Book excerpt from A Journey into the Unknown.


Mare Street, London, birth place of The Bastard. The eye opener, trough of all peaks that is assuming there were any real peaks before he relocated. The perfect hide out for such a stand out professional, harboring some of the street’s finest; this would become his breeding ground. Everyday, a new lesson would be learned while creeping through the back streets of the back streets late at night amongst the filthiest of the filth- prostitutes, dealers, addicts, gangsters, hustlers, a bastard’s paradise. There were places where the police wouldn’tgo through unless they really had to. Though never accepted as a true rebel, he never needed to be accepted, he never really needed anyone. Anyone who was to play a part would be treated as a paid professional, and paid. He would always come through as the untouchable, unstoppable though with a humble outer shell because he was 'invincible'. Through the rainy of all rainy days he would still travel through in the dark not even concealing any treasure as if testing his 'invisibility' and when faced with danger, he would always just look into the future as usual as if beaming himself into it. He would stare in the eyes of any potential opposition man or beast and everything would be fine, apparently. He would claim that his battles in fact took place in a parallel reality, his world, where he would always be victorious. He would emerge unscarred when he traveled to wherever it was he went.

Many would say he was weak but who cared? Surely not him, he was young, played dumb and stayed on that rum which would of course take its toll.

Why would anyone ever have to play dumb especially in the streets? The bastard would occasionally wander into forbidden territory, other peoples paths- “Ëœother worlds', in pursuit of his own fortune, since he would only know what he learned, nobody would tell or advice him where to go or what not to do, in fact there were no advisers, hence he would pose as the sheep, rather than the wolf to avoid scrutiny from the shepherds-the authorities, or other wolves.

At some point he would forget the little he knew about himself, the only thing to live for was the pelf, no credit cards or bank loans, and street credit would only get you through the streets and if possible keep you IN them. Of course, there would be a wave of depression waiting at every corner, the down fall would always be close by but never immediately in front or behind- all around, surrounding as did the demons and the now familiar stench of the 'bastard balm', for the calm until calm turned the enemy, holding back even his spirit and killing his passion.

The drive to rise to any occasion had been lost. Calling it quits was now a must, but after endless failure and the customary proclamation -“I've been cursed!“, the result was another hasty request for the now apparently almighty Rizzla “Ëœcigarette’ rolling papers.

Mare Street, to the bastard was a land of the living dead. The Bastard perceived an addict as the perfect example of a soul hindered by human desire, the mind trying to achieve the “Ëœhighs’ of heaven, while the body is unconsciously craving the absolute peace and calm of death leaving the soul neglected most of the time. Pain would be the most effective cure. One would have to be knocked out of this unconscious state hence the stomach aches that the poor bastard must eventually face as his salvation would ideally include clean lungs and wealth of health.

For years without success, dark lords of the underground would try to gain control of his then seemingly vulnerable mind for the energy he could be granted access to owing to his good nature, persistence and knowledge about the virtues and humanity.

It seemed all but he would know how to use or even find this energy which he was now becoming aware of inside him. However, it wasn't for him to find or use. In fact it was better hidden as the bastard would most likely have misused, if not exploited it. He had received energy from the spirit world that was unique to his path of travel, his life, what would be done with it would now be up to the source.

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