Jubilee

Queen Elizabeth I seeks direct knowledge of the future, and an accommodating angel is summoned, divinely endowed with prophetic precision he graciously enables clairvoyant caricatures, as they travel to a post-apocalyptic future feverishly enamoured with punk rock.

Strange to provide ahistorical comparisons between the alternative social constructs, but whereas the Queen monopolises power way back when, a media mogul exercises similar authority over yonder.

His friends characterize the past with random inspired proclamations, like a series of disgruntled spirited diatribes diabolically manifested through armageddon. 

Puzzling to the astonished Queen who takes it in with modest whimsy, somewhat shocked by the blatant contrasts but otherwise scientifically disposed.

The police have taken to violence and no longer put up with the slightest objection, quickly firing should constructive criticisms ever dare to voice concerns.

People discovered with nothing to do must endure underground lectures on various topics, an audience desired found within the streets where millions remain unemployed.

What can the bewildered Queen then boldly administer amongst her subjects?

To imagine alternative global paths.

Prominently incorporating widespread leisure. 

Treading imaginatively throughout time multivariable presents chaotically mingle, to effectively generate kinetic shards exuberantly coruscating wild endeavours.

Had the Queen spent more time delicately observing the tribulations of her stately epoch, perhaps the sensational uproars may have seemed less grandiose as semantically situated within composite streams.

Thoroughly saturated embellished beacons enthusiastically disseminating jocose hypotheses, not as devoutly determined by chronological forecasts much more individualistically composed. 

Like ye olde Lite Brite or David Lynch's picture to be found in another room, Jarman bedazzlingly creates improvised disharmonies through substantial recourse to extant obscurity. 

With good times endearingly awaiting the shape-shifting collectives in balm and friendship, indeed forging lackadaisical teams to fortuitously treasure infinite subjectivity. 

Carefree and unfortunately at odds with so many disciplined lavish demeanours.

Still unafraid to ebulliently exist.

Brilliant breaching.

Nebulous nerve. 

*Criterion keyword: freight. 

I was watching a scuba-diver hanging out with some humpback whales on Instagram the other day, and I suddenly wondered: do whales think we're angels? 

I often think whales have similar belief systems to our own because they have massive brains. Not that the size of the brain matters, bees seem to be quite intelligent too, but I can't imagine something with that colossal of a brain not being capable of considering things like the afterlife. 

And then snorkelers and scuba-divers just suddenly show up from above the water's surface, a place where they can't go (for long) and wave and potentially hug them, and then disappear, perhaps never to be seen again! 

Could such behaviour be traditionally mistaken for the emergence of angels?

When whales beach themselves, I often think a rogue demagogue whale has convinced them that they can live on the surface, and they foolishly follow his lead, like preachers warning about the end of the world, and their congregation stockpiling canned goods in turn. 

If they do think we're angels, I hope they never make it to the surface, for they may not like what they find. 🗽

Another reason I think this point may be valid is that whales and dolphins have odd sleeping habits. As far as I know, half of their brains are always awake, only half of a whale or dolphin brain sleeps at one time. This introduces a big difference between our species because our entire brain shuts off when we sleep, preventing the onset of psychosis (I hate it when I don't get enough sleep [all of my worst job experiences were ones that kept me up 20 hours a day]).

At least, I wonder why animals as intelligent as dolphins keep returning to areas where humans slaughter them every year. Why wouldn't an intelligent animal simply avoid the hunt and go somewhere else? Answer: they can't remember things well enough because their brains never fully shut down.

Thoughts. 🐋🐬 🧠

Certainly I had been thrown to the lions, vicious bloodthirsty beasts, feigning humanity as they dealt in the most lewd forms of ritualistic torture. How could I have been aware, how could I have known, clothed merely in satin's silly sentiments, having foolishly lost my way. But to learn what is meant by hysteria, as well as the fear served up in Sejanus's saucer, I broke and was ready to meet what I considered to be my destiny. But low and behold as I sat on my couch pleading late on into the evening, waiting for the sun to rise, the film Michael appeared on my television screen, "not that kind of Angel," arguing and answering questions. I had never seen the film and didn't quite understand; the typical pattern saw the rhythms of David Bowie and the Rolling Stones (early 70s) save me from myself, proof, that I had aged. And that Angel sauntered back and forth upon the screen, instilling the image with the utmost integrity and illumination, unfortunately distilled by the industrious manufacturers of Hollywood's "Slacker Culture," and I rose a free man, intent on reform, surrendered to signs, saved by a sideline, in tact; having circumvented their claws and tethered their teeth, the same very claws and teeth I saw prior to viewing the globe out of which shot electro-magnetic waves, I rose to sleep once more and dream tranquil, peaceful dreams.

Having survived.