Motive

Why did I use ‘apok’ as the book’s title? I’ve used it as a military styled abbreviation to describe and capture the essence of what the novel is about.

‘Apok’ is taken from the Ancient Greek word apokálypsis.

An apocalypse (Ancient Greek: ἀποκάλυψις apokálypsis, from ἀπό and καλύπτω, literally meaning “an uncovering”) is a disclosure of knowledge or revelation. In religious contexts it is usually a disclosure of something hidden, “a vision of heavenly secrets that can make sense of earthly realities”.

In the Book of Revelation, the last book of the New Testament, the revelation which John receives is that of the ultimate victory of good over evil and the end of the present age, and that is the primary meaning of the term.

But in writing apok I wanted to flip John’s revelation onto its head by questioning: where exactly on this earth is good winning the fight over evil? If I’m to believe everything I see on television, then we are a world divided, with war raging and global commerce polluting, where most would sell their souls for fifteen minutes of fame, the modern phenomenon of making a quick buck king in an era whose populace crave sex and horror for their gods.

As science, since the time of Galileo, has stripped away the fallacy of mainstream religions, so has the latter twentieth century all but obliterated what’s left by the spread of capitalist consumerism. A world-wide plague cooked up by unscrupulous shareholders to fuel a feeding frenzy unprecedented in the history of mankind, tipping the natural balance for the first time towards self-destruction.

But what of this balance, and why is it so important?

Throughout history man has understood there is a balance to maintain in virtually every pursuit undertaken. In nature there is a balance between day and night; just as the food chain provides a balance within the animal kingdom. The planets, we’ve discovered, orbit stars, their positions governed by a balance of one another’s mass and gravity. In religion a balance exists between good and evil, just as one side of a scientific equation must equal the other. Latterly man has been made aware of the planet’s resources and the fine balance between industrial output and the environment, as well as a balance in feeding and watering an ever increasing population.

In a cruel twist of fate, we are victims of our own success. Inventions have led to advances beyond our expectations; the computer age and industrial mass production, genetically modified foods, medical breakthroughs and inoculation programmes, improving cancer treatments, better work-life balance, safer working conditions, and new international organisations that promote cooperation and peace where otherwise there would be unrest. Noble causes all of them, there is no disputing that, but could they also be interpreted as factors leading to mankind’s downfall?

So, if man’s use of science is tipping the balance, why not use its predecessor, religion, to restore a sense of equilibrium. What if the answer to man’s tinkering lies in the very pages he sought solace with in the first place. What if God and the Devil do exist – what then? What if, after nearly two thousand years, contact is made? A second coming has long been predicted. In the true spirit that binds the Book of Revelation, what if the second coming has already happened? What if the battle for man’s survival has just begun?

I felt using the backdrop of the Croatian War for Independence, and the subsequent Bosnian conflict, in tandem with an insatiable world populace that demands more and more from an already beleaguered planet, best suited the plight of us all. Wealth and power it seems is always in the hands of the very few, yet it is the many who have to pay the real price. It is us who mines the ore, who digs for gold, who plough the fields, who make the machines and products for the rich to grow richer, to grow even more untouchable, enabling corrupt dynasties to pass down their crooked ways.

I’ve often thought God and the Devil not as adversaries, but as old buddies trying to out-do one another in their twilight years, the way old men play cards or dominos to no avail but to pass time, with one foot in their grave, waiting for the sun to expire and the earth to ice over, so they can start on a new project, on a new Earth, with a new people.

We have got it so wrong, ever since the first caveman decided to hit another with a club. The reason then, as it is now seems irrelevant, due to our inherent nature as humans we compete for everything. So much so, as a society, we have become desensitised to conflict, accepting it into our daily routine. We no longer bat an eyelid at news of suicide bombers killing tens of innocent bystanders, and injuring hundreds. Tragic death is the new norm, either that or no-one cares. But on any level, whether in the workplace doing your job or queuing for a loaf of bread minding your own business, humans at every opportunity will do anything to ‘fuck over’ their fellow man, as long as it means they’ve won; small minded people smug in their petty triumphs, the type who spread malicious rumours or push in just to get there first, life to them a rush, never slowing down, always a race. I do pity such people!

So it is with great regret, that in my view, the point of no return is finally here. As a species we fuck up anything and everything we touch: its in our DNA, we can’t help ourselves! So how the hell are we going to help the rest of humanity!

 

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So there you have my general rant on the world today, but what about the spark that lit my fuse?

To put it bluntly, I was fed up of being lied to. As a young boy, like most boys in the 1970s, I relished the rich diet of 50s and 60s westerns and war films, their adventures heroic and glossy, dwelling on the romance of saving the day, with death often depicted as a smudge of bright red paint accompanied by a brief yell of pain for effect; well-acted, but even as a child I thought there must be more to it than that.

But despite my growing curiosity, the smudges of red paint and feigned portrayals of death were enough for me to fall madly in love, besotted by Hollywood’s lavish brand of lone gunslingers, as well as hopelessly smitten with daring commando raids behind German enemy lines; the Second World War like a drug drawing in my fascination until I was obsessed, the boyhood paraphernalia a must have. I remember scrimping, saving and stealing to adorn my bedroom with toy soldiers of every army. I had Airfix models of iconic planes strung from the ceiling on cotton threads, and Action Man dolls ready for battle, as I played along with my replica toy rifles, alive to every shot fired and reeling to every wound received, my bedroom a mock battleground for the soldier I was waiting to be; my childhood addiction to the soft, friendly side of war firmly established. Because at that age, who cared! No-one really died. War looked fun, and as far as I am concerned, films reinforced that image.

It was an exciting time, and my new discovery made it even more so. I soaked up everything the three channels of that era had to offer. The actors were soon my new best friends as I would spend most of my Saturday and Sunday afternoons watching them, trying to emulate their bravery. From as early as I can remember my friends and I would play “army” in the school playground. Out of school we would continue our games on local waste ground that doubled perfectly as a battlefield. War it seemed for young boys was just another form of innocence, an ideal way to while away long days.

Thinking about it, it’s that same innocence that Field Marshall Douglas Haig relied on to swell his ranks at the Somme; the same innocence fed and nurtured by the same soft, romantic picture; a picture that falls purposefully short to form a brutal lie; a lie that is only realised too late when the horror of war is upon you.

In my opinion, war has always been mis-sold on the pretence that it makes heroes, that you’ll arrive home a true champion amongst men, an aspiration to those not yet signed up, and an inspiration to those not yet eligible. They say nothing of not coming home, of being left broken, and the horror that will live with you forever.

Like millions of others, I too fell for the same beguiling rhetoric. I let it feed a blissful ignorance and like a fool salivated at each instalment of Rambo’s explosive propaganda, until at the age of twenty-four, I heard there was trouble in the former Yugoslav region of Croatia, and first saw the disturbing reports that were emerging. It took days for what I was seeing and hearing to sink in, yet only a split second to realise I had been lied to for all those years.

The Croatian War of Independence, and subsequent Bosnian conflict, was a savage and ruthlessly brutal war that for the first time in forty-six years brought not only war but genocide back to European soil. The reports and articles I read, along with photographic evidence of the atrocity, was simply abhorrent. I had seen nothing like it, and nothing I had read or seen before prepared me for it. I was never to view war in the same way ever again; my boyhood innocence annihilated, along with my love affair for something that never should have been.

Apok is my interpretation of the madness that drives men to do evil things. It describes how individual acts become collective actions. It captures the need to survive, to kill, to do whatever it takes. It depicts life as meaningless and cheap, as well as the most precious commodity we have. It will take you through the pain barrier to places no-one wants to go, but are still curious to explore despite the terror. It is a mind-trip flipping the accepted concept of addiction, and the fallibility of its compulsion. On a practical level it asks: can addiction make us stronger and better able to survive? Or is addiction, like it has always been portrayed, an incurable cancer of our own making? But also on a spiritual level it tries to balance the argument asking: what would God have to say? After all, throughout the Bible’s text, He does promote ruthless ambition and blind devotion, qualities not a million miles from addiction. And then beckons how the Devil might reply ….

…. Because what is good for the goose, I guess, is good for everyone else. There is a lot to be said for a level playing field ….

…. It’s how the mighty fall!