed the rest of my body into the abundantly large amount of horse-shit.

As I rolled around in it, experiencing its voluptuous stickiness, my mind flashed back to the memory of my father's mud wrestling videos. Of course he was not aware that I knew of their existence, but you know kids, they can instinctively discover all the best hiding places.

I stumbled across them on one of my 'seeking out the family secrets', adventures. Amongst numerous nude magazines, condoms, straps and other strange and fascinating objects I found three videotapes. The covers displayed females fighting in mud; these images immediately caught my eye. I ran downstairs, drew the curtains so no one could see from outside and placed one of the videocassettes into the video player. The video player was not like the digital ones that we use theses days, although it was exactly like the one they had at my school. It was big, clumsy, and noisy and it didn't always work. This time it did work and the visuals that appeared onto the screen at first made me laugh. The sight of full grown naked, woman who were probably the same age as my mother, throwing each other around in mud seemed hilarious and pointless at first. Suddenly my attention focused on the mud that the two females were playing around in. A close-up of one of the women's buttocks filled the screen. I paused the frame and looked more in detail at the image before me; I began to feel a slight tingle in my bones. I could just make out her bum-hole as her bare ass was covered in mud. Then it hit me; they were fighting in pretend shit.

After this revelation my interest for excreta became an obsession, my attention for shit references started go wild and innuendoes flourished, as well as taking the odd sneaky trip to my parents bedroom when the rest of my family was out. Television was my lifeline in my youth, there were plenty of films and adventure serials on the box that gave me constant information and pleasure, feeding my new found very secret hobby. The Amazing Adventures of Tarzan was one of my favourites, serialized on BBC1 every Saturday morning and Tarzan always seemed to in some kind of kinky scrape. He would be half-naked, swimming and splashing around in dense, insect, infested water and looking pretty sexy, or he would be wallowing in my most cherished medium - mud. Whenever I saw someone being swallowed by quicksand on the television, my nerves tingled and I would imagine that it was shit and that it was I who was in it, with my naked, vulnerable flesh being engulfed.

It was still dark and I had just finished fantasizing in the now very sloppy, horse excreta. It was time to get back to the cottage before anyone had twigged on that I was missing. I gathered up all my clothes and walked my naked frame along the windy path, keeping close to the hedges, blocking possible winds and reducing the chance of being seen.
When I got back I had a quiet bath and went straight to bed. In the morning I sat with my family at the breakfast table, the memory of what I had experienced in the field was still with me as if it had happened only ten minutes ago. I felt a tremendous urge to share what I had done early this morning when everybody was asleep, but I realised if I didn't want to be hurt it was best to keep most good things to oneself. Maybe you can only share your secrets with a certain someone who does similar things. I cracked the hard-boiled egg with a teaspoon, feeling a little tired yet excitement of my discovery blew away all the weariness.

PRESENT (IS) TENSE

I'm in a bit of a pickle at the moment; in fact I'm in deep shit, literally. You see I've been transmuted into a dog turd. Now this was my own decision, I've always wanted to know what it was like to be a piece of shit and now I know. The problem is that I have been patiently waiting to be turned back to my original form. It was only meant to take fifteen minutes at the most and it definitely feels as though I have been in this form for hours. Something strange is happening; not just the predicament of being a piece of dog shit but not having the ability to see or hear causes unrest. So I have no way of knowing what is happening, can't see a bloody thing and my sense of smell is of course no longer with me. Yet there are plenty of images buzzing around in what I suppose is my consciousness, but how? I have no head to contain a brain, are the chemical compounds which previously existed in my head now a part of the turd I inhabit?

BEING AND NOTHINGNESS

Darnley was the first to wake up, we found him downstairs in the vid-room watching one of his limited edition, bombast, Snuff genre movies. In the early eighties, before the turn of this century when video players plagued the market and everyone possessed one of these items which gave people choice of what to watch for the first time. Video shops started to open up like a virus all over the country and regulation on what material was seen by the public at that time was pretty slack. Public demand grew for certain types of films such as 'I Spit On Your Grave' and numerous cannibal features. A Snuff movie usually does not contain actor's just people who play out roles and many individuals were raped, maimed and violently killed specially for the film supposedly.

Sarah immediately switches the video player off, Darnley does not protest, not wanting to enter into an ethical debate or an argument to the extent of last nights intense scenario. She mentions to us all that she is interested to know what it would be like to be transformed into a male body, which shocked us all. This was not the usual type of request you would receive from a woman who has done more than just dabble with feminism, and when she asked to be placed inside Darnley and experience him masturbating I realised that logic had suddenly gone on a vacation. It's obvious that we are all changing and our identities have gone through some kind of shift and last night was the turning point.

Darnley of course agrees and places his naked self into one of the via-port system's pods. Sarah takes her clothes off also and places herself into the other one. David and I get straight to work tapping out codes on the computer's keyboards. Darnley asks us to film the occasion for his video collection as well as research. The disappearance of Sarah takes place, the non-visible entering into Darnley happens. I switch on the handheld video recorder ready to film.

"I'm going to watch a really sexy film", says Darnley leaving the pod and making his way back to the vid-room. I focus the video recorder's lens onto the sex film first; it showed a man tied to a bed, spread eagle as two women alternately sucked him off. For some reason Darnley didn't seem to be turned on by this, I am. "Wo, woman...." He shouts, "she's trying to stop me feeling sexy!" Shouts Darnley, sitting on the sofa. He tries to regain control by fondling his balls and caressing his cock. All of a sudden I notice how difference his appearance seems, it was as if a spirit had slightly changed his identity. Time passes as we watch out for anything significant to occur. Darnley begins to show signs of sexual feeling harbouring an erection. The scene of the women rampantly sucking and fucking the guy on the film helps Darnley to finally cum.

BEING AND NOTHINGNESS 2

My suspicions of Darnley Hobbs do not come from a clear and objective position but his actions of duplicating not just our last test but also all the others as well, has given me cause for distrust. He is always on the phone to so many different people and he has never revealed who any of them are, except that they are all from his various lovers, he is by nature polygamous so it does not seem to be out of character. A perfect cover, there is something wrong but what is it?

The next morning I sit by the open window in the kitchen with the wind whistling through. It is early, six thirty a.m. I look at the nature outside, with the trees swaying and the grass just doing its thing, declaring the colour of green, and watch the clouds as they move fast across the skies. Nature and its uncompromising sense of just being seem at odds at this precise moment, with my fascination for computerized technology.

If nature is God, where does humanity fit into this spurious cycle? Are we really part of this thing that we call nature?

Right now I feel so separate, do we really belong to this world? Are we complimenting nature in any way? I doubt it. Maybe we are aliens lost in a place we don't feel at home in.
Humanity is attached to a living organism, named the World and Earth. It is a proven scientific fact that we are made up of the same compounds materially. Yet it seems that our supposed, learned enlightenment does separate us from the existence of objects and creatures on the planet, which we currently inhabit. We Homo Sapiens possess will, fantasies, desire, goals, aims and directives. We build things, invent things, we write and create Art. There is definitely a separation from what we traditionally know as nature and it is immense, our actions and even just physically existing does seem to create friction and conflict with nature itself.

We have the power as a race to change fate, incidences and control the environments that we live in. The possession of will separates us from all other forms of matter. The will to impose, this so-called freedom of will is such a weight. It seems so contrary to my emotion, sympathy and respect for nature and all its fundamental sense of just being.

It seems the more I have done in this life, the more I have got bored with it. With all my energies directed, trying to form or fight my own little piece of space out, for some kind of freedom through will. It seems that if there is such a thing as freedom - it lies within the realms of having no conscience, no emotion, and no thought.

Morning after

My eyes water slightly with a wry smile caught within the crux of thinking, looking at the nature outside with me inside sitting here. I pour some milk into a bowl of cereal. Sarah enters the room seating herself opposite me, grabbing a bowl for herself, "I'm worried" she says. 'So am I", I answer, with a mouth full of cereal. "It's too big", She says, "I know" I answer, still munching.

A silence overwhelms the both of us as we continue to nourish ourselves to start the day. Over a cup of coffee we both quietly contemplate, caught in a feeling of mutual anxiety. "I think I need to go for a walk," I say, lifting myself out of the chair, placing the empty bowl and cup into the sink.

Leaving the room I pass Darnley as he enters, he gives a seemingly generous smile. I return the gesture with a composed grin. Darnley sits at the table. "Is Robert OK?", he asks whilst pouring black coffee into a mug, "Yeah, he just needs a little air", Sarah helps herself to another cup of coffee.

"What about yesterday then?"

"What about it Darnley?"

"Didn't you find it a sensational experience, feeling another person's sexuality?"

"No doubt about it, it was pretty informative"

"Informative? It was mega-sensational"

Sarah listens and smiles to herself, wondering whether the context of his personal excitement was directed by sensation alone.

"I couldn't sleep last night," Sarah mumbles.

'That good huh?" Answers Darnley with an ironic giggle. Sarah declines from commenting, not wanting to get caught up in Darnley's suggestive entice.

" No nor could I" he says, feeling the offishness of the woman seated opposite him.

"Sarah?"

"Mm?" she answers while slurping coffee.

"We've really got something here, this is going to be one of the greatest advancements in history. I can just see our fellow post humanist's jaws drop a mile through the floor when our findings are finally declared ... and they've all been fiddling about with plastic surgery and those old fashioned smart drugs so far, and we've just blown all that primitive delusionary stuff sky high. Blown it all away..."

"Yes it does seem so" Sarah answers dryly.

"Hey chick, what's got yer goat? We should all be celebrating, dancing on the rooftops and having a good old piss-up" he squeals.

"I just need a bit of time to adjust and define the consequences of what we have created."

"Consequences?" Darnley shouts in a high pitched voice.

"Yes, consequences" Sarah answers in a flat tone.

"Hey pardon my French... But fuck the consequences," Darnley leaps out of his chair and stands in the middle of the kitchen, clutching his coffee, "let the rest of the world deal with that, if we worried about the consequences all the time we'd get nothing done, you know that." He reclaims his seat.

Sarah lifts herself out of her chair, "Darnley...we don't deserve what we have found." "Of course we deserve it, we didn't just merely find it we invented it." "For someone who is laterally physical your thinking is surprisingly singular and lacking in depth when it comes to asking questions beyond the surface of things - that does not help us one bit," yells Sarah, now feeling desperately agitated. "Don't start getting all high and mighty with me, snotty miz Stein,"

"Well it seems that it is time for a few home truths and I'm going have to tell you that I believe you are jeopardizing the project. You seem more interested in what your dick is up to than anything else, can't you just mellow it down until we've finished?" Darnley suddenly feels his head hotting up, "Chuffed I'm sure, thanks for the encouragement. I tell yer what, why don't you just grab a knife out of the draw and stab me in the back - yer bitch!" A moment's silence is shared between them as they both realise that they have gone beyond the point of return. "OK then, at least I know where we both stand, at arms length," Darnley says. "Good, we agree on something then". Retorts Sarah, sitting herself back onto the chair.

Darnley rests the weight of his torso onto the table's surface, clamping his hands tightly together in a praying gesture. "It doesn't have to be like this, you've always acted weird towards me, why? What's you're beef against me?" He asks, knowing that he's going to get an answer, which will not be to his liking. "It is plain and simple, I just do not trust you Darnley." She answers.

An air of awkwardness fills the room; David enters noticing tension in the atmosphere. He boils the kettle and makes himself a pot of herbal tea. "I reckon you've both been hitting the coffee to much," he pours himself a cup of the Rosemary liquid. Sarah stands up, "you're right, I need to have a bath," and leaves the room. Darnley shrugs his shoulders at David, supporting a bewildered smile.

THE DEAL


I sit on a park bench watching people pass by and everyone seems so content. Bodies weave and wander about the park with their dogs and some others do as I do, read their morning newspapers.

How many hidden secrets are there lurking in this park? What type and variety of individuals pace around here? I do not know what kind of fetish or desire anyone has in this place, yet everyone I see obviously has something which is either a secret or a practice which is hidden well away from the prying world. It always astounds me that there are billions of people on this planet and most of them possess a unique passion. I am in possession of a shoebox and to continue the experiment, I have to find a fresh dog turd.

Sarah immerses her self into the bath, feeling more relaxed. She plays with the idea of what it might be like to transmute her body into water. Would her consciousness be diluted and dissolved by the volume of this splashy, h20 substance? Sarah submerges her head under the water, leaving her eyes open, looking up at the ceiling and then she slowly closes her eyes. So far we know that that if one is to be materialized back into human, solid - form, that we can regain our material self and our consciousness. Yet if one was transmuted into the form of water. What then?

Her mind shifts to Darnley, perhaps he's an agent, and his motives do not seem to be on par with the rest of the group's ambitions. I don't trust him; he must be a plant. What if he's from central office? Although so far we have no real basis to think that he is, we've had no actual interference from external forces.

Her body lays still under the bath water except for her knees which are bending, sticking out. Sarah giggles remembering an MI5 incident at a large communist function which one her University friend's, did attend a few years ago. There was an accusation buzzing around that those Central Office bugger's, had impregnated the lavatory paper with an itching substance. What if Darnley was recruited at the Uni, by MI5? I've known him for some time now and he certainly gives off the sense that he has no morality. As far as I recall he has never mentioned allegiance to the four of us. There must be some way of finding out whether he is a sleeper planted by Central Office. Sarah slowly lifts one of her legs up higher and sponges from foot to thigh, shifting her thoughts back to the possibilities of becoming water.

After searching the park for a while I find what I consider to be a fine specimen of a dog turd. I carefully place it in the shoe box, which is lined with polythene to keep it intact and moist. I situate my body under a tree and then look upwards, through the mass of leaves blowing in the wind. In my mind's eye, I compare the meandering branches and twigs to the structure of the homo-sapien's brain.

Sarah steps out of the bath and pans the top half of her torso in the mirror. Through the steam in the room she can just see the ghostly outline of her reflection. Her finger inscribes an outline of herself onto the mirror's surface. Condensation drips down and it looks as though she is melting.

Memories come flooding back to a time when she was a young child, walking in a fog in the streets of London. It was winter and she was on her way home from school. Her feet trod on a thick, condensed and slippery snow. She could hardly make out where to go, it was early evening in November and it was dark, the fog was getting thicker by the second. As people wandered to and fro, bumping and slipping into each other, looking like discordant shadows. Vehicles slowly chugged along, releasing gaseous, warm fumes out of exhausts. Lights from the vehicles, buildings and lampposts, shimmered, shrouded by the blanket haze of freezing fog. When the child stopped walking in the midst of home time chaos and held her hand out...it disappeared.

At first she was scared as images of decapitation and thoughts of parts of her body vanishing began to play on her imagination. Then as she looked around at all the people everywhere and all the hustle and bustle, she smiled and an overwhelming feeling of comfort began to reign. It felt heavenly and it made her feel special, a revelation had come from nowhere and changed this thirteen-year old girl's life.

It was time to move on having discovered that she was different than the mass of souls around her. Each step had to be measured or she would fall over, her legs finally guided her to a bus stop where there were many people standing and shivering. A bus pulled upside along the curb and the waiting crowd, including Sarah ascended the large red vehicle. Once seated, she made patterns in the condensation of the window's surface. It dripped and shook to the rhythm of the bus. Sarah could just make out her reflection, along with the outside world. When looking at herself and the world in the window, they fused together and became one.

I am happily gazing at the trees in the park when suddenly; a finger tentatively taps my shoulder from behind. I turn round, "got any fags mate?" My eyes scan a man in front of me, head to toe and then I answer, "nah sorry, I've left all my boyfriends at home," noticing that he's a tramp, weather worn and one of his trouser legs is shredded, as though an animal has ripped it. "Ah, very funny young man, left yer fags at home I geddit", says the vagrant, "nothing like a good old fashioned joke, I'll have to remember that one," he answers. The vagrant executes a courteous grin, " so have yer got any fags, cigarettes?" "Err yes, I think do have some," I continue looking at the trees gazing straight through him, instantly forgetting the question. "Let's av one then," he grunts determined. "Oh yeah, sorry," my hand dips into a pocket. I pull out a packet and then hand them over to him. "Here have them all, I should have given them up by now anyway, I've been keeping these for emergencies," "Perfect! How timely fate is, this is an emergency." The tramp receives the packet graciously. "Got a light mate?" He then asks. "Oh, of course, have the lighter as well I won't be needing it," I hand him the lighter.

He lit himself a cigarette as I stood my ground trying to reclaim the state of mind that I was in before. The vagrant also stood his ground puffing away. "So you don't need them then!" He asks. "Pardon," I answer. "You won't needing the lighter then sir?" He asks again. "Yeah, I said that it's yours now you can keep it," "just checking. Don't want to be
Wandering about with stolen property. Police do not take kindly to nomads around here, they don't need much of an excuse you know!"

I nod my head agreeably and decide to leave him standing there, not interested in having any more of my time taken away. Clutching my shoe box I make my way to a bench at the far side of the park and then sit down. I look up straight-ahead, noticing that the vagrant is walking towards me. My mind invents at an instant many different scenarios, excuses on how to escape him. Too late, He stands above me, stares for a few seconds as though he his measuring me up, it's almost as if he knows me.

He plonks his bottom on the bench and sits next to me, shuffling his buttocks until he feels comfortable. He inhales a long draw from his cigarette, we both sit next to each other not communicating for a minute or so, then "so what's in yer box?" He asks. "Nothing," I answer, feeling perturbed. He smiles, "really, nothing eh? I see sir. I suppose I should be minding my own business shouldn't I?" "You could put it that way. Look, I've nothing against you but I have come to this park because I want to be alone. Surely you must understand that!" I answer. "Don't get me wrong, I am not here to hassle you," the tramp answers in a sincere almost, fatherly tone. "I just wanna do a deal with you, that's all," he shuffles his buttocks again, rubbing his hands in unison with the bum-scrape, it was if he was preparing for the deal of the century.

I immediately get up, "sorry...I've got to be off now," and walk away. The tramp swiftly follows, "wait! You haven't heard my deal yet," he shouts, puffing and wheezing. He catches up and tries to maintain my speed of walking, he is now beside me. "I am very busy man and I have things that need tending to, you are stopping me from getting on with my business, so piss off!" I bark, now looking out for a policeman in the park. "I can see that you are a man with responsibilities, a great weight on yer shoulders even sir, " blurts the tramp whilst trying to catch his breath and walk at the same time.

We are both getting closer to the exit of the park and it does not seem that the ragged guy is going to leave me alone unless I do something drastic. How can I get rid of this man? Should I just push him over and then run away? No, mustn't draw attention to myself, think of the project, if I was seen assaulting this guy it could get complicated. It's no use. I've got to listen to him, and then I can carry on with my work.

I stop walking so fast and the vagrant walks past me. Unable to slow down his body, he suddenly slips and then lands with a thump on his back, "fuck!" He screams, I give him a helping hand and lift him up. "I'm getting too old for this business," he moans "what business?" I ask. "This nomad lark, the business of being a Nomad." He brushes himself down. I look at his long beard wondering how many years it must have taken for him to grow it? "Yeah you've told me," I sharply answer. "No, you don't understand, I've been around the world. Witnessed many events that everyday people just see on television. I document all things that are of importance, I've got loads of written stuff stored and ready for printing." "Ok, so what sort of deal do you want to do with me?" I ask impatiently. "Well, it's got nothing to do with my documentation of the world," he answers sheepishly. "I thought not".

He then coughs and clears his throat, spitting out a greenish, grey blob of phlegm onto the grass "my health isn't what it used to be guv..." I nod in agreement. He pauses and then says, "in fact, I do have a confession to make." "What's that?" I ask, not interested yet giving him the impression that I am. The vagrant pulls out a handkerchief and blows his nose, honking loudly. "I call it my Honkerchief" he laughs, regaining a sense of composure. "Earlier today, this morning when there was hardly anyone about I saw you placing a dog turd into that box of yours." "Yeah so what!" I exclaim, feeling slightly suspicious. "Well mister..." he taps the side of his nose with his long index finger, as if he was about to declare something of official secrecy "ok, this is the deal." The vagrant teasingly unbuttons his long, khaki coloured trench coat, revealing what was inside.

"You see, I am a collector sir." Inside his coat hang various plastic bags consisting of different sizes, each of them filled with dog shit. I dumb-founded, could do nothing but ogle at the assortment of turds stored inside his large overcoat. "I can see that you are a man after my own heart sir," he says, whilst smugly browsing at his own collection. He raises his arm, gesturing towards my box. "May I?" He asks, gently tugging at the shoe box. For a brief moment I hesitate then decide to let him have a look. He lifts the lid off carefully, "beautiful..." he says, sniffing the aroma. "You've kept it very fresh," he says. I nod, feeling self - conscious standing out in the open, in the park and talking to a tramp about a piece of shit. "What yer gonna do with it?" The vagrant asks. "I'm a kind of collector myself," I answer. "We are a rare breed you and I," he hands back the box leaving the lid off.

The stranger coughs again, "ok, I'm prepared to do a deal for that one if you are interested sir!" Pronouncing in a serious business - like voice. "Actually, this one's fine," I answer. "Ah, but you haven't checked the wares yet, go on, have a proper look first. Then say what you will after you have seen the goods on offer," says the tramp. He stretches his coat wide open like a bat, displaying all the different bags for me to see. I notice one green, see through plastic bag harbouring a large turd inside.

I place my shoe box on the grass and gesture towards the chosen bag. He gently lifts the bag out for me and places it into my hands. "Now this is an excellent choice sir, from one of the finest of all dogs that one. I got it early this morning, notice how fresh it is?" I agree and hold it delicately in both of my hands. I can feel the wetness of the shit even though it is contained in plastic.

"Great Dane that is, pure Great Dane" he says. "Ok what's the deal?" I ask. He scratches at his rough beard, "well, let's have another look at your turd," I pass him the box. He pauses comparing and measuring the weight of each of the items. "Your doggy dropping sure is cute and refined sir, but next to mine it loses something, don't you think?" Utters the vagrant. "Well, it ain't that bad." I answer, now enjoying the moment. All I'm saying sir, is that it don't seem right to have just a straight swap, it just ain't ethical." "What do you mean?" I ask. "Well, the Great Dane's turd does have a touch of class, and even though your little beauty has presence as well as composure and isn't dried up like an out of date prune, it still lacks the quality of this one sir." He holds the favoured shit up in the air at arms-length, as if it was a trophy. "Look at the glisten on that, the sun shines on it so well, sign of a good shit that is." I couldn't stand the banter anymore "Ok, what sort of deal then?" He pauses once more and then utters his price "Your turd without the box and one, crisp ten pound note as a swap for this high-grade, turd on offer. Take it or leave it." "It's a deal!" I answer, feeling excited. We shook hands, swapped goods and I gave him the cash.

I put my newly claimed Turd in the shoe box; he places his new article inside his large overcoat and hangs it in a fresh plastic bag, on a piece of string. We shake hands again and then depart, walking off in opposite directions.

Wandering back, I check inside the box to see if it is still there. It sure is and it looks wonderful. I gently caress the turd, feeling it's soft yet firm form, imagining myself inside it, a part of it. Suddenly I feel a drop of rain find its way down the back of my neck, so I shut the box and place it under my arm. A sense of elation overcomes me, and warm energy stirs in my stomach, making me feel lightheaded.

I halt outside the front door, standing on the steps, harbouring the emotion. I turn the key and step inside immediately bumping into a fraught Sarah. It is obvious to me that she has been waiting for me, judging by her uneasy, awkward expression and the dense heavy atmosphere in contrast to the feeling I have just been enjoying. She grabs my arm and leads me back out down the steps, the street and across the road to a bench next to a grass verge.

We both sit down, "what's going on Sarah?" I ask. "It's Darnley, call it women's intuition, call it anything you want but I have a very strong fear concerning the failure of this project and I believe that Darnley is on a collision course to balls it all up for us." "What do you mean?" "Com'n Robert, you know what he's been like since starting this project." She shouts nervously. " He hasn't done anything though" I answer, knowing that I don't trust him myself but thinking that one should try and maintain a balanced opinion. "I'm sorry but that's the way I feel about it and I want to do something about it, right now." Sarah Yell's. "So what do you want to do?" I ask. "Get rid of him," she answers. "Get rid of him!" "Yes..."

A silence sits amongst us as the idea gradually settles. "Got any cigarettes?" Sarah asks. "No sorry, I gave them away to a tramp earlier on," "oh, what's in the shoe box?" Asks Sarah. "A pretty dudey dog turd, Great Dane in fact. I did a deal with the tramp who I gave my cigarettes to in the park. This is the item I am going to transmute into". I answer. "I think that we should move all our equipment, lock stock and barrel." Says Sarah, whilst having a look at the new dog turd in the shoe box." Is all this action really necessary?" I ask. "If we tell him and he is a plant, he'll inform Central Office, so I think we should just vanish." "This isn't a big mistake is it?" I ask knowing that Sarah was determined to cut off the offending hand at whatever cost. "The project is the only reason that we have all got together, we have spent a long time getting it going and we do not want it to disappear out of our reach due to one individual's carelessness."

I look up into the skies noticing dark clouds above and a drop of rain hits my forehead. "Ok," I say, "this is the plan then, I propose that the four of us take a few days off, away from the project so we can recuperate. As far as Darnley's concerned he can go and play while the three off us take everything to my brother's house in Hampstead. He has a large basement where we can continue our work. He's away for six months and I've got the keys, I've been popping in there once a week to water his plants." "Let's get started then." Sarah bellows enthusiastically.

PRESENT (IS) TENSE

I've had two lovers, as in people who I felt were my soul mates. Melanie was my first main love. Ah Melanie, what a woman. Life always felt adventurous, fearless and liberated whenever I was with her. We used to go climbing and camping together all the time, it could be either summer or winter. We were so into each other that the weather didn't seem to bother us at all. Although we had plenty of fruitful, mind-blowing adventures, there is one special moment that I will never forget. And it is an image, a memory that remains with me till this day. Nothing was more pleasurable than watching Melanie crouching amongst nature's growth, shitting.

I can still see her short-skirt pulled up around her thin waist and her knees, shiny and sticking upwards. Usually when she went to toilet in the woods or by a river I would've glanced away, but not this time. Oh the sensuality of that moment when the brownish, head of her turd poked out of her bottom, it was as if it was checking to see if it was safe to leave. The smelly, doughy substance slipped out of her beautiful, round, peach shaped asshole, onto the grass.

It is exactly those kind of moments in life that encourages me to get up in the morning, it's got everything to do with sensation but nothing to do with sensational. It's purely spiritual, not like a religion or a contained doctrine handed down by institutional monkeys all chasing the same banana. It's about a sense of being, a sense of place and has everything to do with nothing plus everything at the same time. I am tired of pretending to be something else, trying to be someone else. As I have grown older, discovering the tricks of the trade, I ahve learnt more about surviving and keeping my real identity separate from others who would not normally understand my personal realness. I have had to become a spy in a world that as a matter of course denies real sensuality, unless it is sold as a product. I have redesigned myself, adapted and mutated to my given surroundings yet I have remained true to my dreams.

When I was at Leeds University I managed to hold down a part-time job working as a project worker for a homeless organization. In those dark, gloomy days just before the turn the millennium, housing and keeping vagabonds off the street was big business. There were plenty of dodgy schemes created by the government, giving unscrupulous companies posing as charities, large sums of money. I worked at one of the new sections of the charity that dealt with the more extreme cases of homelessness. I suppose it was like an asylum but with amenities like television, which was left on 24 hours a day. Food was regular so everyone got fed if they wanted to eat and over half the residents were either junkies or alcoholics. There were also certain individuals within the Hostel who were deemed psychotic or too much to handle. They were kept apart from the rest of the residents in what were called 'unofficially isolation wards', disguised as flats.

There was one resident there who caught my imagination, in fact I fell in love with him, and his name was Harry. No one knew what to do with him, one minute he would be calm, relaxed, intelligent, quick witted, and then for no apparent reason his temper would explode. This of course put everyone on edge and there was no telling what he would get up to. I had a good relationship with him and he never once flipped out on me. The main reason that he was put in the isolation ward was because he kept on shitting everywhere and it happened at regular intervals, about five times a day. You'd find a human turd left in a hallway, on a chair, on the pool table, in a cup of tea. He was definitely an unusual person yet he had something in him that made me warm to him. It was his passion for Art and literature that grabbed me.

Sometimes we had conversations about how language alienates, and how he felt that the words we all use seem to cause unrest and dysfunction in the mind. He used to say that whenever he used the word 'love', he didn't feel that it carried much weight, it never explained or described how he really felt inside. He believed that language was a masculine weapon. He wasn't a very tall guy, about five foot seven or eight, with short, black curly hair. He was very thin; probably due to the abundant amount of shits that he did each day. His skin was quite dark, a bit like mine in fact. I am a little stockier in build, I am now anyway. He also had a slightly turned up nose like that young guy in 'Puff'n Stuff', a children's program I used to watch when I was a kid.

I had to clean out his small flat in the isolation ward every day, because I was the only one he would talk to, and also because I didn't mind the smell of shit. About a month before he left the Hostel he started smearing his excreta on the off-white, creamy walls and I was asked to clean up after him. They were not just smears though - it was Art. Sexual images would be plastered on all the walls and rooms. Like the magnificant cave drawings of Lauscoux, they were urgent, dynamic and direct. To me it was obvious what the drawings were and they sure were not going to get an Art's Council grant. The soul that had splattered these explicit orgiastic images everywhere had a desire beyond the four walls that they were encased in, beyond the limitations of a mere gallery.

He continued smearing images on the walls using his favourite medium at a daily rate, and I photographed them. After a while he was put under sedation, the Hostel by now had had enough of him. Soon after that he signed an agreement with management stating that he would not shit anywhere but in the appropriate, accepted places, if he did this he would be aloud back into the community. He soon calmed down and was open to being reeducated and assimilated back into the real world. This of course was a good move on his part; he was told that if he didn't comply with the agreement, he would end up in a psychiatric institution for the rest of his life. So he decided it was best to mutate himself into a new person, a decent citizen. Soon after his rehabilitation he was told he could leave, so he left leaving me his phone number and thanking me for the time and personal care that I had given him.

Now there's a problem here of unrequited love, I loved him and he didn't know, also he already had a boyfriend waiting for him outside. I didn't feel that it was right or ethical to interfere with his relationship. For a start I wasn't that sure if I was ready to sleep with a man, to be honest I prefer women, especially the one's with big juicy arses and pointy breasts, a bit like Sarah in fact. Yet there was definitely a deep affection that lingered for Harry and I thought about him all the time. I know my main reason for wanting to be with him was to share our experiences concerning excreta, so I wasn't sure at this time whether it was a flight of fancy or real love.

It took about three weeks before I could muscle up the courage to phone him asking if he was into the idea of meeting and having lunch one day. He said he was glad that I called, mentioning that he wanted to discuss some matters about his present situation anyway. We met in a posh restaurant. It was all part of him upgrading his personality. It was expensive but after the food we were happy to pile into a few bottles of wine together and have a good chat.

"Robert, I have a problem with my boyfriend, I know that you are no longer on duty but I do know that you've got a good listening ear", says Harry.

"Try me", I answer, accidentally touching his knee under the table. I could feel his vibrance, an electricity buzzed into my body. An erection rose in my trousers and I felt so self conscious, it felt as if he knew.

"Well, as you know I've changed, moved on and now I am interested in different things, I am not the same person. And sadly he is still the same old Martin, he has not progressed, he is very violent and not very intelligent. He hate's me going to Art exhibitions and gets jealous when other people contact me, especially if he does not know them," he sips at some more white wine.

"So you have grown out of him then?" I ask.

"Yes..." he answers, swallowing the last of the wine. I ordered some more.

"When we first met it was great, everything was so simple. He had a great body and was gentle with me at the same time, I found that quality in him very attractive. Whenever there was trouble he would stick up for me which was handy at times believe me, it ain't a safe world out there." I then asked him what he was going to do about it? He said that he had arranged for a hire-van to move all his own belongings tomorrow out of the flat that they had been sharing.

Harry told me about the bedsit he was going to move into which looked over a park that had a couple of duck ponds in it. It sounded great and I agreed with him that it was a good idea and that it was not worth wasting one's life, living with someone who one is no longer in love with, it was cruel to keep Martin in the dark. He should be told and they both could try and remain friends, the usual procedure for ending relationships. He explained that with Martin it was a bit of an all or nothing situation, and that he felt very nervous. After a few more drinks we left the restaurant and wandered the streets in the middle of a downpour. We both got soaked and I suggested that he could come round mine and dry up, he agreed and gave me an affectionate hug, giving me the sign that he was in some way happy to be with me.

We had made our way back to my flat and we both dried off and both wore dressing gowns. I told him why I was so keen on him and that I had a fetish also with excreta, just like him. I said that it was a well kept personal secret and that he should be a spy in this unsympathetic world, just like me. I showed him the photographs that I had taken of his work and suggested that he should try and get a studio and do some wild Art. He said that he was thinking on those lines already.

Later on that evening we had sex and enjoyed the playful experience of smothering each other in shit. It was then, and only then that I realised what real love was. We both abandoned ourselves in a consensual embrace, it was intimate and vulnerable. That night when caught in the flux of making love, I felt like I was flying, unanchored and free from all the usual everyday trappings and worries. Yes, it had arrived, I had found someone who truly understood who I was, and in return, I instinctively understood who he was. It was a meeting of two very old souls, and through the centuries, many years ago we had met and then departed, only to meet once again in the future, that's exactly what it felt like anyway. We sang various songs in bed like "Love me...love my shit". And laughed in between our barrage of nonsensensical songs, embracing each other repeatedly.

In the morning we both made the mutual decision for Harry to move into my home. So when I turned up after a day in the University, he would be in my flat waiting for me. I gave him a spare set of keys and my phone number just in case there was any delay or if he needed support. It was a scary decision to make but it seemed right and after all, we had fallen in love and nothing was going to get in the way of that...

PRESENT (IS) TENSE

I opened the door of my flat to find it wrecked, blood was splattered on the floor. It was at that moment that I knew that love had been stolen from me.

I stepped into the lounge finding Harry's body draped over the sofa like a blanket. It was obvious he was dead, flies buzzed around the room in a frenzy. The Flies clung onto the blood on his head as if they where little bees eating honey. A note was pinned to his bright, yellow shirt, covered in dried blood. It was plain and easy to read, it said, "Your next Cunt!" I phoned the police and gave them Martin's address. He was a well-known villain and they did not take long in apprehending him.

Darnley opens the door, and just before he turned the key he knew that something was up. Closing the door behind him he walks the length of the hallway towards the laboratory. He steps inside; everything has gone except his video recorder and tapes. He notices a crumpled piece of paper on the varnished, floor's surface. He doesn't want to pick it up but of course he does, it was a note written by Sarah, "oh Sarah, you didn't", he moans, then reads further. "You did, you stupid Bitch!"

His shouts are muffled by the traffic outside, the windows - are open. He steps toward one of the windows and watches aimlessly as people pass by. He stands by the window for about an hour wondering what to do. An old lady walks by with a poodle and stops to let her dog relieve itself on the pavement in front of his first floor flat. "Oi!" Darnley shouts, "get that bloody shit machine off my path or I'll shit on you..."

It took a few days to get all the equipment set up and back in working order. There was a new feeling of urgency shared between the three of us, a need to get right down to business. David being the most sensitive was still concerned about Darnley, worried that we may have acted on impulse rather than objectively. Sarah convinced him that there was really no such thing as objectivity and every decision comes from an emotional place. I agreed with her and reminded him that all our work originates from emotion. He said that this did not help at all.

My turn...

I undress, placing my fleshy, frame onto one of the via-port system's pods. The Great Dane Turd is positioned precisely and gently placed on the other pod by David. My nerves tingle, apprehension dominates causing unrest, my breathing starts to get out of control. "Calm yourself Rob, the rhythm of your breathing needs to be more natural", says David. "This is natural" I answer. "You know what he means", retorts Sarah, neatly folding my clothes and putting them on a table nearby. Whatever it is I don't care, be it a dream or desire, it is about happen. Any second now I will know what it is like to know and experience the unknowable.

I take slow deep breaths, almost fainting with expectation and worried that I might wake up and find out that it really is just a dream, but no, it is real and something is actually happening. The room gradually fades and as I stare into the void in front of me, it all changes and begins to resemble trillions of pixels, like a digitally computerize image. My body feels as if it harbour's no gravity, I am now weightless. Suddenly I cannot see or feel anything, this sensation is brief and now only a snippet of a memory. Maybe that's what it's like when one is dead I thought to myself. And then.... oh, this it then, here I am, a turd.

The two remaining scientists open the pod hosting the dog turd and Rob inside it. There it sits, not moving, no sign of life, just being. "How can we tell whether he is still alive", utters Sarah nervously. "We can't", answers David, "We will just have stick to the plan and bring him back as discussed in fifteen minutes." Sarah composes herself and then giggles, David does not notice. She thinks, I didn't expect it to walk around the room and ask for a Chinzano and Lemonade. David gently places the item in an incubation chamber not wanting it to loose its moisture. They both have a rest and share a herbal tea.

Suddenly a loud thump can be heard from upstairs at the front door. They both freeze with eyes locked, staring at each other in a fearsome trance like state. Stillness dominates the moment and all breathing stops, they listen out for any other noise. Paranoia swims in the thick, tense air and another knock sounds against the door. They both twitch as if an invisible, electric bolt has just entered into their bodies.

"What do we do?" Whispers Sarah.

"I don't know." Answers David also whispering. He then tiptoes up the basement stairs and peers round the door that leads into the hallway. He notices a shadowy, figure standing and waiting outside, through the mottled glass of the front door. David sneaks back down into the lab, brushing past Sarah, opens a cupboard door and pulls out a baseball bat. "I noticed this earlier," he whispers, "where's mine?" Sarah shouts. "Shhh... grab anything, we probably will not need to use weapons, it's just a precaution." He rubs his hand up and down the length of the varnished bat. Sarah finds a kitchen knife and grips it tightly. They pause, not knowing what to do next. David could feel and hear his heart racing, beating fast.

Two minutes pass as the clock on the wall ticks slowly, timing their fear. Sarah's stomach feels empty except for the butterflies, fluttering and Buzzing inside her. David creeps up the stairs again to snatch another glance at the front door. The figure who was there before was now gone. David let's out a sigh of relief and casually walks back down the stairs.

PRESENT (is) TENSE

"It's not working for some reason." David shouts whilst fiddling with various codes on the computer's keypad. "We've got to get him back, he's been in there for too long," moans a worried Sarah. "Wait, let me just check the extractor, it might not be fitted correctly." Says David, going through the motions. Sarah continues to tap codes on the computer. "Nothing is happening David, it's not registering our commands for some reason. Oh, Robert's going to be in trouble unless we get him out!" "Don't worry, we'll get him back. It may take time, if we can put him in there, we can get him out."

Suddenly footsteps can be heard at the top of the basement's stairs. "Someone's up there!" Sarah whispers nervously. "What the.." David rushes over to the bottom of the stairs with the baseball bat. Sarah continues to try and re-materialise Rob.
David stands poised looking up at a dark figure at the top of the dimly lit stairs. "Get out! You've got no right to be here, you better leave before we contact the police. Or would you like to sample this bat against your skull?" David shouts, not able to make out what the stranger looks like. "No, I'm not interested violence guv. I need to talk to you and it is a matter of urgency." Answers the mysterious figure. "Not interested, you shouldn't be here. How did you get in anyway?" David yells. "You'll be sorry." "Piss off!"

A dent appears in the wall at the bottom of the stairwell as David displays his strength, whacking it with the bat. "I suggest you take notice of what I have to say Mr Scientist." Murmurs the stranger keeping his distance. "How do you know me?" David yelps in anxiety. The mystery man cautiously walks down the stairs towards David, taking each step slowly. The identity of the man suddenly becomes clearer to David. "But you're a" "tramp yes I am. Yet despite my appearance I have information that you need." Sarah swiftly rushes across the room to David and grabs hold of the baseball bat. "Let him speak David, Rob told me about a tramp that he met in the park the other day. I believe this is the same person who gave him the dog turd, the one that Rob is currently in now." David lowers the bat and gestures for the vagabond to enter the lab. "Thank you madam, a bit of decorum can go a long way don't you think?" He claims a seat and looks around the lab noticing the pods and the turd in one of them and sips some water out of a see through bottle on the table.

"Ok tramp, what are you doing here?" David asks, waving the bat threateningly above the intruder's head. "Calm down David, let's hear what he's got to say without the act of violence, eh?" Shouts Sarah, grabbing the baseball bat again. "Ok Sarah." Answers David, she puts the weapon on the table. "So your friend Robert is trapped inside that turd over there?" He points at the pod harbouring Robert and the turd. "What of it?" Sneers David. "I know why this has happened." Says the vagabond guzzling more water. "Do you mind?" David takes the bottle of water out of the tramps hand. "So you know about our project do you?" He asks, picking up the baseball bat again. "Well yes, and I have to give you information which is of uttermost importance. You are gonna have to relax a bit so you are able to take it all in, because this is going to effect your futures, all the lives of the people present in this room, including Robert." The vagabond grabs the bottle of water and takes another sip.

"Tell us all." Sarah Asks. "Ok listen to everything I am about to say very carefully," Says the tramp whilst scratching at his beard. "All ears." Says David, clutching at the bat. "I was hired by them to..." "Hired by who?" Asks Sarah. "MI5" Answers the tramp sheepishly. "MI5!" Yells David. "Yes, MI5. They took me off the streets and bunged me on this kind of secret service educational course for a few weeks. It's a new government iniative to bring in new people who previously could not find work. This is my first assignment..." David interrupts "Christ...they know. They've found out about us," "Do you want me to finish, it will make things a lot easier for you?" "Yes," utters Sarah. "Ok, here goes. I was ordered to hand over a Great Dane Dog Turd to a certain individual, namely Rob. They knew that I was fond of excreta as well as Robert and that there was a good chance that he would possibly exchange turds because of this. Of course you are now all dealing with the consequence this transaction. At the time I was not informed why I had to do such a strange thing. It was not until I had finished my assignment that they felt able to tell me the purpose of my mission."

"So they put something in the turd?" David Asks. "Yes. Head office, MI5 created an anti - re-materialising agent that was injected into the turd hours before Robert claimed it." "Great! So Rob's a bloody prisoner of MI5 in a poxy dog turd." David yells, now swinging the baseball bat around the room wanting something to hit. "How did they know that Robert was going to leave the lab and walk in the park that morning?" "Asks Sarah. "You've been bugged for a long time apparently. They had your phone calls tapped; all your rooms were bugged. They knew about everything that was going on in there." Answers the tramp, placing the bottle onto the table after another gulp. "You are right, Rob is now a prisoner of MI5, or should I say, hostage?"

"No wait a minute, this is not real," Moans David walking around the room, clutching at the base ball bat as if it was a Linus blanket. "It's true, and there is no escape from it." Mutters the vagrant, scratching at this beard nervously, not wanting any sudden whacks on the head by the aggrieved scientist. "So why have you come here to tell us all this?" Asks Sarah. "Firstly, I want to say that I asked if I could come here to give you my context of what is happening. I actually do have an affinity with Robert and do regret what I did." "Save us the guilt trip man, you've just sent us all down for many years to come. You are as responsible as MI5 for causing us pain you bastard!" Yells David. "Also they said I could come here if I informed you of their demands." "This is getting better by the second..." moans David. "Keep your head David, I need you to be strong for me," Sarah utters, whilst stopping him pacing around the room. "Ok...sorry, it ain't easy watching your life's work going down the drain by the second," he answers in a whimpering tone. "I know that David, but you've got to remain bold not just for me, for Rob who needs us more than ever, do you hear me?" Whispers Sarah, hugging him. "Yes, I read you loud and clear. I'm here now, ready for anything ok?" He answers in a firm voice. "all right then, carry on with what you were saying." She says.

"In return for Robert being aloud by them to be turned back into human form. They want all the information relating to the project and they do emphasize, everything. All the equipment that you have made, designed, bought and stole etc. The discs with info of the project, the program and files, the whole lot in return for Rob."

David stands still, looking aimless and bewildered, he lets the bat drop onto the floor. A sudden pounding of feet from upstairs drowns the noise of the wooden implement hitting the floor. Deflated and confused the two of them can not think of how to take advantage of the situation. All is lost, thinks Sarah as she grabs her groin realizing that she still needs to urgently relieve herself. Their ears follow the sound of many feet as footsteps draw nearer; finally they enter the basement.

Two well dressed, stylish individuals arrive into the laboratory, a man and a woman with a crew of police officers behind them. The well - dressed guy exudes a pleasant smile and looks straight into the eyes of the perpetrators. "Ok gang, we'll call if you are needed." He says. The police comply and wander back up the stairs. "Thank you Mr Jones, your new identity is now appropriated as asked. You can go now, let us do the rest." The vagrant says "yes, ok" and leaves.

The female agent walks over to the table and pours herself a glass of water from the see through bottle. "Hello miss Sarah Stein, Mr David Little." She says. They both stand static, no response, they just stare at the intruders who have invaded their personal territory.

"No need to be so rude, we are about to take a big responsibility out of your hands." Says the female agent, sipping at the glass of water. "Wow thanks, how much do we owe you for all your help?" Answers David, placing his foot onto the bat as it lies on the ground. "We are here for you own good." Says the male agent. "You'll be sending us Christmas presents next!" David retorts, laughing out loud.

David walks over to the woman as she picks up the bottle and then snatches it from her. She grabs it back. "Whether you want to hear or not, we are about to disclose verbally our new official policy to the both of you. We are bound by law to explain our actions to selected perpetrators and you do come under that remit. We are not interested in what you think or feel about it, this is the way it has to be." Says the female agent as she takes a swig of water out of the bottle, pausing for breath.

"Our organizations primary objective is to keep order and maintain a balance which can be relied upon concerning the safety of our beloved country, and elsewhere if need be. We are perceived as meddlers and as an 'antihuman rights organization'. We instill fear into our enemies' consciousness, via a reputation of tough action on illegal groups who are in themselves questionable. Now for example our actions and reasons for being part of an outfit such as MI5 is in fact partly idealistic and philosophical." "Christ she's idealistic." Sneers David. "No more interruptions please or you will find that there will be more than polite verbalization to deal with." Retorts The female agent.

"I know you are both scoffing at me, believing in your own limited and naive way that only you possess the franchise in owning purpose and direction in the future of our world. There is a truth you should know and acknowledge, you are not the only ones who can change the world and in fact you are not the right ones." She gulps down some more water, almost finishing the bottle.

"You have no right to come in here and preach all that pseudo, mind-fuck junk on us. Leave us be. Let us continue on with our project." David moans, with his foot standing on the base ball bat once again, ready for action. The male agent points a gun at David's head, "License to kill, haven't you heard." The male agent picks the bat up and throws it to the other side of the room. "You are jeopardizing the world's future and for some unfathomable reason you don't think that we've go a right? Put it all in perspective little man, it's our responsibility to clear up all the mess that guy's like you create, and just in case you are wondering, I'm the one who sorts out the tougher cases. So don't start getting any clever ideas; it doesn't work."

David looks at the gun in the male agent's hand and backs off slightly. "So shut up so I can get all this stuff out the way." Says the female agent. Sarah feels that her bladder is about to burst. "I need to go to the toilet." She yells. "No, sorry." Answers the female agent with a sadistic grin. "I only want to go to the toilet." Sarah squirms, trying not to piss her self. "Not interested, you are gonna have to wait. Shut up or we will take the measures to quieten your annoying squeals." Sarah does not respond realizing that her situation is hopeless.

"Think of this incident, us meeting here with you as a call of nature. All of us from the MI5 collective are servers of nature; we all play a major role concerning this earth's cyclical, historical and inter-genetic process of natural selection." She drinks up the last of the water, "hmm, that's better." She places the empty container on the table. "Yes, natural selection," she sensually licks at her red lips. The male agent notices and smiles. Sarah begins to hug herself to keep warm, feeling a chill.

"We are nature's pruners, doing our best to keep a sense of order on this ever pulsating, changing world. It is not easy, but someone's got to stop humanity from destroying itself and you are a part of that big problem. Imagine everyone as cells, blood cells, everyone in this room and the whole world." Says the female agent. David and Sarah are silent, listening, trying to imagine how the hell they both got themselves into this nightmarish predicament.

"Think of all of us as blood cells fighting for space and territory. Think of all the conflicts that have taken place through history and time. In a sense, it is normative for cells to fight each other, but if one cell becomes too dominant, too powerful and causes instability in the process. Then it is a threat to the global community or cell community as a whole, when this happens it has to be eliminated. Of course our intensive overall policing of incidents such as this, prevents unfortunate events as I have described from growing out of control." The female agent stops talking and sits on the chair.

David places his hand over his face, fingers pressing against his cheeks. "Excuse me for not bothering to clap, I'm sure your policy with us so called perpetrators and labeling all of us as bad cells gives you a feeling of guiltless justification. If you actually think that I'm going to take your diatribe seriously, the world is in trouble and it's not us who are the dangerous one's, it's people like you." David laughs. "As you wish. You are in a traumatic state and it is usual for perpetrators not to be able to comprehend the information given during the experience of the first discourse." Says the female agent. "First?" David yells. "The first of many Mr Little." Says the man agent. "I presume that you have been briefed in regard to Robert, your friend and our demands?" She says. "Yes." David and Sarah both answer. "Well, we are awaiting your decision, be swift or we will have to make your minds up for you." Says the female agent.

David turns towards Sarah and places his hand gently on her shoulder. Her head tilts and rests affectionately on his forehand. "Not much choice is there Sarah?" She does not answer; she merely sighs. To others watching her, the sigh could be interpreted as an expression of helplessness. They would be right, yet part of the sigh was a sense of relief, a secret feeling of letting go. At last the responsibility of the project and its future course has now been handed over to someone else. The mother and father of all institutions, the Secret Service has stepped into the playground where the children have been playing and has confiscated the ball.

"Sarah, what shall we do?" David asks in a rigid monotone voice. "Can I have my piss now?" She asks. "What!" David bellows, confused. "Yes." Says the female agent.

Sarah stands in the middle of the room and then spreads her legs. Everyone watches and waits, "Sarah, what are you up to?" "Let her be Mr Little." Says the male agent. Sarah begins to imagine that she is water. Her whole body begins to shudder, a warm feeling rushes all over her. She shuts her eyes, blocking everyone out of her vision and then starts to feel herself drifting. An image appears in her mind's eye, it is an ocean. It is large, larger than the planet. She can see her hands reaching out, drifting in front of her. They gradually vanish, become part of the other, part of the ocean. Her body relaxes and all the past and present tensions are now nothing but pressure pressing against her bladder. She can feel all the pressure build up, like a dam, which is about to burst. Wanting to savour the moment, she holds back as long as possible, not wanting to let her liquid free just yet. Suddenly, trickles of urine escape her knickers and meander down her legs like the beginnings of a river finding its way down the face of a mountain. In her head, images of the sea crash against rocks of a coastal shore, a waterfall gushing, cascading into a large river.

As far as Sarah is concerned there is no one else in the room and the Lab with all its contents, table and chairs have disappeared. Windows and walls do not exist now, only Sarah with her eyes closed in a momentary state of cataleptic, inner frenzy. In her mind her body is dissolving, disappearing and becoming water. Everybody else in the room watches the private spectacle as Sarah's piss splashes onto the concrete, grey painted floor. After a few minutes Sarah opens her eyes and reenters, slowly rubbing her urinated, wet thighs up and down. She then kneels down into the puddle of piss and looks at her reflection. Her knee suddenly jerks and disperses her reflection and her face then disappears. She curls up into a ball on the floor in a foetus position, immersed in her own urine.

David bends over and gently strokes her piss-ridden hair. "Have it all." He says. "Good, you will not regret your decision." Answers the female agent. "First we've got to go through certain procedures." Says the male agent, reaching into his briefcase pulling out some papers. "What procedures?" Asks David, standing up. "We have to take Robert back with us so to get him out of that turd." Says the male agent. "Ok." David answers. "We will change him back to his known human form and we will look after him during the tests, which are minimal." Says the female agent. "Here are some contracts that you both need to sign, handing over the ownership of your project to us." Says the male agent. Sarah stands up grabbing a pen from the male agent, signing everything without viewing the contents and David follows suit. The female agent radios through to the rest of the team on her mobile phone. Within minutes the Laboratory is cleared of all evidence related to the project, all the equipment and Robert are gone. The two technological vigilantes sit on thefloor huddling each other as the agents leave.

END GAME

Four years have gone by and Darnley sits in his D.I.Y laboratory in Glasgow. He has been carrying on with the project on his own and has been making breakthroughs. Before being left on his own by the rest of the group he made copies on disc and on videotapes of the experiments. Since that day he has heard nothing from any of the others. It has been three years since Sarah and David tied the matrimonial knot. They are both deeply involved in a new project funded by MI5 and the wages are good.

And Rob?

Today is an exciting day for Tommy. He and his school friends are visiting the London museum this afternoon. He sits at the breakfast table with his parents spreading his collection of newspaper clippings on the table. Gleefully admiring the photographs and articles about the museum's most recent purchase. Each of the family takes turns in looking at one main image, of a crusty looking dog turd in a glass case.
The Article reads, "the first real evidence of transmutation kindly given by The Head Office, London."

MI5 SECRET DOCUMENT 2018 (no.pt608)

REPORT UPDATE: 'Transmutation' by Officer Helen .A. Digby

The original information on how to transmute has been patented and successfully improved. On how to use such a discovery, we have not come to a final Decision. Although one suggestion from the M.O.D is being considered; there are productive ways that we can use this project as a weapon. We will be able to render our enemies helpless if we improve this possible weapon and use it to transmute threatening armies. We are also keen to explore the potential of another idea from The Head of New Scotland Yard, suggesting that we could transmute our more extreme criminals, terrorists, anti-government leaders, into small objects for easy storage and at a very low cost.

We are concerned with recent evidence of renegade groups who have been abusing Transmutation like a drug. This illegal activity must stop immediately before it takes to the streets of our country and threatens our already vulnerable and unstable culture. We have reason to believe that Darnley Hobbs, the missing member of the original Transmutation Group, has been uploading encrypted information onto the net for anyone to download, and there are thousands of sites with open access regarding detailed information on the project. So far we have only found 23 of these sites and have arrested the pepetrators. As yet, we have not been able to find Darnly Hobbs himself. We believe that he has fopund a way to transmute himself around the world inside other people's bodies, or even as an object. This has enabled him to get through customs without anyone knowing that he is there.

This of course implies that there are many possible security risks that need attending to. And currently we still have no way of detecting when one has been trasmutated into an object. Meaning that as I write on this computer, itself could be hosting an enemy. At the moment we have no immediate security threat but as the process of transmutation gets more popular, it is inevitable that it will fall into the wrong hands.

At the moment it is an underground activity, yet there has been some alarming stories secretly disclosed to us from the Constabulary. The problem is obviously global now and transmutation is apparently happening regularly. There are underground clubs and parties where youths frequent, exploring with the transmutation process. The name for such a gathering has been termed "Transforming Parties". There have been notable incidents (accidents) at these parties that New Scotland Yard has discovered through procedural raids.

One case refers to an alarming situation that happened last year. The individual concerned is unfortunately dead due to the mishap of transmuting himself into a rat, he then unwittingly ate rat poison and died as a rat. This invention must somehow be regulated and contained before it is too late. Of course there is the added worry of other Super Powers discovering and using the Transmutation process as a weapon to threaten the civilized world as we know it.

PRESENT (is) TENSE

The End

Anyone is welcome to copy this, print it out and redistribute it to a web site at will. But please do not alter the work at all - if you need to change anything let me know and we can have chat about it. If any film organizations, groups or any other affiliations wish to use this material please contact me first, it does have copyright procedures restricting its use. © Marc Garrett 1998. furtherfield.org Publications.