time flips over, i'm confused by reality,  far to much hate it's an irrational thing, counter intuitive but i really wanna get away from it all. i dunno what's what anymore, i'm so emerged in the nonsense people seem to say, and yet i'm unable to respond to them. so many people deny truth of things and argue there is no truth but if your a young 19 year old girl who likes riding her motorbike in iran protesting against a brutal regime and shot for not wearing a headscarf then there's only one truth. 

the regime would only release the body to her family if they denied she had been shot. yeah nothing to see here.

vale diana bahador

the distorted news, lies and propaganda, idiot winds and the storm ahead, the zombie horde, better of dead

you got the united nations, running drugs and guns, you have revolutionary zeroes pretending they are the ones.

travel by thought except your brains been hijacked, replaced by a theory and no ideas, in academic distortions and nursery rhymes, his masters voice whispers to his mistress, everybody knows everyone has a price says the temptress. what's the cost of my soul i wonder, what's it worth. i consult some lesser demon, 'i'll get back to ya, we got an abundance of fucking souls, we are all souled out, these days they ain't worth the body they come in.'

i hung up disgusted at the state of affairs, the new age is kinda medieval, may as well stick pins in a doll or read the entrails of a goat, burn a witch.

it takes a couple of hours before the imp calls back, 'er got a price for your soul mission.'

'oh yeah, what's it worth to you?'

'well it's higher than i thought, there's a big demand for your soul it appears.'

'how high?'

'8.6 mill.'

'mmm okay, i'll get back to you.'

something to consider, 8.6 its enough to have a good life, see the world, buy some time. i'll see what my dreams say.

after a long therapeutic bath i fall into a deep sleep, my dreams almost begin immediately as if rem sleep was outside my front door. 

i'm floating in space, watching planets, satellites and strange flying saucers float by. i see major tom looking strung out, 'hey tom, come on over we can play space bongos with japanese girls.'

major tom sings out, 'i aint got no money and i aint got no hair,' he floats passed me complaining about lumbago.

space is silent now, the jupiter 7 floats past with the robot waving from a porthole window and there goes a north korean satellite. 

at least it's peaceful here. 

no sooner had i thought that, than a heavenly gospel choir of angels begin singing, 'what's it worth, captain. what's the price of your soul?'

well that is the question.

they break into some kind off harmony, it's real nice. 

the sun starts to appear as the face of jupiter begins to light up, wow, it's really beautiful. i look around, solar winds, red light shifts, blue seasons in tranquility, everything looks amazing. the more you look the more you see. planets swirl around me, stars fade in and out, i'm awestruck. and then everything is interrupted by an alarm. it's coming from inside my suit, somethings wrong, a warning. i look at the arm band on my left arm, a light flickers red, and then stays red. oxygen. i'm running out of air. air, that real strange thing we all need. i start to gasp, a last thought, a final one.

what's the price of my soul.

i wake up.

the old heart is damaged from the vaccine, it's playing up and the result is i'm down, but not out. however this makes me poor company so at steve's avoca gig i keep a low profile. solo steve is just as good as the church, it's a different energy but just as brilliant,  most songs are re-contextualised but sound fresh and interesting and then there are his cover songs which to be honest was wonderfully inspired. but it was bowies lazarus that stole the show. sacrilege in the hands of anyone else but steve made it his own and it was beautiful and terrifying. i chose to spare him with my symptoms but managed to give him a few alistair  reynolds novels i had collected for him which i know he will enjoy.

then i retuned to work which was mind numbingly dull and depressing, watching the utter negligence perpetrated upon clients that deserve so much more, it kills me but i have my limits and know what battles to fight. i really need the money so i have to grin and bear it.

tonight is terrible beach drum circle, which i attend every week. it's a bunch of locals playing bongos drums, percussion on the waterfront as the sun goes down, pretty tribal and great therapy as i loose myself in the beat. we are often joined by dancers, hulu hoop girls and girls in bikinis twirling fire along with various dancers and members of the public passing by. tonight the beach was packed and it went mental. I lost myself in a strange new altered state, fantastic.

we took the old route, the old road, the winding remote path through the bush, thousands of years of trees and wilderness between us and that ever curving roadway as my car followed two big triumph bikes and a scooter, not speeding but slow enough to take in the details, look around and enjoy the incredible energy carried through time of australian bush. there is one short stop at an off road cafe, it's basic, no frills, stuck in 1960's cafe that sells a few pies, coke and maybe an ice cream. i did notice a coffee machine but it was gathering dust and looked like it belonged in a museum. we hit the road again, and although i kept peter and andrew in my line of sight monique would disappear around the bends ahead. 

we rolled into the 'anglers rest' and had a lovely lunch, i must say it was sensational. slow time, great conversation and lots of laughter, it's very cool to have friends again, like proper friends. brooklyn is just a sleepy river town, not much going on, it does have a train station and a marina, small boats in and out all the time. we wandered along the waterways, we saw strange eccentric cars and boats, driftwood, fishermen, pelicans and ancient trees displaying their root systems and then we clambered up a rock staircase to a plateau where a lone man listened to billy connolly on some sort of old radio. monique  chased bush turkeys and i sat down for a rest.

up here you could see the waterways, a sprawling web of rivers and bush, a splattering of houses and signs of life, a few boats but generally nothing, no sign of man, just the vastness of nature untamed and as you look out, you know somethings looking in. are you really just a part of all off this? 

i guess when you die and your body is eaten by worms, maybe then.

i drive home thinking about what a beautiful day i have just had, the people, the nature, the peace. there's huge dark clouds threatening above, i'm exhausted and as i pull into my driveway, the rain fall begins.

it's a terrible world and a beautiful one, the older i get the more i choose beauty as my my drug of choice, i just don't wanna get to caught up in the horror, yet i acknowledge it's there at the gates, outside the door, clawing to get inside my brain and infect me, the zombie horde. the last frontier is not space but the mind, the inner space where war really takes place, the mind and the heart, infect one and you infiltrate the other. i know this makes me unpopular and unusual but its my truth and where i stand. 

my cough seems to be fading, it's been an awful week of violent coughing fits that have seen me almost pass out, blinding white lights and the world literally turning negative before me. this happens every two years, no one has ever explained it of understood it, despite various tests and hospitalisations.  the heart specialist suggested a rare form of gastro which manifests in a cough and i confess the medication he gave me worked instantly. maybe it's just that simple but I can't recall the medication and it's only available by script. it's all to weird. i can't work for a few days so i head down to the beach, catch up with my crew who are all lovely. 

the surf is calmer, less mess and more gentle. there's plenty of people still hanging around, i think it will return to normal once the holidays are over, terrible beach being a prime location for visitors. tomorrow my book comes out, the book.

big messy waves, the ocean is wild, white water churns and spins me around challenging me even getting beyond, then there's a furious rip pulling me to the left.  the last three days have been chaos and although the perfect work up, not much in the way of surfing. it's been ridiculously hot, sweltering and intense, hence my early morning starts at 6am but by 10 I'm back home, siesta and resting. still not 100% well, my cough getting worse each day, my chest doesn't feel right and my breathing slow and laboured, but with a high pollen count, high temperatures and my general exhaustion i just rest and hope for the best.

i get to bed early, maybe 7pm, sleep has been mostly intermittent but last night i slept well. my dreams have been half forged, unravelling as i wake,  as my brain attempts to recall them they slip away, it's an awful feeling. 

today they say rain is due, and i am hoping rainfall comes as i need my garden watered and an afternoon where the climate is reasonable. it really has been to much but now coffee. it's still early, no plan as yet, just waiting for rain, my face needs a shower,  the fan rotates humming above, the simple pleasures of birds calling, a sunday filled with potential and promise. but first coffee.

 

 feeling quite wretched i haul my ass down to the garage for it's 2 recall notices and full service, which i am told takes a full day. drop of time is 7am which means I am awake at 0530 after 5 hours sleep.  the drive down is not so bad but at 7am im confused about what to do, when Jake calls to suggest i get to the northern beaches where he will meet me and drive me around. it's the first time i have seen jake since he arrived in sydney in november. 

he's looking excellent, handsome, healthy and radiating good energy, the opposite of me, an exhausted burnt out shell. he leads a pretty good life, running from dee why beach to manly each morning, she's enjoying this part of the beaches as it's close to the city and had all the convinces of the beach life. it's nice being a passenger. we drive through curl curl, firelight and into manly which i never really liked. later we go for a swim at curl curl where the water is very warm and the surf rolls in perfectly.

it's very hot and despite attempts to fight my general feeling of being at the end of my road i end up back in hornsby half asleep in the toyota waiting lounge. at 1730 they tell me the cars ready and i drive home.

i'm about to pull into my drive way when a friend turns up to take me to drumming. every wednesday night we drum at the beach, dance, hula hoop, fire dance and just hang out. there's a massive group of drummers and spears drums, percussion instruments and spectators. the ocean is filled with evening swimmers and children. there are far more people out than normal. 

i'm not feeling so sociable so i just bang the drum, two hours of tribal energy, i'm exhausted snd exhualted by the whole thing, entered a different state of consciousness, 

home later i shower and drift into a strange night of sleep, dreams, nightmares, coughing and  shadows. i'm thinking about death when i wake up.

sacred echoes playing from here and there, that percussion and drums, move along nicely, 'morning turns up drunk,' i think steve sings,  and then there's all these shifts where the energy expands,  and then returns. music for the end of everything, apocolypse, with grace and beauty and that dignity this incarnation of the band has. sacred echoes.

so my book is out soon, fuck! it's a bit weird but let me know what you think, it's nothing like anything else I have written, it's straight and procedural. i'm talking this one. not really writing. jan 14th. 2026

it's the first time i have written with no real idea other than purging and straight shooting, just gotta get it out of me. a long time in the making and percolating,  i couldn't publish it for a while, until certain stars aligned and extinguished. and now it's done.

i was planning on an early night but ended up at terrible, with the gang just watching moonrise, it was lovely as the sky was incredibly dramatic with a multitude of whips clouds and streaks of blue shades, a pink tinge and a rising crescent moon. the ocean was intense, large waves and a curious shade of turquoise, a few twilight surfers and one lone swimmer.
as it happens i was in bed at 1130pm and slept through the celebrations, although could hear a few fire works as i fell asleep. 

the end of an awfully weird year and i'm feeling somewhat jaded from it, work being the main ball and chain, but my attitude has to change and my expectations. it's financially challenging and i'm stretched to an all time low but somehow i survive and live and keep my book habit going.

my plans for the year are to anchor myself and discipline my writing regime which is erratic, to continue loosing weight and maintain my fitness and to find happiness in simplicity. i like my small circle of friends whom seem to have adopted me, and integrated me, faults and all. it's nice to be asked over for dinner occasionally.

i did go for a surf in the wild waves, very nasty but managed to catch a few monsters, one was amazing but as i stood up and turned around another fell upon me and wiped me out. 

for the next few days i have a lot on and won't be going out much, my throat seems to be sore so i need to nurse that, plus various bills need to be paid. if i can get my technologically challenged brain around it, i have to set up a blu tooth cd player in my car so i can hear music cds which will make driving perfect. 

and thus olde captain mission enters the new year. lets see what it brings and where i travel.

i'm helping a client get ready for bed, she's a great lady, a very unique individual and we have a great friendship, although it's professional over the 12 years i have known her we have really connected and enjoy a laugh together, so tonight I wish her all the best for the new years.

'when will I see you again' she asks as i leave.

'well if they don't replace me with a robot, maybe new years day,' i say.

'oh no, we don't want any robots, they are to dangerous.'

'oh most robots i've met are very friendly.'

'no, they keep breaking things.'

i laughed, not sure where she gets her information from but it was quite funny and in a way i'm glad she doesn't want me replaced by a robot.

what can i say, post bondi, it was inevitable. switched on people knew it was going to happen, how could it not. for 2 years thousands of zombies marched through sydney saying 'globalise the infitatda'  and last sunday they got what they wanted right on their doorstep, i hope they feel happy and proud that they are responsible for these deaths. along with our current government which are really just a bunch of 6th formers who know nothing about the world as they never move outside their bubble of the abc and guardian cocoons along with the ridiculous mythological perspective on israel. these people are insane with hate, their brains infected with an ancient mind virus that blots them to logic, reason or any understanding. in the spiritual war against god, they chose the wrong team. ironically the death cult attacked on the festival of lights, a celebration of life and survival. i don't know what else to say. 

on a train filled with beautiful monsters i don't feel quite the freak, just an old gothic twilight vampire out on the streets of sydney with all the other concert goers. heavy rainfall all day but suddenly as i emerge at newtown the sun transforms the sky into orange and reddish hues, and summer saves the day. 

it's the second gig i will see of the singles tour in sydney at the encore, and it's a packed house again. i'm on the balcony in the middle, good vision, good sound, and a brilliant band. you probably know just how brilliant but this time i notice some tweaking in the songs that bring out the percussion and drumming, these small elements transform the energy of the songs and really work well. in the middle off tantalised there's a section where nick and tim beat out a tribal, almost talking heads rhythm and it's beautiful. perfecto.

on the way home i'm surrounded by beautiful monsters all excited about seeing their queen, all dressed up in freaky outfits. but me, i'm just smiling on a post gig high, feeling that energy cruise around in my plasma, happy.

 exhaustion, i think i am officially burnt out. 

i do feel physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually depleted, from a multitude of factors and various energies. the next few days i will be focusing upon healing but it seems like some motivation is required as my energy is very low, thankfully there's a church gig tonight. it's heavy rain fall. 

 

down at terrible beach at dusk, big fat full moon coming up over the ocean, crisp summer light casting glorious details over the ever shifting surf, a low flying eagle fly's past me carrying a big fish in it's talons, and behind me the wednesday night drummers ensemble are being to pound their skins, a jungle type rhythm,  full on tribal sounds, echoing through the sleepy suburb as girls hula hoop and dance, fire twirl and pirouete, one shakes her ass and gets down and funky. 

and as usual old captain mission is in the wrong place at the wrong time, somehow i'm designated to take her home as she lives quite far up the hill in an inaccessible part of the suburb. she's a cross between traumatised from something and somewhat drunk, she's constantly seeing reassurance and because i have the constitution of a stoic asking if i am okay.

okay, she is attractive and very sexual, her energy is oozing out but she is also vulnerable and that makes her unpredictable so outside her place when she begs me to come inside i am declining, but my god she is persistent. she offers me a cup of tea and i agree,  but tea turns out into this big thing of wanting to make me dinner, then breakfast after a sleep, and somewhere in the madness i agree to watch a movie with her, but blankets and pillows are brought out, lights are switched off and she decides to remove most of her clothing. 

i keep my eyes on the screen and afterwards run for the door. deep down i know she is lonely and wants me to stay, i know she wants to look after me but to be honest my radar says danger danger and when i return home at midnight I know i made the right choice.

i have a rule, never sleep with anyone i've just met who is drunk or in an altered state, it's far to dangerous in this age.

the surf pounds along, beating out it's gentle rhythm, on crusty pristine sand i walk to greet the dawn, the gentle breeze comes in onshore as i kneel before neptune and raise my fin, blessed by the sun. it's neither cold nor warm, but comfortable enough to feel alive as i wade outwards. i love this part of the day. every morning, dawn ceremony. 

a small group of local ladies known as the friendly floaters swim out to the bouy known as goldie, and today i joined them, i didn't quite make it but got about 3/4 of the way there. giant rays swam by, apparently they are there every day, i just never go out that far. the women chat and take their time, it's funny, lots of laughter, lots of conversation, no competition. i may join them later in the pub when they celebrate their xmas party.

i picked up a new version of 'black and blue' from the rolling stones, i loved that album so hearing the new steve wilson mix is kinda exciting, i think the band had really peaked around now and every song is just drop dead brilliant. the piano playing is fucking brilliant. melody is my fave but they are all groovy funked out cuts.

this time last week i set of to see the church play the encore theatre on their singles tour,  which i must admit didn't sound appealing as i thought when i first heard about it, but that's before i saw the set list, and lets face it there were not many singles people would know after the obvious ones, so if you include block,  sacred echoes and numbers then you have a little more motivation. plus the new incarnation of the church play with such vitality and transform older songs into newer ones, man you should hear them. amazing. fighting some form of flu steve pushed through and delivered a professional vocal performance that was as impressive as ever. i also got a name check, 'just want to thank a friend, 'captain mission, and with a name like that you can guess what he gets up to.'
well there was a time when i would hand steve some weed or dmt before a gig, now it's cough lollies made from elderberries. ha!

then last night i was invited to a friends who was hosting an evening for the staff at the cafe we attend in the morning and it was really lovely. a great evening, which i enjoyed immensely. all the waitresses were there except muffin girl who was mia but it was really nice to get to know skyar and the others, especially library girl who really is lovely. 

the morning surf was ferocious with waves all over the place, chopping me up and spitting me out, seaweed everywhere and although i enjoyed the experience it was a relief to get out and dry myself in the sunlight, drink a coffee and go home. there was a pull to stay but so many domestic tasks await i really need to reorient myself with home duties. i need to fit into a busy day other things i loathe doing, a trim and some grooming all of which take up precious time. but first vacuuming which is where roxy music come in handy, always good to do your housework to.

i surf each morning, the water gets warmer each day and today was lovely although choppy. my head feels the same way as thoughts rattle around and rebound on the walls of my brain or however that works, all i know is i feel slightly over people and their weird perceptions on me but that's okay, i shrug it off and move forwards, sometimes you gotta take the odd bullet just so others can feel okay, and sometimes they just don't know what they are even saying. often words are said in anger and actions follow, that's the cause and effect but occasionally the cause is based upon no evidence or false premise. even i didn't have all the information but it's amazing how malleable a mind can be when it's under attack and for the sake of the peace just accept the falsehood.

my doctor whom has helped me massivly through the last few years deducted my cough that has afflicted me over decades was not an infection at all but a form of reflux. i had undergone several tests and specialists, speculation from lung disease to mould poisoning to asthma often surfaced as everyone had their own take but my doctor suggested 'reflux' and prescribed me some medication which instantly fixed the issue. only i had forgotten all about it as this occurred over a year ago. 

when last weekend i started coughing again i just logically thought i'd picked up some bug from everyone i work with, as they were all sick. it wasn't anything else but reflux, fixed by one of those pills. but the damage was done, can't change the history or the intention, it's no ones fault but just the way things sometimes play out and although i carry no ill will or negative thoughts i do feel a sense of sadness that this type of misunderstanding or situation occurrs wen you least expect it and have no real defence due to circumstance.

it was nice to get a call from jake this morning, he arrived yesterday afternoon and had been to see his mother, things do not look good, it's pretty bad but he's prepared and strong. me, i'm still not sure what to make of the whole thing. i was wondering if I should attend the funeral, more outa respect for jake than her but the whole thing could backfire. those people hated me, they were cruel and behaved disgusting towards me, i have nothing to prove or any point to make but i wanna do the right thing, once i work that out.

cancer.

that c word again, what is it why do we get it, i have theories, ideas i have collected that may or may not be true. it appears many people i know have cancer in one form or another and i am no expert at all. it's always been something of a mystery to me, something that i just blank upon when it came up in conversations, a sort of medical term for some complex type of cell mutation, not something i am interested in. words like remission, benign, malignant and remission seemed to fly way above my head and on a need to know basis i never needed to know. anyways, at the moment several people i am close to and some i am not are all suffering from it or have had close encounters. now my ex wife has it. it's appears terminal in her case and although i have nothing to do with her it's tragic as she is only early 60's and obviously it effects my son who has to deal with it.

my own process would be o avoid all medical treatments, and throw myself into ayahuscia or sound therapy, sounds via vibrational medicine and alternative treatments, and i would probably die. but there is no way I will surrender to the medical model. it's inherently wrong and although society invests in it i don't. so if i get cancer chances are i will die.

however i don't plan to, i plan to live and grow old on my own terms. cancer can get fucked.

anyways my theories are:

it's some sort of parasite and can be treated as such

it's a physical manifestation of emotional trauma

it's caused by the covid vaccinations

it's just a fuckin nasty illness nature throws at us.

who really knows. all i know is i'm kinda sick of how much money is wasted on so many unessessery things when we could just cure it. if we had a will for where there's a will there's a way. it stands to reason if we can get to the moon we can cure this, so why haven't we.

logic says, it's because its a cash cow, an industry which keeps the markets spinning and a cure would be catastrophic for the multinationals and peripherals who profit from it.

a friend of mine told me that research after the holocaust showed that none of the survivors had heart disease, kidney disease, cancers, in fact all their organs were clean. recently i heard a guy who was captive of hamas for two years say when he was released the doctors could not believe how healthy his organs were. he was officially starving but internally his organs were clean. they said it was a mystery. maybe the way to deal with cancer is to fast but it's so extreme. i could only manage 24 hours. i guess if you are forced it's a different story.

stupid cancer. i wish it would just fuck off.

okay early night, early morning, here i am waiting to be picked up for the blue mountains trip, i'm wearing long pants, a new church tee shirt and my big overcoat. we had over night rain but it has stopped now and there is a hint of sunlight. i'm listening to a great podcast from winston marshall interviewing alison pearson from the telegraph, it's very good. i've grown to really like winston's interviews, he's a magnificent host and very knowledgable for such a young man.

well i better get my skates on.

early mornings in the terrible surf as the sun rises and warms my skin, waves are okay but my fin is battered and falling apart, it is time to take out the new one. yesterday i hurt my foot, it's throbbing hard today and difficult to stand upon, i must stop thinking i am a teenager when it comes to jumping over walls.
lots happening, my book is due out in the new year, it's kinda exciting plus i've modified or in process of modifying 'yuri' which hopefully will make it less dense, and then i can begin work on manifesto which will take a full year to complete art work and all.
fortunately i am highly motivated and ironed out all the creases in my productivity, plus incentivised and i think getting work play balance in order. a few recreational events upcoming, trips to the blue mountains, the church gigs, a sk solo show and some social activities and readings, so that's kinda nice.
outside they are digging up my road, trucks, dust everywhere but new pipes and surface makes my little cup de sac quite the lovely place. now time to get me skates on as a friend has made me pancakes. yay!

 

and here it is, out of the blue the new church tune and video, sacred echoes 2. interestingly based upon the photography of dorothy lange, a woman i studied at university when i was learning photography she worked for the food and farm administration and captured the depression down in the south so people in the north could see the photographs of how it was impacting. i guess in some ways this was the beginning of photojournalism. lange did something quite brilliant, she captured the humanity of people, that emotion transmission a photograph can carry, a picture speaks a million words. 

after last weekend i begun to burn out, exhaustion and fatigue had infected my psyche and the weariness was showing, i was finding it difficult to sleep and my motivation was at an all time low. work was giving me a headache and flu like symptoms were showing. the walls were closing in. on to of that i was having long distance issues with family and no resolution. therefore i made the difficult discussion to just take a week off and look after myself.
thankfully the weather was fine, surf was up and i managed to spend my mornings catching waves and hanging out in the sun at the beach, during the afternoon i settled into the routine of writing and finishing up my book, 'the antidote.' 
evenings i would wind down with an early night so i could get up early. 
one day i climbed the skillion, and watched the whales and one day i visited my friend who was in hospital. 
there was no real major change in my lifestyle, just a lot more sleep and routine. my cough disappeared fast and the old bones stopped aching, in fact by about wednesday i was beginning to feel much better and happier about the completion of my book. and today friday i planted some seeds my friend had given me in a big pot at the bottom of the garden, cleared a few piles of junk and pottered around doing laundry and a deep clean in the bathroom.
the road outside is being dug up as they are laying a new pipe so access has been tricky lots of trucks and dust but it has been completed and looks a lot better, at least the potholes are filled in. so that's the week. 

 

great early morning surf out on the south end of terrible, waters sharp but waves are wild and i manage to catch a few but it is time to pick up a new fin, my old blue one is on it's last legs, after 20 years the pod is going into retirement and the replacement will be a wooden one. it's the end of an era and beginning of a new one.

from wild waves to wilde childe it's been ages since i managed to catch up but today i drove around to her new abode,  which is not far from me and we spent an hour together chatting planning and laughing, she's looking great and still in the process of unpacking which is something i seem to still be doing.

it's home for me for a rest, my body feels somewhat in need of a siesta after all this palaver so i wander in and have a rest. oh it's nice o be home again, put me feet up. there's a lot of work i need to do but to be honest can't be bothered, i just wanna lay down and have a mid afternoon snooze.

i have to meet some people for a samhain gathering later in the evening, so i better attempt to look somewhat presentable. 

it's halloween time

 

the carpet crawlers are here, well the cleaner is although he is on his hands and knees with his weird steam machines as he attempts to clean up the terrible blood splatter stains that trail along my upstairs corridor and most of my bedroom. it really looks like a serial killers den up there, and it's embarrassing if visitors would pop in.  i mean it's always the person you least suspect right?
oh he was such a quiet neighbour, always had his head in a book. real nice guy.
anyways it's been going on a while and i just hope he's making progress with the blood. Jesus, it really is a mess. 

how did it get there you ask.

well i was moving a massive bookcase and the bottom of out hit my leg, and then blood just spurted out non stop, being on blood thinners didn't help. anyway's it not only hurt like hell, i was unable to move as the furniture was blocking my path to the bathroom so i just carried on until the bookcase was slotted into place. and the blood stained carpet was left looking like a pro hart / dexter variation. 

eventually i cleaned up my wound with some hydrogen peroxide, a very handy chemical to keep. i just hope the carpet crawler cleans up as effectively.

 great album from tom verlaine, i just discovered it. very hard to get on cd. love it.

the days have all blended, sometimes monday is sunday and i just don't care, as long as there's a wave that drives me forwards, the ocean has been all shades of the spectrum, still, choppy, big wild surf and gentle waves, it's clean and wet and when i emerge i'm better for it. the world gets left behind and I bathe in reality, my mind calm and clear and void, only energy unpolluted.

these are the beginning of a new phase in captain missions journey, a new arena is opening up, rebirth after a long inert winter. i have the release date for my book, it's in the final prep stage before i need to work out the cover art and launch. i'm also excited about the direction life is propelling me but most important is i have purchased a device that allows me to play my cds in my car via blu tooth. this is going to change my drive time. happiness.

currently i'm really enjoying three diverse bits of music, speed of stars by kilbey and co, richard ashcrofts new one which sticks to formula and tom verlaine's 'the wonder' album.

bookwise the fantasy epic mistborn is really getting good, I'm half way through the first book and it's suddenly improved.

what a fantastic weekend old captain mission has had, lots of surf, sun and laughter a spontaneous trip to merryweather up at newcastle, a very funny dinner party with some pals at avoca where we are laughing so hard we are literally falling from our chairs. yes old captain mission was in fine form, telling's stories and tales, joking about his attractions and repulsions to various women and discovering his spirit animal this period is the powerful owl.

yes the powerful owl is called 'archimedes' however i can't recall the word powerful and keep calling it the peculiar owl, which probably suits me better.

 

strangely enough while i am getting all enthusiastic about archimedes my friend is beginning a relationship with a donkey he came across while looking at a new property. it's quite strange how enthusiastic he is about the donkey, in fact i suspect the only reason he is buying the house is the donkey would come with it. everyday he visits and takes some carrots, 'mate i say, carrots are for rabbits,' but what do i know. late last night his wife rang me up looking for him, 'try the donkey,' i said. sure enough he was there with his four legged friend.

the powerful owl is more falcon than owl but he does make a cool owl call, in the very early mornings. he also eats a lot of small creatures like cats, rats and possums.if i could train him to get those pesky bush turkeys i'd be very happy. yesterday at work i was making owl impressions all day. i'm getting very good.

swimming at dawn again, water somewhat chilled today but it's so life affirming, the water is crystal clear and you can see the rays and fish below you. later i bask in the sun, it's so nourishing. and then i meet some people for coffee and hang out at my fave spot in terrible beach. it's wonderful being off for a few days, i'm returning to that sense of self. i have such good people around me, really great people, i'm lucky i guess.

in the afternoons i finish my novel, it's been 25 years and it's almost ready to roll, november 11th is launch date. it took so long as i had to wait for people to die. it's being proofread by a friend at the moment. the biggest change i made was the title. it's a huge step but the correct one. i cannot wait to get it out so i can start on my new one.

i am glad the hostages are home, i am grateful war has finished despite the fact it will start again. i have lived in the middle east, and i have a very good understanding of israel, gaza, jews and islam, and not only do i fully support israel, whatever connection I had with it is now stronger than ever,  it's very obvious hamas will never surrender any power they have over gaza, and by proxy neither will the idiots in the cities of the west whom identify with the islamic cause because they all celebrate dead jews more than they ever wanted peace. 

that's okay, i wrote many years ago we would be entering a phase of war i described as 'spiritual war' and we are entering it's peak point. you made your choices, and judgement will be cast by the universe. it's not quite time yet but the clock is ticking. that's the thing when you don't drill into what you are force fed. if you follow the sydney morning herald and abc, the guardian and bbc, if you follow new york times or can you will see a side. it's only by seeing the cross section of media and applying some critical analysis that allows you to see a proximity of truth. most people don't ever listen to anything that comes out of israel, ins or the times of israel therefore they never even understand what is going down. israel has one of the most liberal media and democracies in the world but you would never know that, it has the most liberal attitude to weed, to sexuality and to it's Arab population but you would never know that, it is in fact the most multi cultural society on earth but you would never know that, it has a vast population of brown and black skinned people and asian but you would never know that, it has a modern progressive attitude to women and sex but you would never know that, it has always taught peace but you wouldn't know, and why should you really care when all you care about is being on a side that virtue signals the loudest. it's okay, you are free to think whatever you wish, i'd never  censor that but i would ask that you at least acknowledge and admit you hate us jews, you hate the fact we have survived, you hate us as much as you hate yourselves. at least that would be honest.

all the things they say about israel are projections. starvation? it was only the hostages that suffered starvation. child murders = projection. watch the video shot by the palestinians, themselves, watch that then comment on morality. but the truth is you would never dare to, you made your choice long before october 7th, and as much as you would never admit it you hate the very idea of peace. you just want dead jews. that's the spiritual war, not judged by man, not even perceived but known. that's why i remain under the radar, rarely commenting, rarely speaking out because i trust the universe in a way you don't. it's part of being jewish i guess, and maybe that's what you hate.

i watched tommy robertson in israel, a great man whom has been labeled racist, fascist and all those other projections, he has made a series of short videos about what he encounters while there, and it's very interesting if you read the comments as well. people have no idea about israel. none except what they have been programmed to think.it's amazing how brainwashed people are. how reactionary they can be and how quick they judge. and it's problematic as they cannot detach, the terrible mind virus has them and they invested so much it becomes impossible to detangle. this is why feminist groups around the world were silent when it came to the are of israeli women. this is why people wave isis flags at so called peace marches. anyways whatever your beliefs, good luck. 

 the final part of rays lennox path towards some sort of peace is as brilliant as the previous two books 'crime' and 'the long knives.' in resolution we find ray working in security after quitting the police. he's relocated himself in brighton and replaced cocaine and booze with fitness and a proper relationship. all going swimmingly until his girlfriend suggests a foursome. ray's an amicable guy, happy to please the needs of his new love, he agrees enthusiastically until he comes face to face with a man who may have started his journey all those years ago in a tunnel in leith.

this is not really a resolution but a hideous look into the kind of corruption and cover ups that take place in the background of suburban life, business and friendships. it's a nasty story brutal and violent, it's also hilarious and laser focused on all the social issues of our time, but it's irvine welsh doing what he does best, watching a man breakdown and rise up. ray lennox is a great character, his pain is real, his foibles are everyman and in the conclusion to his story ray does find some resolution. 

 

it's a magnificent day down in terrible beach, there's a mild onshore wind but the sun is out in full glory. the water is fresh and clean, not much surf but i swim out anyway and it's joyous and life affirming. after splashing around I sit in the sunshine soaking up some vitamin d and wait for my meeting with aradia. she rocks up and we wonder around the corner for a watermelon drink. we quickly swap a few stories, aradia does most of the talking. she's a defence lawyer and a writer, and she's about to publish a book about her transformation into a witch. it's a strange thing as she even looks like the ex and speaks identically the same kinda stuff. the universe is presenting me with something, i'm not sure what it is but it's exciting and frightening. 

it took a while to fall asleep, the night seemed to be heavy and my brain was moving through it faster than usual, processing various concerns like an anxiety engine. when i did fall asleep it was deep and short lived, i was meeting aradia this morning but we both got confused over times, dates and daze. i guess tomorrow will have to do. the beach was busy and the water looked amazing as the morning heat bore down. later in the day i see aradia as my car runs parallel to hers, we wind down our windows and smile, locking in tomorrow. 

now it's the morning again and aradia and i are scheduled to meet after my surf, but she has to go see her agent and i'm busy enjoying the surf so our date is postponed until tomorrow which actually suits me perfectly. the surf is spectacular and afterwards i soak up the morning light chatting to monique and the various men she has in her wake. it's a wonderful start to the day.

there's not much that pisses me off. my general theory of anger when i experience it is to just let it pass over me while I work out why i feel it and what i can do to prevent it happening again. it's unavoidable these days but fortunately my process eliminates it fast from my body and mind. anger is an energy and it has it's uses but at this stage in my life i'm not interested in that kind of energy.

one thing that does make me angry on a justifiably regular basis is the fact that car manufacturers no longer make cars that play cds. this does cause me considerable anger as i don't want to hear music on a stick, i like sliding that disc in the slot and kicking back on my journey, the soundtrack meets the landscape. that's just how it is for me. 

in red eye yesterday i managed to pick up 'speed of stars' new cd 'as italy dreamed...through summers of haze,' and although I have played it at home it's the music i would like to play driving along the coast on a hot day. i said to the guy in the cd shop as i looked down at the stacks of new cassettes, 'don't tell me cassettes are coming back into fashion?'
'yeah he said, they are getting popular.'
'i'm waiting for cds to comeback.'
he laughed, 'they are actually coming back as well.'

so there car manufacturers, cds will be coming back and you guys fucked up.

anyways i'm really loving, yes that's the right word, loving this album. it's so good, these guys have really created this suburb piece of music, it's exceptional. no fluff, no filler, just great quality songs. songs that make you want to drive, road tripping music. it's a good job i have a great imagination and if i close my eyes i can see the music play out in front of me as i drive my fiat down to sorrento stopping at some coastal village for a coffee and a crunchy italian busicuit, flirting with a cute waitress staring in my own movie with the perfect soundtrack. life.

reading earl slicks book 'guitar' is filled with surprises but there's no surprise in reading how amazing bowie was at everything he did. the book itself is just slick just talking stories about his live and adventures with various people. it's an easy read and very worthwhile.

the time melts into mornings, and the mornings melt into now. at the beach i watch the women pass me by, all out and about looking glamorous and busy, sipping lattes and walking fast in tight stretchy pants, smelling good and getting ready for the summer.
sometimes i get lost in women, it's like a magnetic force overwhelms my whole being and i'm just floating in some strange narcotic like fugue state, part erotic, part romantic, part fantasy and part pornographic hallucination. the perfect way to describe this feeling is via a beatles song, 'fixing a hole.' i'm not sure why, it just does.

i have a lot of work to do, read through a version of my novel, 'rites' and make some major adjustments at the end of the narrative, it skips a year or so in a time jump and i'm not sure if it works. i really need a second opinion. maybe it requires chapters. it certainly needs a change.

i surf at dawn, the water is cold but i acclimatise fast, there's not much of a wave but it does feel good. as usual the beach is filled with friendly locals and acquaintances, in the night time we watch the drumming and hula hoop fire twirling girls, i manage to score a free dinner and under the sprawling stars everything feels peaceful and in the right place.

last night i'm having dinner with peter in avoca, we go for affogato in terrible at an exclusive restaurant where the dessert was more than the dinner. but it's good to see peter and we laugh at almost everything from the strange code we cracked of avoca waitresses to the crazy nightlife of terrible after dark.in the morning shayne picks me up for our weekly coffee and debrief, it's nice as we always drive to ettalong, 'the lords of pour' where they have an interesting menu. 

i make contact with the queen of the witches, she's a carbon template of my old twin flame, it's uncanny although i guess being an ex criminal lawyer puts her in a somewhat different type of bracket, yet she speaks identical, often repeating things the ex used to say. it really is bizarre. she is interested to get to know me, read some work, and i hers. the connection is very strong, even she agrees. the universe is kind to me, it does love and guide me and sends me interesting women.

i finish 'all fours' a highly praised national award winner. it's part of my commitment to read more female writers and as usual i am very disappointed. modern publishing is as tragic as the music industry and although many parts of the book are well written the novel is extremely self indulgent and partly ridiculous. i'm sure it will do well for the many young middle class women book clubs of the northern suburbs of sydney who have all the luxuries and domestic appliance's including husbands and children and fruitful careers yet still require fulfilment be it sexual or spiritual. oh how i wish i didn't have to finish this book, but commitment is commitment. 

at least now i can read something else. i need some violence, a male voice lusting after young women and gratuitous graphic content. or at least a great story.  i love the sisterhood but seriously what passes as a novel these days is just a DEI pick. i've always said, when a publisher approves a manuscript they should know nothing about the writer. nothing!

on perfect days i take a book down to the beach and read a few chapters in the sun soaking up some d from the source and say hi to a few passing folks and maybe grab a coffee and watch people move through me by while i think about writing new novels, character's, plot devices and arcs, various narrative inventions and how i would ideally want to tell and then read a story. sometimes my work has various magical themes, but whatever the project i'm involved in, there's always a certain amount of magickal development. even daydreaming which comes easy to me, as my novels and my life are the same thing.

so i'm now walking back to the car, i'm taking a long way around, because it's the journey not the destination and i'm pondering my long lost magical project, an invocation of hekate. the whole thing would take 8 months and although i've prepared myself for it the cosmos seems to always have different plans for me, and thus it remains at the back of my mind, perculating. but today it's not far away, as i wander along in my blissed out serene  tranquility moon base state of mind a car, a beaten up black jeep type pulls up right in front of me almost but not quite running me down. a window scrolls down and inside a young lady apologises, to which i reply, 'it's quite fine, everything's just fine.' and as i speak i see the lady is no ordinary lady but significantly beautiful, instantly alluring and myserious and all i think is i could just open the door and sit next to her. i don't care where she is going, i just want to sit beside her as she drives to her next appointment. we engage in some sort of converataion. she tells me she's a criminal lawyer and a writer and her name is aradia. 

'that's a beautiful name,' i say, ' it sounds like the name of a bright star or a galaxy.'

and then the car behind her starts to force it's way through so she needs to drive on to the main road but we are mid flirt and it's all to much, like the universe just started a stopwatch and has given us 5 seconds to seal the deal.

'but i would love to hear all about your writing' i say. 'i'd like to see you again.'

'how do we do this?' she asks.

and in that moment i knew. i would have taken a leap of faith. but i told her my name and said look me up. and she drove off.

and as i continued the return to my own car my heart. my mind and my guts were sitting next to her, sticking a church cd into her cd player and saying, 'listen to this, you're going to love it. and by the way. we are going to have a fabulous life together.'

about a year or so ago i read paul levy's book series wetiko series, something which resonated with me very much and continues to do so although i have many questions to ask him. the other day while scanning the net i discovered he had written an eloquent explanation of wetiko and i feel it's timely to share it with people. please read and think about this:

What is Wetiko

by

Paul Levy

A contagious psycho-spiritual disease of the soul is currently being acted out en masse on the world stage via an insidious collective psychosis of titanic proportions. This mind-virus—which Native Americans have called “wetiko”—covertly operates through the unconscious blind spots in the human psyche, rendering people oblivious to their own madness and compelling them to act against their own best interests. Wetiko is a psychosis in the true sense of the word, “a sickness of the spirit.” Wetiko covertly influences our perceptions so as to act itself out through us while simultaneously hiding itself from being seen.

Wetiko bewitches our consciousness so that we become blind to the underlying, assumed viewpoint through which we perceive, conjure up, and give meaning to our experience of both the world and ourselves. This psychic virus can be thought of as the “bug” in “the system” that informs and animates the madness that is playing out in our lives, both individually and collectively, on the world stage.

Before being able to treat this sickness that has infected us all, we have to snap out of our denial, see the disease, acknowledge it, name it, and try to understand how it operates so as to ascertain how to deal with it—this is what my book Wetiko is all about.

The Normalization of Wetiko

A few years ago I ran into a friend whom I hadn’t seen for a while. He asked me what I had been up to. I answered that I was writing about the collective psychosis that our species had fallen into. His response was telling. He asked me what made me think there was a collective psychosis going on. His question left me speechless; I literally didn’t know how to respond. What made him think there wasn’ta collective psychosis going on, I wondered. Could he give me one piece of evidence? Our collective madness had become so normalized that most people—my friend was extremely bright, by the way—didn’t even notice.

Many of us have become conditioned to thinking that if we were in a middle of a collective psychosis it would mean that people would be doing all sorts of “crazy” things such as running around naked and screaming, for instance. This ingrained idea, however, gets in the way of recognizing the very real collective insanity in which all of us are—both passively and actively—participating. If we want to envision what a collective psychosis could actually look like, it might be a real eye-opener to realize it would look exactly like what is happening right now in our world.

What Is Wetiko Really?

Wetiko is a cannibalizing force driven by insatiable greed, appetite without satisfaction, consumption as an end in itself, and war for its own sake, against other tribes, species, and nature, and even against the individual’s own humanity. It is a disease of the soul, and being a disease of the soul, we all potentially have wetiko, as it pervades and “in-forms” the underlying field of consciousness. Any one of us at any moment can fall into our unconscious and unwittingly become an instrument for the evil of wetiko to act itself out through us and incarnate in our world. If we see someone who seems to be taken over by wetiko and we think they have the disease and we don’t, in seeing them as separate we have fallen under the spell of the virus ourselves.

Wetiko induces in us a proclivity to see the source of our own pathology outside of ourselves—existing in “the other.” Wetiko feeds off of polarization and fear—and terror—of “the other.” Seeing the world through a wetiko-inspired lens of separation/otherness enlivens what Jung calls “the God of Terror who dwells in the human soul,” and simultaneously plays itself out both within our soul and in the world at large. Wetiko subversively turns our “genius” for reality-creation against us in such a way that we become bewitched by the projective tendencies of our own mind.

Falling under wetiko’s spell, we become entranced by our own intrinsic gifts and talents for dreaming up our world in a way that not only doesn’t serve us, but rather is put at the service of wetiko (whose agenda is contrary to our own). Our creativity then boomerangs against us such that we hypnotize ourselves with our creative genius, which cripples our evolutionary potential. To the extent we are unconsciously possessed by the spirit of wetiko, it is as if a psychic tapeworm or parasite has taken over our brain and tricked us, its host, into thinking we are feeding and empowering ourselves while we are actually nourishing the parasite (a process which will ultimately kill its host—us).

In wetiko disease, something that is not us surreptitiously, beneath our conscious awareness, takes the place of and plays the role of who we actually are. Shape-shifting so as to cloak itself in our form, this mercurial predator gets under our skin and “puts us on” as a disguise. Miming ourselves, we become a copy, a false duplicate of our true selves. We are then truly playing out a real version of the imposter syndrome.

The Sickness of Exploitation

Wetiko is powerless to control our true nature, but it can control and manipulate this false identity that it sets up within us. When we fall under the sway of wetiko’s illusion, we simultaneously identify with who we are not, while dissociating from and forgetting who we actually are—giving away our power, not to mention ourselves, in the process.

Disconnecting from our own intrinsic agency, we open ourselves to be used, manipulated, and exploited by outside forces. Indigenous author Jack Forbes, who wrote the classic book about wetiko entitled Columbus and Other Cannibals, refers to wetiko as “the sickness of exploitation.” Wetiko can be conceived of as being an evil, cannibalistic, vampiric spirit that inspires people under its sway to take and consume another’s resources and life-force energy solely for their own profit, without giving anything of value back from their own lives. Wetiko thus violates the sacred law of reciprocity in both human affairs and the natural world as a whole.

The main channel of wetiko’s transmission is relational. It exists through our relationships with ourselves, each other, and the world at large. Like a vampire that can’t stand the light of day, the wetiko virus can’t stand to be illumined. However, in seeing how it covertly operates through our own consciousness, we take away its seeming independence, autonomy, and power over us, while at the same time empowering ourselves. The way the vampiric wetiko covertly operates within the human psyche is mirrored by the way it works in the outside world.

Jung never tired of warning us that the greatest danger threatening humanity today is the possibility that millions—even billions— of us can fall into our unconscious together in a collective psychosis, reinforcing each other’s madness in such a way that we become unwittingly complicit in creating our own destruction. When this occurs, humanity finds itself in a situation where we are confronted with—and battered by—the primal, primordial, and elemental forces of our own psyche.

The Internal Origins of Wetiko

The most depraved part of falling under the thrall of wetiko is that, ultimately speaking, it involves the assent of our own free will; no one other than ourselves is ultimately responsible for our situation. There is no objective entity called wetiko that exists outside of ourselves that can steal our soul—the dreamed-up phenomenon of wetiko tricks us into giving it away ourselves.

People under the sway of wetiko are implicated in and willingly subscribe to their own enslavement. They do this to the point that when offered the way out of the comfort of their prison they oftentimes react violently. They symbolically—and sometimes literally—try to kill the messenger who is showing them the path to freedom. Ultimately speaking, in wetiko disease we are not being infected by a physical, objectively existing virus outside of ourselves. Rather, the origin and genesis of the wetiko psychosis is endogenous; its roots are to be found within the human psyche. The fact that wetiko is the expression of something inside of us means that the cure for wetiko is likewise within us.

If we don’t understand that our current world crisis has its roots within and is an expression of the human psyche, we are doomed to unconsciously repeat and continually recreate endless suffering and destruction in increasingly amplified forms, as if we are having a recurring nightmare. In my language, the inner situation within ourselves is getting “dreamed up” into materialized form in, through, and as the world.

In waking life we are continually dreaming right beneath the threshold of consciousness, especially when we are under the influence of our unconscious complexes. In other words, when we are “under the influence” of our activated unconscious, we will unknowingly recreate our very inner landscape via the medium of the outside world. What can be more dreamlike than that?

What is happening in the world today is reflecting—and both literally and symbolically revealing to us—something unknown within our own psyche. At the same time, in a nonlinear acausal feedback loop that happens both atemporally (outside of time) and over (linear) time, events in our world are informed and shaped by the very inner psychological process they are reflecting. The inner and outer are simultaneously co-arising and reciprocally co-evoking each other. This is to say that what is happening within us and what is arising in our world have a mysterious interconnection; the inner and the outer are ultimately not separate nor separable.

Recognizing the correlation between the inner and the outer, between the micro and the macro, is the doorway into being able to see wetiko and wake up to the dreamlike nature that wetiko is simultaneously hiding and revealing depending on our point of view and level of awareness. Recognizing the connection between what is happening out in the world with what is taking place within our minds becomes a channel or secret doorway that leads beyond our merely personal psychological issues, empowering us to deal with the essential problem of our time.

Dreaming Wetiko

The wetiko psychosis is a dreamed-up phenomenon, which is to say that we are all potentially participating in and actively cocreating the wetiko epidemic in each and every moment. Like a collective dream, the wetiko epidemic is the manifestation of something in our shared collective unconscious taking on material form. Wetiko is literally demanding that we pay attention to the fundamental role that the psyche (the source of our dreams) plays in creating our experience of ourselves and of the world.

Forgetting the crucial role that the psyche plays in creating our experience, we marginalize our own intrinsic authority, tragically dreaming up both internal and external authoritarian forces to limit our freedom and mold our experience for us. Never before in all of human history has our species been forced to confront the numinous, world-transforming powers of the psyche on so vast a scale. Even with the ongoing multiple catastrophes that are converging in our world, it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that the darkness that is emerging today might become the soil out of which a regenerative age and nobler culture arise.

Although the source of humanity’s inhumanity to itself, wetiko is at the same time a potential catalyst for our evolution as a species. Recognizing the dreamed-up nature of the wetiko epidemic can become the impetus for us to awaken to the dreamlike nature of the universe itself.

In a circular process without beginning or end, we are being dreamed up by the universe while dreaming up the universe at one and the same time. To see this not only demands that we have an expansion of consciousness, it is the very expansion itself. The less wetiko is recognized, however, the more seemingly powerful and dangerous it becomes. Wetiko can only be seen when we begin to realize the dreamlike nature of our universe, step out of the illusory viewpoint of the separate self, and recognize the deeper underlying field of which we are all expressions, in which we are all contained, and through which we are all interconnected.

These are interrelated insights of the same multifaceted realization. The energetic expression of this realization, and the wetiko dissolver par excellence, is compassion. Connecting with the compassion that is our nature we find ourselves in very good company. Being the unmediated expression of recognizing the dreamlike nature, compassion reciprocally co-arises with lucidity. In other words, if we’re genuinely awakening to the dreamlike nature of reality, both lucidity and compassion will be inseparably united components of our experience.

As if an instrument of a higher intelligence, wetiko literally invites—make that demands—that we become conscious of and step into our intrinsic creative power and agency, or suffer the consequences. Instead of mutating so as to become resistant to our attempts to heal it, the wetiko virus forces us to mutate—to evolve— relative to it. Wetiko is a quantum phenomenon, in that it contains within itself the potential to be either the deadliest poison or the most healing medicine. Will wetiko destroy us? Or will it catalyze our evolution and wake us up?

driving into the moon, the road is crystal clear, an envelope of magical light surrounds the freeway as i cruise along north bound, into the deepest parts of lunar projection. that massive bright satellite fills my network, messages from other places transmitted long ago received finally after static interference from humanity, it only takes solidarity and solitude. 
i turn off the freeway and follow the path home, as i take a right turn there she is up there directly ahead, that strange biscuit shaped circle, a super-moon about to eclipse. it's a wonderful thing to behold.

fathers day, i can't help but think about my dad, so many things he just didn't understand about me. it makes me sad that there was this chasm of misunderstanding, he just never understood me. i guess that was that generational thing, that gap people speak of from the 50's to the 60's only i was not even part of the hippie movement, i was alone and belonged to no movement, belonging to no one thing. a satellite like the moon. a super-moon.

anyways my father is always there, everyday, a ghost in memory form, a vast part of the past i always attempt to project into the present. light takes time. it has it's own speed. 

i speak to my mother, she's scared and alone. she lives in fear, it's frustrating the hell out of me but i have no influence and when i attempt to communicate to those that do i'm literally snubbed. i've given up attempting to even communicate now. that connection has been cut, my efforts to fix them have been pointless.

for the next two days it rains, heavy misery but i'm hibernating indoors, getting through some stuff i need to do like the bathroom spring clean, some mopping and polishing. still far to much clutter i need to get rid off but slowly i'm actually getting somewhere. i'm also developing a sore throat so it's plenty of lemon and honey tea, lots of sleep and recuperation from battlefield work.

at terrible, crack of dawn the sun is out and the skies are blue, it's simply a wonderful spring day filled with potential and could go anywhere. i'm sitting down head into my james blish book, and my skin feels the sunlight, that wonderful burst of energy as my bones drink it in and heat pulsates through me, vitamin d straight from the source. i see my friends heading towards me, and we chat and swap stories, particularly my friend danni who gives me a lesson in artificial intelligence, she's a very smart lady who is also very funny and always manages to make me laugh. she's actually very smart and is a bit of a business woman so i'm grateful for her help, she offers to come around and train me. we look at the world passing us by, it's amazing what a sunny morning can do but through the corner of my eye i see the southern horizon fill with heavy rainclouds and the dark underbelly cast a shadow as it grows and expands. the temperature drops rapidly, the energy changes fast and i make my excuses and head home. as i drive big droplets of rain fall on my windscreen. 

by the time i am home the clouds have burst open and i have to run through the house to get to the clothes line where my washing is hanging, grabbing everything and hauling it indoors. the temperature has dropped significantly and it's colder than usual. spring in sydney.

i sit down for a moment to gather my thoughts, uncertain what i really need to do, at some point in time i need a hair cut and beard trim, whenever i cast my reflection i feel that what looks back is an older version of me, shabby, unkept and wild, and although it really doesn't bother me to much it would be true to say, i'm  overdue for a trim.

for me it's like being in medieval times, surrounded by accusers and conspiracy people who have gone so far down the rabbit hole they cannot actually think outside it. while i cannot disprove their nonsense, it's all based upon ignorance, even if i could the facts won't change their minds. i cannot blame them, they are just confused by irrational fear, almost hysteria. 

so, the skylight is being finished and it's a messy job, as i type there are two tradies australians call gyp rockers who in english are plasterers and they are finishing off the work on my roof. this is a big change in the interior, light will flood the dining table and thus the energy will change. i'm specifically thinking about full moons.

at the beach the surf breaks perfectly and there are a handful of people without wetsuits swimming, friends tell me the water is warm, however i may give it a few extra weeks as the cold immobilises me, but the call of the ocean is strong, it's really is.

the james blish novel, 'black easter' is a bit strange, there's so much description of magical rituals and paraphernalia, magick appears as complex as engineering or a well disciplined science and the plot is kinda insane, a black magician is consulted by a very rich arms dealer to eliminate the governor of california, and then a scientist. this being a trail test for the arms dealers true desire, to unleash the gates off hell upon the world, just to see what happens. obviously the magician he has chosen to do this is very powerful and possibly the most interesting character in the novel. he's almost bored by the tasks but testing his powers. the big twist in the story being the retreat of god, therefore the demons cannot return to hell. 

i'm enjoying reading it except for the magick which is far to ritualistic and medieval for me, however, the point is made well. 

this morning i venture down to the ocean but i miscalculate, it's angry and windy, it has a ferocity that is dangerous so i retreat to my coffee shop and then head home. my fish, only one left is swimming in a freshly cleaned pond, the outside area looks very good, landscaped and clear of debris. soon i will erect my hammock and enjoy a spring afternoon lazing in the sunshine overlooking the front garden. mission control slowly taking shape, slowly getting there.
with a new roof i'm immune from leaking, new skylight the sunshine will illuminate my indoor palms and the whole interior will morph into something spectacular. mission control my little sanctuary, a genuine eden with my stereo cranked up playing some space tune from kilbey and kennedy, ambient poetry, 'ignorance is bliss, thus you are eurporic,' you gotta love that hey?

i'm still recovering from some weird sin, it's left me tired and sleepy, somewhat in need of a warm tropical island and some coconuts. not much i can do about that. just have to grin and wear it. work does my brain in, the endless ridiculous double standards, the lack of mature communication, the slow death of my clients as they are dumbed down into control by an unconscious authority, ah well, onwards and forwards.

these days i just love being home, alone. pottering around, reading and pondering like a galactic watcher of worlds, waiting for the mothership or some sort of intervention. waiting for a sun god or solar flare, waiting for the angels of principalities, waiting for the barbarians, waiting for the magic bus and the visions of charlotte, waiting for the english civil war, california sinking into the ocean, waiting for the postman, and to bump into nick cave, waiting for the pain to cease, war to end, the clouds to part and waiting on a friend. 

p.s. i'm reading james blish, 'after such knowledge' a collection of novels based around the tension between magick and science. 

the last few days i've had some sort of weird virus like flu, it's okay as the rain keeps me inside anyway but generally i'm not sleeping much due to some weird condition, i'm tired but sleep just refuses to defend upon me, instead i read and listen to podcasts which is probably not the correct method of sleep induction. i probably should read a very boring book. i once read a book called 'an arabian nightmare'' that was a novel set in cairo, it was about dreaming and dreams within dreams, it was also about cats which feature strongly in the dreams of the main character and the city in which he found himself succumbing to this strange malaise. i recall every time i picked it up and read a few lines i myself would fall asleep as if this book had some weird spell casting mechanism upon me. i've never experienced anything like that before.

so last night we took a trip into the past, and ended up after very civilised drinks at the opera house bar, watching the city light up at dusk. expresso martinis, the rain had ceased, the neon skyline was magnificently illustrated in it's rich blues and striking reds, the toaster famous for it's celebrity overdose, yes you, sprawled out as a million tourists took the opportunity of a break in the downpour and enjoyed a night at the opera.

then we headed to kings cross for the sole purpose of govinda's where we watched a magnificent film called 'road to patagonia.' before a lovely vegan meal upstairs in the resteruant.

the film was about a young man from melbourne whom goes on a surfing trip to an indonesian island where the natives are animists and he ends up staying with them for 4 years, learning their ways and understanding their connection to the land. when he returns to australia and begins working in IT he has a breakdown, anxiety and depression. he escapes and decides to follow his desire to travel from alaska riding his motorbike and surfing at all the breaks he passes until he gets to patagonia.'

however around the canadian coastline he meets a young girl who is a farmer and very into nature and the environmental impact she makes upon the world, she's adopted an alternative way of living and they spend months together, swapping skills among other things i guess. when they depart the young man is quite emotional but he is determined to finish his quest and travels down to california, catching waves and meeting friends. and with a beautiful leap of faith she joins him and travels south on bikes. all sort of calamities befall the couple and although the journey is about the environment, indigenous relationships to land, the natural order it's also a journey of love as these two remarkable people transcend all obstacles and are committed to the end point. eventually they decide that to lessen their own impact they will trade the bikes for horses and they travel the rest of the journey on horseback, again challenged by emotional spiritual and physical obstacles. at one point they have to sell the horses and after travelling with them for so long, connecting with them it's painful and for the young girl she's loosing her sense of self as she merges  closer into him. she goes back and he continues. he gets there. and then he realises it was nothing without her. she was the key and he flies back to canada and turns up at her door and the next thing we see are them sitting at a farm in victoria having dinner outside with friends and their children. let me say it is a great story, i loved it. the shamanistic bits were toned down, everything alluded to ayahuscia but never quite explained, the journey involved stripping away of everything, even identity until there was nothing and in nothing they both understood all that mattered was their love for one another. beautiful. low budget, filmed on mobile phones, surfing and spirituality, all leading to la deeper love.

we all ate this beautiful food and debriefed about our fave bits in the movie, and then we walked around the cross looking at all the places i used to go, places that are iconic for me, 'barons' now long gone, 'pimlico cafe' now some sort of trendy bar, it's all very gentrified, everything was quiet and there were only a few people wandering around. saturday at midnight, the cross was dead. we couldn't even get a coffee.

our memories of the cross were a vital vibrant place filled with chaos, traffic blocked as people were walking on the road, half undressed, out-of- it people, dramas unfolding, over crowded bars and clubs, hawkers selling flesh, sex everywhere, it was glorious in its heyday but now, it's lost it's spirit, it's nice, clean and just another piece of real estate with big burger restaurants everywhere.

my hash cake has worn off, i'm tired and feeling weird, my nose is leaking, i'm older now. all that drama from my past is long gone, but there was something wild about it i miss.  a weird nostalgia.

on the peripheries lies fantasy, a genre i rarely delve into, a genre i usually avoid but joe abercrombie always seem to pop up when i investigate good books to read, he always seems on the selves in bookshops with asimov and aldis and many times i avoid him and delve into hard science fiction but these days fantasy is everywhere, it overwhelms science fiction and the sf genre is polluted by politically correct and feminst marxist philosophies that are badly written and lack any kind off interesting take. do i sound harsh here? all the female science fiction writers bar maybe le guin, shelley, mary doria russell and a handful of others have nothing new to say that is not based around politically correct tropes and happy endings. girl gets the girl. i dunno, i need more, i need to have my mind blown and i need challenge and a good story, not feel like i've just read the opinion piece from the guardian or sydney morning bullshit. 

the only fantasy books ever enjoyed are mervyn peake, tolkien, pullman and that george rr martin series, 'game of thrones.'

the rest are just far to dull and kinda based around tolkiens themes, the heroes journey, so you feel like you are reading the same story and then one day just as an experiment i picked up 'the devils' abocrombie's new book and gave it a go.

absolutely brilliant, i completely understand the adoration he receives from his readers and i enjoyed reading the novel so much i want everyone to read it. i'm not going to tell you anything about it here, just trust me, read it.

now here's something, i loved this book so much i'm going to work my way through his back catalogue.