Friday, December 02, 2016

an old technique, rise with the sun, watch it over the water as the first waves hit the retina. synchronise spectrums, extend the auric field in meditative expanse and discipline. walk down to the waterline, get toes and feet wet, see the pathway out from feet to horizon and give praise. 
already very warm, perfect curls upon perfect waves, they come in sets of three, large ones and i always get the last one, with my trusty fin. we ride and i am propelled through zen like states, my charkra system is vital, i have no distinction, the very blood that races around my body is as the pulse of the ocean, atomic dissolution  only the mind is left, neither here nor there, so where but everywhere.
it cannot last, like all things, orgasms, enlightenment and love, even a good meal, it lasts for as long as it lasts and the method is to understand clinging to it only brings tension, let it go, let it come, let it go, mantra of the noble path. 
i surf the morning to stillness, in golden light white divinity, profoundly sexy and alive, not even the oppressive heat matters, the day is born in splendour. the sun will rise and set, and everything is as it needs to be in the moment. 
every buddhist even in suffering is the potential to be free.  

Sunday, November 27, 2016

i'm on a radio show with a psychiatrist and he's talking about the way asian men are now all risking their health to have their cock's enlarged with gels and silicon, an extremely painful procedure with harsh side effects not to mention it's illegal. the dr. explains that western advertising, porn and the internet where once asian men never even considered cock size important now they are all insecure and there is an epidemic loss of self confidence. he says previous to this the asian cock was quite adapted suitably for the asian vagina. ironically with all this advertising comes a rise in impotency amongst asian men. 
'so the west are literally castrating the east? the host asks.
the psychiatrist laughs, 'yeah that's one way of looking at it.'
the interviewer asks me what i think of western culture.
'it's basically a culture of emergency, emergency climate, emergency   economics, emergency epidemics, emergency drugs, wars on this and a wars on that, speculation on catastrophe, the sun zooming in, the meltdown expected. but if we did not believe you could control everything there would not be an emergency would there?'

Sunday, November 20, 2016

a dream, a message i can't say but i'll take it as conformation there are things beyond what we can even comprehend. 
it's evening the sun has set over a large open air stadium, filled to capacity, i sit on the lawn at the front, and the atmosphere is beyond electric. david bowie, in all his various incarnations is playing a live show, he sings into the stars and then comes over to me and whispers 'thank you captain mission,' and then he shakes my hand in what i can only describe as sincerity. he smiles, i do to i'm sure in my sleep and then he returns to sing. 
later i am above the grass area, a luxury box looking down at the stadium and the man. i beckon a girl, 'come look see, it's david bowie.'
she seems disenchanted, 'yeah, i know i'm here, i know what's going on'
'but it's him. he's alive.'
she wanders of bored.
i look downwards as the dream fades and i awake.

Thursday, November 03, 2016

fortunately my personal supply of medical marijuana is flowing. 
i drive home in the traffic, i'm listening to all india radio. i like some of their stuff. i like driving to them. i don't feel the need for speed. usually i listen to the radio, a banal station where they talk about politics through their predictable left wing prism so all india is a nice distraction. 
there's a lot of traffic down the winding road, everyones slightly maniacal and aggressive, especially the dumb tradies. 
when i get home i feel exhausted  a throbbing in my head, the terrible stress of being responsible for people, the frustration of not having a creative outlet at the moment other than write dumb stories about slow death from weirdness. maybe i'm turning into an h p lovecraft type, the monsters for him were the other. the blacks, the jews, the alien races. for me they are people who want a piece of me. i have always disliked that feeling, hence the themes of being eaten, cannibalism and devouring. 
i'm going to write something very dark and malevolent soon, i want to explore this. i am very influenced by liard barron whom you must seek out and read, i recommend 'the croning' to start with but you can start anywhere, any collection of short stories will do it. i love his work, so well executed and those brutal characters  the strange sexuality, the weirdness creeping in under the doors. he writes like a master and with such skill takes you into the dark like you never have been before. horror like this, cosmic horror is becoming very popular apparently. i guess it's a sign of the times.
i listened to a podcast by some writers who specifically wrote horror novels, they all seemed to agree that you have to start out writing a story about something normal and relatable, you need something very average that the reader can relate to and then introduce the horror. it's a disruptor. 

Tuesday, November 01, 2016

heavy day at work today, a client smashed his head against a desk, it make the loudest 'crack' i thought a fire work detonated, he then smashed his fist into his chin and bashed himself up pretty badly. we managed to put on a helmet but he struggled and proved to be fearless. he even tried to bite himself. he's pretty serious, a hard case, self injures and has serious epileptic seizures. this is the side of autism you don't hear about, the side where they are so far removed from reality there is no way back. occasionally i get a glimpse of what's under there, through all that defensive shit. it's like a moment of clarity but it's far and few between. i administered a dose of heavy tranquilliser, he was calmer but it took a few minites. i felt like i needed one to, the shock of that whack really effected my fragile psychology. later at his psychiatrist i asked if medical marujuana could be used, it's very effective against autism and seizures. the dr. said there's no supply and people have been waiting for it for many years. most people waiting are in far worse condition than my client. 
makes you wonder sometimes.

Sunday, October 30, 2016

i'd driven west for two days, drunk a bottle of tequila and smoked a packet of cigarettes, filled up the wagon several times and slept approximately two hours in a small town with no name. i'd stayed in the truck, no point exposing myself, at least in 
here i was protected. 
once the booze ran out i stuck with the weed i picked up before i left. it cost me a few hundred dollars but took the edge of my fear.
the landscape was like mars, red dust everywhere with no real signs of life. occasionally a cloud of dust in the distance would turn out to be another car or 4x4. they would honk their horn or yell some incomprehensible call as we crossed but i remained silent and focused on driving away as fast and as far as possible.
yeah, it's unusual for me to drink or smoke but my nerves where shot to pieces and my head filled with some sort of traumatic memory i couldn't expunge, alcohol did seemed to blur the details and that was good enough for me.
i'd packed my bag in such a hurry, i'd forgotten basic stuff, a passport, bank book, laptop, i had probably left my front door wide open. it was of no consequence, i didn't plan on returning. what i found in the bag was a couple of cd's which were useless as the truck had no cd player. there was a worn copy of an old science fiction novel by robert heinlein and some loose change. it was a small bag. i chucked it from the window at 120k's. 
my possessions were now a truck, the clothes i wore, a bottle of water and a bag of weed. 
i poured some water into the back of my throat and sucked hard on the dying joint. my thoughts had slowed down, events stopped spiralling and were beginning to form some sort of lucid narrative.
it started with a dream, maybe now in retrospect it was never a dream but some sort communication from something i couldn't quite comprehend.
deep sleep, darker than night, a soft sensation and whispering in a unfamiliar language, my eyes appear to open as the sound becomes louder and through the ambient light i see the red eyes of beasts burning like wolves as hot breath hits my flesh and their salivating mouths drooling acid hits my body, mouths leer down and unholy teeth tear into me. my scream is lost in the sound of their frenzy, bits of my body torn away, blood spurting up and staining the sheets. it's a horror movie in my head. there are graphic details of abysmal  brutality, soft focus close ups of flesh being pulled apart like cotton wool, long beastly array's of teeth chewing bits of arm and leg. there's my eyes rolling back in their sockets as some wave ripples through me, but it is not pain. these beasts are eating me alive and i feel no pain just pleasure. i watch myself being eaten by them and all i feel is joy.
did i wake up? i did not, i fell into a deep deep sleep soft angels whispered blessings over my carcass. 
in the morning i cleaned my teeth and dressed, completed my work day with unbounded energy all the while feeling incredible pleasure from my dream of the previous night. my performance at work was impressive as though shot full of energy, my thinking was acute and sharp, i problem solved in seconds challenges that would usually take me hours. i also noticed my reactions where faster, my sensory system heightened. 
i had experienced drugs that enhance performance but this was beyond any drug, even the powerful shamanic tools, although i had neither supernatural of psychic abilities only i was animal sharp. i could hear conversations in other offices and focus in with excellent precision. this spilled over all my senses, vision, taste and touch. in my lunch break i usually have a salad wrap but today i ordered a steak sandwich and could not only taste the molecules absorb themselves into my bloodstream, i could tell the fear the slaughtered cow felt at the time of death. and that felt like nutrition. 
i managed to keep myself away from my peers at work and slipped away a few hours early, on the drive home furious thoughts rushed through my mind.
how can a dream or nightmare have such an effect upon me, perhaps i was completely mistaken. the only way to know was to return to it. 
once home i showered and checked my messages, several from tina the girl i was fucking. she wanted to see me so i texted her back with some excuse, she got angry and sent some hostile texts so i turned my phone off and took myself to bed.
slipping down, somewhere deeper than any space, a new dimension wraps itself around me. something grabs my arm and bites down sucking blood from my wrist. it feels so good, my body relaxes and floods with pleasure, a semi- sexual arousal. the hunger of the pack as my limbs are tor form my body, a violent splurge of aggressive animalistic  savagery. i see myself i smile in rapture. i can feels hands upon my body, ripping it apart.
sunlight floods through the bedroom, i lay there naked breathing, i am alive. it's incredible, my body floods with power and strength, i can perceive intense detail just by focus of attention, drill down into atomic structures. 
the day is bizarre, i'm in a completely different time, people around me function in slow motion while i act with a superior swiftness. i accomplish superhuman amounts, while consensus reality moves through treacle. 
mid afternoon i'm overwhelmed by hunger. i slip out and buy some meat, the butcher smells incredible, savage brutal death surrounds me and it fills my body with a formidable desire. 
i lock the door to the office and unwrap the packages, i must have bought a whole cow. there are ribs, slabs of steak, hearts and tongues and even tails. like some cocaine frenzy i devour it, ripping into it. the stink of death is beautiful. i'm high, stoned and tripping, the lives of several animals absorbed into my memory, every detail, births and sleeps, the pastures in which they graze, the swishing tail driving away flies, the stink of cow manure and the words of a farmer, the tension of inevitable death as they move from field to cage to the incomprehensible terror beyond the metal wall. that fear feeds me, like some injected nutrient supplement the fear within the raw electrons of dead flesh offers me life. it's repulsive in one tiny part of my mind but the flood of pleasure and power overwhelms moral consequence. i'm seduced easily by such a flood of deterministic impulse. 
i wrap the bones up and hide them. my shirt is stained from blood and bone fragments litter the desk, and my office stinks like a slaughterhouse. i spray half a can of air freshener in a veiled attempt to disguise my repulsive appetites. 
on the drive home i'm torn between stopping for more meat or getting home to return to the dream that empowers me. 
am i a werewolf? 
the very thought strikes me as absurd. i do a google search and eliminate this. for all my internet searching the most plausible solution the internet can throw at me is an iron deficiency but this does not explain my dreams. it's not rational, what is happening is something else, it's a transformation of some kind, i'm passing through some shamanic stage perhaps, some further initiation ceremony.
in sleep they come, many of them, shrouded in darkness, only teeth and eyes penetrate yet their form is part human. that fierce intelligence and strange language, the harmony of their sound. like birds flock they begin upon my body, not just eating the flesh but ripping it away, peeling it from bone and sinking claws into delicate tendon. the pleasure is engulfing me, semi erotic joy floods my mind, my breathing becomes faster as though close to orgasm. my heart plucked from my smashed ribs, and bitten into by the jaws of unknowable horror. darkness is a mass of weight, it wraps itself smothering all light and extinguishes everything a hunger sated.
a series of text messages wakes me, the last one reads, 'open the fucking door.'
i go to the door naked and open it. there on the floor she sobs. for a moment something inside me breaks, i feel it crumble and reduce me . i look down at the huddled wreck, she is sobbing and whimpering.
i kneel down and pull her up, 'come on, come inside.' she trembles and splutters.
'i was asleep, i didn't know you were here.'
i lead her towards the kitchen and sit her down on the red stool while i fill the kettle with water. the night light keeps us both in the shadows.
i get some words, a sorry story about her insecurities and desires. very middle class i think, but don't dare utter anything to upset her. eventually she wraps her arms around me, and i feel like i have to reciprocate. i don't want to but i have no choice, and as i hold her to me i get a scent of her neck. discretely my nose runs down the curve, millimetres away from her skin, my lip twitches involuntary and i feel some primal urge deep down begin to surface. 
'it's okay, it's okay, everything will be okay,' the words come automatically inversely proportional to my actions, it's not calculated that way just an algebra of desire. the neckline zooms closer until it's just a massive landscape of pulsing skin under which i see a lattice of muscle and tendon, that major artery like a motorway, the taste of her like a hit of heroin exploding into my blood. her powerful life dissolves through my olfactory system and i see it all from her cosmic like inception to her ridiculous confusion of peace transformed into shock. life doesn't flow out of her, it's ripped, shredded and devoured.
i sit amongst a pile of hair, some unrecognisable organs, an eyeball and bones. my hunger sated. the whole thing a blank, no memory except that neck being conquered. the blood that soaks me drips onto  the wooden floor as i walk up to the bathroom. 

i find myself on the side of the road, the truck still running. 
i rubbed my eyes, it was bright and i was nowhere, just some red trail i must have taken off road. i estimated it to be late afternoon, the sun getting low. night would arrive soon, i figured i had four hours left so i rolled another joint and stretched my legs. 
i'd not only killed her, i'd eaten her raw. a human being. no matter what i was, what i had become i still felt guilty. that had to count for something. when i stepped out the shower, i had already made up my mind. there was only one place to go. away. inland. i could keep people safe by exile. possibilities are reduced to all bad ones, soon they would track me down, soon i would hear sirens and soon i would be thrown to the wolves. but at least in the process i could exercise some harm minimisation. in my short intervals of sleep no dreams came, but it would only be a matter of time. for the moment it was peaceful. 


Friday, October 21, 2016

there's combat in the air, some one looking for a fight. i feel the hairs on my neck rise up, blood flows faster and my heartbeat shifts up a gear. i avoid conflict but sometimes it just tracks you down and seeks you out. this life it's in the form of the pesky bush turkey that has savaged my tranquility with it's discord and disgusting perchance for shitting everywhere. even pan stays out of it's path. 
so i have resorted to lateral strategy, a form of reasoning that came to me via the great occult tradition  and some late century tactical war manoeuvring. 
this goes against all codes of morality so don't try this at home unless you have protection. 
i made a deal with the ravens. they swoop down upon the confused turkey, they screech like demons, peck and surround the pest while it staggers bewildered and dazed. i watch from the balcony at the strange ambush, the big black beast runs for the exit, the corner of the garden where it can hop across into the neighbours. it has worked, now i need to make payment to the ravens whom seek their reward, a thin slice of cheese.
if only i can train ravens to attack all my enemies. 

Sunday, October 16, 2016

the emerald city basking in sunlight on a glorious spring day as i wander through the streets, accessing public transport like a citizen in my undercover suit and skin, the eyes of authority flicker past me without suspicion as i weave through the crowded streets of asian markets and hive central. i should shift my plans and stock up on cheap nutrition but i have a magnetic pull towards the japanese bookshop where i pick up some interesting novels.
i stop in at the japanese shop for a black sesame ice cream and green tea cake. the lady who serves me looks bemused as i offer her a calculated and flirtatious bow, instead of being impressed with my efforts she just laughs, 'have a good one mate.'
my romantic moment shattered i seek solace in my ice cream, and prepare for the journey home. 
i'm currently reading paul trembley's novel, 'disappearance at devil's rock' after reading, 'a headful of ghosts,' im ploughing through this one, it's excellent and i can't turn pages fast enough. 

Thursday, October 13, 2016

i'm crossing zones like a slippery fish in the hands of an axolotl. it's hard news in a soft zone, it's like the negativity has infested me and grown taken over my old bones. since i bit the sunshine now i'm not a moonbeam. i'd save myself but it's to late now.
like the wuthering heights directed by  david croninberg, this is a marriage of inconvenience, technology meets the new flesh, oh i'm such a mess as i walk up and down i'm the saddest clown in the room, i'm a washed superhero who turns into dr. doom, i'd save myself but its to late now.
i can't stop it, negotiate or dodge it, that inevitable wipe out, hot crash as you smash, bones crack and blood splat hit the ground running to a standstill on a windmill, it's a bitter pill. listen to what the man says in a war zone, talking on the exploding telephone. every act an artefact, expression of a self imploding artist speaking to the nation about the act of creation. 

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

out on the north end of sydney is a small suburb where the streets run out into wilderness, it just swallows up suburbia and if your unlucky to find yourself lost down there, chances are you will never find your way out. it's a gorge, a massive valley with a winding road that takes you down into it's depths and then out to another suburb. you pass prehistoric bushlands, views that are ancient and powerful, cross a single file wooden bridge and then it falls away to beyond nature as we know it. there's nothing obviously beautiful here, just the terror of the remote wild.
i drive an old van along hairpin bends, ledges that drop away to the past, precarious journey for fools and explorers. i'm meeting someone at a small village, we exchange paperwork, drink a coffee, talk a bit and i drive away. i wanted to put a face to a voice on the phone. i am glad i did, as i drive back impressed.
the sun beats down, it burns the day away, the skies are so blue it feels fake, the birds are amazing as they celebrate the spring. i speed out from the gorge back to civilisation and that dumb artificial feeling of safety. 

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

my new job bewilders me, i sit down at a desk and answer hundreds of e mails. most requesting numbers and charts filled out, time sheets and paperwork. i answer as many as possible but they just keep coming. i do certain tasks and attend certain meetings. i don't understand anything. people use anachronisms, a strange language designed to intimidate or dumbfound. i do my best.
at one meeting i am surrounded by my old bosses. now i am their equal they say nothing to me. i loathe these people, i loath my job.  i like the place i am placed, the unit is staffed by excellent people all really good, we are all refugees, moved her from different units because we see through the curtain. i like the people i am working with, real fucking committed and mature. 
they have all been bullied and intimidated and then moved sideways, just like me. i get a massive pay increase. i know why people do this job now but i don't know if i'd want to keep doing it. it's crazy, a lot of responsibility. i hate the paperwork, the meetings and the bureaucracy. it's nuts! 

Monday, October 03, 2016

coney island baby - lou reed

solar saturation sunday as i move through the city, stocking up on books, i pick up some interesting volumes. particularly 'the myth of the andalusian paradise' by dario fernandez morera, a book i had been after for some time.
i pick up volume 3 of 'the familiar,' volume 5 of the karl ove knausgard biography and some other elusive books i had been seeking. 
later i head to meet people in newtown, it's a glorious spring day and we enjoy the wonderful sensations of city life, a pub balcony, a stroll through the park to stop upon a park bench and watch events pass us by, we have incredible italian food including the most divine desserts. and then i head home on that strange train, head buried in the final chapters of alister reynold's new book 'revenger' which is his best by far.


Friday, September 30, 2016

5am see's me driving along the highway into a majestic sunrise, blazing australian red and scarlet slashes across the huge sky, there's nothing quite like it, a powerful ancient landscape meets the glory of dawn. i'm contemplating my new life as some sort of team co ordinator type, responsibility pours into me like a self important beurocrat from a dostoyevsky novel. 
im split into various parts, my many selves operating a juggling routine. one fights a war far away. he's battle worn now, waiting for the results, he's cynical and jaded, ready to die. 
as i turn of the highway a spectacular rainbow shoots up into the stratosphere. it's biblical in it's architecture, gods promise...

the next morning the threat of storm havoc is in the atmosphere, as i drive towards terrible beach at 6am. i scan the waters, messy choppy surf, strange clouds forming, anarchic patterns herald chaos. i take a chance before deluge. i swim out in the ice water, it's shark country. the conditions perfect for attack but i figure i'm okay out here, i'd be so numb from cold i wouldn't feel anything anyway.

no waves this morning, it's far to random but i swim around and get wet, a few casual dog walkers and joggers look out at me a lone figure in the icy chill of the tasman sea. later i'm drinking a coffee dripping wet, being warmed by a friendly waitress from spain and the aspect of me that is presented is a ghost like phantom. i try to bring myself back together but i need time and some closure on a few fronts, soon i tell myself, soon.  

Sunday, September 25, 2016

i wanted to write about the tv show i watch for a long time, i watch it on blu ray as i bingo watch the whole season without adverts and having to wait for another episode and believe me the tension and drama is so acute a week is just to far away.
i like a lot of series at the moment, orange s the new black, true detective, game of thrones, black sails but there is one show i should hate by all accounts, a tv series on pitch i would really avoid yet it has come to be one of the best shows i have ever seen and it's called, the walking dead.
i will not spoil it for you but it's not what you think it will be. philosophically it's the opposite of star trek, a show about hope. it's about no hope, it's about hell upon earth, it's horror and it's an utterly devastating experience to put yourself through. yet for some strange reason it is my fave show, possibly  because it's confronting. each series and there have been six now, becomes more and more captivating and it took me the two series before i really became hooked upon it's greatness. you as a viewer are made demands upon, you have to follow uncomfortable narratives, you have to be prepared to invest in characters you love whom come to do disgusting things you hate, you have to understand the unimaginable circumstances they are in, you have to cling to them and learn to let them go. this is a tv show they got right, it's a rare thing where horror works. the zombie apocalypse has always been a story that opens a pseudo political window into culture. the dawn of the dead was a brilliant film about consumerism, but here the zombies are nowhere near the threat as the survivors are. the zombies don't have to survive, they are free from all emotional suffering, pain and seem to just be functioning on auto pilot while the survivors are forced into transformation by such extremes. they loose their humanity and the walking dead are the living. 
there's enough humour to just keep you going but it's rare. there's enough beauty to fix you to what's important and the narrative is unpredictable and yet elusive. all we know is no matter what these characters go through it goes from worse to worse. 
i just finished watching the harrowing conclusion to series six, man it was sobering. it was indeed horrific and awful and made me feel sickened but i love some of those characters enough to keep watching. i've never seen a show that throws up so much philosophical stuff in your face, keeps you petrified and wanting more. the walking dead.

Monday, September 19, 2016

the wind picks up, shoots through mission control blowing up some paperworks and suddenly my lounge is filled with giant confetti. i scamper around picking them up, it's the old novel i was working on, now all out of sequence, probably a lot better. i should finish that one. 
i sip my coffee and stand looking upon the garden, filled with parrots, kookaburras and wrens. not a fucking bush turkey in sight thankfully. i rather be a bird man than a turkey right?
i feel close to packing in my job, i can feel the anger and frustration simmering away deep down inside my guts. i feel the absolute futility of it. i notified a corruption. now the person is attacking me and setting me up. i warned them this would happen i asked for protection and what i got was a circus. 
i could jump ship easy, there are people calling me but it does go against all principle. 
i'll fight this battle. i'll take my nemesis down, he's a weak petty dumb drone of a man, a bully and a thug. i have the support of the team but not the management absurdly. the management are a ridiculous group of paper pushers, it does make me laugh at their attempts to manage with blue sky thinking bullshit. hey australia it didn't work for tony fucking blair how do you think it's going to work for you. this type of work requires acute skills not dreamy ambience. ah well the pistols are drawn, i am in the sights of a psychopath  but he fires blanks whereas i have a nuke in waiting.

Friday, September 16, 2016

how i fucked fate and ate my own karma
captain mission

winter 2017 found me holed up in the temple of anissa, screaming snow had sealed me from any chance of leaving until the season changed and spring began melting the ice.
the snow was fierce, i hated it. blizzard whiteout, that snow blindness was eating up hope. the fucking irony was i only turned up for an overnight stay, just to grab some artefact for the bastards at the black museum. 
the pilot said, 'sure mission, we will be in and out, those monks hate visitors.'
even then 1000ft above the mountains in unimaginable turbulence i knew we were never quite going to make it. this was a one way trip. i wished the pilot would shut the fuck up and focus on the big black cloud looming over us, but instead he just chatted away gibbering about some girl he had fucked in chicago. 
i was clutching the chute and trying not to throw up when the storm swallowed us up.
i don't know what happened to the pilot, no doubt he faced death blabbering about his one night stand. me i clutched what i thought was the chute and fell out from the hatch at the mercy of the renegade winds. only the chute was an inflatable raft. somehow as i was tossed around i pulled a cord and it inflated, so consequently when i hit the snow at the side of the mountain i not only had a soft landing i had a sledge that carried me down until i sailed over an edge, once again glided through hard falling whiteout and landed in the grounds of the forbidden temple. the raft stopped at the feet of the holy one. i know this now because he told me, but at the time i couldn't see anything except whiteness. no doubt the raft had saved my life. i was laying flat upon my back and oriented myself so i was on all fours crawling on solid ground until one of my hands felt what appeared to be a foot. 
the holy one grabbed my arm and led me inside.
they fed me hot teas and herbs, gave me some strange paste to eat. they bathed me and took care of the cuts and abrasions. i think i must have broken a rib as my chest hurt with every breath, so i lay down and slept for a thousand years.
later i found out i was in anissa, at least the pilot had got me here i thought wondering what had become of him. last time i saw him he was falling out the front of the aircraft sucked up into the storm.
i asked the monk who was sitting near me. he said in broken english, 'no one else here. only you.'
the holy one made certain i was healed, sure i could have used some painkillers but they did a good job with their plants brews and tibetan bowl sound baths. i could feel the vibrations in my broken rib, my organs, and blood vessels.
no-one knew the age of the holy one, he only made an appearance once a day, he would drink tea and talk to some people then he would retreat to his rooms. from the monks i came to understand he was ancient, a man who had transcended space and time, his name was lam they told me, but additional information was not forthcoming.
gradually as my vision was restored i caught glimpses of lam, he was a child, dressed in robes. it was hard to make out details on his face but his eyes were bright and far to big.
my restoration was due to one monk who went by the name of iggy pop. i don't quite know how he adopted iggy's name but it was quite amusing. he would often hum iggy pop tunes to me under his breath and as my strength returned i would join him and sing the words. our fave was 'neighbourhood threat' but we did good harmonies on 'turn blue.'
iggy or monk pop as i liked to call him poured me a tea, and i asked him about the holy one, dali lam.
'what's that cat's story man. he's tiny, a dwarf or something?'
'not dwarf,' monk pop shook his head, 'he is the holy one.'
although i attempted to get more information about dali lam monk pop kept suspiciously quiet.
later i asked monk pop about the artefact and pulled out the papers from my jacket pocket. 
monk pop looked at me seriously, 'you know what this is?' he asked all seriously.
'fuck, it's just a piece of paper man, it don't mean nothing. just burn it for all i care.'
he looked at me curiously.
'i don't care. the black museum can go fuck themselves. cutthroats and gangsters anyway, i hear they are into some weird voodoo and black magick shit. sending me out here in the middle of nowhere. fuck them all.'
the winter was severe. it froze everything except my blood. my blood seemed to burn with an intensity i had never felt. i don't know if it was the high altitude or the tea but i felt good, warm with an inner glow and alert. monk pop gave me some lessons on meditation and i took to it well. he gave me mantras and chants that i practiced and found offered me insights into not just my own thought processes but some of these sounds had an effect upon my exterior world. once i found myself in a deep chant, a vibration so powerful when i opened my eyes and found i was sitting cross legged about an inch from the floor.
another meditation took me back through time and i saw myself being born. only i was not just watching myself, i was experiencing the whole process. the journey out from my mothers womb. i saw past lives, rebirths and deaths, all played out like an immersive film, but as real as it gets.
monk pop was surprised at how quickly i was learning all these techniques, he was also encouraging, he took me down to the library and showed me a collection of hand written parchments. some were ancient, most were even older.
unfortunately i could not read or understand the language, sanskrit, but other parchments were covered in drawings and symbols i took to be astrological. one used the motif of dragons and i was particularly drawn to a picture that looked a lot like the earth from space surrounded by a black dragon. not only was it beautiful and intricate but it seemed powerful and significant.
monk pop said it was magick and symbolised when and how magic came to earth.
eons ago earth was a beautiful paradise, an eden of lush life forms, rich and diverse. all at peace, everything in harmony. but then the red dragon came to earth from space. it made fire and burnt all things of beauty causing chaos and fear. then as the scorched earth clung to life the white dragon came and ate the red dragon and life once more bloomed in harmony. but eons later the last dragon, the black dragon came. but it was so black no one could see it, only feel it. the great beast wrapped itself inside the earth and slept, but it's power radiated out and gave the earth its magick.'
impressive story, groovy pictures. i dug these lord of the tibetan ring tales. 
we ascended the spiral stairs and left the dragon charts alone. we sung 'china girl' as we climbed, not the bowie version.
gradually my anger at being stranded and abandoned, thanks black museum, abated i began to feel something else, a kind of stillness, a peace. in fact the bare stones and the snow and ice reduced everything down to basic fundamentals. sometimes when i ventured above ground i would gaze out at the mountains and their peaks, i would soak in the strange wilderness and let it overwhelm me, these places were said to have demons and i could see why, they were awe inspiring and powerful. nature at it's extreme untouched pristine and raw had a certain majesty. it was also dangerous and unpredictable and sometimes t's slow moving geology would move fast and swallow you up.
every afternoon i would catch glimpses of the holy one. he was so small, i couldn't quite get my head around it so one day i asked if i could meet him. 
monk pop smiled, his eyes alight, 'it is forbidden.'
what could i do, my hosts had saved my life, i could only respect their wishes.
monk pop had been in the temple since birth, he said the female monks live amongst them as equals but are often indistinguishable from the males, he pointed at two robed monks walking out of a doorway, 'see those are two females.'

routines became rituals, the day was spent in deep meditation and contemplation. but for me i seemed to be drawn down towards the library and the ancient dragons. i spent many nights down there in the candle lit chamber gazing through the many books, images and symbolic charts. despite my lack of language skills and any real idea on linguistics i did discover some patterns and similarities which i cross referenced with monk pop. 
he smiled, 'beyond my pay grade,' he whispered.
the dragons were representations of energies, forces that had come to earth or perhaps manifested upon earth to the decedents of these monks. the dragons were sexual in nature, it represented sexual energy or some form of powerful spiritual energy, it was complex and difficult to distinguish between the two but my intuition was focused and acute with ambiguity as all magick tends to be. the red being primordial in nature, one could call that raw sexual energy, wild and unbounded, the white being a more conscious controlled power perhaps love but the black dragon, the magical one was difficult to decipher in terms of magick.

under the forbidden temple was a vast network of catacombs, they sprawled out into the mountains and reached in all directions. monk pop had informed me most of the tunnels had been unexplored for generations and only dali lam really knew the complete network. he spoke of monks who had gone missing down there and never returned. 
sometimes i took myself along a corridor with a few candles and some string to guide me back but i never got very far, the candles burnt out, the string ran out or i just got spooked.

four months into the white out i was down in the library reading what may be an astrological or alchemical formula, but the chances are it could have been a recipe for cheesecake for all i really knew. however there were certain fascinating aspects to the diagram.
'it's certainly not a recipe for cheesecake captain mission.'
i turned around to see dali lam standing there alone. his face was concealed under a large hood but his eyes were clear and they were not quite human although somewhat asian in appearance they were elongated and blacker than anything i had ever seen. dali lam was an alien. a grey i guess if we must think in terms of classifications but whatever termanology alien was most accurate. his massive forehead now revealed as he pulled down the hood.
'yes, yes, i am not from here mission, please get over the shock and lets discuss philosophical matters.'
'i'm sorry, it is a slight shock. it's just i never once suspected you would not from here.'
'not human, you mean.'
'yes, not human.'
he smiled, 'we are all made from stars.'
i nodded, at least that was fundamentally true. something we had in common. he moved towards me, and looked at the table where all the charts were laid out sprawled across the stone surface. his long fingers moved them around and into some sort of oblique cohesion. again he spoke without speaking, some sort of telepathic projection.
'you are curious and have decoded much of the meaning in these charts with intuition but the real clue was not the representation of the dragon but the one of...'
...'the earth.' i finished for him.
'yes, these charts are eons old, way before mankind had any knowledge of the curvature of the earth. you were focused on the mythical but the clue lay in the science. these maps are indeed seeped in mystery, they were drawn by myself when i came here but they are in my own symbolic terminology, from my world. the dragons represent an aeon and you are correct to identify this with energy. some cultures see them as consciousness but you saw a sexual force. where i come from we see everything in sexual energy, all life is sexual in nature and it is the primal force that drives all living things. the red dragon symbolises this indeed but you ascribe love to the white dragon, whereas for us it is control. love under will. love although is indeed a by- product for us it is a dimension we cannot comprehend in the way you humans do. for humans it is ever present and real. my race don't have anything quite like it but we wanted it, so we came here and attempted to understand it. we do understand it but it is not possible for us to feel it. our needs are different, you have love we have control over our sexual natures. my race left me here after i made contact with a human you may have heard of, his name is mr. crowley.'
'alister crowley. yes i know of him, i have read much of his works.' suddenly it dawned upon me, crowley had completed a ritual where he had made contact with an alien intelligence, lam. he had even drawn pictures of him and it was apparently the first ever drawing of a grey alien in western societies although anthropologists and archeologists had also found cultures that had cave representations of lam.
'how old are you?'
'in your time i am thousands and thousands of years old, in my time i am just old. i have seen much of your planet and it interests me, which is why i chose to stay. occasionally i made contact with individuals and groups, some human brains are able to comprehend me without to much trauma so i need to be somewhat selective when i are contact. i came at period i call a nexus event, the shift from one aeon into another. the man, crowley was a herald however he misunderstood much of my intentions and communications. 
'it was probably the smack.'
'no it was his ego, thus i relocated to a society with out the same ego issues.'
'anissa, the forbidden temple.'
'it's only forbidden due to its topography, but the monks are very well practiced in a certain form of vajrayana we call kalachakra.' 
he reached out with his long spindly fingers and spread a sheet of parchment over the dragons. slowly unfurling it for me.
'all the monks here are buddhas, they have attained enlightenment, escaped suffering and their rebirth into this particular life was chosen specifically for you captain mission.'
i laughed.
then i saw lam was serious. so i stopped and tried to look serious.
'lam, you better explain what you mean.'
he pointed to the image, it was wheel like, psychedelia  wheels within wheels beautiful colours, purples, deep crimsons and rich blue tones, bright vibrant reds, a psychedelic kaleidoscope and as i looked i saw two forms within the art, two beings joined as one. this was not obvious, it took a while to make out and sometimes my concentration lost focus but my meditation practice was helpful in connecting to the images.
another chart showed what was an intricate mandala, and as i gazed into the mandala it immediatly absorbed me completely, i was sucked into it. 
i could feel my brain changing, certain neural nets creating faster than my thoughts could travel and new pathways expanding into unknown areas. i saw time streams and an explosion of memory in reverse.  partly patterned on my meditations but mostly new flashes of insight and understanding. as i stood there i heard chanting, the monks had entered and had begun some sort of ritual. lam hovered before me, a faint glow around him. the cycles of time were split into two  spinning wheels, two godlike beings, the wheel of external time, the internal one and then through the mandala the extraordinary unknown one. forbidden to mortals this last cycle, it was the karmic 'mechanism' of rebirth. the monks were practicing a tantra called anuttarayoga tantra which were graded practices through levels of unknowable time cycles, potentiality. they had escaped time itself, they could reincarnate anywhere, in any point along a time continuum. lam had taught them how to travel through space and time, escape even death and rebirth. it was incredible, my head began to feel lighter and i noticed my body glowing. the mandela was a star i gravitated towards, all dimensions shifted away and although i could hear the chanting monks, i could not see anything but the shining path towards the huge mandala and the strange entities that they were made from. i opened my arms embracing death, life and the doorway between, my head flung back chest out as i passed through into the iris between worlds. 

you can never escape time only its limits, the confusion it brings, the instinctive attachment we develop to it that give birth to karma, that renders us at times mercy, also known as fate. as i passed through the kalacharkra lams voice whispered inside my own expanded mind, 'liberation is our only mission captain mission.'
i thought i heard monk pop singing 'here come's success' in the distance echoing in snow capped mountains... 
...born into snow blindness i felt the strange soft ice around me, the whiteout of a savage elemental force ripping into my skin and burning my cheeks. spots of red drips ran down my face, splattered onto the snow in immaculate explosions, a trail of debris behind me i laughed and howled and maybe i danced, for i remembered death is nothing but forgetting. 

in the strange frozen landscape i looked beyond the falling blizzard and up towards the forbidden temple of anissia.

later i woke up in the military hospital in the autonomous region, someone had hooked me up to a drip and as i sat up on the uncomfortable bed asking the nurse if she had heard of the forbidden temple. she insisted i was found in the wreckage of a light aircraft wandering around snow-blind and with a broken rib and a few cuts and bruises. she said there was no temple there and no one knew of anything like anissa. 
the black museum didn't take long to track me down, their men in black paid me a visit at the hostel i was staying at two weeks after the hospital had discharged me. we ordered drinks at a coffee shop yaks milk and freshly ground coffee, the men wore their back suits and trench coats. hid behind their wrap around ray bans as i explained i had not been able to locate anissa or the artefact. they looked at me and laughed, 'you're a fool mission, you are the artefact.'

Wednesday, September 07, 2016

we were strangers when we met, tangents crossing paths, we were travellers aligned, just for a short time, a moment within a moment. 
all those people we pass, the ones with the smiles and that look, deep in their eyes, all those people don't know what they know.
and now the sun rises quickly over a dead world
yes the light travels faster at the end game.
we eat the half dead fish from a dwindling ocean, our memories betray us. our thoughts no longer flow like gliders in clear air, but they manifest a friction. something abrasive in devolutionary processes of recall, memory becomes a voice external, a radio tuned into a ghostlike frequency. i know food, shelter and the strong impulses and urges towards sex and violence flood my frontal cortex, the reptile in me awakened. i am suspicious of these ghost thoughts, they have invaded my mind with their strange voices and images. 
i see the previous times where civilisation flourished and we built incredible structures and mastered the realms. i see how we left this land, like birds and then beyond. we reached the stars. i see the telecommunications, the way knowledge was available and instantaneous. long ago i saw how the species conquered it's domain. and now, we walk through that rotting history, derelict and almost a landscape unknown, it no longer seems important against the brute will of survival.
once there were crowds and hordes but now there are just dwindling numbers of us, a few tribes perhaps. my mate holds out her hand, she offers me some bird meat. her eyes look at mine and i look away as my mind floods with emotions i cannot understand. 
she turns away, i make a noise, it booms out, a cry or howl at the situation, limited in my understanding, i know nothing about language but in that sound is the pain and frustration of my species. it's lonely and sad and begging for forgiveness.
the female looks at me in sympathy but i only feel disgust. 

Monday, September 05, 2016

memory of a free festival - bowie

the deep fix meet in the city for springtime gathering, a brainstorm of ideas, some fall to the wind others scattered with the stars. old  mission flirts with a peroxide blonde in a skirt and red shoes, i'm feeling spring in my bones, and smile like the sun machine is coming down and we are going to have a party.
somehow we find ourselves in the park at the back of kings street, near the old trees and church. solar powered people recharge their cells, it's slightly surreal as we sit on a bench and enjoy the bliss.

Friday, September 02, 2016

the last few weeks i have been reading a new author i discovered called laird barron whom although had been writing for ages had only just fallen under my radar. it's not often i find someone who's work i devour and whom i respect completely as a talent that would influence me so greatly but i'm in awe of his work. from the short stories which are gripping and unpredictable to his novels, 'x's for eyes' and 'the croning.' such incredible storytelling i wrote the previous one in his honour. 
laird writes horror fiction but it's so much more than what horror conjours up in our minds, his stories are literate and intelligent while also being imaginative. his dialogue is witty and precise, while his characters are rich fascinating men, part hemmingway part detective noirish and hugely flawed. i really loved 'x's for eyes' and wished it would just go on for much longer but the collection of short stories i read 'the imago sequence' was fantastic as well. there's a complexity to his stories that keep you focused and a threat you never really see coming and when it does it stays with you for days. 
i still have a few books to read of his but it's so exciting to discover a writer i like that i feel the inclination to devour all his work. i love that feeling. and i love the way laird has changed my approach to writing as well.
that's a cool thing, when you feel a connection and it's not something that just imitates but it influences. 
'the croning' is a good starting point, a short novel but it will keep you awake at night and wow, is it good. i am not a lover of horror, william burroughs was horrific enough but i do like good writing and some horror is better than others. for example i liked william peter blatty's exorcist books, they were very clever and very well written. i loved thomas liggotti and dan simons whose book 'song of kali' reminded me a little of 'the croning' although i should add not in story or style but in the way it made me feel.
if i had to describe his work in a few lines i'd say it's about the idea that once you experience something other and by that i mean something completely illogical and irrational beyond normal reality, you can never un-know it.
anyway the story i wrote about hopti is a kinda a quick idea in homage to liard and a thank you for inspiring me.

hopti was an islander although he never said what island and i never asked. huge guy built like a fortress, always smiling and walked with a waddle like one of those toys that never falls over. i liked his gentle giant quality and his simple take on life. he never said anything complicated so conversation was reasonably undemanding, he would always talk about food and his family. somewhere in the background lurked a big happy family and i guess when you have that you have everything. 
i was single, had lived alone for so long now whenever i heard the sound of my own voice i was surprised, so it was good to have a swimming buddy to talk with even though we never talked about anything much at all. 
hopi swam each morning out to the buoy so i'd see him down the beach while i surfed with my fin. hopi was partly seal or whale, he could swim in any condition and swim fast, he was faster in water than on land. he could hold his breath for an unreasonably long time and sometimes cause me concern. 
it wasn't a particularly good day, no real clouds but no real sun. maybe the conditions read storm in 24 hours, i couldn't read them exactly as well as other surfers but it felt like a looming change in the air. at least the water was tepid. hopti surfaced next to me, i was hovering mind slightly empty waiting for the next wave.
'big feast tonight mission,' he waved his paw at me,'you come?'
'ah that's very kind hop but i don't really eat after dark.'
'come, we bake, cook beasts, bbq sauce, hot potato, you come, meet family.'
jesus i felt kinda trapped in the surf with the giant. i hate bbq's and the idea of meeting a happy family didn't fill me with enthusiasm but my options were limited out there alone with him. i couldn't refuse, it may offend his cultural disposition, not that i was into cultural relativity but hop seemed like a good person to have as an ally.
i walked up the beach to the surf club for a shower, hopi waddled beside me giving me semi-coherent directions to his place. he shook my hand and smiled, big white teeth and bright red gums. hopi never showered after a surf but he washed his feet and clambered into a big beaten up old truck filled with bits of metal, rope and tools and i watched his face in the side mirror as he left me outside the club.
i turned and looked at the footprints we had left in our trail, hopti's big prints and my light ones didn't make sense, it was odd and left me feeling strange, unsettled.
i couldn't shake that feeling all afternoon. i was committed to about three hours work on the computer but i just couldn't focus. some sort of anxiety had taken hold and it was creeping up my spine like a fast moving strangler vine in the jungle. those prints were just wrong, something about them just didn't make sense and it was nagging away in my head and aching at my gut. 
now who can say how accurate memory is, even hours after an event details alter and although i could not be sure the more i thought about those footprints the more i began to see the discrepancy was hopti's prints were nowhere near as deep as mine, which would go against physics itself as he was about three times my size and i am built big.
i paced around mystified and smoked half a joint to numb my thinking. in an hour or so i would have to leave and socialise, so i showered and got ready while my brain came up with hundreds of excuses not to go, none suitable to use. 
on the way over i stopped at the bottle shop to buy some beer. i figured i should take something and was certain beer not wine would be the best contribution to the dinner but as it happened i bought a bottle of red as well. i didn't know if hop drunk, he never mentioned it but i figured beer goes with bbq's and the wine would be a back up just in case it was a slightly more sophisticated event than i imagined.
the drive was short, he lived about 30k's away, and in the oncoming dusk i drove along the beach road up to the highlands into the bush. down below i could see the moon rising over the horizon, dark clouds brewing and moving fast in my direction.
it turned out the house was more of a ranch, it was way off the main roadway and down a dirt track. my xv winding along nicely, i switched the lights on and followed the drive into a tunnel of light. the track became narrower, dense high growth bush on either side seemed to form a tunnel and as i glimpsed up i noticed the stars were blocked out with dense branches and leaves. i slowed down and drove carefully, the last thing i wanted was to kill some endangered nocturnal marsupial.
suddenly the ranch presented itself, federation in design but rustic looking, well worn in and slightly neglected. i could hear the sound of music and see fairy lights wrapped around the balcony, a few cars parked randomly out the front and hop's truck sitting there looking like something from a rejected mad max film. i parked between two big utes. 
i grabbed my bag and wandered up to the front door. i was surprised to see the door covered in graffiti and some strange red and black markings on the floor. they looked like glyphs but were intricate and floral, almost fractal.
i pushed the door open and peered into a large empty interior. noises floated in from the back and i yelled out, 'hop, hop, it's me. mission.' 
i followed the sounds through the lounge, through the kitchen where two women were taking something out from the fridge. they were older ladies, maybe grandmothers, they seemed to stink of cheap perfume and as they acknowledged me with their smiles i saw the rotting teeth of old hags and puffed up skin that had travelled well passed its use by date. they hovered around me, took my bag and as i repeated, 'i'm a friend of hop's,' they nodded and stretched their mouths wider than i thought possible, in grins that seemed exaggerated and slightly surreal. i tried not to appear confronted by their strange distorted faces but was having a hard time already. my body was speaking to me in a loud voice, 'something as not quite right, leave now.'  
'outside, outside.' one of the women pointed to the back door. i smiled and walked out leaving them behind me.

hop stood above the big fire pit, his massive frame was governing a small crowd of people, and he was chanting in some strange language i assumed was native to him. it sounded like an angry hymn as he spat out the words and occasionally the small crowd would add something, like an affirmation. this went on for an uncomfortable length of time and i stood awkwardly hoping eventually hop would acknowledge my arrival. but he didn't seem to even notice my presence and continued leading this weird ceremony. i watched quietly wondering if i should just sneak away and go home. 
from the pit burning embers rose up in spirals and thermal currents, and through the red spots i could see the trees in the back of the garden and make out the shapes hanging from them. i took a gasp and stepped back, surely i must be imagining this, human bodies hanging in the trees. maybe the smoke was distorting my vision, i strained to look. my eye mechanics under pressure seemed to water up, i rubbed at them but that only seemed to make them worse, my vision blurred and i turned my face away from the macabre vista.
the chanting suddenly stopped and the crowd all moved forwards towards the burning pit. i stayed put, my legs had frozen, heart beating loudly, letting my eyes adjust and trying not to irritate them with the impulse to rub them. 
although i did not wish to see any of the detail my face couldn't help but look upon the scene. it was a car crash i was driving passed. i knew i shouldn't, knew i would regret it but the deep compulsion to observe and experience knowledge, understanding and apply some order of logic to it was stronger. i looked.
what i saw was unfathomable in terms of logic, reason and experience. these concepts suddenly became useless as i saw hop and a few individuals leaning into the pit and pull out what appeared to me a human arm. it was blackened and bent at an incoherent angle. hop passed it to one of the guests and the man, he was a tall figure, lanky and lean put the severed limb to his mouth and took a bite, he chewed and swallowed. he nodded and gave an approval and hop then leaned into the pit and began distributing the cooked body parts to his guests. 
i was in the throws of some sort of feedback loop, disgust crossed with nausea as i tried to throw up but could only splutter choking sounds. 
suddenly the door behind me swung open and the women marched out caring trays of food. they walked past me, like tropical servants or geisha girls at a tea ceremony, dressed in colourful sarongs and sandals. they delivered the food to the guests who by now were all devouring parts of bodies like they were ravenous. some knelt down to eat, some sat cross-legged, others stood. hop and a friend seemed to be pulling one of the bodies hanging from the trees down. when i saw the body twitch it registered that it was still alive. it wriggled but perhaps its hands were tied behind its back, and it shook and shuddered like it was in spasm. 
my eyes began to burn. i shifted my position towards the side. now i had clear access to the scene. there must have been about four bodies hanging by their feet upside down, hands bound, mouth gagged and bodies naked and bloodied. some of them had slices of skin removed, some had emblems cut into their backs and chests, some had industrial looking spikes embedded in them at random points. whatever it was these people had been tortured severely but they were all alive. 
hop suddenly produced a long blade, a sword. he held it to the neck of the kneeling prisoner and keeping that stupid smile swung it with his mighty big fist and the head just fell as gravity took hold, it fell straight into the pit. blood poured down and spurted up, not just a little trickle a waterfall, right into the fire as hot steam rose. the stink was putrid. it was vile. i almost passed out, i could feel the nausea in my body, my knees about to give way as i sunk down. 
i was on my knees, my hands were searching my pockets for the car keys. i would make a run for it. as i stood up, my nerves rattled and my movements awkward i turned to face the house i was met by the women. those faces leered into mine, warped features of ancient hags, dripping with madness as they grinned at me and held their serving tray's out to me. they were filled with blackened ears surrounding what looked like a beetroot dip. and around the ears, a ring of fingers. 
the women stood in front of me offering me their wares as though we were at the sunday markets. i shook my head, hand searching deep in my pockets i found the car keys and managed to compose myself. 
'captain mission brother, i glad you made it to the feast.' the mouth said, big meaty face blacked even further out by night and soot, flickering flames illuminating his massive hulk body those eyes soft and gentle but face glistening with blood. not his.
'hop, i am leaving. this is not my thing man.'
hop smiled again and his big head nodded up and down, his fat lips parted and a huge tongue popped out. he put his paw on my shoulder and pushed me towards the pit. 'eat something. drink with us. you our guest.'
'hop, i'm leaving okay, i don't eat meat and i don't feel comfortable here.'
'ah mission, you special guest, my family meet you. here. here my aunties.' he pointed to the two old ladies with the hors d'oeuvres.
i nodded a hello and gritted my teeth, who knew what these women would do. i could tell now they were quite mad, their eyes sparkled with that intense break from reason, the point where responsibility exits the mind and is replaced by the will of exploitation without fear of consequence. we stood there awkwardly, defeat flooded my synaptic pathways and then i was pushed again towards the pit. the stink of burnt flesh hung heavy around the garden. and i could see the body of one of the hanged people bleeding out by the neck. i wanted to throw up, my guts heaving.
in the red coal were a few burnt body parts, i saw three decapitated heads, burnt to a crisp. they lowered the headless body onto the heat and hop plucked out one of the blackened crisp heads. he used a big stick and held it up to my face. the features were unrecognisable, a twisted melted mass of distorted flesh and crisp blood, some muscle around the cheeks and black dead eyes. the mouth was fused as lips melted together and the teeth had fallen out. hopi inspected the head, he took a knife and popped it into the eye socket levering out the eyeball and with some impressive sickly skill he pierced his knife into the ball and held it out to me.
'eat. you guest. you eat.'
there was no way i could eat that burnt offering and i wondered what choice i would be given in this charade. i kicked myself for not understanding hop's culture, where was he from, what are the customs of his peoples. why had he befriended me. why did i assume because he was gentle, always smiling and being friendly he would be sane. this whole family were nuts, but they were also imminently dangerous. and then i came to the terrible conclusion, the inevitable thought. would they even let me leave tonight. how could they.   
i'd been through sticky situations before, i'd confronted death many times and escaped its clutches, i knew death, i accepted it and when it came i would embrace it correctly but this was not my death. i would not die here, now. i knew this, and it gave me a glimmer of hope, but i would have to get away somehow. preferably without eating a dead mans fried eyeball.
the fire was warming my skin, it was a cold night and the clouds were looming above big dark ones contrasting hues as the moonlight cast it's light down through their mass.
i felt a lonely drop upon my face. the beginnings.
hopti's people surrounded me, they all started whispering in their language, and hop stood there with the eye thrust at my face waiting for me to take it. 
i yelled out to them all and commanded their attention, 'silence!'
it was immediately granted, and i think they were taken by surprise. i lowered my voice and directed myself at my friend the cannibal. 
'hopti, i see your gods. they are powerful and very strong. they love you. i know them. but they are only small gods.'
his face seems to change, as he absorbs my words into whatever comprehension he can. his mouth gives it away, a slight twitch. 
'small gods?'
i am uncertain if he is asking a question if it is rhetorical or is it simply a new idea to him. his face shows no sign of anger just puzzlement.
'hopti, your gods have sent me here to show you a truth they conceal from you. that they are not all powerful or mighty and there are other gods that can extinguish them.'
'are you a god?'
it's the most stupid thing he's ever said to me, yet the most complex and intelligent. 
'no, i am no god but i command powerful gods.'
there is murmurs from the small audience.
i look up at the skies, cosmic time laughs but subjective time is ticking. 
'there is a god you may know, he wields a mighty hammer, he is scandinavian, a norse god. he commands thunder and lightening. he is the son of a very powerful god called odin. i have called him to stop your party. to stop you.
the lightening comes right upon cue, it cracks open the darkness, and in that moment do i see the faces of hopi's people loose their confidence? maybe. 
'the barbecue is ended hopi. you must let me leave now.'
the rain falls, it's a deluge that will not let up until dawn at least. i push hop's sword and the eye at it's end away from my face and walk out. no one follows me. 
i start my xv and drive down the dirt track, one eye on what's in front of me, the other on the mirror. i breathe deeply, focus my attention. calm my nerves.
the wipers are working overtime. i hope the track isn't one that flash floods although the xv is capable it would be challenged by a strong current. fear travels down my body and exits my foot which involuntarily applies pressure upon the accelerator and i hear the roar of the overdrive trying to kick in, but something's wrong, i can feel it as my eyes scan the dashboard. as if mocking me the red light flashes on and i realise that hopti's people have covered my escape. they have drained my car of petrol, and as it shudders and stalls i know i have about 5 minites head start, which leaves me no time. 
i open up the glove box, pull out a joint i keep for emergencies and push the cigarette lighter in. a mobile phone would have been more practical but i suck the weed down and put on some music. richard ashcroft's voice echoes out into bushland and the rain falls like e deluge. the headlights illuminate the wilderness and i kill them because i don't really want to see what's coming. 
thunder mocks me in the distance as thor runs away.