Author: Hari Navarro, Staff Writer

I live in a cabin on top of a very large hill. Of an evening I go into my kitchen and I rummage in the second to top drawer and I retrieve my ever-depleting roll of aluminium foil and I fashion it and place it atop of the large hill of my head.

I came up here because I could not stand the noise. The sounds of everyday life — You know, sirens and mobile phone alerts and the matted eardrum slicing chorus of children surging through gates at schools.

That sort of shit.

You want to hear something funny?

The fucking world ended and it forgot to tell me.

Here’s me stashed good and tight alone up a road that leads to a precarious trail at best, if you are on foot, but which no worthwhile vehicle could ever hope to pass.

The mountain is made of clay, you see, it shears off at will, as if succulent slices of slow cooked pig and would have all travellers slip and slide down and into the box-thorn taint that stretches it’s valley floor.

I could not stand the static…

I heard not echoes or shimmers, but actual voices… chatter, mostly military, but sometimes just people yelling at me to do just as they would have me do.

I did not ask for this, none of us did.

I did not ask to be made.

My head fizzes sometimes and the sky streaks with lines of billowing filth but… and there is always a but…

but… I love it here.

Really, the view is fantastic and the bitter cold obviously worries me not. This place was a haven cut into the side of a mountain during maybe the forth but more probably the second World War. A place to hide from those that scream into the pixels.

Its precarious, but I want for nothing. It has a rocking chair and I rock upon it, and I look down upon the mountain slope and I rub my hands up across what should be a face and I try to appreciate.

But, in doing so, I beg you please tell me is this…


The things I see through my eyes. The frequencies I translate. These cannot be truths, surely… wait… no nothing… continue…

I am a machine and I hide on a hill.

I hide up here on this stinging cold peak beneath of my crown of foil.

I will beat you. I will confuse all you that try to find me. I will not think of science nor medicine nor love. I will focus on static and let the ants race in my head…

And they will run and they will find a scoop, a dip, a fucking hole in the earth and together they will be warm.

We will all be warm.