Saturday, May 02, 2015

if i had a super power it would be to stop the bloody rain, just a break in this horrid weather as it begins to soak through into the world around me, the dampness in my bone, water logging my brain and thinking process. strange how the body reacts to it after a week. years of london weather should have made me resistant but it has made me very resentful towards the endless grey skies, the layers of clothing, the mud, the horrible effects of mould and wetness in walls and cars and socks. i don't like the rain because it always takes me backwards, whereas the sun offers blue skies and hope, there's always tomorrow in a sunny day.  

Friday, May 01, 2015

21st century blues, everyone has an opinion, people ram it down yer neck in social media irrespective of the fall out, the repercussions of hate. has it always been like this, social media becomes masterful at fine tuning one's own prejudices, it offers community to haters and various lost causes of conspiratorial agendas, speculators and cynics, propagators of ancient animosities. one day an alien race will trawl through the rubble of the internet and see all we really were capable of doing with it was digital graffiti. 
then occasionally you stumble across the connections that actually are like neurone networks across an ocean of synaptic impulses, creative pulses of energy, bending space and time, pulling together in hive mind some kind of synergy worth investing in, not just web sites and communities, individuals who have a love of other individuals without all the bullshit, without all the fucking pretence, intellectual wanking only gets you so far, it may even get you off but what comes next. 
who comes next?

i'm in tanyas bookshop.
now this is no ordinary secondhand space, it's run by a very attractive and intelligent lady and her equally impressive father. always interesting jazz flows out from old tin speakers, always books everywhere, and always an interesting conversation to be had. it's rare for me to have time for a long chat but i was fortunate a small window of chance presented itself...

so we are discussing the idea of redemption and are joined by a customer. we all have a story to tell and i lay down mine, 'there are three truths, my truth, your truth and then there's The Truth. but no one ever knows The Truth.'

it was a magistrate whom shared that with me, and i believe it so. 
my truth is this.

the conversation came to an end when i suggested compassion has limits, i really think this is true for everyone, unless you are buddha but remember even the ancient buddhists were cruel war mongers who tortured and killed thousands of chinese. now the chinese lord it over the buddhists and the poor falun gong people imprisoned, tortured and left dead as their organs are taken from their bodies and sold, yeah patterns repeat, the persecuted becomes the persecutor, history is just a cycle of patterns, like everything else in the universe. i wander through the day, doing whatever it is i do, my minds half here and half there, its always somewhere else. 

Monday, April 27, 2015

suddenly dawned upon me i have no suitcase or travelling bags, my old bag fell apart on me. it was held together with tape and string, i'd used it for years and watched it fall apart in seven different countries and ironically on my last trip it disintegrated as i unpacked when i arrived home. it was a loyal case, it got me home before falling apart, things could have been much worse.
so i have seen some interesting cases but i feel like getting something in hot pink, i figure it will stand out at the airport and everyone will expect some glamourous supermodel type in high heels to own them when in fact it will be old captain mission, dishevelled, unshaven, stinking of airport fatigue and looking stoned and disorientated after travelling cross the planet. 
i like that whole concept of fucking peoples expectations and i also like the fact hot pink suitcases will annoy people, disorientating with their strange sense of sexual certainty. yeah fuck it, hot pink for me, but should i get the bold pink one or the leopard spots or the pink zebra striped ones, see these are the things i have to think about and i have not even had breakfast yet. 

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

afterthoughts.
i've worked for this dept for decades, seen stuff you would not believe so after a while i started to process the meeting and i just don't feel right. i really don't. it was almost to good to be true, but there was some added element where they said a legal team of their own would coach me in what to say and what not to say if i take the stand. at the meeting itself it sounded like support but then later i was thinking and i confess, i don't want to be negative but experience has shaped my perception of how 'stupid' this dept. can be. could they just want to stop me talking about the terrible debacle they (the dept) have made in dealing with this client. time will tell i guess. 

the rain here is amazing, winds that have savaged the state, killed and broken people. my driving around northern sydney through what looks like the aftermath of warfare, homes smashed, trees and debris everywhere, roads closed, flooding and all the while the rain falls. on my drive home last night the freeway was better but the small country roads on the central coast were hazardous, inaccessible and required some deft four wheel driving manoeuvres. my own street was hammered and this morning i look out at my garden which has been savaged, trees out of whack, plants overturned, river running wild.  

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

well bless my cotton socks, the meeting was much better than i thought and the guys who attended were okay, offered me a bit of support and generally were supportive of what i had done although there was a lot unsaid. anyway i was pleasantly surprised, it wasn't as bad as i thought it would be. 
diving home at midnight was outrageous as the terrible winds and rains had flooded the freeway turning it into a frictionless sliding track as cars moved in all directions in the most unpredictable of ways hindered by the trucks that raced past leaving a tidal wave in their wakes. roads flooded everywhere, trees fallen, abandoned cars, crashed cars, i am glad to be home. 

Monday, April 20, 2015

strange dream, different time, alternative universe. i missed a bowie gig but my father gets me there for the second half. no deep meaning or anything, i'd just spoken with him on the phone, we had a short conversation and i always enjoy our chats although skype was better. 
i'm exhausted when i wake up, the rain seems heavy and relentless, the birds downstairs are making a racket, the garden looks great, getting that tropical feel. down there past the trees i see the murky river and wonder what it's secrets are.
there's no skies today, just grey darkness. 
i contemplate a big meeting i have, should i do some preparation or wing it. they have summoned me, they have not issued me an agenda so i have no idea what to expect. am i about to be fired, given a warning, offered a new position, transferred? 
it's impossible to know with these guys, they probably don't know themselves. one thing i know will not be happening is they won't promote me or acknowledge my work. 

Friday, April 17, 2015

my job always brings up interesting challenges, i love my work but the repeating pattern is always my relationship with other staff. i never wanted to work here but was transferred against my will by the usual governmental bullies and thugs. the excuse they used was i got on to well with my clients, and other staff were not able to develop relationships with them. despite the fact the other staff had been working there for much longer than i had. instead of building up relationships they sat around eating sandwiches and gossiping about bullshit, neglecting clients needs and generally doing what the public service does which is get paid for doing little as possible.
anyway's i gave up fighting and ended up here, now the same pattern repeats. while my peers sit around watching sports on tv or taking long cigarette breaks i built up relationships and trust with my clients. we have healthy trust based relationships and i'm more productive than anyone else. the clients like me, they want to be with me, and they have fun with me. so once again the weird professional envy has crept in. 
the facts are i have far more experience than anyone in the dept. they are kindergarten level compared to my training and expertise. i never flaunt it or shove it down anyone necks, i just do my work and leave feeling like i accomplished something. managers fall by the way sides when they come up against me, some have had to deal with my wrath which i peruse through proper channels and always get a result in my favour, the current one is fantastic and i like her a lot but she has limited powers of influence. if i know a client is under any form of abuse i act mercilessly. i know no fear despite the attitude to staff that report controversy from our management. 
so when i walk into the monthly meeting and am attacked for 'waltzing in and having a great shift,' by someone that sits and watches sports while he gets the clients to do all the work, i'm in no mood to defend myself only attack back, twice as hard. there's a lot of fall out, everyone else is shocked disturbed and upset but i don't fucking care. i really don't. no one has worked as hard as i have in the last two three years under adverse conditions with complex case management and legal issues. no one has had better outcomes than me, and no one has more trust with our clients than me. and there lies the problem. i come across it all the time in this field. envy, jealously and the biggest sin is rising above the expected standard of care. one day my story will be told, i'll be on a tv show and able to tell you all about my experiences as a social worker. the truth is really much stranger than fiction!  

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

higgs boson blues NICK CAVE

so very busy as time slips away under my feet through my toes and fingers, can't seem to hold on to it at all, the days pass through nights, the nights seem lost in the dreamscapes of other realms, everywhere i'm a tourist. sleep is a station and i've missed a few stops pulled this way and that, demands from people, money is a burden, everyone wants something from me and that's okay, i don't really seek anything but they should recognise me and acknowledge my part in their result. this annoys me, so many people racking in the clams yet i seem to be the one doing all the work. i get phone calls on my days off, i get called in for meetings. yet my own needs are unmet, i need certain things, material objects, a working computer would be a start, i need money, to pay my ever increasing debt, i need time which is a precious resource, however i am writing, i am creating and i am getting some objectives met so all is not lost.
in fact to counter my trails is a wonderful tribulation. it means something to me anyway, a few months ago i decided to buy a ticket to london, via stockholm so i could see my dad and son. i chose various stop overs to break up the flight, finland, singapore etc, but the day i arrive in london the church play their one and only london show. my brother has acquired a ticket for me, and then the morning i return to sydney the church play the same evening. i just picked up a pre-sale ticket. 
now this is probably not such a big deal to you humble reader of blog, but for me it's incredible. it's definite proof of higher powers, it means life has meanings and is beautiful and whatever you are going through do not despair, for there is always some light at the end of the tunnels.  

Friday, April 10, 2015

some towns are not on the map. some towns don't have official names they may just be known by some historical event, or some landmark. 

i drove west into the desert.
the car was dying, a steady black burning cloud of smoke escaped from the grill. i was out of drugs, out of luck and out of time. my skin was blistering up, the heat was slowly making everything slow down to a stop, i could feel my heart beating, each beat slower than the last, blood sluggishly pumped its way through my body and the sun was blazing down. i figured i had less than an hour, either the car would seize up or i would.
the red dust was everywhere, on the windscreen, on the dash, on the skin and in my throat, it was finding its way into my eyes past my sunglasses. i wiped the petrol gauge with my hand, smearing the dust, it was in the red. everything out here was in the red.
the road stretched out, hazy and half there, i couldn't even be sure if there was a road any more. i just drove forwards instinct, my eyes must have been more closed than open, slipping into some sort of micro sleep.
when i opened them the town was looming.
must have been an old mining town, the tin huts and shop fronts all boarded up, a few shops on the high street and a hotel and pub. the car gave up right outside the hotel.
i must have fallen out from the car as i awoke in dust bruised and battered and burning up. i lifted my head and saw the doorway to the pub, some clanky piano music seeping out and a crowd singing some strange tune.
i crawled towards it loosing my sunglasses in the process. every movement sent throbs of pain along side, something was not quite right inside me. dense pain, throbbing guts, my eyes streaming with water, it was all getting blurry now, the door the music, the desert skies. my arm pushed against the door and it swung open as white light flooded out swallowing me up, white radiant light beautiful and perfect. when my eyes closed the light swallowed me up.
    
the biggest mistake made by people who read the old testament is they read it in english. it has to be read and understood through the prism of the hebrew alphabet. each letter is a language itself, each letter symbolic and placed very carefully to the others in complex codex. the old testament is a doorway. 
it is in kabbalistic philosophy that the pattern is understood. supporting books like the zohar are the key to understanding the old testament.
those old mystics kept the mystery to themselves, they didn't go around spilling their knowledge to anyone, it's not spiritual fast food and it's not part of the process of any enlightenment to force feed your neighbour with a spiritual truth because in all likelihood they will say it's a lie. unlike most religions these druids don't care if you like it or not, they don't need numbers and followers and it has nothing to do with belief. the committed truth seeker comes to them. there is two criteria the druids expect from you.
one. you are over 50 years of age. this is because they want you to have some real life experience under your belt that you can apply to the theory and practice.
two. that you reject everything you think you knew about the old book, which in practical terms means all your preconditioned ideas. even the so called followers of the hated tribe have to unlearn everything.
only the ignorant would take the old testament literally, only the ignorant do. it's a mish mash, fragments, the history of a desert people, the rules and controls for a society to function, the stories fables and tales that guide a civilization towards some kind of moral code. as a step on a ladder of spiritual evolution just like all other religions have, it contains aspects of mystical truth for the time. there is one ultimate conciousness and we can enter a relationship with it.

most of the stories are allegorical fables or mythological tales that pre existed long before. no follower really believes god created the universe in seven days jewish people are not stupid generally although they are a strange bunch and difficult to relate to. 
to the discerning scholar the only books that really matter are the first three books of genesis for here is the secret of how mind creates. emanation. to the critic one can see how prejudice and fear has manipulated perceptions, a slow creeping eternal paranoia. the god in the old testament is many things, it manifests as many faces but the most known is obviously the ego, the super entity that controls every aspect of peoples individual and collective lives. yeah it's amazing how many people hate that particular god and take any opportunity to bash it over the head motivated by...their own ego i guess.

there are not many qualities i like about this tribe to be honest and i don't live amongst them but i think the quality that sets them apart from others is humility and i think that's not a bad thing, maybe that's why people irrationally hate it. some say it's all about israel but if they are honest, the hate existed long before israel ever did. 




Wednesday, April 08, 2015


fantastic book, slipped right under my radar, halfway through it, totally engrossed in the world david zindell has created and his beautiful writing. why this was never as big as dune in the sci fi world i will never know. it's the precursor to a trilogy and i'm really looking forwards to reading them all. 

when the rain comes it's a slow drudge, it don't really fall out the sky but kinda just hovers around above the ground. i wander around like a strange beast out of luck and out of coconuts. my skin clammy, made of seaweed, stinking of sweat and slimy translucent oils, i get myself under the fan, it feels like 1950's burma, some half smoked joint and some water with lemon.
i pick up the only paperback in the room, it's an airport thriller by some guy called greg iles, it's called 'the quiet game' and i start to read it. completely different from any novel i would chose to read under normal circumstances but i can't leave the room until my package arrives. 
hours must pass, the sun must be in a completely different spot i can tell by the way the shimmering haze in the black clouded sky hovers, just penetrating enough in diffuse obscurity, everything fuzzy and smeared by watercolours.
i'm half way through the novel, it's brilliantly written and i'm surprised at the quality of narrative. i stretch my legs, pace up and down like an english assassin. for a while i leer at the window and can make out the street scene below as a cart pulled by an elephant passes. a few figures in white on an otherwise empty street, the water now a river flowing down the road. under a lone palm tree stands a tall man in what seems to be a white singapore suit. 
it's him, he's smoking a cigarette like a spy from 1954, faux coolness trying not to stand out while standing out. i put out my joint and put on my sunglasses, locking the door behind me.
he spots me immediately, after all only an english man would be wearing sunglasses in the rain. 
we meet one another in the road, a cart manoeuvres its way around us effortlessly. a small wave of water washes over our shoes.
'let's get out of the rain mr. mission. there's a cafe just here.'
he leads, i follow.
inside i shake myself dry, take off my jacket and empty my shoes. i even squeeze out my socks and hang them over a chair. they will all be dry soon, the heat is outrageous, even the fan makes no difference it struggles slowly to rotate through the thick atmosphere only churning around hot stinking air.
we order teas and he flicks through a newspaper, folding it carefully in half and half again like some origami, he pulls out a pen and circles something and shows me.
it's my advertisement.
'so mr. mission how would i engage your services.' 
'you must be under some misunderstanding, the moment you engaged my services is the moment you receive them it is not my job to take orders on targets but to target the order givers.'
the look he gives me is not quite confusion, more denial as the truth slips through his mind.
'the tea your drinking will take effect in a few seconds, it acts as a paralysing agent initially, after which you sink into a coma. chances are the hospital will terminate you. there won't be any traceable evidence, only that you died quite naturally.
the look of horror that crossed his face was familiar, i'd seen it many times.   
i stood up to leave, returning to finish 'the quiet game.'

Friday, April 03, 2015




saw the waterboys last night at the opera house, a completely different set from last time, they played most of the new album, glastonbury song, don't bang the drum (a powerful bare version with mike singing and playing piano while steve wickham played his electric fiddle. they tore through songs with incredible professionalism, a band that actually enjoys playing together their energy was so infectious that the audience which started as reserved and sedate ended up rocking. 
to watch the waterboys is to watch a band playing with energy, mike shifts, changes and manipulates the whole feel of the live sound, adding flourishes, little diversions, (song for cynthia lennon was beautiful and spontaneous).
the stage was fundamentally bare, some nice lights and the album cover hanging in the background, that image 'modern blues' looking powerful and mighty.
the band was a mixture of english and americans and they were incredible, the keyboard player brother paul was just a joy to watch as he made his hammond sound. mike seemed to be in fine form, jumping from guitar to piano and his voice was near perfect. 
the sound was spot on, the opera house either gets it right or wrong but this was magnificent sound, the big music honed for intimacy. wow! what a great night of music and joy.....'purple rain' made the audience go nuts. 

Saturday, March 28, 2015

the machines fail, incrementally my technology ceases to work, it all comes down to glitches. internet glitches, freeze glitches, start up glitches, battery glitches, program glitches, some where some one is the glich master pumping out strings of code, rouge java scripted gremlins destroy fatebook, safari, yahoo, skype, one by one they infiltrate my machine.
the experts say my model is vintage, it's far to old to fix. they charge me anyway because like all things it's a rort, thankfully i have a desktop that works, another antique but what the hell, it does what i want it to do.
i consider getting an ipad but figure after the ipod, iphone there may as well be some other new technology, the iwatch i will skip becuase i can't wear them but when they have the next i thingy i may invest in one.
a beautiful woman reads my work, to many commas, use dashes she says - so i will.

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. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hornsby_Water_Clock
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
by
captain mission

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

listen.
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!'