Evil Eyes

The man washed his face at the bathroom mirror. The water dripped down his cheeks as he took a deep breath.



“Why do men stare at themselves in the mirror when they do wrong?”

The old man pondered a moment. “They are asking themselves a question. They are asking, ‘How could I?’”

The boy sat up in his bed. “Maybe they expect to see something change, like the painting in the story.”

“You see”, said the old man, “Evil isn’t shown on the faces of men, or in the picture of Dorian Gray.”

The boy stared into the fire.

“Then how do you know if you are good or bad?”

The old man smiled.

“You ask yourself without a mirror.”

The boy closed his eyes.


The boy in the mirror had long been forgotten, but the man in his head haunted his brain.

This is The Vile Mint.

Silent Suffering & Colossal Careers

The clock keeps ticking.

The blood keeps dripping.

Open your eyes to the point.

The point of the knife.

The point?

Coincidental fate?

Happenstance providence?

Millions suffer. Billions starve. Children burn.

The west waits for the savior to return.

Keep waiting. It serves you well.

Natural selection.

Humanity is at stake.

Natural selection.

Humanity is too late.

Be cold. Be vicious. Be the machine.

Humanity isn’t essential for survival.

Abort! Abort! Abort!


One. Oneness.

The universe is with you.

It will conspire in your favor.

What was Hitlers ‘Personal Legend’?

New age waters drowning new born fools.

Swim around the rock.

Keep swimming.

Keep your head above the waters.


Guess what?

The clock keeps ticking.

This is The Vile Mint.


Mind Your Mind

The corridors of the mind are ever changing. At first they seem dark and mysterious, but the hallways and rooms are traveled by your subconscious. The little person inside your brain has a very important job. My subconscious’s name is Bill.

Bill walked through the same corridors everyday. Back and forth and back and forth. On one particular night, bill sat down on an old bench in a dark corner of my mind. Bill felt a growing desire within his heart. he wanted more out of life.

He took out a map from his back pocket. On this mind map were all the corridors that Bill had ever traveled. To an outsider, the map looked more like a maze.

When I was young, the corridors of my mind were ever changing. As I learnt and grew into a man, the corridors began to become stable structures. Now, they are more like ancient ruins than magical ever-changing pathways.

Bill went into a deep sleep that night. He dreamt about unexplored tunnels and new beginnings.

When Bill woke up, he took a walk along the corridors. Let’s face it, that’s all Bill ever does.

Yet, on this particular day, Bill saw something strange. Standing in the middle of an old hallway was a door. A door that did not exist before. Bill’s new door.

You see, when I realised my subconscious was a living person, I felt ashamed. I felt ashamed for letting him travel the same thought patterns. I felt ashamed for forcing him to travel the same pointless passage ways when he could be exploring the unexplored.

Bill took out his map. It was ready to be changed. he burst into the door without any fear or hesitation. The mind is a complex structure. It needs to expand or it will suffocate.

It all starts with a choice. I chose to expand my mind, but I have to ask you: When was the last time you created a door?

This is The Vile Mint.

The Ringing In Your Ears

I am The Ringing In Your Ears. 

In the beginning, I didn’t understand. Who does understand their life purpose in the beginning?


You recognise me, but you don’t know me. You hear me, but you don’t feel me. I was born as a whisper and the creator of the universe talked to me.

He told me that I had a small purpose in this life, but that he couldn’t tell me what it was. He told me my job was to talk to people when they damaged their ears.

In the beginning, I saw myself as a mere warning sign. All I was, or ever will be, was the ringing in your ears… But I still hoped for more…

One day I went to a man’s ears. He had been at a concert all night and stepped outside to feel the afternoon light on his face.

I don’t normally work during the day, but this man really damaged his ears.

His eyes were closed, but The Eyelids talked to me.

“Why do you look so sad?” They asked.

“Because, I have no purpose.”

The Eyelids looked surprised.

I told them I had nothing to be happy about. Eyelids rolled their eyes.

The Eyelids said to me, “We know how you feel. We thought our only job was to bring darkness to people. But, we were wrong. This man is not in darkness. He is in a light so beautiful… A light that is only possible because of us.” 

I looked at the mans face. He was seeing something through closed eyes.

“Who is there with you?” I asked.

The Bright Orange Light smiled and faded away as the man opened his eyes. The Eyelids explained:

“You see, we are the only ones who let him see our love. The Bright Orange Light comes out only because we exist in such harmony with the sun. And The Warmth, The Warmth lingers still. Would you like to meet her?”

I slowly approached The Warmth on The Eyelids.

It indeed was beautiful.

“Why do you cry?” They asked.

“I do not know my purpose.”

The Eyelids said goodbye to the warmth.

“Your purpose is to bring a lasting light and a warmth to mankind.”

I looked through my tears at The Eyelids. They smiled back at me.

“You trigger memory… Every time a man experiences music so wonderful that he damages himself listening to it, you come along and remind him of that wonder. Last night, this man met the love of his life. You ring in his ears and remind him of the music which, in turn, reminds him of the woman.

“You are a pinhole to a shining light. You are vehicle to memories that we can never see.”

I whispered to the man. I warned him about damaging his ears. 

The man smiled and I found my purpose.

This is The Vile Mint.

Joshologue #1

Hi… I’m Josh.

This is my first time talking to myself… I wonder if it’s strange for you too…

Why talk? What type of void am I filling? I’m not sure… Yet…

Well… Here we go.


In almost every aspect of life, I come to the point where it becomes necessary to question the conventions. Perhaps it’s not the conventions per say, rather, the flow of things.

For years I was friends with this writer. He used to always get lost in his own words. Well, I guess the words weren’t his… the words he aligned… Well… One day, he became bored.

The writer became bored of creating a fictional fabrication of a simple idea that could be put rather simply.

He asked me, “Is this just excess fat, or is it important to the story?”

I had no idea… So I told him my story, put simply.

A man wakes up, skips breakfast, works a seemingly endless day and comes home to an overcooked meal and an under-loved wife, only to starts the process again in a few hours time.

The writer looked me right in the eyes. Right in the soul.

So… Where is it? Where is the substance? Where is the fat?

Well, I guess it could be seen differently… It’s subjective right? Author intent is only part of the meaning that can be derived from any story… Of course, I didn’t express these desperate feelings of justification to the writer… he might have blogged about it….

Finally he said to me, “Well, in this scenario it is pretty obvious where the fat is…”


“It’s the whole story.”


This is the vile mint.

Observer’s Paradox


Thoughts slip away before I can think.

I write them all down, but the pen has no inc.

The mind and the ‘verse, they both interlink,

Destruction, decay and death on the brink.

This is The Vile Mint

India Part 3 – Feet

“This is a very dangerous area,” says the driver, “can not drive through here after six o’clock.”

RJ looks at his watch.


Staying in India is an odd experience for an outsider. The constant noise of traffic, the animals on the streets and the rubbish are all so different to things back home. Yet, these elements blanket the real experience. It’s only after a few days, when these things become normal, that this blanket is lifted. These distractions are not the real experiences India has to offer.

“So, you like living in Australia?”

RJ puts down his Indian style coffee, which is small and very sweet.

“Yeah, it’s not bad.”

The host nods his head.

“How is the electricity?”

All complaints about RJ’s home vanished in an instant. It’s too far from the city, the train station is a 10 minute drive away, the people are too nice and always wave, the cafe shuts at 5:00, the birds at the lake always swoop people… all gone.

Looking up at the single lightbulb on the roof and its wiring running down the wall and into the another room, RJ answers the host.

“It’s… it’s pretty good… can’t complain…”

The host nods… his eyes wandering in deep thought…


On the last visit to the slum, RJ exchanges smiles with familiar faces. Faces that he never knew, but now, can never forget.

We see ourselves in the eyes of each other. The People in the slums suffer in silence, while the rest of the world tweets their emotions on a global scale.

He opens the door to the van, but as he does two small slum kids run up to him and touch his feet. Pranāma.

The blanket is lifted.

For one reason or another, RJ felt that he should be the one to touch their feet. Not the other way around. They were the ones who opened his eyes and they were the ones he respected.


It’s 7:15.

The van travels in the dark down the forbidden road. The small hands that touched RJ’s feet keep a tight grip on his heart.

Small and very sweet.

“This is a very dangerous area,” says the driver…

Dangerous indeed…

The is The Vile Mint.