Thursday, March 19, 2015

at the age of twenty i had my first time machine, mostly from stuff i had picked up from ancient mayan calendars and architecture, the concept was complex but functional. machines couldn't really fold space but the mind can. i'd outsourced the mathematics to a small team of peers, nerdish math geeks who had always been sympathetic to my passions. these geeks were to frightened to take hallucinogens but loved the idea of me reporting my experiences to them. they were drawn in by the hard chemistry writing's of alexander and ann shulgin and the time wave zero theory of terrance mckenna as i explained it to them in my non mathematical way. they speculated that the universal teleological attractor could be accessed by the pineal gland under the right circumstances, a gnostic approach that incorporates some mathematical models with the cosmological constant. 
at this point everything would happen simultaneously, time would no longer occur as we understand it, the i ching would determine the time lines i could travel along from this point to others.
i'd spent about four years working out various dosages of mushrooms but dmt was far more effective and accessible, it's in our national emblem the wattle for gods sake. 
my task had been working on dose while the team worked out trajectory via trigram.
together we figured the trigrams matched certain epoch defining events that match the change in conciousness according to mayan prophecy.
for example trigram 1 the creative force would take me to the birth of the universe. from then on it was tricky to know exactly where these focal points would occur, for example t6 would have to be the 1st or 2nd world wars, the moving lines may chart a tangential course towards a defined point within that period, there were inner and outer aspects plus the added complication of the wilhelm interpretation vs the modern, the wilhelm gave us more control so they stuck with that.
there are side effects, i mean nothing is certain, we can only estimate the trgram with the position in time and space and i have made mistakes. it's an imperfect process and fundamentally eastern, the western mind is at a disadvantage, our history is focused permanently upon colonial matters, western interpretations, philosophy.   
irony being the last available meaning before the significance of anything decays to random chance, we can't believe a rational god would have a hand in this chaotic universe but we are not quite ready to accept there is no meaning. god may not be just but he has a sense of humour, as if that offers us some comfort. 
my life is filled with irony, that i believe in a non rational god is itself ironic, that i would never attempt to second guess the plan with my puny human brain, that i would be persecuted for the conditions i was born into and have no choice but to accept it despite my non affiliation with most of it's cultural aspects. 
who gives a toss about imaginary lines in the sand, about the way people perceive their gods, about histories mythologies and conspiracies. 
the truth of it lies in the black sun.
when they come to me i laugh at them, they plant suggestions in my mind when i sleep, they feed me lies and disinformation, they dance on my nerve endings dressed as angels, they hide between lines of newspaper print, they embed themselves in the new age, they inhabit city coffee shops, they infiltrate the disunited nations, green groups and concerned humanists. indeed these are the days of deceptions. 

to call myself a coward when it comes to the dentist is not actually quite fair, i've considered this over many years. 30 in fact, since i last saw a dentist. i'm an obsessive teeth cleaner, and i am sophisticated in my dental product knowledge for the last few years i use miswak toothpaste from saudi arabia, which is herbal and suits my palette.
over the 30 years i have not had much problem with my teeth but last week i was kept awake in intense pain as my back upper wisdom teeth rebelled and made themselves known, inferring a pain upon which the like has not been seen since the inquisition. jesus, every night i'd wake up covered in sweat, shuddering and disoriented. i'd stumble to the kitchen where i'd smear high quality organic clove oil into my gum and over my teeth. the effect was instant numbness and therefore relief. two hours of sleep until the clove oil wore off.
i thought perhaps i could just wait it out, psych out the pain, just ride it out. the days i'd wrap myself in a blanket and watch tv smoking weed and attempting to get some relief but to no avail, although i enjoyed smoking until i was numb for an hour or two.
when i was a kid in london the dentists were nightmare figures drawn from dickens novels. i think i was traumatised by being hauled out of skool to visit dentists and have them stick metallic tools and implements in my overstretched mouth. then there was the lights a panorama of them invading my cones and rods. i was very sensitive to light at an early age, burning up my brain, imprinting upon it's young neurons. but it was the fucking drill that clinched it for me, the unbearable torture of intrusion and it's overwhelming sound penetrating any childish illusion. 
the dentists were paid by the state per extraction so we young working class kids were the dentists cash crop. i had fillings when i never needed them. 
under those lights the face of the dentists was distorted and being an imaginative young waif i saw myself in the hands of some sadistic mad doctor with his array of alien implements. 
thus my dental aversion begins.
onwards as i stand outside a big white and blue building with a photograph of a smiling family all with perfect teeth. i take that step through the door, because i am in terrible pain, and i have no choice. 
i explain myself to the dentist and ask for mercy, financial mercy as well as physical. 
she takes me into a small room and places me on a comfortable reclining chair, puts some glasses upon me, cool dark shades and then i find myself sinking down as she adjusts the chair.
she straps the mask on, and tells me to breath and i find myself almost relaxing as the nitrous oxide floods into me, wow, i'm so relaxed, my arms flop down. this feels good.
the injections come, i feel nothing. she places some sort of clamp around the teeth and pulls them. i don't really care what she does now, i'm zonked. 
afterwards i can't stop thanking her, she shows me the teeth, big bad molars i donate to the creatures beyond the veil.
blood fills my mouth and she offers me a swab to bite down on, 'don't eat or drink anything for 6 hours, don't smoke.'
'mawahjku shyuggthus,' i respond.
i get my antibiotics and return home, i lay down on my sofa and close my eyes, sleep comes fast but brings with it some horrific nitrous oxide nightmares. 

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

strange events move into being, something shifted in my astronomy, a series of challenges. my teeth needed fixing up and it cost a fortune, my car, my tickets to london, my bills, my fucking computers all fail due to some strange bug, i'm loosing money faster than i can make it. for the first time in a long time i feel stressed out, it's eating my bones and making my hair stand on end, it's fluttering off my eyelids and putting my spine in a knot like a pretzel. 
my nights are interrupted. i get panic attacks, strange skin conditions and some horrible itching, my left ear produces an ocean of wax in a matter of seconds, like that peter gabriel video sledgehammer, my head is sprouting vegetables, they dance around me in cabaret. what the fuck?
my diet suffers, i'm exhausted and working double shifts, getting called in on days off. it drag by, up and down the freeway, sometimes i don't know if i'm coming or going. 
i grab sleep on the run, a few nightmares make me feel worse, one particularly nasty.
i juggle some accounts and manage to pull a rabbit from a hat that may just save my skin if the tax man decides to go easy on me. i scan my payslips picking up errors. no wonder i'm going under. 
eventually i seize control, i don't want my body falling apart quite so soon, no one's going to save you mission.
you gotta save yourself. 
so i do, i cross things of my list of challenges but the biggest one is fixing my computers, apple make it tricky and costly. ouch! 
this is going to hurt.


Saturday, March 07, 2015

few nights ago i had what i can only describe as contact with lamassu, in some strange sand storm the war machine god rode towards me, concealed by the clouds of sand and dust, it only presented its face when it was at mine, and then it entered into me and i awoke suddenly.
dream or nightmare, the line is blurred and distinction is impossible for this was something much more. my dreams are usually whimsical but there is an order of dreams that occur with such vivid precision i categorise them in the realm of magick. 
i build my relationship with lamassu a few years ago after reading about some of the ancient magickal systems of the middle east, lammasu travels in sand clouds. i felt a strange connection even then, most gods feel an affinity to me, i'm loved. i'm never sure why.
in the dream lamassu was running in terror from it's sleeping state into mine, which is now waking. lamassu has slept for eons.
on awakening i was shocked by the violence and intensity of the dream, the detail was so vivid as was the circumstances, i noted it and began the day, but yesterday i see that islamic forces have destroyed much of the ancient representations of lamassu as well as many other icons into middle eastern mythology and legend. for me these myths are very real, they always have been. despite my jewish history i'm aligned with all representations of god, and the hierarchy of gods, angels and demons. all of them have a place in my psychology, but lamassu is part of the evolution of baphomet, an early representation of cross species dna union. the life force is not tethered by separation of species, earth is populated by many species but one life form. much like many eons ago there was one land mass pangea. 
lamassu is a symbol of the journey, it is also a powerful meme, a desert war machine, five legged lion crossed with bull and bird. it's spirit entered me profoundly, i felt it violently penetrate my skin, my very consciousness. isis can destroy the statues, the art but the idea lives within my blood and bones, within my imagination lamassu is alive. 

Tuesday, March 03, 2015

finally a day to myself, blessed peace. i sleep late which is extremely unusual but i'm exhausted and my body weary from my work.
i manage to investigate flights to europia, i'm reluctant as it's expensive and not my ideal destination but i am committed. i investigate a strange flight via stockholm, a place i've always wanted to visit along with oslo.
i investigate other routes but i'm feeling a pull towards a nordic state of mind.
london will be interesting, jake and i may head down to see my friends in brighton, we need a little get away together. i'm excited by that idea, catching up with my friends and spending time with jake. gotta do the family thing, and even that feels right this time, maybe it won't be a difficult as the last attempts.
i'll travel light as usual, come back heavy.


Monday, February 16, 2015

must be on slow time, bones ache, flesh weighs me down, symptoms of gravity and sleeplessness, silk night steals my dreams as the day my time.
driving here and there, highways lost and lonely, fading melancholy blues, i watch the sun rise drifting across an ocean. the waters are still and tranquil. we are siping on early morning coffees, the metallic bridge just zooms in the foreground like some impending structure of rusted decay, mans stamp over water, by passing nature. a few tiny boats cut a fine line across the glass surface. we talk a little about boating adventures, my sailing away days, adventures on the hawksbury, mored of jerusalem bay with no signs of life, no civilization save for a boat and some minor luxuries. i'd swim in the water, splash around like a character from the old italian movies from the fifties, a girl in a bikini would drink champagne and smoke as they watched. 
memories drift away, back to now. i'd like to sleep, just drift away but the day has only just begun. time is about to march. breath it in captain mission, snort it like a line of colombian cocaine. let the day engulf you in it's beautiful moments. 
part of me steals a boat, down near the little beaten up jetty, a small one with a good motor. it starts first time as i draw the anchor, place my hand on the throttle. wouldn't it just be prefect to burn everything and set sail north, start again, a new life. sigh. not this time. 

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

healing time, resting time, down time, introspection blues. the water dragon and i share some grapes, pan chews upon a bone. the birds chirp, the frogs make amphibious conversation and my fish are enjoying a new high grade japanese fish food product that looks like tiny black canon balls. peace ascends upon libetaria, all is calm like slow motion liquid motion, almost emptiness. some zen moment, flickering in intracience. 

Monday, February 09, 2015

no energy left after massive tooth extraction. the nitrous oxide came in handy, i sucked it down like a jelly fish mantra, my bones floating in painless europic daze, eyeballs must have glazed over as the dental assistant looked quite glamorous in her strange medical uniform and lipstick, big eyes and groovy smile. she said her name was mallory and i was taken in to a literary fantasy. even when i came back, mouth filled with blood and a dent in my finances i thought it was good value for money to have shared a little mallory fantasy. it was a romantic period piece with some bold problem solving as we solved the riddle of the ancient and lost city out in a desert somewhere, in a field of ice, on a tropical remote island, underwater, in deep space mallory and i foiled the villains, rode off into a laughing gas cloud of false hope and childish fantasy.
off course there's always the residual downside to these drugs, nightmares and peripheral hauntings but for a girl like mallory it's all worth it.

the day goes from stinking hot to cold, to wet and humid to strangely tropical and the cockatoos swarm outside mission control, making a racket, swooping and carrying on like punks of the skies, these feathered friends don't care if they wake up the neighbourhood. i find time to watch them, even though there's some sort of 'spill' in canberra and apparently people think it will make a difference therefore it's news. in my heart i just know it's all degrees of worse to worser, politics is the problem. the birds play, they swoop and criss cross the skies, they all line up on the telegraph wire, hundreds of them. one comes over and sits next to me. he's massive, sulphur crested. i don't know what to do, he wants something but i'm to fucking wiped out to consider feeding him. he nods his head and flies off back to his mates. the noise is amazing, it's so loud and raucous. i sink back and imagine myself being a bird, swooping and flying, riding thermals and playing bird games with other birds. i'm like the young king arthur from 'sword in the stone' t h white, such a magnificent series of books. yes i feel like that boy, grown up into a king with all the weight of the world upon his shoulders. looking back at being an impossible kid.    

Monday, February 02, 2015

i thought i was well informed about the war on drugs but halfway through 'chasing the scream' i find myself shocked and appalled, in tears and angry at what the usa has inflicted upon the world. the war on drugs is like all political constructs, it's a racket. johann hari's past ain't squeaky clean, he's a journalist whom had to hand back his awards after he was discovered to have manufactured most of his quotes or stolen them from other interviews so this book comes with a web page where you can hear the interviews, unedited. despite what the author has done in the past, his integrity is glued back with this book, meticulously researched and constructed, brilliantly illuminating and at the same time will make you want to scream at all the wasted resources, lives, money and lies in the mythology of war against drugs.the american institutions that perpetuate this idea hunted down jazz musicians, doctors and anyone who counter claimed their myth, poor billie holiday, what a life she led and then the mothers of the disappeared in mexico whom are disappeared themselves for standing up to the cartels, the corruption and the us government who are part of the problem because they refuse to allow mexico to decriminalise drugs. decriminalise, regulate and taxing drugs will eliminate all the crime, death and violence that the drug wars create. 
it's a racket just like everything. 

Friday, January 30, 2015

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

at the hipster cafe i gaze through the glass window at the magnificent display of treats and my eyes fall upon the most luxurious selections of muffins ever. these are not your everyday muffins but gloriously constructed and presented gourmet muffins, and with sexy sounding names, blood orange bliss bomb, the dark chocolate obsession overload, divine rhubarb and cherry crumble and killer raspberry and white chocolate. 
i'm scanning them carefully, muffins can be such a disappointing accompaniment with coffee if they are the wrong kind but these all look incredible. i'm drawn towards the raspberry white chocolate one, as the rasberry's look so vibrant and vital. 
when i'm sitting there sipping upon my coffee, reading the paper a waiter brings me a muffin on the most lovely piece of polished wood. firstly the size of the muffin is most notable, it's twice the size of a normal one, and stands like a powerful embodiment of decadence and superiority. i'm in love with it from a design point of view, the colours strike out in a clash of bright rich reds against the huge chunks of white. 
secondly the fact when i slice through it, it reveals a soft creamy liquid interior that starts spilling over, bursting forth and covering the muffins split interior in a sensual and somewhat explicit food pornographic explosion.
then you have to imagine the taste, i can't describe the way my mouth comes alive, the delicate texture of the body of the muffin, and then the way the white chocolate lumps just like icebergs hidden away suddenly emerging with the most full body and rich flavours. not overly sweet but dense and deep contrasted with raspberry, slightly tart and subtle in their conflicting molecular structure. 
it's not until the strange globular white chocolate lava hits my tongue that my eye's roll back, partly in surprise but mostly in bliss and the experience washes itself over me, from inside out. 
i sip my coffee and wash it down. the perfect accompaniment.
i look at the huge mounds of muffin left and as the waiter wanders by i say 'wow, that is just an incredible muffin. i think that's the best muffin i have ever had. i can't believe it.'
he wanders away looking at me as if i'm crazy.
everyone looks in my direction, hipsters put down their mobile phones, magazines and trendoid accessories as i point at the muffin, 'a truly magnificent muffin' i pronounce.
the waiter comes over to me, 'you will have to leave sir.'
'what, why?'
'this is a hipster cafe sir, you're frankly making a fuss.'
i scoff my muffin, wash it down with the rest of my latte and wander out not hip enough.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

the ocean chops me up, my matter is redistributed, atoms in a strange collider smashed in the hydrogen oxygen mission accelerator, spat out like a ninja fluid warrior, neptunes herald. i wander the beaches at the break of dawn, the frolicking masses already shrieking, filling the silence with screams and hysterical shouts of joy. it's the saturday mornings, family day, dog day, kids play, parental guides steering them into a mighty crashing whitewash and terrible rip, lookout i say, 'children of the earth, it is the wrong day to play.'
i'm wandering barefoot up through the car parks, cafes, crowds of tourists, i get my coffee on the run, sit down in a lonely shadow and watch the waves smashing down mercilessly, a few boats soar across, one motorboat flies through the air and slams down, it's reckless passengers all gripping tightly.
mission control gets a clean, i do a little gardening, i smoke a little and play 'modern blues' the new waterboys cd. it's great, except for maybe two mediocre tracks, the album is really good, i like the americana production and mix. as usual mike scotts lyrics are excellent, splatterings of mysticism, love and observations. i know he's singing about london in one song, 'the nearest thing to hip.'
the day gets increasingly hotter, oppressive heat, i'm covered in sweat all day, my skin slimes and lizard like. at 19.44 a blast of cool air through mission control sets the climate to reasonable. i like the heat, i love the sun but sometimes i like to have the remote. 
chill out.
'keep the river on your right, and the highway at your shoulder, the frontline in your sights, pioneer'...

Thursday, January 22, 2015

go online and buy this book, read it carefully, saviour the narrative, challenge yourself. this is one of the best science fiction novels i have read in decades. it's really fucking good!

Monday, January 19, 2015

action man mission grapples with the day, water brings a massive temperature drop, the rain descends heavily upon the land, plants hunger sated thirst quenched i watch them grow from the studio, massive tiger grass corner, black bamboo and palms. the tropical storm hurls the animal kingdom into movement, i hear birds calling, the frogs call. i watch the strange flow of the river, the random ripples. i see the aggregated language of nature in fractals half filled with violet concentric dark energy and void. i see the rainbow spirit, the serpent swallowed by the dragon. i take the unbroken line. i see a hexagram in every eye, i listen to the tales told by the howling wind blasting away at perpendiculars unbending western logic, i cast yarrow like an arrow, how high does it fly, how far will it fall. inaction man mission.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

the undulating throb of energy, pulsating like sexual sensual stimuli as every wave a perfect form comes towards me. i am extended out across horizons, boundaries and borders, dissolved into and unto infinity, the whispering patterns of life, the cosmic fractal, the impulses of living all are build into my elegant equation of surf. some live to surf, i surf to life.
the ocean loves me, it offers me sharks, brim, skate and mantas, it gives me teeming life unbounded. diversity, the laws of nature are wild and fabulous, they are real. neptune takes me, embraces me, he promises me his daughters, his jewels, his secrets. 
the sun is rising, the sky is bursting forth with blue but there is specks of clouds forming, it's early morning, the town throbs with a few early risers. we have cracked the day open in our dawn ceremony, we have broken open the head and given salutation. 
i emerge from my surf and shower in the cold water, it's my ritual as i wander to the coffee shop glamours. 
on my way back to mission control i stop for coconut supplies, carrying a whole crate to the shoppers all staring at me like i am some caribbean prince with unruly hair and strange sacramental accessories. 
at home the dragons, birds, dog and fish await my arrival. 
it's jake's birthday today, 26 years old, it seems time has overtaken me somewhere, in a strange loop. it only seems like yesterday when i was playing him new gold dream in utero and reading to his mother's stomach the poetry of blake.

ah, sunflower weary of time
who countest the steps of the sun

seeing after that sweet golden clime
where the travellers journey is done

where the youth pined away with desire
and the pale virgin shrouded in snow

arise from their graves and aspire
where my sunflower wishes to go 
those were indeed the best days, filled with joy and love and you will always be a sunflower of a child to me. incredible child, incredible boy, incredible man. 

Friday, January 09, 2015

everyone waiting for that southerly wind to kick in but it's nowhere in sight, the heat knocks us flat, we can't move fast, everything slows down to tropical speed, i'm getting through my coconut supply. i swan around in my sarong, the fans on full whack in all the rooms.
my shoulder hurts and pain throbs through my right arm. my morning surf was weird, big fat waves with no power. i splashed around but it was unsatisfying. couldn't get a coffee anywhere as the whole town had no power. i wanna see the hobbit film but i can't really organise myself, i wanna see birdman to. outside birds making a racket, beautiful sounds, they must have had a good day. aysaan hirsi ali on 7.30 news, possibly the best talking head the abc has ever had on the subject, finally it's waking up from it's stupidity and groupthink, interesting! ah and a tribute to 'juke' with jack, whose films i am in. cool.
my shoulder really hurts, have to lay down and read my johnny lydon book, he's formed Pil now. i can't help but like him, a real working class hero.

Thursday, January 08, 2015

when you were mine, i'm listening to that tune as i type, it's the blurred crusade alright. it's all a bit blurred at the moment.
i do feel my inner hindu calling, such a beautiful idea, it's a magnificent crazy world and it's awfully tragic. really sad you can't draw a cartoon anymore but i guess some people find it offencive, i don't know what that is, dignity, stupidity, insanity or revenge, are we at war with someone? 
yes! we declared war remember, this is what happens. why war is futile. really? 
i find a few things offensive but not enough to hurt people, i just let it go, it just goes away once i acknowledge, understand and love it. that don't happen all the time, things slip through. i do wanna zap em a bit with my lunar zip gun but it wouldn't kill them, just turn them towards their feminine nature maybe... anyways, this week has been amazing, really different, i rode my bike around and loved it, although i couldn't get to the beach, i did get to east gosford and back. i stopped for coffee and a dark chocolate and orange muffin in some hipster joint where the chef told me the white chocolate and raspberry ones were better but they didn't have them today. mmm! everyone needs incentive i think, muffins can be mine. i was in a hipster joint, that's what was on the menu. hippsters...
 oh now it's that song i love, 'just for you!'
magic happens, such a perfect song.
anyway it's the blurred crusade, that's where i am right now.
i fix my car up, it's okay but it's left me broke again. i was beginning to just get a grip on everything but this happens and if it wasn't for agent wild i wouldn't have made it. she was there for me. thanks agent wild you are such a great friend. just for you!
so i'm in muffinland being a hipster or something, i'm not sure what they are, the thing just feels like one. then i escape the whole thing on my bike, past the river, up a hill and then down, then level all the way. it was different, i used to be a whizz on my bike, until i crashed but i gotta re learn it all. pedaling and all the fucking gears. i just got it down to a few. low, in between and high then gave my legs a workout, phew!
i also had to pick up a parcel from the post office that they couldn't deliver because that post office has a private delivery service and the post man don't deliver. mmm, if that were the truth then where do my bills come from? so i know they are just inflexible bureaucracy designed to bamboozle us all. possibly another extortion racket. i cycle there and back.
it was fun, even the dragon was watching me when i returned, i was drenched in sweat and smelt like a wet sock or something worse, it would have been perfect to have jumped in the car and thrown myself in the ocean but there was no car so i sat in the shower imagining the surf.
then i sat under my ceiling fan and did some reading. fell asleep.
next day was car pick up day so i did drive the car to the beach but it was an angry ocean that churned me up and spat me out. bad shoulder and bad cramp in leg. the ocean wants me. it's jealous of my new relationship with the land. 
so i crawl... out the water like a terrible beast, haggard and stooped over dragging a stiff trailing leg and looking like he was in an old black and white drive-in horror flick, the creature from terrible beach.
at home the animals seem pleased to see me. i noticed a few nights ago at exactly 20:30 the kookaburra's sing, i love that, five mins of bliss, even the church are muted during that. it's just incredible, one of the things i will remember when i leave this world. it's such an incredible sound to tune into. i'm in love with australian animals. they are actually quite reasonable as it goes. the dragons have me well trained. 
that dragon looks great up on my tree stump, he's the king up there, it's only knee high but it's enough i guess. so he is lord of the front while in the back pan dreams of puppy days, he's getting older, turning white, soon be pan the ghost god.  i gotta deal with that, it will be tough and i'll probably cry like a baby for a night but it will be okay, he's always been a ghost dog. i wasn't supposed to end up with the dog, i wanted the girl. it was kinda her dog i just wanted one but knew i couldn't really manage one but i did, in fact it was great and once i trained him, just me and him together he behaved and was always a gentle passive beautiful dog that everyone fell in love with. he stuck with me. he's still sticking. bless him.
then i pick up johnny lydons new book, 'anger is an energy' and its good. i really like this guy, always have. johnny's book is honest. it's all there, everything, you can feel he's a good guy in between the lines. i'm really loving it. i had no idea his step daughter is ari up from the slits. i liked them a lot.
it's a good book i recommend it, he captures part of my past really well, being in london at that time when punk first hit the streets, he talks a lot about influences and you would be surprised at some, marc bolan bowie the german bands, i've read up to the bill grundy interview, where it really exploded with the sex pistols. anger is an energy, it's a good title. yeah the blurred crusade is almost finished now, i'm coming to the end of an interlude and the sleep is coming fast. oh dereks on, brilliant character from rickey gervais. 

Tuesday, January 06, 2015

i love the water clock in hornsby town centre, it's called 'man time, environment' and people should sit down and watch it. it's really quite something.
early morning i find myself there, sitting with a coffee waiting on a friend. you feel relaxed near that place, it's a place where the artists vision has made it's way into form and you can soak it all up but it also implies a very philosophical moment.
everyone got their limits, mine are stretched and torn asunder, it's been a wild ride of compounded challenges, my head is spinning from just being responsible for myself, it's bloody challenging and i certainly understands why most sensible people would want to take it apart and build something completely unique and untried before, like never before, like just fucking letting people live simple lives again, where they don't deal with huge institutions and not only find yourself jumping through hoops but doing also strange advanced nonsensical obstacle course's as civilization eat ya up and spits you out with it's post office mind inflexible attitude and procedural regulation. then there's the telecommunication companies that don't know how to communicate. let's agree just not to mention my car issues. 
okay well i put that all in a box and hurl it into the most beautiful and love / life sustaining energy in the galaxy, the sun. 
the impossible kid and me, we ate the lotus.

Monday, January 05, 2015

mission control, the plugs unplugged during the nights, the fans come on, the fucking electricity is all over the place. it feels very strange to wake up in the night all groggy and exhausted, sit up in bed wiping sleep from your eyes all discombobulated and disorientated, slowly looking at the flickering lights and seeing the fan spinning around when you know you turned it off. i haul myself down below where the fan tv is making a racket. i turn it off, funny i don't remember watching any tv at all. 
but it's my books that give the game away, on the rug a pile of sven hassel books in a complete circle. the impossible kid!
i do recall being his age now, devouring those old war books. the german renegades serving out a sentence in a penal regiment, forced to fight on various fronts yet viciously anti nazi, i loved the characters he wrote about, the legionare, tiny, porta, the old man and sven himself. they fought to stay alive, survive the hellish fronts they were sent to, the environment was their enemy, the deserts the terrible cold of the move towards moscow, the atmosphere of tank combat and one another. these books were stridently anti war yet incredibly entertaining for a young boy. 
i pick the books up and gather them in sequence, place them on my shelf. maybe i'll read them again soon after the impossible kid perhaps.

Sunday, January 04, 2015

it's another year done and dusted, i don't pay much attention to the roman calendar to be honest, i try not to pay attention to much these days, just the surf conditions. my friend wilde childe has been helping me out of a tricky situation, she's a gem, stepped right up and helped me, when no one else could. i've given her new status as agent wilde. 
the days are mighty, they drag onwards from early morning until early morning with an intermittent sporadic sleep on the run. my body is pushed but not to it's limit, neurologically i have no problems, but my muscles need work, limbering up, shedding excess, gaining a certain streamlined athletic physique daily i morph closer and closer to the being i am becoming.

Thursday, January 01, 2015

the impossible kid
captain mission

i never told you how i first met the impossible kid did i?
you will need a drink, go fix yourself one.

in the uk on the edge of north london suburbia, edge where i called it and the no go border of burnt joke which was not so much as burnt but singed, scalded and leaking sulphur there stood a horrible h p lovecraft like house. 
now, my memory is not great on this, but it looked from the outside as though it had been burnt badly by a raging fire, a massive searing black swipe where flames must have consumed the exterior walls licking their way through the dimensions and corridors. the windows boarded up and graffiti covered with the most unimaginative expressions you can imagine. 
i guess it was the seventies in the bleak suburbs. the house itself was huge.
it was a structure that looked the main road face on and every week i would walk passed it apprehensively but my eyes would always be magnetically drawn to the ominous black front door, and that strange oblong that lay across it's centre. the letter box. 
the letter box was so black it sucked my eyes in. 

i remember the weather was always so very bleak, either cold or some form of rain was falling, usually heavily in my memories. that house created a atmosphere around itself, like a barrier. it was set far back from the rest of the streets building, in fact after a few years the council posted a row of billboards blocking the house. except that there was small a space between them that allowed me unrestricted access to that damn letter box, the focal point of which i could not escape, and one day i clambered over that wall, between the billboards, i couldn't help it, my tiny hands and legs just followed the impulse and i ran to the blackness. i didn't even know what i was doing, just running up that hill through the winter sleet until i seemed to reach that letterbox and look through almost instantly falling into a dark envelope. maybe i passed out, lost consciousness. i can't recall. 

years passed. i was getting older but no bolder when it came to that house, it spooked me. completely instinctive, no rational reason for it, except it had this physical effect upon me, hairs would stand up on end, my heart would pound. i'd feel cold and clammy, my eyes betrayed me every single time as i looked straight into that void for at least a few seconds as i rushed passed, even when i was a bold anarchistic london youth.
i was still to young for science, far to young to do anything other than imagine something really scary was attached to this old house, my imagination filled in the gaps with the obligatory  ghosts and monsters, mutants and aliens, whatever it was they were not for me.

years must have gone by as i was now a teenager, some sort of punk rocker emerging, head filled with hunter s thompson, william burroughs and various other stuff. i'd been particularly impressed with aliester crowley particularly his mountaineering exploits. he was the ultimate outsider and i admired him for excelling at it and shoving it down those crusty victorians and their empire. so i imagine at this age i was quite a different individual than the kid version, the influences of my unformed identity were on a trajectory with my older self.
anyway's i had two friends, ian and stuart and one evening we had all met on a triple date taking the ladies out for dinner or something stupid.
the fact is on the way back we walked past the house and ian suggested we go and have a look through the window.
'come on, it will be great, i've always wanted to.'
stuart said, 'no we can't do that.'
'it's empty, been that way for years.'
'i can't do it, i can't go near it,' i said nervously.
the girls all lit up and watched us arguing, and as i cast my mind back through time they looked all bored and disenchanted, wasting their time with three idiots but in my immature brain i thought they must be thinking, 'that mission is such a coward, he's such a wimp' or words to that effect only much more hurtful when you're an impressionable teenager type.
what would HST do, what would burroughs be whispering in my ear if he was standing near me, i know what would crowley do!
how could i ever write anything without experiencing something, everything, i thought is food for the writer.
and my body just went into motion, leaving my brain far behind. 
i clambered up over the wall much to everyone's surprise. i looked down at ian and stuart, 'i'll go have a look, just stay right there.'
the girls looked surprised to, i checked them out hoping for some sign of approval then leapt over onto the incline up to the house. i stalked upwards carefully without sound, just in case. about half way up i looked behind me and could now see my friends all leaning on the wall looking up under the billboards. they probably couldn't see me against the dark incline but they would see me at the front door soon. 
i turned away from expectant faces and started ascending. 
about halfway there when i looked up i saw the big dark door and the letterbox, in the late evenings light it all looked spooky and mysterious. 
i attempted to look away but my eyes were transfixed as they were held in gaze with a magnetic force i couldn't break. 
i can't recall what flashed through my mind, i had the spirit of adventure within me but know i was feeling some deep apprehension. 
that strange sensation that stops you in motion, that fixes you to a point in space time. fear is the emotional response a life force responds a threat. the processing power in my young brain kicked into some primal choices, run back down or prepare to defend myself but my body seemed to move before my mind had even chosen.
i ran up to the door and looked right into the void. it happened in a fluid action, my feet propelling the rest of me along right up to the door itself, the door getting bigger and bigger and more detail revealed itself. the red flecks of paint along the frame, the range of red unveiled, from pale pastel to rich blood red. crimson and fire engine red, lust and burgundy reds. the grain of the wood, where it was burnt up and damaged, the details flooded in but that letterbox remained consistent. i pushed it open and looked into it and suddenly found myself pulled into it's thick overwhelming void.
i reached out like a desperate drowning man and found a hand. it grabbed hold of my hand and we seemed to draw one another towards one another. the hand was much smaller than my own but the grip was strong. we seemed to pass through one another and then out i fell back into the entrance, the black skies clouded and threatening storms. i dusted myself off and slowly walked back down towards the slope and a voice inside my mind said, 'where am i?'
the impossible kid, my younger self, inner child i guess, somehow travelled through a wormhole into it's own future as i indeed must also inhabit his present, my past. at least his inner voice will be able to guide him although i was not wise or enlightened, i was just a kid from london myself. i guess the best i could do is be a friend.
but the impossible kid, stuck in me has also proven a good friend, it keeps reminding me to play with everything, it's hungry to learn new things, it likes to look at stars, it likes animals and adopts a nice innocence that keeps me from my jaded cynical self. 

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

un-imagine your best waves, re imagine the perfect one, make it much better, give it lucid dream like qualities, quantum significance and multi dimensional wormhole access and that was the surf at terrible beach yesterday, early morning rolled in over sleepy town. i drove back on mighty high, hot morning sun at my side, window rolled down sunroof and all the whistles and bells of central coasting and as i pulled up the drive my car, the trusty old subaru outback began to make an awful racket. the gears seized and i find myself public transporting myself to work, buses and trains.  
it's wilde childe that saves me in the dead of night post transport she offers to drive me home, therefore an act of christmas kindness is bestowed upon me, and let me tell you, i feel very blessed.
there's no one really left for me to count on, no friends close by i can trust have my interest at heart, no family to depend upon but wilde childe stepped up, my saviour and who indeed may be the saviour of the human race. 

Saturday, December 27, 2014

xmas is always a lonely time for me, so over the last few years i spend it with lonely people, which makes it kinda special. but i feel cynical sometimes about the commercial aspects of it all. it's a festival of consumption, consumerism and capitalism at it's worst and there's something horribly corrupt with it when people are miserable. and there's far to many miserable people on earth, most with good reason. if it's not politics its religion that enslaves. 
i give up with all of them, none of them can help us. it's up to us as individuals to save ourselves by saving some one who can't. help them, assist them, care for them acknowledge, understand and love them. 
until everybody must get saved. i guess that's my idea of jesus, a man who saved other's and sacrificed his own self. it's mythological, through the eons. a pattern at the heart of all things where man is at war with himself. there's that fantastic story by andy weir where he writes that all individuals in the universe are you, the individual in different incarnations, living out their life. we are not all the same, we are the same. i often wonder how long it will take before we get there, that ideas end point, where everyone is conscious in their own universe. does it extend to all animal life and was i living the life of my lizard?
i'm not really at that endpoint if that is indeed the universe i live in. i'm so far away but i try hard anyway even if it's just some idea. it's not because i believe in it, it just is not a bad idea.    

Thursday, December 25, 2014

i'm awake at dawn rolling towards the surf, the sun penetrates the day and things are looking good on the beach. no one's there save for the hardcore water people, a man and his dog, a couple of joggers and some hungover homeless person sleeping it off on the bench.
i take the waves, they are big, two meters of low energy, to fat to carry me anywhere far but it's beautifully invigorating. the water crystal clear the sun now beating away any clouds, the ocean wraps itself around me like liquid light from liquid sky,my flesh dissolves, my etheric body spills out and i am everywhere and nowhere, i'm mission in the sun, mission on the beach, i am mission without borders, mission incomplete, i am mission unto thee, mission in the sea, i am mission to every atom as far as the eye can see. 
the contraction into the self, like rubber band yoga, i summon the dawn, suck the light up like a sponge.
these early morning surfs are the best way to start the day. 
my blue fin, aquatic bliss technology, i consider it's curves like i would a woman, longingly besotted, awestruck by beauty. my fin is my god. the waves may explode over me, smashing forth foam and turbulence, white wash the crash and tumble, the explosion of light, the loss of dimension. all is equal in the wave, but when the stars align and i am stateless in zen, i am the wave, i am alive, i breath, i have direction, magnitude and velocity, i am quantum physics. i am an ocean.  

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

xmas eve, holographic kid and me pushing through the maddening crowds of aggravated shoppers, everyone on edge in the shopping mall madness, like an exotic fever western consumerism goes start raving mad this time of year. i'm attempting to get to the bank before they close their doors, i hate my bank. don't take it personally i say to the smug cashier, i hate all banks equally. i'm democratic in my hatred for banks as i am for my hatred of lawyers and pharmaceutical products.
'would you like to increase your credit limit mr. mission?'
'yeah increase it to a trillion dollars please'
nervously, 'oh i better get the manager.'
i'm the last customer of the day, these mindless morons want me out so they can go to the pub and shag the assistant manager. they want the xmas party i want a trillion limit on my card.
an executive in a pencil skirt wanders out from behind a glass screen and her grey terminal.
'what seems to be the problem mr. mission.'
i have to take a breath. 'after making my enquiry as to the status of my account your delightful cashier here asked me if i wanted to increase my credit limit, to which i said yes, i'd like to increase it to a trillion dollars thank you.'
a laugh escapes her thin lips, 'i'm sorry mr. mission, we are not authorised to offer you a million, let alone a trillion dollars.'
'why make an offer if you can't.'
'well i think cheryl was just suggesting a small increase.'
'i want a trillion dollar limit so i can actually do something constructive with it, like invest in medicinal marijuana or buy a submarine.'
the holographic kid laughs, and then catches my serious disapproving glance.
'look mr. mission the bank is closing, do you want to return on monday morning, i can speak with you personally.'
'no, i'm here now speaking to you personally. get on the phone and start the process, a trillion, no more no less. think of it as a business investment.'
'but the interest would be huge, how would you manage?'
'well i wouldn't. there would be no interest because it don't exist does it. it's just a digital zero and one, no value whatsoever, a symbolic representation.'
'look mr. mission, we can't give you a trillion dollar limit. now i'm going to ask you to leave.'
the staff are looking edgy, i'm keeping them from their party. 
'right well next time don't ask me a loaded question, do i really want to get even more in debt to a bank? what kind of question is that, it's like saying would you like your tumour to grow larger. do you think that's responsible, good practice. really? do you?'
cheryl and the executive look stunned, they don't know what to say, the holographic kid tugs at my shirt, pulling me towards the door.
we exit.
'what the fuck happened in there?'
'brain snap hk brain snap!'


Monday, December 22, 2014

the summer peaks, the sensual rays, the effortless breach of the great whale. i race to the water, leaping over the washed up weed and the crusted debris, over the layer of flies that hover, into the washing machine chop, dive past the unfurling wave, under the crash and fractal arm, surface from the big blue wet into the big blue dry and all is glory. this is my kingdom, a surfers paradise.

Saturday, December 20, 2014

i put a shell to my ear, in the hope i would gleam some information for my non logical non linear, non rational receiver. i listened hard. there was a splatter of feedback, my own neurones flickering away, the ear canals tidal waves, the friction of the breeze, the fiction of my imagination. 
i was looking at the waves, they rolled in pounding relentlessly, i enjoyed the intermittent crash and the whoosh as they sucked themselves back into the body of the sea. 
it was early morning. i do that now, get up very early and take myself down, sometimes the moon is sinking behind me, the sun casting it's blazing light upon me and some fishing men.
the dawn and dusk are good for my kind of magick. 
the dawn has it's own qualities, it's powering up time. 
the dusk powering down.
must be the taoist nature in me, tuning in to frequencies in the greater spirit of this universe, the natural one.
man has a place but has to learn what it is and where he belongs.
it's not in conquering, it's not in some intellectual endeavour, how can it be. it's in the 8th division sky place.
coming back to that point we reset ourselves. it's holy, it's the point where as above so below meet and unite in harmony. 
suddenly the wind stops and my inner emanations cease, i enter the zone, my mind is gone, dissolved blown apart, unnecessary.
i see the forces compete. 

i see them all fail.
i see civilisations aspire to stars only to become dust.
i see it all.
the voice says, 'let there be light!'
it's not in a sea shell but from a sea shell, it's from a rams horn, it's from a beating babies heart, it's from a flowers bloom and an sunflowers spin, it's from a reptiles skin to a bumble bees buzz.
i put down the shell gently. 
the waves crash, the beach attracts it's followers, the shops behind me start to wind up for the day, bread bakes, toast pops out from toasters, coffee pours, newspapers are read, people start cars wait for buses and start moving from one point to another. the sun has risen, the moon sinks over the horizon. everything is illuminated.

Thursday, December 18, 2014

events conspire, random access generator puts me in a new landscape where natives are friendly. respite for two days before a new battle with solicitors, barristers and a nasty ex manager looking for revenge. another day at the office. no wonder the mentally ill have mental illness, what the fuck is all this?

anyway's onwards i journey through thick and thin, through the soils of conflict and the spoils of war. my shoulder throbs with an acute injury from surf, my garden is filling with weeds, my dog is upsetting the neighbour watch with nocturnal prowling and raids. 
'well don't put fucking sausages in the wheelie bin.'

the sun comes up, late afternoon, no mojo for shopping mall, the silly season up at the kwiki mart is the violent and aggressive season as people go to war over car spots, queues double back upon themselves and nerves are frayed.
i did manage to catch the film, 'the man from coxs river' made by russell and amy. it's been getting loads of praise and selling out at the independent cinemas, i wanted to see it months ago but never managed. it's really good, really good. and i think it's a great xmas present for australians to send to people overseas. it captures the australian spirit that i love plus it's not a surfing movie. everyone's sick of me sending surf movies so this may be a welcome surprise.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

what can you say about the events in sydney.
i was at that coffee shop a week ago, 9am with a client about to meet a barrister, my head in the paper while my client was looking at all the different chocolates on display.
it was nondescript, expensive place i thought, indulgence for the city folk. 
all it takes is some islamic nut job with a grudge and an isis flag to bring the city to its knees, 'under siege' they said. 
instead of one single kill shot the police waited it out, media swarmed. outside hundreds of social media idiots took photographs of themselves, the politicians made speeches wondering what this person wanted although to me it was obvious.
if you go into a place and take hostages with a gun and a black flag you are not protesting about the fracking issue in the nsw countryside, but what do i know. 
so instead of killing the guy, the tactical response people waited around until it was dark, then they stormed in after hearing a shot and people got killed and injured.
the next day every one ignores the islamic angle, and focuses on being friends with muslims in the community by creating twitter feeds and hash tags to support them. admirable but foolish, i mean apart from the idiot bogon on a bus who shouts abuse anyway? 
there's never a community backlash. i mean the community in australia are pretty decent as it happens. 
an experiment ran by sydney university hoping to expose the racist  australian public backfired a month ago. the student dressed in a hijab was insulted by actors, while the film crew waited to see what these horrible australian racists would do. how disappointed when every random passerby they tested actually intervened in defence of the hijab wearing student. how very unfortunate for those who who like divisive attitudes to fit a narrow group think. 
i wonder what the taliban must think of these hash taggers when they went into a pakistani skool and massacred the children deliberately without mercy this morning i wonder what the boko hiram nut-jobs think when feminists decide to start a tweet campaign for a week 'bring back our girls.'
'whose girls are they now mrs obama?'
i wonder what happens when people pour out their compassion for the perpetrators instead of the victim. i'm no expert in human behaviour but i imagine it just encourages more nonsense from nut-jobs with a cause. manufactured compassion is the driving force behind social media, it's dangerous and dumb. it's so far removed from compassion it's become obvious to almost everyone outside the group think mind.

update- someone informed me that the police didn't shoot him due to the fact he had explosives in his bag. i guess that's fair enough, but they still went in shooting, so there's a inescapable paradox here. another point raised was the police have various legal procedural issues that hold them accountable for mistakes, which is another good point. this is why the hostages end up challenging the kidnappers usually, which is what seemed to have happened inside the cafe leading to the climax. 
if this is the case one must ask the questions why have a police force anyway?
to fine speeding drivers?
i don't know what the answer is but everyone seems complicit in these situations and everyone is a victim, including the muslim community who are reasonable good natured citizens. 
there should be a way out, a way for all people to just start again but we seem trapped in this weird fundamentalist war that spirals around us all dragging us all into the vortex, dimensions become confused, right and wrong are suddenly wrong and right depending on your point of reference. humanity has to come up with an elegant solution to this one but the enemy from where i am is not interested in solutions. this springs to mind:

some men just want to watch the world burn.
she's snapping her fingers in front of my eyes, i seem to emerge into myself, environment shock runs down my spine, i seem a little unnerved, my eyes scan, brain computing at quantum speed, 'spyders, how did i get back here?'
misty's fingers stop dancing in front of my face and she gives me an ambiguous look, 'flow baby, you took a hit, what do you think?'
the empty vial lays on the table.
'how long was i out?'
'no time, in flow. it's instantaneous, from where i was it was a blink of an eye.'
'what's the neurological profile on this stuff?'
'baby i'm just the saleswoman, but, i've heard stories.'
'you better elaborate on that because i just had an experience.'
'did you meet the minotaur?'
'geoffrey, yes, yes i did, in a bar.'
'and he made you a drink correct?'
'yeah, how do you know that?'
'it's the space flow takes you, a shared experience by all users, they meet the minotaur, in le bar inn.'
'i was with...' i search through the haze towards the bar, 'her.'
'that's because i sold her a vial to, she must have had a hit the same time you did.'
'but we...'
'look the intricacies are unknown, all i know is that flow-ers reach this le bar inn and meet geoffrey. i don't touch the stuff so i wouldn't have experience first hand. anyway, i have two vials left, do you want them?'
'yeah, i'll take both of them.'
misty leaves two glass vials in my palm and i watch her leave once more. i wait until she's gone and then push my way through the crowd towards the bar where audrey is mixing a drink, she turns to greet me, 'it's mission isn't it?'
'yeah audrey, it is.' 

Sunday, December 14, 2014

we clambered down in silence and returned to the table, eventually she spoke.
'do you think we shared the same dream?'
'undoubtedly, you obviously had your perspective and i mine but it was the same.'
'it was very vivid captain.'
'mmm, yes sometimes my past lives are very vivid and this current one is obscured. it's like living in a fog sometimes. in the past i had purpose, has very little purpose for me.'
'maybe it's just time to reflect.'
this bar is peculiar, a labyrinth, any moment we could run into a minotaur.'
audrey giggles, 'that's geoffrey's sir-name, geoff minotaur.'
'your kidding me?'
'is that a strange coincidence or just surreal.'
'everything about this place is surreal captain. its why i like it. it's called the le bar inn, which could be a play on labyrinth i suppose.'
'it's a magic theatre alright.'
geoffrey suddenly appears, he's wearing a ringmasters suit and carries a tray, 'i thought you both like some nibbles.'
he places a tray of dips and breads down upon our table, smiles at us both, 'enjoy, it's on the house.'
i nod my head and audrey looks excited at the avocado dip.
'i love guacamole.'
she scoops a load onto a slice of crisp bread and pops it in her mouth, 'mmm, it's beautiful.' expertly she repeats the motion and pops a piece in my mouth. she's right, it's very tasty.
in the corner a spotlight shines on a small stage and a group of musicians start playing a song, a man with wild hair shakes his head and strums some psychedelia and a singer playing base sings about the jungle.
the room starts to shimmer, shadows creep over us, and like a magicians hand waves a spread of cards we transform from a small cocktail room into the dense canopy of jungle. audrey claps her hands, but i stand and take a good 360 degree look.
the jungle is everywhere, every direction a wall of vines, tree's tower upwards and sunlight filters through, dense bush in lush deep green shade everywhere. the sound suddenly becomes deafening as my ears attempt to calibrate. all around us, everything is alive.
the both of us peer into the deep and watch as it slithers and shifts, it moves, changes constantly, the sound of teeming insects, the choir of monkeys strange bird noises, it's pouring out from the landscape. 
for a moment i loose my bearings, we can't be looking in to it, we are in it, immersed in it. swallowed up by jungle, eaten alive.
the blood pumps through my body, sweat pours out from my pores, i feel so alive as the environment consumes us.
audery takes a step forwards into the bush, she clambers over a thick brown vine, and steps into a hidden ravine, disappearing silently.
i go to follow but a vine has clutched my foot, and now it twirls up around my leg. 
i try to wrench it of with my bare hands but it's contracting like an anaconda. the huge fern above me starts to shake and something darker than i can comprehend lurks behind it, it's yellow eye's burning into me.
somehow i manage to take a few steps forwards, 'audrey, audrey, stay where you are, i'm coming.'
the vine around my leg no longer has any taut, it's just a dead vine, limp and flaccid i pull it away and move forward, brushing branches and vegetation away with my arms until i stand over the ravine. looking down i see audrey splayed out, for a moment i think she is dead, her body limp but pulsating. i edge my way closer. i grab hold of a root and swing down closer, careful not to loose my footing.
her head falls back and her mouth opens, and then i gasp. a massive purple worm emerges from her mouth, it slides out and slips away, big and fat and longer than any worm i've ever seen. it's huge, and there are hundreds of them now, sliding over her pale body, moving around inside her, making her skin pulsate from the inside. i look onwards in horror.
when her eyes open it's slow and calm and she's smiling, 'it's so beautiful, it's so fucking beautiful.'
i don't know whether to scream or smile i reach out for her hand but she just beckons me to her and i'm confused, conflicted, excited and frightened all at the same time. and then i find my fingers letting go of the vine, i feel my body falling downwards onto audrey and being caught in the strange density of worm flesh and they suddenly are upon me, millions of them. yet it's difficult to distinguish any individuals, they all seem part of a greater whole, part machine, part soft flesh devoid of temperature, creatures from another world beyond the known. i feel them penetrate my flesh yet there is no pain, i feel them eating away yet it's sensual and liberating, i open up and they swim deep into me like my body is their ocean, they devour and feast within my blood bone and flesh and i feel much lighter as i surrender to the worms that eat karma.
the jungle gives us everything. it feeds us but will eventually eat us, though every atom is reabsorbed. it nurtures us and guides us, protects and nourishes us. it's medicines are healing and terrifying and beautiful. it's ancient ways are beyond scientific comprehension. there is no language to define it, no mathematics, no symbology, only the guides know the path by intuition and fore-bearers, the map is not the territory as every explorer knows. the jungle, the jungle spills over boundaries, it does not recognise your territory as it creeps inside invading by stealth, one atom at a time or engulfing you whole, it ebbs and flows like a tide, nibbles away or tears at your flesh. you can't fight the jungle, can't escape it's influence. it's inside you, and it grows.    

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

and in her dreams she stood next the admiral. 
her father peered through the telescope at the black sail on the horizon. his face looked haggard after 3 years hunting the notorious victory and it's infamous captain.
'midshipman, prepare the crew for chase, they have the wind against them and we have the sun. move, all hands on deck, move!' he shouted.
the deck suddenly broke into activity as men scuttled about preforming their duties, sails were hoisted and the mighty ship suddenly picked up speed.
'father, will we catch them?'
'they have evaded three navy's for over ten years. they have stolen more gold imaginable, they spread heresy and are deemed the enemy of all mankind. these pyrates must be stopped in the name of all that's decent. you better get below daughter, it will be no place for any girl.'
'no father, i want to see these pyrates, i want to see this captain mission, i want to look into his eyes.'
the bird seemed to circle the ship, the pyrate ship victory was sitting there, the crew all sat cross legged as a figure in black read from a book, marcus aurelius. they were discussing his meditations, the captain was attempting to guide his crew through the philosophical process, logic, analytical and metaphysical truth. he was also giving discourse on eastern philosophy, and the taoist book of changes and the gita. 'one path leads to conquest of the external world, the other conquest of the internal, the west is by it's very nature trapped by it's science, for nature must yield to man, the east surrenders to the natural flow, for it knows conquering nature is folly, it is only the nature of ones own soul that can be conquered.' 
'captain,' someone shouts as they notice the sail looming up upon them. everyone rises quickly. they stare at the ship, 'it flies the jack.'
'there's no time for evasive manoeuvres, they are upon us.' the captain shares with his men, 'arm yourselves and let's see the measure of their captain.'
in the dream colours are vivid, faces hyper real, the tension rises, the senses dance like light upon the caribbean waters. the victory is tranquil, it's crew relaxed and confident, for they sail with a higher authority, around the ship dolphins leap out from the water. captain mission is feeding the macaw when the english vessel attaches itself to the victories starboard.
mission invites the admiral aboard, he arrives with two bodyguards for a soft confrontation.
'you must surrender yourself, your men and your vessel captain mission belong to the her majesties navy now.'
'we are free men, surrender is an individual choice but if i may speak for my crew i assure you they will not surrender their liberty to you.' 
'then blood will be shed.'
'you know as well as i we would be hanged upon surrender so your play is loaded. one could say corrupted for on board this vessel all are equal.'
'i am an admiral of her majesties navy, i will bring you in or sink you here.'
'you are a slave to your queen, a slave to your uniform, an ant in a hive.'
a fist swoops down hard upon the desk, the globe falls off and rolls across the floor. 'you know i was reading marcus aurelius to my men before you interrupted us, he said he who lives in harmony with himself lives in harmony with the universe. you admiral live out of harmony with the universe.'
'and you sir are a dead man.' the sword is drawn and pointed at the captains throat.
captain mission looks into the admirals eye and far away in deep space a sun sends a spiralling whip of flare out.
'you have a cancer that eats your body admiral. you are dying.'
'and before the cancer claims me i will have your head.'
'that may be so admiral but before you do, sit, drink tea with me.'
'a south american brew, i think you will find it quite unique.'
the admiral took a seat, he waved his hand towards his guards, 'leave us but send my daughter, and if anything should happen to us kill every one on this ship.'
'yes admiral,' they dart through the doorway, feet clomping on the wooden steps.
captain mission pours a thick liquid into a crystal glass, it's warm not hot and the admiral looks suspicious.
'it's slightly bitter but has a sweeter after taste, an acquired taste, please drink.'
the admiral picks up the glass, he sniffs the contents, 'it's unpleasant.'
mission picks his glass up and drinks it like he would a shot of rum.
'ahhhh... sweet vine, sweet vine how sweet you are.'
the admiral follows.
suddenly he leaps upwards, 'what necromancy is this!'
the captain remains seated. he watches the admiral's face flush to a red.
'relax, take some deep breaths, just relax it won't harm you at all, the tea will heal you.'
the words are spoken quietly, almost whispered yet contain an authority, 'this brew comes from within the jungle, it is something the native medicine men use for healing, it's very effective admiral.'
the admiral looks panicked but he can't move.
'i have no wish to harm you, the medicine will cure your sickness, you may be enslaved by your navy but you will be free from the cancer.
moments pass, captain mission watches the admirals face intently, he swings a bucket down upon the desk, and the admiral throws up into it. 'get it out of your body, it's okay, let it out. admiral, let it go.'
and out it comes, a discharge of thick black tar emitted in a volcanic eruption. he wipes his mouth clean and sits back, his pupils dilated, under the influence of some other intelligence.
he puts his head down upon the desk and weeps, images pass through his mind, occasionally he laughs, and sometimes he nods his head as though in conversation with an agreeable friend.
the captain reached into his drawer and pulls out a silver case, he opens it and starts to roll paper together. after a few folds, and deft lick he rolls a large cigar looking joint and strikes a match. as he exhales he hears the delicate footsteps descending.
time fractures the dream, she is surfacing now, hanging on to elements by a thread. of course, the admiral was cured, he capitulated and came to an agreement with mission, for his daughter it was love at first sight.
they sailed towards libertaria the sun sinking behind them, the captain knew there would be more ships coming, time was running out for him, it always did. but there would be many happy years before then, time to plan, time to think, time to love and maybe escape his fate.