I have wondered of late if there might be an eighth continent, located in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The ocean seems too large and empty to fit nature's symmetry. If I had designed the Earth I would have put a continent there. I would not have left that empty space. And I am part of nature, I am an organic being, made of worms, and I am thus attuned to the mores and desires of the natural world.

You could argue, of course, that the Pacific Ocean is not 'empty space', because it's full of water, in which a wide and diverse fauna is born, grows up, has its first cigarette, learns to drive, gets married, experiences impotence and depression - not the glamorous, exciting kind of 'depression', but the real thing, the kind of depression which derives from the realisation that life really is rubbish, that it's not going to get better, and that you're in the last quarter of it - loses its spark, loses its confidence, dies alone in a home. As above, so below; the curve of life extends through the surface into the aquatic depths. We abandon, seek abandon, and are abandoned.

But the ocean world is another world. I am of the Earth Nature; men are soil-dwellers, we live on the crust. We make use of the worlds of air and water and space and energy but we are not their friends, and they not ours; the birds and fish are not on our side. The ocean was our womb, but we have left the womb; the air is just a waystation to our final destinations; the heart of stars, and eventual dissipation via black holes into the final energy state of all things. The birds block our beam to the heavens, they disturb our transmissions. It's not their fault, but they must perish. We do not eat them, or use their bodies for fuel; we will not miss them. Chickens and other foul may pretend to be on our side - they have given up flight, and the fight, andostriches are virtually mammals - but they will never be one with us. When the order to charge is made and the final bastion of human civilisation is under attack they will not be on our barricades, they will stand aside and let us die. There will be no mercy for them from either side; they are Russian prisoners of war at the end of WW2, the surviving rebel soldiers on the blockade runner at the beginning of 'Star Wars'. They were led off whilst the vessel was being searched, and it wasn't into captivity, it was to their deaths.

The Pacific Ocean is a waste. It should have a big continent in the middle of it. A new land to be found, explored and conquered, preferably one that does not have an existing animal population, only plants and organic matter, so as not to offend the sensibilities of human rights peddlers and vegetarian deviants. For all their veneration of the plant kingdom, nobody weeps when the machete slices into bark and leaf, and no-one cries when the bananas are peeled, or when nature is perverted to create the seedless orange. This hypocrisy makes me sick; if people love plants so much, why do they eat them? Surely it would make more sense for vegetarians to preserve plants, and eat animals instead! Why are people so full of unreason and unsight?

The new continent may already exist. It is my belief that it does, but that we are so trained to believe that there are only seven continents that we block it out, we prevent ourselves from seeing it. It's there, on the map, on the globe, vast and empty, but where there is land we just see water. It is our collective will to ignore this paradise, and to deny it. Ships do not travel through this section of the pacific; although the navigators believe that they do, they are in fact subconsciously plotting a course around the breakers. Aircraft do not pass over this area, because if they crash the game will be up, they detour, instead. The extra fuel required is not noted or commented on. I don't know why we do this to ourselves. Perhaps it's because we feel that we do not deserve heaven, part of our psychosis of self-hate. We need a topographic map of the Earth to touch, an elevation height-map so that the blind can Braille-read the new land and show us what we cannot perceive through our self-imposed veils, and thus the blind will be the true-seeing eyes of hand and we will find our way to the end of the world, the last new country, to build and make.

The blind, and those who can break through the force of mental will that keeps us truly blind, for the blind are merely those who cannot see, whilst the true blind are those who see, but deny what they see. The human world would be a more manageable place if each child's eyes were plucked out at birth; there would no more body fascism, no more neuroses. A race of desensitised children, armless, legless, immobile, their heads bound in black bandages, would be the paradise we seek in this new continent; the master race to which we might aspire, once we have removed our hang-ups about aspiration and perfection. There is perfection; it is good, we should not be ashamed.

I would like to be given control of the world, but of course control is not given, it is taken, and what control is there, if there is not the control to remove people's eyes? If that legislation cannot be pushed through the World Government, then there is no power. Each man is equal in a world without senses and without limbs. The course of human evolution will take us either to destruction, or limblessness. We need to make the final cut, take that final step, towards the removal of all responsibility and desire from the human mind and body, and neither Labour nor the Conservative Party seem willing to take note of my proposed policies, and believe me I have sent them many detailed letters and illustrations. This species is amusing itself to death.

How long has this willing unseeing persisted? Did we once discover the New Found Land - which I shall call 'Lemuria', for the Lemur - and, if so, where does it exist in our holy texts, our oral histories? Did Velikosky, Plato, with their artificial societies and interpreted pasts, how close were they? How close? To make oneself pregnant would be the ultimate form of self-worship, of self-love. One uterus dispenses eggs; the other sperm. One new baby every nine months, at least; by my calculation, assuming the onset of puberty - accelerated by a western high-fat, high-sugar, high-calorie diet - at the age of ten, and a lifespan of 77 years, each New Woman could produce 89 and a third children, the last being partially-developed at the moment of death; more food for the worms. One hundred women tethered in a factory for five years would produce 666.666 babies, enough for a Satanic army. This is the future of war - babies spinring out of the womb straight into battle. Or has Lemuria evaded us forever, which raises the possibility that the continent might well be inhabited already, and that the people living there do not want us to visit for fear that we will disturb their order? I would not want people to disturb my continent, if I had a continent - and there is still time, still time for that!


After viewing a programme on Adam Ant last night I got to talking with a workmate, who described him as a 'failed punk'. My reply was that all punks failed, in the long run. There was no answer to that, and nor can there be.