The Verdict E-Book

Elias Adam

• Herausgeber: M-Y Books
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 180

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

In his new book The Verdict respected Algerian political activist and humanitarian Elias Adam presents his carefully judged observation and examination of the human condition. As he challenges the notion that we are the superior race, when in fact, we are increasingly to be seen as the root cause of almost every problem in the world, he offsets the rational of each proposition against the turbulent back drop of his own life In a remorseless search for the truth behind our veneer of civilized life and the banners we have named laws he juxtaposes his ideas by using the life of a dog as a comparison, by which he comes to some startling conclusions about which is the most savage of the two species. Based broadly on his life experiences he has created different scenarios to illustrate each point while the book is set modestly within a café that he frequents, where he analyses its customers as it soon becomes his human laboratory. As the ideas unfold the setting of each becomes progressively more surrealistic as the Dog Chiotby plays a large part in the book and because it is a dreamlike, it allows him to put aside all of his inhibitions to talk more freely and humbly about himself. 

Leseprobe

AN M-Y BOOKS PAPERBACK

© Copyright 2009ELIAS ADAMThe right of Elias Adam to be identified as the author ofThis work has been asserted by him in accordance with theCopyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All Rights ReservedNo reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission.No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

ISBN 13 digit – 9781906986735

Published byM-Y Books ‘ltd187 Ware Road

Hertford

Herts SG13 7EQ

Design and layout by [email protected]

THE VERDICT

By

ELIAS ADAM

   A book of natural rebellion...

the sypnosis

To summarise my book, it is an in depth study of ourselves. I challenge the notion that we are the superior race, when in fact, we are the cause of every problem in this world, and like I say in my book we hide behind our seemingly civilized exterior and banners we have named laws. I have juxtaposed this idea by using dogs as a comparison, and after extensive research I am able to prove that they are far better than any of us. We all, including dogs have instincts and a savagery about us but in us, it is tenfold.

I have based this book mainly from my life experiences and have created different scenarios to show this without directly referring to a specific part of my life. The whole book has a fixed scene that I continually return to, a café that I frequent, where I analyse its clients, my human laboratory if you want. From there I meet a dog, Chiotby that I later meet in a dream. This dream plays a large part in my book and because it is a dream, it allows me to put aside all of my inhibitions and talk more freely and really humble myself as I will be at the receiving end in the dogs’ kingdom. After reading my book you will hopefully be able to identify clear links with what I write about people, their hypocrisy and certain modern institutions now. Throughout the book, I delve into our inner thoughts, insecurities, I dissect open the man’s chest to reveal what is really inside.

Although my book is not without its light moments of humour, unfortunately my book has a very bitter undertone about it, but unfortunately again that is how life has been delivered to me, and like it or not, although we are taught that good will ultimately triumph, evil has the upper hand in the deck now.

I think my book will appeal to readers who would like to be challenged, whether they agree with me entirely or partly, I am sure that it will at least lead them to ask further questions about relations with ourselves and with others, and perhaps they may even agree with me in the fact that we are the inferior race.

It is indeed a book of natural rebellion…

CONTENTS

Title

Copyright

Preface

Theory of Existence

Chapter 1: TASTE OF BITTERNESS

Chapter 2: FIREWORKS

Chapter 3: WHIPPS CROSS

Chapter 4: THE OLD HABITS

Chapter 5: ILLEGALS

Chapter 6: BACKFIRE

Chapter 7: AFTER TASTE

Chapter 8: THE BEAUTIFUL DREAMS

Chapter 9: THE COURT OF DOGS

Chapter 10: THE TRIAL

THE VERDICT OF 30 APRIL 2007 IT WAS 12PM

Blurb

PREFACE

The world in which we live in and this great universe which envelopes us with its multitude of creatures, obliges us to ask questions which most of them, if not all of them still remain unanswered. And the few that we do have, instead of being simple answers, we complicate them into big arguments that only great philosophers know how to manipulate them accurately with fervour. We possess this extraordinary power of thought, this big weapon which makes man the most intelligent of animals.

Yes, we have missed the perfection, but nothing will stop us to persevere in the simplicity of thought.

The arrogance, the hypocrisy, the tyranny; all these are bad gifts which only man can perfect. Instead of progress they force us to reverse and live like wild beasts, ferocious and wild in this modern, cosmopolitan world. I believe that human nature has never prospered throughout time; the first man is identical to the man of today. The only variant is this technology which has become his second nature, this gives us the illusion that we are civilised….. All these enigmas which surround our daily life and persecute us without stop, gave me the inspiration to write the Theory of Existence followed by this book titled The Verdict.

“It doesn't matter who we hurt whether it be a dog that we mistreat or an ant that we tread on, all that matters is that these are all crimes which we facilitate by ignorance.

The right of living is the same for all creatures, and its true comprehension can only be achieved once you truly understand the right of existence.”

Theory of Existence

This theory is based on the immeasurably important creation which is the human brain. Every human was simply ‘nothing’ before the moment of conception. That was the first stage: the soul without the body. Then it is time for the second stage, when the soul joins its designated flesh. Here, the brain becomes limitless in its power of thought.

It is the same process as switching on a light bulb. If the bulb breaks, the current may not be visible but is still alive. It becomes possible to bring that light alive again by replacing the bulb or attaching a new one.

The greatest sensations of life are feeling that greatness goes beyond what we see and what we feel.

The twins, joy and sadness remind us of our temporary stay here.

The difference between human beings and animals is that animals’ brains are limited whereas the human brain is not.

So we all remain as equals in the second stage.

I emphasise that a donkey, dog, rat, fly and human being are all one creation. Because of the limited power of thought for the animals, flies for example will never prosper.

So creatures like animals and insects acknowledge that we exist. They all know the basics of where we come from, what we are doing and where we are going.

The only problem we face is that we do not understand their language. If that were not the case, the donkey, dog, rat, fly would say exactly what I am saying here.

The only sense which separates us and makes us the best species is the power of thought, which when you look at it as a scale, varies between minus 10 and 100 for humans.

Alcohol, drugs and all vices cause the madness and the poor health of the brain to deteriorate; they affect the direct power of thought.

We all are the same, animals and human beings.

It is only when we use the power of thought that elevates us out of the kingdom of animals and gives us the greatness of being human beings. Otherwise we regress to –10 and become worse than animals; we become the most inferior of all creatures.

I would prefer to be a rat than to be a certain type of my own species.

A rat is a natural creature that behaves accordingly to its scale: 1 to 10.

Based on that theory, the concept of perishing is not acceptable or imaginable. The role of death comes to transport us from this life to the other.

Yes all animals will perish, simply because of the limited power of the brain. Why? The soul has to emerge and continue its return journey back to where it comes from.

This presents us with the idea that when we die, it is very similar to when we sleep and wake up to see another day.

Chapter 1

TASTE OF BITTERNESS

It was Sunday, a famous day of the week, although it is known for the wrong reasons. Everyone hates it apart from the people that spend its lazy hours asleep. It is punctual, precise and obliges everyone in its presence to buckle under it.

It was five o’clock, a common foggy day and I was standing up defying Sunday’s gravitational force. I did not let it tear my flesh, not yet. I was not alone though; I had the power of thought, my pen, a few blank sheets of paper and my soul. With them on my side, no way would Sunday tame me.

I took the bus; there was only the driver and I, everybody else in deep sleep. I could even hear their snoring from within their bedrooms. My favourite seat on the bus is at the front on upper deck. From there I can see the cemetery where the graves are well lined in an eerie absolute silence. The people whom we left sleeping were still snoring in their homes. I asked myself to which world do I belong? Do I belong to the people silently asleep in the graves or to those people who sleep without respite in their beds? This was where my confusion lay, between these two worlds. I had to find the difference between the two, apart from the obvious sleep noises, but was still not convinced or persuaded.

I headed to the café I like at the top of Walthamstow High Street. It is called, Aghroum (bread in Berber). Its owner is Moroccan. He seemed like a decent guy and since I frequented that café a lot, I started loving Moroccans and because of that, I prefer to be of Moroccan origin rather than Algerian.

But when I travel through the big seas and burrow deep within, I change my mind and I start denying and rejecting all that man has created. I am not Algerian, I am not Moroccan, I am not English, I am not Chinese, I am what I am, it is me, without forgetting I was nothing before I entered this world.

My history started when I was inside my mother. This was the beginning of my odyssey, with all its interferences, without stops and never-endings.

I am here; I exist and will exist for all eternity. I refuse to accept that one day I will cease to exist. Before my existence I could say nothing. Now I exist and will exist forever, even death will not kill me off completely. I defy all idiots of all times that my existence really does exist and will remain eternal without perishing. And my soul. My dear, loved soul, born before me and since has never left me.

Let us talk; let’s talk this Sunday about those idiots who deny what I mean when I say I exist and my soul with me. Those philosophers. Those very intelligent idiots.

I do not sleep because I do not like sleeping. My candle is dying out and is down to its final, low-burning flame.

I am on my own. I have neither wife nor children; everyone has taken their own path. Now I have nothing, there is only my soul and I on a raft in the rough sea.

I prefer to call ‘Dimanche’ Sunday because it’s meaning is the day of light or sun. Those are the false Sundays because it rains on them with gloom instead of its promised warm sunny rays.

The roads were deserted, the shops were closed, and even the cats and dogs did not venture outside. All the people were sleeping, and I looked like the stray dog on edge, waiting with apprehension. Apprehension for what exactly? I was soaking as I leashed my axe, armed ready in combat to fight this false Sunday.

It was 17/03/07 and at that moment precisely at 7am I was suffocating but managing to describe and express how I feel towards this life that I find very bitter. It is another way to analyse and understand this life. You may ask where the derivation of my bitterness comes from. I cannot tell you what happened to cause my world to be so poignant. It is very personal and the best that I can muster is to describe the endurance of my soul.

That day the sun was delayed. It was late in distributing out its warm reassuring rays. Still I waited but none of its comfort came. I became sad and melancholy. I was and still am in need of those great rays, even Sunday cannot survive without the daily rays. The nights are always here when the sun is absent. I am like the moth that is attracted to the light. I follow the light wherever it goes.

When the first rays finally did arrive they penetrated me to my very bones. I felt enlightened. The mellow warmth resided deep within me. A light like no other illuminated everything, its effect so great, I was left trembling from awe.

This light I speak of, we are all need of, it is not the heat but the light we crave and only that light is what souls and spirits feed from. I felt great gratitude when after the long thirst without the radiance; I was cradled and lulled by the beautiful light that compensated entirely for the black darkness of that morning. I took a pen and wrote a poem:

Belmarsh Flowers

It’s Belmarsh, a land with a broken skyDay and night and another night, I crySpring will never spring and dieAll hearts born and torn, the love and the sonA land, which ends with quick sandMy heart flies up and down sharpening the soundNo sun, no moon there. Only hearts and souls shining the airSon of my love and love again will ignite the light.

I followed the path of light that guided me and made me discover all the horizons of life. I know where I come from, I know why I am here and I know where I am going. My entire life experiences have witnessed and confirmed what I am saying and what I feel; an experience of a man, no more, no less. Half a century and seven years and I have not given up on discovering the world. I am still discovering this world and its intricacies. The world is one-eyed, a scary fiend which wolves down its thousands faces, and trailing behind it, all its proofs which are laid in front of me making me perplexed and in a dreamlike trance the whole time.

I arrived at the café, where the people were armed with their own weapons, seated and lying and their hypocrisy shouting from the rooftops, I know…but what? I was its first client that Sunday. The Polish waitress knew exactly what I wanted as I was a regular customer. She brought me the famous strong black coffee, called the Espresso. The Aghroum was clean and well maintained, the décor was authentic and I believed that the owner of such a café was from Nador and presumptuously a Berber.

I was there alone and there was a befitting serene silence reigning at the café that Sunday morning.

There is gloom and emptiness enveloping the whole world. Everything reminds me of the miners’ burrows Areas where they live, everything small, dark and dirty. The sun was there though, prompt, drying the drizzle of yesterday night, giving new life to whomever needs it, rats, families, children, and those beautiful birds singing while ignoring the filth and pretence below as long as the sun is scattering its rays.

The café started to receive its first customers. A steady stream were entering and taking their seats and by midday the café was full and almost ready to burst. All the seats were occupied; I noticed the face of the owner beaming and likewise his customers enjoying themselves. The business was thriving well, it was a Sunday, and all the people were satisfied. But not me. I wonder why?

Maybe it was the bitterness that tore me apart and insisted on my leaving the café, as if it could not tolerate even being around happy folk. However I was not going to accept or crumble under its capricious nature. The light transformed the resentment inside of me after being kneaded and kneaded again until it became dough without a colour, without odour and without taste. It gave life to the hostility. It was like conception and giving birth, from nil to light was like zero to infinity.

I defy anyone who says ‘I am happy in this life’. This is an impostor; with maybe the greatest of demons or rather it is simply pure idiocy. Hallucination is the world of the dunce. It is in our nature, we all pretend and lie to others, it is a species of allusions that lead and push people to their destinies.

I am here so I challenged that Sunday and its bitterness. I have light inside of me and my pen wants only to write. My soul feels and knows how I feel towards this ungrateful world. I question myself when I see everyone talking and going about their daily lives: Do they too have the light inside? I will know later. I strive to understand what they are saying, but all is in vain.

All of the customers that day were from eastern countries and I did not understand a single word, so I tried to understand the language of faces. This is a language that anyone can acquire, as long as they have resentment like mine. I do try to resist the bitterness, which squeezes my heart and makes me shudder from time to time. Bitterness that has been well kneaded with rays of sunshine.

All of a sudden an unlikely customer attracted my attention; a dog came in with its master who was smoking a pipe, his hair messy. The strange man was contemplating his despair of love. He did not mind about the people around him. He looked mad but did not seem to care that people were staring at him. The first thing that struck me was that surely he was too young to be insane. The dog sat obediently at his feet, a strong contrast in behaviour to that of his master.

The volume of the café rose steadily as the people started to talk more and more, all the time the dog remained silent. Undoubtedly the dog was suffering for his master’s madness. His sullen face showed at least that. Surely it was torture to remain with that man and his non-stop monologue.

I became more interested in the dog and averted my attention to him instead, like we had a lot more in common than with any other man. He looked straight at me with his large blue eyes; it was difficult to distinguish his age. He immediately barked three times consecutively, each separate time ranging in length and tone.

He then averted his gaze of disdain on me. I understood what he was trying to say, “Filthy race! You’re all idiots”, and I thought to myself, “what a beautiful creature!” I yearned to be in the madman’s position so that I could learn more from that dog. A while later I saw the dog tugging his master, insinuating that, “I’m fed up here let’s go!” He succeeded and the master left. Once outside the dog became the master and dragged the man onwards.

I felt a great battle in me and took to the retreating route. I was bitter because this dog was able to leave; he left me in the café without knowing why I was still there.

That dog strangely reminded me of a person I knew called George who had the same blue eyes but was mute as well as blind, the resemblance was uncanny. I would give all the gold in this world to have found out how that dog became the master and transformed his master into a dog. Something we will undoubtedly discover later.

My study attracted my attention to the rear of the café; there was a man who was probably a centenarian, or close to becoming one. Looking like he was want of sleep, he produced a beautifully carved shepherd’s flute quite suddenly. He proceeded to play his little musical instrument to deaf ears; nobody paid any attention to his melody. It probably had completely the opposite effect that he had wished. It was disastrous, more suitable for entrancing a cobra into dance and dreams. I suspect it is the after-effect of all the Sundays he has had in his life.

After a short while he took leave of the café, looking frail and thin as a straw. He was following his walking stick, grasping it by its serpent’s head. The walking stick guided him without forgetting to make the usual visits they made to the cemetery nearby.

Meanwhile, everyone in the café seemed happy and joyful in his or her weekly celebration of Sunday. They recount to each other their stories of little meaning and manage to elaborate on stories of last night’s dinner. They talked about anything because they had nothing to say. But Sunday forces them to speak, silence is not an option.

It was another sad and melancholy Sunday, although there was reason for it to be noted, one hour had been added. With certainty this was to make it more agreeable and practical. But those responsible are greatly mistaken. Sunday will always be Sunday. Only on this particular day we were made to tolerate another hour on top of our usual endurance. It is what Sunday brings, like the river during a flood, the flood swallows its banks and carries dirty slurry further than you can imagine.

Sunday is here with all its floods, whether we lengthen it or shorten it by an hour, it will destroy who dares cross its path. It possesses the force of a generator, the power that sculpts the things of life.