Sunday, September 21, 2014

i'm travelling light, listening to an interview with salman rushdie, he's talking about the satanic verses and it's consequences. 
'they burn books first, then they start burning people,' he says.
i turn the channel, there's a lady talking about a book about bees, and bee reproduction. my mind floats backwards a day, wilde child and i wandering through some spontaneous market. we stop at the cottage industry honey stall, they even have a small hive. the honey tastes fantastic, otherworldly, it's divine. i look at the honey comb, what an incredible intricate divine design. i'm stunned by the whole bee complex system, how they pollinate, how they work, bee society, the fact the end product is honey with a byproduct of beeswax, how honey has such diversity, taste dependant upon the type of flower in the 'hood. so many facts discussed, the queen rules the hive, the idea of the super organism, hive minds efficiency, the hedonistic life of the male  designed only for one purpose, impregnation of the princess. i ponder weather libertaria could use a beehive set up, it would be really fascinating although pan may not like the idea. 
i chat with wilde childe about my bush turkey problem. they seem fearless and so far all my tactics to modify their behaviours have failed. the potato gun only serves as a high velocity feeder, yeah they eat the ammo. i buy something called a nerf gun, 'don't hurt them,' wilde childe says.
'nerf set for stun.'
i turn the radio off, my head feels like it's filled up with to many info packs, i should be driving home, instead i'm outward bound.

Friday, September 19, 2014

i've no idea what's going on anymore, it's all far to complex. i've no idea about any of it. man is a strange beast, women a beguiling mystery with mmm, curves. 
what the hell happened today anyway?
i missed all the news but something big happened in sydney. helicopters in the blue skies. i was in the city, it was a beautiful day, circular quay and newtown. it was a perfect day for just being outside wandering around, people smiling and being real friendly, but something was going down, i could feel it. 

Thursday, September 18, 2014

pride before a fall - the church

it's been a long time between the church albums, the new one is called 'further deeper' a beautiful sounding term that i am certain reflects the sound and lyrics of the music. 

very excited, by all accounts further deeper is going to blow everyone away, here's the song 'pride before a fall' and it's most highly further deeper indeed.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

late night drive, i hit a strange close encounter like light as a crew of workmen work on the road next to a huge rock, it's surreal as the silhouetted figures swarm the rock and road like ants. the scene is drenched in blue light and deep ruby flashing strobe, a small area drenched in a tight spot and i gaze out the windscreen with my nose stuck to the glass looking up at it all. 
the cars crawl past. the work men seem to know what they are doing, looking industrious moving in some sort of slow motion as though the gravity is different out there in the night, it all looks to messy for me, i lean back and listen to neil finn singing a song that reminds me of john lennon, stars pass overhead, so far away i feel lost. stuck on earth with all these people.
inside me a silent scream, 'i'm a child of the stars, come and get me.'
trapped in my skin, in my bone bag, the night speeds up, and the traffic moves forwards, my speed increases into flow, heading home, the homes, the families, those strange units of human linking up like a society, suburbs sprawled, trees bending in the alien night breeze, lurching forwards out from the dark.
i see each tree has a face, ancient personality, tree spirits and elemental forces are out tonight, they make themselves known to me, but i'm in no mood to play. i turn the corner and follow the road home, don't look in the mirror mission, just get home, safe and sound, close that door, bolt the locks. i'm nearly there, over the bridge, off the main road, onto the dirt track, it's a strange hidden road that leads to the moon at the end of my street, libertaria, i drive over the moat and pull up by the door. 
i'm inside before the night ghosts can chase me down, i'm home, and it's good.     

Sunday, September 14, 2014

putting in some long hours at work, slugging myself with extra hours to pay off my debts and sort out my self sufficiency, almost there. i been getting up at 5am and driving to work, that amazing drive, the sun rise as i hit the highway, fog still hanging on the floor, visibility sporadic, patches of explosive vermilion upon the ancient rock, the winding waterways, you can't find this anywhere else on earth. the geological history contains this power, it forms an energy around the landscape, the fabric of time slows down, portals open up. my journey takes no time, these days i know every curve, every stretch, i zone in to the conditions, time dissolves, space dissolves, it's a beautiful thing, driving along with my music playing, my thoughts dissolve. 
i chat with jakob on the skype, he seems worried about me, concerned. he want's news but i have none to give. no news, i forgot about my book, it slipped my mind.
i skype my friend in brighton, he's a wealth of information, did you know the 'city of london' is a corporation. that london, washington and rome are connected by military, banking and religion, they are sovereign corporate entities, not connected to the countries they are embedded within. they even have their own flag and are known collectively as 'the empire of the three.' 
we decide the rabbit hole is very deep and we can only touch the surface without loosing your mind. it's a clever concept but inherently evil and ancient, a few have complete control over the multitude, they use division to divide, fear to keep us all afraid and control us.
we all know it's true, but what can you do?
i suggest the only defence against this is to change yourself. become better, beat fear, challenge your shadow nature and seek the light. this can't be a political process as the left and right are exactly the same, it can't be religious as religion is built around fear so it has to be spiritual. 
ultimately these people have lost touch with their own humanity and the only way they can maintain order is to get you to loose yours.
don't fall for it.
be as free as you can be, free from hate is a good start.

Saturday, September 13, 2014

it's the killer's birthday today and i wanted to write something about the effect his music has had upon old captain mission, it's been powerful enough through my days, and any one who knows me will testify i've always been a passionate advocate for this artist. more so than bowie and lou reed who seemed destined for fast fame and it's rewards, they both had a period where their work became mundane and unrewarding, whereas the killer, he just produced quality, in all domains. you go see him act, he's acts, read a poem, and it's like wandering through a cathedral, listen to that base and it's talking to your spirit then there's the words. 
if in the beginning there was the word, then these are the ones i want resonating through my universe, sometimes i sit at home involved in whatever i am involved in, be it, writing, gardening, surfing and some fragment of a song will enter me, 'for 101 voluptuous days i broke the law' it will slide right into me and set me thinking, what makes a voluptuous day? what was going on there? what law was broken? why 101 days anyway?
the analytical part of my brain is actually quite weak so i don't tend to analyse the songs the way i probably would if i were a proper fan, they just enter my soul and make me wander around in some altered state, leave me thoughtful and contemplative, lost in the feeling. those words become mine, i'll get the feeling of 101 voluptuous days and breaking some sort of code or law, yeah i'll feel the line deeply, and in a way part of my life reveals itself. either a past life or a future one, or some buried memory of when i was younger pops into my head, or some landscape, the interior of a plush turkish tabernacle. ruby cushions, fresh figs and dates, wine in golden decanters, exotic fruit platters and the slave girls fanning myself like i was the favourite warrior of the sultan. and the lust in the air, heavy and strong like molasses as the dark skinned girls whom are very expert in their skills oil my shoulders, the law didn't break, it just dissolve's. anyway you get the picture, imagine that saturation, the words are very important, as much as the music. 
but it's not just embedded in one domain of creativity, he's a genius at many arts, like an old school master. and in the tradition of rock and roll, you don't get individuals whom have this expanse. 
australia never recognises it's great artists until it begins overseas, or until they are dead, i always felt far to much emphasis is placed on sporting types than artists. and here living amongst us is steve. you can still see him play with his band, or with some other talented musicians, you can hear him read at a book launch, that hilarious poem about the jacket lost in transit, you can see him in a play or in a movie, bit part, lead role, it makes no difference for he will be the brightest star you see. which is why i always attempt to get to those events, come hell or high water, sometimes i arrive a week early, due to my terrible head for dates, times and numbers, sometimes i have to beg people to swap shifts with me so i can get to the show, but whatever the obstacle, i know i'm going to be seeing a true great. a magnificent artist who is not only still going strong but getting better and better and i know in my very blood, sometimes when he's up there singing a song about william from glide or the one about the milky way bars or any of the hundreds of tunes, i'm watching the picasso of my generation. 
happy birthday.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

i been thinking about pride a lot. it's weird, i feel it at the moment, this period of gentle pride, although it's probably misplaced i have to accept there's something grand about this. 
i feel pride over my professional life, after such a hard fought victory. i'm proud of the two staff who i work with, who stood up for me and the rights of the clients, ultimately themselves. i'm proud of my workplace for dealing with it well, this was amazing to me for it's the first time in a long long time i have felt the  dept really does work when the right people are used. it's a glorious outcome for everyone really, i just hope they see it in the same way because no matter what they think of me, i was right and it was hard. anyway happy clients living lives free from fear, that's all.
then i'm proud of my garden, it's taken hard work and a strange anarchistic attitude of just always knowing my vision for it. i knew it from the first time i saw my garden, it was just wild, untamed and untouched which was pleasant in it's own way but now it's a tropical pocket of potential, it's going to take a few years to get the trees i planted to grow big and tall but i'm already seeing them reaching for the light. the tiger grass after the rain, the black timorese  bamboo growing as i watch, the bromeliads, a little south american touch, hostile plants till they get to know you, the succulents spreading low down groove. i gotta thank the amazing man who owns  'palmland.'
i stopped in there on the off chance he may have something interesting and i wandered into a perfect replication of my type of eden. as soon as i saw mr. palmland and we shook hands i knew he was my plant man, coleman jenkins. 
the air in that spot is brilliant, so clean and i picked up how happy his plants were, so well cared for, really loved. i could feel it in my bones.
anyway what do i know, i asks him some stupid questions, things i have no idea about and mr. palmland explains everything in a way i can grok, he's just like his plants, with that brilliant natural enthusiasm. 
i buy some, and he very kindly gives me a heavy bag of fertiliser and a small powerful cordyline, just brimming over, on the edge of transition into some glamourous colour under the mysterious bamboo.
planting is a different matter, very hard work. i'm planting in the front as well, so by the end i had about 10 massive garbage backs and one huge green wheelie bin filled with debris and weeds. 
so pride, yeah i'm proud of my gardens, my flowers and trees. 
the other part is my house, i've now got it operational. all it needs is a coat of paint but it's looking and feeling really like home.
so i wander around garden and home feeling a sense of pride.
i get a sense of pride about my book, i can see it's stories as manga, or graphic novel a sort of surreal new superhero for psychedelic people. there's something in those stories, yeah they are raw and swift fragments but there's some kinda energy inside them.
yeah, pride over my son who has a life in london, he's fantastic. i couldn't feel prouder really. 
so is it a sin?
no, i think not, if it's a fleeting thing like lust it's only an experience, hangs around and leaves when it's ready, when your ready to let it go. so i'm keeping my pride for as long as i can but it could be traded for lust at any time. lust is a different kettle of dolphins really.

i soaked up some sunshine, it came through the day, hitting on my pineal melatonin circuit, inspirational glands. i accessed my biorhythmic projections, integrated some vegetables with fruit, a shot of minerals for the old captain.
pan sprawls, grey haired slumber, dreaming of the days he ran to you on that palm beach spring, leaping around in youthful enthusiasm, thinking he had a mother and father like all children of the sun.
we both dream about the same things, times flow. for him it's the past, for me it's the future, somewhere in the moment we meet and play.
later i patrol the perimeters of libertaria although the call of terrible beach sometimes pulls me away, i resist, it's not yet the time, soon i will return to the surf, a few more days but for now the garden is in bloom, i wander around it planting some seedlings in a circle. sunflowers.
it's almost high noon, apparently the postman will arrive in a few minites with some packages, the new neighbour will make an appearance and ask me some neighbourly questions, he will introduce me to his pregnant wife, pheonix will arise from across the street and suggest a walk, the lizards will want feeding, the phone will ring a number of times and then it will be time for my spinach pie. 

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

never would have considered i would be a garden man, but it appears over the last few months, or years, i have worked on my garden, landscaping it and shaping it to a form i can meld with i have become one.
'do you mean become a gardener, captain mission?'
'no, i mean become a garden.'

i must offer sincere thank you to my friends in the uk, tez and jean whom have fulfilled a life long ambition on my behalf and helped publish my first book. 
the book is basically 50 short stories of varying length, all written in stream of consciousness style, often with no idea of where they are going or what they are about, only that my process is occult, driven by a creative force that resonates within me, often elements of my life are in the subtext, sometimes magickal formula, sometimes when i read them (i have only read them as i correct the proofs) i am surprised by them and can't even remember writing them at all.
anyways, tez and jean have read my work for a long time and saw something worthwhile in the stories, they put this book together, editing, correcting spellings, punctuation and grammar and i am indebted to them and forever grateful. 
the book will be available soon, it's already an e book but the physical copy will be well worth having around the home, casually laid upon the coffee table near your big phaidon or taschen art book or your alternative magazines. it would look striking amongst your book collection, portable and colourful, you can read it on the bus, train or at the beach.
it also has a lovely testimonial from iggy risk who resides in tokyo at the moment, he seemed to really enjoy the copy i sent him and added some very kind words.
so, thanks to all involved, i can't really express my gratitude other than say you have made my dream come true, as i can now say, i am a writer. and that's all i ever wanted to be.
i love ya, thank you.  

Saturday, September 06, 2014

gimmie shelter - the stones

strange events occurred in my workplace, and as usual i was left to deal with them. my career in social work is defined as advocating for peoples basic rights to good quality service, let's face it my clients don't have a voice, they have no one they can complain to, no channel to pursue, no ombudsman, no family, no friends. they don't choose whom gets to work with them, they don't get the chance to chose how people work with them, and it's not uncommon to see the wrong people slip through and work in a situation where they exercise all power and all control over these people. it's the way it has always been, abusive people are attracted to working with the vulnerable. 
now often the abuser has no idea they are even being abusive, they just have far to much influence and power over people without the ability to recognise how that influence effects and damages individuals who are disempowered. 
mental illness is a strange area, intentions can become easily mangled by a paranoid schizophrenic so in order to work with one you do require a certain ability to understand how you are perceived. i've always made sure i'm perceived as safe. 
that is, i want my clients to understand i am not a threat, i respect their choices although sometimes can't carry them out, i listen. i don't intimidate or present myself as an authority, i often reflect everything back at the individual so they can determine the answer themselves. 
unfortunately there's always been a glitch in the system, whereby managers are given their jibs by other managers whom all share the wrong qualities. they are bullies, and eventually their base personality is exposed. when it does i usually give people a chance to redeem themselves, but over the course of a year my manager displayed these tendencies and reverted to acts of violence to assert herself. no one ever challenges this, except me. i have supreme confidence in myself when it comes to dealing with bullies and abusive people, no matter whom they are.
my recent dramas at my workplace exposed my manager, and the result is she has been replaced. the clients were all so relieved, their behaviours changed overnight, they stopped living in fear and have bloomed. they are now living quality lives, having control over their enviroment. it left me very damaged as it's not easy fighting these battles with your own hierarchy but i always know exactly what i am doing and do it with such conviction every action executed with client needs at the forefront, even before my own. the result is always the same, i am feared, despised and at the same time distantly respected although very rarely acknowledged. 
but it's always worth it, the people i support always find a way to thank me, it may be in some form of affection or gratitude that is indirect but this is the rewards of my job, improving peoples lives by degrees. giving them control, reclaiming their power, it's not something that's quantifiable, it can't be drawn on a graph of outcomes by a bureaucracy obsessed with paper work, cover ups, damage control but it's why i do what i do. the smile on a persons face, the happiness in the home, the way people come out from hiding in rooms, the pure joy, this is what makes my job worthwhile.

Thursday, September 04, 2014

it's the disinformation age, as the information coming down the line is spilling over, overflow, bewildering gluttony of zeros and ones, shock tactics ups the anti, manufactured clique vs industrialised outrage, proud of your envy, lazy in lust, all living in a facsimile world, the one composed of shadows on cave walls, the one hurting my head. shadows, on a wall, hurting my head and ripping open my heart like a tin of sardines.

i claim isis back, in the name of the goddess, for all nature and magick, protector of the dead, guardian of the young, gentle listener, ruler of the nile, child of the dog stars.
i claim you back!

Tuesday, September 02, 2014

finally i get a chance to play 'songs from the real world volume 2' although i must confess i played it in my car on my night drives through dense fog and heavy night but i have not played it in my ritualistic setting, candle, incense and spliff until tonight, and i must confess, i loved my drives but now my brain is immersed. i won't write a review because they seem pointless but i do feel inspired to write something, so here's my offering in lieu of the review, stimulated by amazing music and steve's voice... 

captain mission

italian coastline, some sleepy village, you were in that wide brimmed hat and big shades, hiding from the world and i was just beginning to enjoy being in it again. 
you were the smartest sexist girl, completely independent and far from any maddening crowd, i was kinda infatuated and foolish, like a boy i guess.
you were just to cool for skool, smoking weed for breakfast and reading me some japanese nihilistic philosophy in the shade, waiting for coffee to come.
that place was off the beaten track girl, we must have stumbled upon it on auto pilot, neither of us could remember anything about how we got there but when we awoke to find ourselves in a cheap cosy hotel room we knew it was a good thing, wracking our brains trying to figure it all out. 
'i can't even remember anything... i was getting on a ferry and then i woke up with you...'
'same, i was on a ferry, not even sure where i was leaving from...and then... i'm here.' 
we didn't even know were in italy until we called room service.
'did we....?'
'yeah must off, i wouldn't waste an opportunity like this.'
'oh! fucking hell!'
i shrugged my shoulders and smiled, 'let's get some coffee.'
you looked a bit stunned, i could see you processing your options, that whimsical brain, fleeting from one tangent to the next in some extraordinary spiderweb of neurone transmissions.
'yeah great idea.'
so we showered, dressed and hit the street, not even knowing what lay outside. 
a quiet italian crossroads with a coffee shop opposite the hotel, on the other, a beautiful coastline view and the northern corner a road meeting the horizon. 
it was perfect.
we sat outside in the shade of an umbrella, you fixing your face and looking in a small compact mirror. i noticed the book in your bag.
'what's the book called?'
you pulled it out and showed me. a pretty beat up, dog eared copy of 'the self overcoming of nihilism' by nishitani.
i flicked through it. and commented on the fact that even no meaning to life is a meaning.
we must have sat there for an hour just waiting for coffee to arrive as you read me a chunk, flawlessly, speaking with the kind of conviction i thought you must have written the very words yourself. but that was just you, doing everything with such great passion, i ended up just watching you move and the words became music. a waiter came with coffee, the coffee was very good.
i don't know, it may have been hours, the sun moved a bit, shadows got longer and refections softer.
time really should not be told at all or in the measure of spliffs as,  almost three spliffs later we changed the subject and started opening up about ourselves.
'i'm not really anything, a traveller, confused, bewildered and hunger for experience.'
'you will always be that just like i will always be filled with life, energy and enthusiasm for living. i really do want to suck the marrow out of life itself.
'well i guess we should get back to the hotel and make the most of it.'
we laughed, and went back.
when i awoke you had left, i called your name but saw your stuff had gone so i fell back asleep in a sort of angry frustrated stupid churlish way. 
later i noticed you had left me your book, which i still have. you signed it for me with the inscription, 'loved sucking the marrow with you x' 
you had also rolled me a joint which i thought was extremely gracious. 
i must have laughed, slowly throwing my gear into my travelling bag. walking down the steps back onto the street, in the evening, heading for the coast road, knowing you would have taken the north. 

Monday, September 01, 2014

it appears 'libertaria' is going solar very soon, this is good, i'll be off the electricity grid, paying no electricity bills to the stupid un global domination scheme, if all goes well, here comes the sun, first day of spring. plant some seeds in the soils, plant some ideas down for gestation. my book will be out in some material form soon, i have a number of people offer endorsements, which i'm touched by. you are all lovely people and i'm very grateful. here's the cover. i'm getting the draft soon.

unfortunately everything does come down to light and darkness, it's the world we are born into, the nature of our earthly existence is based around human souls and while these souls may transcend duality their intentions can't. you gotta serve someone. it may be the devil it may be the lord. we always have to chose a side in the world of man, politics is all about sides, morality is a side. 
my side is the one where diversity rules, one that promotes liberty over restriction. these to me are grand aspirations, i chose the individual over the mass. i don't even know what side that is, on what grounds is a side defined. war? is there as side in peace, i dunno, is peace like a vacuum where things just conflicts pop into existence to fill it, does nature arbour a vacuum, is biology itself at war, is our bacterial process in some kind of war, is coal at war with wind power, plastic at war with sea. can a man of peace not fight a war. arjuna did because he recognised the maya of it all. 'they are already dead' krishna whispered.  

Sunday, August 31, 2014

'green rapture, omegendorph, polydichloric euthimal, tetrameth, synthmesc, slurm, can d, chew z, jj 180, narkidrine, p- tabs, hyrogen ether, melange, sapho juice, jaspers delight, curious yellow, somatic ss, prozium, nepenthe, shatter, dyler 1000, mdt-48, diffuse, crystal zone, quicken, gain, somnabsolute, nevermind, cake mix, smithereen...'
'wait go back.'
'cake, smith...'
'before cake.'
'yeah, what's the story.'
she pulls out the small vial from the case from which she has pointed out almost the entire contents. 
it's transparent but not the same density as water, i watch it swirl in the vial, a cross between mercury and purple haze. i unscrew the top and bring it under my nose, slowly drawing in the odour, faintly reminiscent of...mmm, that's strange it's familiar but i can't place it, it's on the tip of my tongue for a moment and then is swallowed up into an ocean of forgetfulness. 
'i've never heard of this before.'
'it's from a captain mission short story.'
i have to smile, but i'm not sure quite what to say.
'sounds just what i need.'
'be careful, you just drop it under the tongue. one drop only, it's unused outside of the story.'
'any side effects in that story?'
'undoubtedly there will be.'
'how did you get it?'
'trade secret.'
she takes my cash and starts tiding up her case, rearranging everything into respective positions, her hair shines, she looks so efficient, businesslike. i wonder what she likes to indulge in.
'do you use any of these?'
a smile breaks through her professionalism, as if that's the question she has been waiting for. i'm sitting down and now she stands over me, 'no, i never use anything. i think it's awfully bad practice for a dealer to indulge don't you?'
'yeah, i guess it makes sense but how do you know your product.'
'chemistry mission, i am a professor of neural chemistry, it's all in the science.'
'mmm, i'm skeptical about science.'
'you just invested in it.'
outplayed, suddenly i like her, i'm finding attractive elements about her, that incredible shine in her hair, her fingers, that aura of confidence. 
'i'll see myself out mission, let me know how you go.'
i end up escorting her to the car, it's a range rover epoque, white, immaculate. she gets in and i wave goodbye.
i place the vial in my fridge along with various other nefarious substances. 
time passes, days fall into weeks, weeks turn to months and everytime i open my fridge i see the vial, it's there sitting next to the bottle of nomadic pollen, it's always there in place no matter the changes to my fridge contents the vial remains the same. i wonder why i have not tried it, never mind.   


Monday, August 25, 2014

nice little burst of direct sunlight, snorted through the skin, pure gold light running through my lymphatic system, oxytocin tidal wave. my dealer gives me what i need, she's looking pretty chilled out herself in a faux fur coat and bat skin pants, glammed up like an decadent heiress looking for a cheap thrill in a west berlin art gallery.
'you okay, those crazy fucking druids you like sent me over to check on you.'
'yeah, yeah i'm turning into an old misanthropic reclusive joker, can't even take myself seriously.'
'well mission it's about time for me to go, have you got any thing you want me to take back.'
'no nothing, just tell them i was not home, missing in action, absent without leave.'
'you know those crazy guys will ask after you?'
i sit back sucking in some nice velvety spliff smoke, the short burst of summer is passing, i force my mind into the moment.
'just send love and light.'
'fuck off mission, you have no light left, and don't get me started on love.'
'well just send them my best wishes then.'
she smiles in that sort of 'check' smile, 'you don't have any wishes left mission, you are wished out.'
'ah it's better than being washed up hey?'
i slip outta check but it's only a matter of time, you know how it is with these exotic bored goddesses, they got you by the balls and the brains.
we laugh, as if she's read my mind.
'you know you're the first person i have actually spoken to outside of work for weeks.' 
'soak it up.'
is she referring to the sun or herself. my slow mechanisms churn over in the ambiguity, like quicksand of the mind. i'm bewildered and uncertain of what to say.
'tick tock tick tock...' she whispers, red lips like some space enigma. 
i'm sinking into the sofa, the permutations flashing through my skull like a geiger counter, has she turned into a clock, is she referring to me and her, is she actually suggesting that time is running out. 
i can't be certain but i think the last option escapes my lips and i vocalise it.
god, those legs look incredible, and my mind is jelly, did i smoke to much, am i loosing my senses.
'i'm sorry, i was just soaking it up, it's not everyday i get visitors. especially ones so glamorous.'
ouch! that smirk was condescending, she put me in my place, if things here were any more awkward i'd be in a surreal hugh grant movie. 
the sun disappears behind a cloud and the temperature drops significantly. she wraps the coat around her, leans towards me and takes the joint that is burning in my hand. 
'so will you be okay, i will return.'
i'm about to ask when but she puts her lips in a electrifying proximity to my ear and whispers, 'sooner than you think.'
my eye's close, the day fades away, it get's cold fast. 

Saturday, August 23, 2014

fucking and punching, kicking out the jams, against the pricks and the hopeless fated inevitable conclusion that i can't get to the city despite my will to. the planets collude, the gods mock me laughing down at my stupid plan, although well intentioned falling apart in rain. 
fuck it! can't fight this. i would have loved to have seen the glide show with sk playing williams tunes, what a great night, i had it all planned out in my head, my king street shuffle, but i couldn't even make it out the front door. it wasn't for want of trying. 
i spend the evening alone, watching the fucking darkness and storm swallow up the world and leave me very alone. i'd probably watch some tv but there's nothing, not even a dim light anywhere, just blackness and wet. the candle, a burnt out old tea light i have splutters forth some second hand light, it barely allows me sight to navigate the bathroom and just when i start to settle 'puff' it's extinguished. 
can't even read, can't make a cup of tea, can't roll a spliff, can't listen to music, can't use the phone to call someone. i just paid my power bill, there's nothing coming down that down the line. dead. just trawl my sorry ass up the steps and get myself in bed, sleep it away.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

i'd really love to get to the city and see sk play some glide tonight but it's impossible given the conditions and commitments i have, maybe tomorrow i can make it. it's going to be difficult, the stars will have to align but god knows, i'm jonesing for my fix.
i really am a fucking idiot sometimes, i emptied out my mailbox only to find a cd, fortunately it survived the rain, it's the new kilbey kennedy commissioned songs vol.2 and i'll be playing it tonight after sunset. i also found a few bills i neglected to pay.

in that fragment of sunshine, that pocket of splendid light i blitz the garden of libertaria formally known as the sactuary in madagascar libertatia.
tatia is latin for sorry and taria as 'relishes' therefore i am not sorry but rejoice in freedom as should all people. liber translates as 'free.'
yes digging, planting, working with stone, earthing myself to a reality transmission. under watchful eyes of the birds, kookaburras and their friends, the trees and plants all part of me, all attuned, all within my own ecology. this is my green movement, it's present, it's now, it's earthed.
pan is bemused by my toiling, my bones ache and sweat drips down my spine, he watches the absurd tasks of a canine sisyphus, carry water, chopping wood, for the animal kingdom aesthetic is quite different from human. but my garden begins to take more shape as i offer my muscle and manicure it's edges, oh behold the beauty. my shovel thrown down, my trowel abandoned i look around and begin to see my work. and it is good.

Monday, August 18, 2014

i don't know, things get a bit freaky when i speak to my family in london and all they seem to say is there are thousands of people marching outside their doors shouting, hitler was right, finish the job,' i do my research with some reliable sites, get messages from trust worthy sources and yeah eurabia looks lost to me. i used to write about this stuff a lot, warning about the caliphate but then i stopped, i didn't wanna be negative and i liked some elements of islam, just as i like elements of other faiths. the problem is these days it's unfashionable to be a freethinker unless you are pro islam, socialist and belong to the green movement. so much for freethinking. to me these people are not using their brains or they are brainwashed, or they are as my good friend krishna says, already dead.
jews are not lizards, not responsible for fucking banking systems, in fact, they were excluded from europian banking and therefore set their own banks up, not fucking part of some conspiracy and zionism is 'only' a belief that jewish people have a homeland in a the middle east where they originate from.
the internet is filled with hate, pushed by these so called free thinkers, facts don't get in the way of them, reason certainly doesn't. planet x, the london olympics, 9-11, had nothing to do with zionists. yeah maybe some jew was involved somewhere in these things, there are criminal jews as well as everyone else.

when i was a kid i was forced to play with my parents friends kids at the weekends, horrible fucking jewish kids who i never liked at all, even when they grew up into adults i had nothing in common with them. apparently ashkenazi jews are quite different from serphadi ones (of which i am one) at skool i was always reminded i was jewish by the other kids, and if they couldn't bully me for that i was to dark for their tastes. fuck i've experienced racism from almost every single person i've known. 
some of my best friends hate the jews, some of them are convinced jews run their lives for some reason or another, most had never met one but once they met me it brought out their inner fascist, jesus i think, if it wasn't jews, zionists or fucking west indians who would there be to blame. fortunately it was always the girls at skool that stuck up for me and defended me, even against my nazi teachers who loved humiliating me in front of everyone else. 
my best friend at the time always defaulted to some moronic statement when he wanted to exert his power. me, i'm not religious in the slightest but i'd be constantly reminded about my identity externally. the more it happens the more jews are convinced israel has a place in the world. that's the fucking irony the left and islamo-facists do not understand, unless of course there's a counter conspiracy. that once all the jews are in one place it's easy to enact the ultimate solution. mmm, yeah there's something to think about. 
the nazis convinced the germans that jews were sub species, monkey's and rodents, they used some sort of science propaganda documentary films to brainwash the population into murdering six million of them in the well oiled machinery of germanic efficiency. the same patterns are seen resurfacing today, not by germans but all peoples from all over. intellectuals who are so dumb from group think, journalists to frightened to actually report the truth, socialists who have aligned themselves with hitlers best friends the radical islamists.
isis suddenly deemed bad by the world, who do you think hamas are? stupidity spreads itself like a virus, only israel is judged by a standard that no other country is judged by, that is anti semitic means. we tolerate the stoning of women, even the left wing feminists will not dare speak about it for offending their sympathies with islam. while yes, israel it far from perfect it's it's an incredible country, so fucking incredible the rest of the world hates it and delegitimises it's very history and culture without once questioning the details.

the final solution failed, so i guess people have to upgrade to the ultimate solution. i have respect for hamas, at least they are not deluded about who they are and what they want, which is to kill jews. i don't respect these other who cover it up with some sort of intellectual conspiracy all because its on a you tube feed or facebook. the worse are those idiotic jews like pape, lowinstien or chomski. they number about 0.04% of the total jewish population yet get a hell of a lot of exposure on in the media, guests at conferences and book festivals, yeah fair and balanced representation on our abc and bbc. (check out the balen report) 
the festival of dangerous ideas will always have some stupid moron giving a lecture on 'why israel should not exist' hardly a dangerous idea is it? half the world things that!
a better dangerous idea would be, 'why israel exists.'

zombie apocalypse. i saw it coming years ago in a dim witted, dumbed down europe where free speech restrictions were rampant, groupthink spread throughout the population and multiculturalism worked well until the zombie horde started chowing down on the brains of the individual. 1984, animal farm! read those books and apply the aspect of your brains that have been dumbed down, critical thinking. 
it used to be taught in classical education but now it's not even a university subject, it's the last thing they want you to know.

what about the palestinians?
if they voted for a government that accepted israelis right to exist they may get a government that does not squander the billions it receives in aid on weapons to destroy it. and consequently peace although i have no faith in this happening.

what about those settlers - scum, i hate them, send them back to america.

what about the khazars - i don't know. mass conversion sounds plausible to me. look at the way people embrace some religions now, god knows the influence that will have in a few hundred years on the political landscape of say, china or russia. in russia now most of the army is muslim which would be awkward if russia goes to war with a muslim nation. 

the west has never understood the middle east, it's always made terrible mistakes there. it still does because it cannot fathom a culture so vastly different from our own. a culture where dictators wield power and use force and brutality to keep everyone in check, these guys will not be ready for democracy for thousands of years. the middle east is tribal, it always has been, it's confused by the global arena, the west should leave it alone and let it sort itself out rather than applying some emotive value to it and looking through the prism of morality that makes no sense. inaction, capitulation translates as weakness.
israel understands this and is equally conflicted as well, a modern technological women friendly western culture in the middle east is perceived as an abhorrent, yet is has just as much a right to be there as the english or dutch man / woman does in sydney. 
internally it's population are split, people are fed up with fucking war and survival and having to justify their existence every single day.
eventually all these lines in the sand will disappear anyway, the geography of the world shifts endlessly. countries won't be defined by location but ideology but not for a long time. these are invisible countries, like internet sites and forums.

the ultimate solution - hack your brain, discern information, expel the pathological intent, detach from the hive mind, be an individual, stand out and up for the kind of freedom you desire not some stupid ancient book, not some fanatical leader, not some you tube video, not some trendy artist, not some meme that enslaves, not some fear of being different, not fitting in, not being accepted. fuck that, i rather have no friends than be a zombie.

Saturday, August 16, 2014

sunlight streams into the morning, casually news from afar accompanies it, riots, demonstrations, family in distress, nervous and worried about the state of eurabria and what they face.
'history is a pattern, leave,' i suggest, 'better to die on your feet than on your knees to the black sun.'
'they are everywhere, it's incredible.'
'yep, everywhere, in all shapes all guises, some were probably your friends once upon a time.'
'we have no friends here.'
'then at least you know who the enemy is.'
'is this what it comes down to?'
'for us i guess. it's the darkness coming for light. you can't ignore the facts, it makes you part of the problem.'
'what do they want?'
'they want your light.'
the line goes dead and part of me goes dead to. 
i wander around mission control thinking about how detached i can be from the hideous reality of the global mass mess, fuck them, humanity is over rated anyway. if the zombies don't get you, ebola might, how many horsemen do you need? one's fucking enough!
my little pocket of paradise, coloured birds fly in for breakfast, lorikeets, crows, lyre birds and king parrots. i feed them some seeds, the water dragons run to me in their cartoon animation, legs flaying out. vibrant colours of life fill the garden, pan watches a kookaburra who is perched upon a tree stump. i find it hard to look out at the carnage, it upsets me, the vacant tragedy, soon they will come for the stumps.
even here, there is carnage of sorts, if you were a bird it would be hell, environmental catastrophe. 
mission control offers safe haven, they come, they know. captain mission of australia, don't have the same ring to it as francis of assisi but what the hell. it's a safe house for the homeless creatures of the world.
we all bask in the morning light.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

i woke up one morning in the zombie apocalypse, it took me a while to get a grip on the landscape, but the undead stood out with their sympathies and political ideologies, calculated hate and pathological protocols. i took myself down to the clinic where professor x was dissecting a brain from a still raving body, it was twitching and spasming like it was in electrical ecstasy, it even had some reflex speech,ranting on about some jew conspiracy or the other, occasionally it's hands would twitch. he had it tied down to a big metal table. 
the top of the head was sawn right off and exposed brain still throbbed. 
'mission, hi, grab that pair of tongs,' the professor pointed to his work station. i gazed down at the array of tools and instruments. 
'these long ones, or the short ones?'
'the short ones and pass the clamps.'
i looked for what i thought may be clamps, the professor had a vast array of tools laid out in a mess on his bench.
i passed the tools to the professor, he was opening up the brain with a scalpel. some weird white cranial fluid spurted out in a jet.
'that's not sexy at all.'
'i have to keep the central nervous system functioning, i can't detach the brain stem but i can look inside this area, the limbic system is modulated by this node in the cerebellum.' 
i watched the professor holding up what appeared to be a strange little pod attached to some brain matter. 'this may be the problem right here. it looks like the synaptic reflex is calcified, permanently fused which explains the pathology.'
the zombie blurted out some kind of inverted babble it must have learnt from a you tube video, or picked up at one of it's mass demonstrations. 'wow, is there a cure professor?'
'no, one must aim for the head, it's a zombie apocalypse.' 
'is there a point to understanding the physiology then?'
'i'm a scientist, of course there's a point.'
the zombie twitched and made some incomprehensible sounds and then went silent.
i ate an apple, flicked through a magazine on exotic travel, put the kettle on and rolled a spliff. 
'professor, do you really think science can explain this?'
'no, it can understand the material density of the matter but the problem is an esoteric one which is your department.'
'mmm, cosmic war man, light vs darkness, it's all in revelations, everything becomes inverted, it's impossible to tell, either you get it or you don't.'
'well what does your intuition tell you?'
'aim for the head.' 
i passed the professor the burning bush.


Sunday, August 10, 2014

wake to the congregated sky as it's torn asunder by pink light in a band. i watch its movement, touch it's face, stick my hand up in the air. the day begins, the drive, the flicker of thought leaves my mind by zen discipline, by ease and electra-glided flow, i blink out of existence, everywhere and nowhere for some peace and a cold hard shot at tranquillity.
when the synaptic kick in i hit the ground, muscles do their work, physicality becomes clear.
spring will be upon us soon, my tasks involve building a perimeter, i think in terms of stone, large sandstone blocks would be good, but also the idea of tall grass, ferns and tropical plants. i see it in my minds eye, after the tree carnage i am left exposed. does a man hear a tree fall, the answer is yes, i heard them fall, i felt them fall. the shock hit me hard, although fallen myself, i staggered down for my coffee with the birds only to find the barbarians had levelled the whole bushland behind me. two days later i'm still in shock, such carnage, my bird friends are spooked, they want answers i have not got.
i feed them and ponder my immediate problem, security. mission control is left vulnerably exposed. 
i can see myself in the garden for the next three days digging up dirt, planting trees and manicuring a perimeter. 
the idea depresses me at first, i rather just read plus i have a book to finish, but i must face the task. the task is my reluctant priority.
pan looks up at me, he knows the score. he is old now, slowed down so much it's quite a shock for me, he no longer even wants to come anywhere with me, his world revolves around laying in the sun and dreaming, food and water. i feel a scene of time edging it's way in to our soft lives, pan and i, two lone travellers thrown together by fate, a strange relationship, that this beautiful creature should love me so completely, that my birds come and visit us, the reptiles run down my path, the fish swim towards me. i am francis of assisi, a solider returned from war, not a good man, not a bad man.
the carpet of cloud blanketing the sky has dissipated, everything awash with coordinated blue. 
the fabrics are sewn, the song is sweet, the time is now.

Saturday, August 09, 2014

the strange empty space that lies between us, how i travelled that distance, alone and isolated, reaching out, desiring some form of reconciliation. gave away this, gave away that, for what, a terrible price, an endless wrath, the fury of the world. it's all so hard, so wearing and hateful. 
doesn't hate just exhaust you? it exhausted me and now it's just a dying ember, yet for you it's the perpetual drive, age after age, irrational, pathological, it overwhelms everything, like an angry chaos. 
language is inverted, passions enter dangerous zones, history hijacked and rewritten, conspiracy after conspiracy all unravel, ignoble endings pile outside the door until the very sun is blackened, the bones of the dead are not enough and never will be, not while there is life. it's life you want to extinguish. my life.
when you see a river of blood baby, does history matter?
time is a strange illusion, those tibetans we emulate were once brutal killers who tortured millions of chinese and now the chinese are brutal captors of tibet. what does this say? 
you were born at one point and know only one point, yet your own existence is not one point, it's process within a process, an event. a 4 dimensional worm from inception to death, therefore perception is process to. baby it's is all insignificant in times ocean, karmic forces pull and push, cyclic patterns ebb and flow, but your own one single slice seems to be the sole focus of your attention, by proxy compassion. soon that compassion will appear abhorrent as the players are revealed, the forces of darkness are barbaric yet still you wave their flag, the forces of darkness will kill your babies, will stone your women, will execute your christ, buddha, goddess, spaghetti monster, the forces of darkness are the black sun incarnate at war with light, illumination.
it's coming, it's coming now!
choose your side because if you sit on the fence they will kill you to.


Monday, August 04, 2014

i drive through the rising dawn, watch the black night draw down a blue day, the highway empty stretching out, i head north in some sort of conquistador overdrive, into the frontier. 
home, what a fantastic feeling to be home again.
the shower hits me, pummelled by hot water, i come alive again.
the door bangs, it taken my karmic broker ages to arrange a visits, she's let herself in and stands on my shag rug flicking through a book on hindu love gods.
it's good to see her, we kiss, hug and kiss again. 
'mission, very nice place you have, now what's a girl have to do to get a latte around here.'
'come, sit down, i'll fix you.'
we wander into the lounge where she spills the contents of her case on my floor, glossy brochures, papers and a lipstick pack, some keys and a few pens and a sexy looking mobile phone. 
i make some coffee.
'so what you doing here?'
'i have some documents for you to sign.'
when i sit down i flick through the paperwork, she's stuck some yellow tabs where i need to make my mark. i scrawl my signature across the pages, 'what's all this about.'
'money management mission,' she fires back at me, 'you need to get things in order.'
I must look disappointed.
She hands me the coloured brochure, 'read this, it's all straightforward.' 
My face must give my thoughts away, 'jesus, i'll never open this let alone read it.'
she flicks through it carefully showing me the tables and graphs, my karma looks good, she tells me how to invest some here, some there, i nod my head and start falling asleep.
'come on, i'll take you for a drive.'
the car is a sporty one, it's got spoilers and slots over the bonnet. the windows tinted and when i sit down the seats are like the seats of a space ship.
acceleration pulls my body into the mould, i can feel the engine in my bones. torque as the turbo kicks in, and then next thing i know we are parking in terrible beach.
the ocean looks fantastically vivid, electric blue against a bright yellow sand. we drink iced coffee and sit in the sun.
'so, i'm sorted karma wise.'
'yeah, sorted, it's all growth.'
i feel happy. yeah real happy.

ginsberg asked burroughs,  'what is death?' 
his response: 'a gimmick. it’s the time-birth-death gimmick. can’t go on much longer.' 

Sunday, August 03, 2014

took some time out on a train north, looking at small towns pass me by, sporadic bursts of human activities, monuments and towers but mostly bushland, rivers, the ocean. way up the northern coast line, i had my head buried in my book some of the time, sometimes i dozed into a deep train sleep, mostly just looked out of the window at the wonderful landscape.
i got as far as maitland and came home, watching a vibrant rich red sun hanging low over the horizon, the splendour of being so far away from everything touched me deeply, i felt the rays warm my skin and penetrate, their energy pass through my bones, i dreamed them inside my corpuscles and let them become me, like the days of old. 
somehow i ended up having dinner with wild childe, some late night noodles, some gourmet hot chocolate in a crowded noisy cafe. i told her some of my escapades, some tales about the past life. she laughed because i was wearing my pyjamas, extremely unfashionable, trying to be serious, in trendy towns, just having a laugh. 

Friday, August 01, 2014

of heaven i remember the world of man, it was an illusion of density, causing much pain and suffering from which the escape routes were closed to many. religion had contaminated spirituality, just like politics contaminates freedom. 
i abandoned all known causes of man's memetic pollution of eden, i wandered through forest fern and orchid, the woodland creatures showed me the way, the oceanic forces healed my wounds, the cosmic powers attuned my minds eye, the spiritual world knows war and battle to but it is fought in a purity where one really does love thy enemy. 
i remember the fear, the sickness, the hate, the perpetual cycles of history repeating itself over and over until all one could see was the blood, no telling from who it came, man woman, child, pagan, fascist, communist, libertarian. there would be no kingdom on earth until one finds the kingdom within. 
i remember the words of the sages who penetrated this veil of tears, they sang it out for us to join in harmonies and joyous raptures. 

Sunday, July 27, 2014

i am neither here nor there, neither unknown or known, nothing defines me, no politic, no religion, no belief other than what i need to evolve or break through the strange existence of tears and fears.
winter pains me, i don't feel right in the cold, in dampness that rots the bones and hurts my lungs. i don't like the rainfall penetrating walls and dry places, leaking through cracks like some abominable creature hp lovecraft described. amorphous monster, the past haunting me, london calling. misery.
the cold is my enemy, it chills the blood and freezes my motion in the thick soup of the moment, i retreat. 
along comes the sun, i sit in joy soaking it up, the birds are out, rejoice. my coffee is the defrost agent, waves conform, patterns emerge one again, harmony.
my breathing is clear, the damp waterlogged sadness leaves my flesh, bones, spirit. break out the coconuts, pass me a spliff, rejoice. it will be time to emerge from winter months soon, spring will come and we can dance with abandon under the full moon and celebrate the turning of the seasons. 

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

another time, inhabiting the spectral splendour of mission control, nocturnal sounds of strange beasts clamouring from their resting places, old bones creak, skeleton cabinet murmur, the rubick cube of mystery night as the moon calls dawn it's ancient tide. i wander the darkness, illuminated by some cold fire between my eyes, the central nervous system operating inter- dimensional. cosmic eye, perception of patterns upon patters, star maps hidden in star charts, multiverse within the universe, all embedded within and without. one step forwards, any direction is pointless, we are lost in deception. we deceive ourselves until we believe in the truth. 
here the wand is waved, spells cast, a maze of thought bubbles float away, some burst open, some catch the breeze, some just sink without trace, some go and evolve into great ambitions and forms, islands in the fabric of the world. 
science fiction writers produce ideas in narratives, the atomic bomb was an idea, satellites were an idea, submarines, helicopters everything starts as an idea. they go outwards into the ether, and some are plucked into reality. how does this happen, magickal theory suggests it's in manifestation and  invocation. 
i've been wondering about this, minds linked by intention but unable to know this, the ultimate detachment to result, detached by time and space. the sigil is encoded into a novel or drawing and expunged into the universe later plucked into a receptive mind and actualised by the time that mind exists in. this would conform to non locality and entanglement.

Saturday, July 19, 2014

i plugged into the cosmos baby, with my dream coat dmt downloaded info dump, i see the game, the players, the rules and all probable outcomes, don't believe me! don't really care, it makes no difference, we are all space dust dancing on the head of a pin. 
i cast my sigil into my universe, i spell bind my enemy with a flaming sword, symbol of my intentions, i move like the invisible ghost in the machine, dense perceptions only revealed to those who know how to see with a mindful eye. 
there is a mighty force called chariot, it's often superimposed with lions and large cats, flames abound but not temporal heat, cool fire, light in dense talk.
i'm in a bar in newtown talking with a friend who doesn't speak symbol, he's a lecturer in philosophy, american guy. smart enough to keep me on my toes, i like him despite his rationality. he confesses his secret past when he took lsd and i congratulate him, every man should sup from this cup be they knowledgeable.
he don't speak symbol but his logic is doubtful to my finely attuned cogs.
i speak with some cats from melbourne, reveal far to much about myself. i fall into the uniform fantasy of a girl in a coat with an innocent face and nice heels, something about those librarian girls.
i escape the city, back to the world of waves, ocean form pounds relentlessly like the thought of soft sensuality. earth beautiful and bountiful, earth, makes the sound of soaring and a word is formed. earth the host speaks the laws of life. 
contemplation time, the atrocity, it's everywhere, exhibited for the alien, for the intergalactic judges, for concerned gods, high intelligence. mankind, does what it has always done, divide itself, shed it's own blood in a rite of tribal violence and lust for power and control, it's ridiculous to say one side is guilty and another innocent, an absurdity drives the problem further away from the solution, is light right, you need a darkness to know. manufacture the outrage, compassion only makes me angry these days unless it's from a space of non judgement. who knows what's going down, do you have all the information, are you so right that all evidence cannot change your mind, hate is enslaved by the conspiracy, hate is the ultimate game of thrones. only love will win in my world but what do i know, i'm just the non prophet of doom.