People often think prayer is a religious notion. But it isn’t.

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There are three definitions of prayer given by Google. The first definition is undoubtedly the way that the masses perceive prayer. Those who are religious might feel it is a sacred thing that they own. Those who are non-religious might feel it is a religious object toward which they want no connection. The third definition touches closer to the true heart of what prayer is: ‘An earnest hope or wish’.

The first definition is an alternation of the third definition. Both are the same, except that the first definition has tied the concept to a specific object. …


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Strangely, it wasn’t the first time Joe had been run over during his yoga class.

When I was a young lad, my chemistry teacher locked me in the cupboard. He did it because I was disrupting his plans to teach a chemistry class. The cupboard was full of pickled rats and other creatures. When he let me out, I told everyone that he had boiled his family into bags and locked them in a cupboard. That didn’t go down to well with him.

So, what does that have to do with having writer’s block? Well, the truth is, absolutely nothing. Sometimes you just need to start writing and see what comes out. Over the years, I read a few bits of material on writer’s block and how to unblock it as if it was a plumbing issue. For many years I tried to unblock the pipes. …


Arguing over belief systems is a dangerous, childish game. Some might say that it misses the entire point of the religious path. Instead, perhaps you could consider what your belief system is actually doing for you?

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Social media has opened endless debates about whose belief system is more real. It is easy to become inspired by something and then take it on as truth because it resonates with you. Some Christians believe in the bible so much that they go around preaching door-to-door. Buddhists can look down on others who question the concepts of karma and rebirth. Muslim men often dedicate their lives to the idea that they will be born in heaven surrounded by virgins. Some atheists assume that anyone believing in God is intellectually below them.

Everybody wants to prove that their faith is the correct one

Yet, whether any of these things are true or not is irrelevant. Even if you could verify that your God exists, or that science is the ultimate resource, you are still in pain and you are still going to die.


It was May 2016 when I got the call from an old Mate who I had not seen for a couple of years. We had been having some ‘time out’ from each other since the last day we saw one another had involved several ‘Brown Euros’ and an incident involving a hospital. Our ‘time out’ had stretched out to two years.

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Psilocybe Subaeruginosa

‘I’m staying out at my Dad’s cottage in Lorne…’ he told me.

He was living the dream in an old mud-brick cottage on the edge of the forest. Lorne was a three-hour drive from Melbourne down one of the most beautiful parts of Australia’s coastline — The Great Ocean Road.

‘…and Mate, there are mushies everywhere’.

The previous years mushroom season had been rather tame for me compared to usual. The heaviest it got was tripping my nut off at an exhibition in Federation Square, Melbourne. The gallery consisted of working mechanical machinery that was made solely from body parts. I checked afterwards that this was the actual subject of the show — it was. …


Even in the future, there are traffic jams

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‘The Old Squartilian cleared his throat and began - ‘As Quorntiti himself taught us, you are a biological sphere of matter, every part of which, rests on every other part. Through a form of neurosis, you become ignorant of the whole of which one is a part. You cannot be the part without being the whole. If you could be the part and not the whole, it would imply that the part would have to truly exist as a thing independent of everything else which it can’t because it leans on every other part for its existence. …


Some people just aren’t cut out for job interviews

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James was wearing an old camel-coloured tweed suit that Keith had lent him.“It’s fackin retro Mate innit? a vintage suit that is…” Keith had declared in his classic cockney accent. He sounded like he was on a market stall trying to pitch it to some fat tourist. Vintage it certainly was. Not vintage like a bottle of old wine though, it was more like vintage milk. Not only did it smell subtly of old man piss, but it was too clearly too small for him.

James did not own a suit of his own nor have the coin to find an alternative, so he found himself sitting in the waiting room of the corporate headquarters for ‘Blinking Bird’, a highly sought after PR company located in the posh part of town, wearing the world’s worst tweed suit. …


Is it possible to simulate death?

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Somebody put a lot of effort into the Italian interior of this place — their art now lost on fat diners stuffing pizza into their face holes. I regret being one of them. When you are dying, you appreciate things. In those last moments, you become your genuine self because there is nothing left that is worth the pretence.

I’ve never been bothered by death as such, but in typical British fashion, I always wanted to die without making a fuss.

There is this gorilla of a man with garlic breath trying to give me some fucked up version of the Heimlich manoeuvre. He is thrusting his mammoth, drunken frame into me as if it’s mating season at the zoo and he is knocking over people’s dinners in the process. I want to apologise to them, but I can’t because I am choking on mozzarella. I suppose this is my final piece of absurdist art — I call it ‘Death by Cheese’. …


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The whole darn thing started with a chicken skewer

It’s February 14th, 2018, and I am staring down at a plate of glistening chicken skewers in a Thai restaurant. I remember the date because it was Valentine’s day and I was dining with another single friend.

‘Chickengate’, as we have come to call the event, had been cooking for a while.

I have never been the kind of vegetarian that pretends that the smell of meat is disgusting. I walked past the same restaurant on my way home probably a hundred times. To me, it always smelt enticing.

One pleasant day as I cruised past the steak house and enjoyed my usual stealthy microbiological nose meal, a voice that sounded strangely like Alan Rickman came into in my…


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The red flag of communism has become a powerful marketing tool for capitalism

I have a friend who has a son. Nothing unusual there then.

The son is quite an intelligent being. In the last twelve months, he has started his first job working for a corporation in the CBD. Let’s call him Jerry. As we sat there one Friday evening, I was discussing the benefits of an automated society where universal basic income and AI would mean a life of leisure for everyone. Jerry piped up -

‘I think that everyone needs to contribute to society; I don’t think that people should be allowed to bum off the system.’

He followed it up with -

‘Capitalism has given us everything; the world has a much higher standard of living than it ever has. communism would undo all of the good work that capitalism has done.’


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During the 1960s and probably earlier, Indian Gurus started to flock to the West to spread their message.

Dressed in everyday, humble Indian clothing, they came to deliver a simple directive to our Western culture embroiled in complexity, greed and money.

It was a message of simplicity, intelligence and common sense.

Those Gurus in their loose kaftans, beads and sandals must have appeared quite exotic. However, they were not dressing in any special way by Indian cultural standards at all. In fact, their ordinary and straightforward outward dress and appearance was a big part of their message to us.

The correct response to this may have been to wear a t-shirt and jeans, or a leather jacket, or perhaps a suit. If they had thought deeply about it, the hippies maybe should have begun by wearing an outfit that displayed their commonality with the rest of society. …

About

Andy Morris

I live on a mountain with no-one but a golden eyed cat for company. I let whatever spews forth spew forth and sometimes I play the blues.

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