Monday, February 27, 2006

Saw MWP and The Moon Maidens last night, god man they just hit the zone, i don't know how they felt about it but from where i sat it was awesome, really the best live music i have seen in Sydney (excluding the church) those songs are very diverse and range from the intense to the sublime, my faves being, 'feed your mind' and 'lullaby for the lonely', however they were all excellent. I do love the idea that MWP enters into a dialogue with his audience, and conversation ranges from english humor, obscure dj's from the UK (fluff) and Ingmar Bergman movies. Yep it's not just entertainment, its an education.

Strange to return to work after a week off, the autistic folks were all looking a bit bizzare but still kind of cute. It's an extreeme enviroment in a ways, a normal looking home, inhabited by 5 unhinhibited neurotic and slightly deranged charachters, but then i guess it's not much different than big brother.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

I had not seen my son Jake for a while, i really miss him so was surprised to get a call to meet up this afternoon for tea in Babylon. We had a conversation that went something like this.
'The olson twins are staying down the road.'
'Errr who are they?' I ask all outta touch with the trends.
'They are the youngest millionares in the world, each worth 345 million dollars.'
'Oh yeah how'd they get so rich?'
'Child stars.'
'Jesus, i never even heard of them.'
'Yeah well I am going to marry one of them.'
'Yeah, well i guess your life will be hell married to an Olsen twin.'
'Yeah but they are so rich it don't matter.'
'Okay well you marry one, i'll marry the other.'
'I thought you said it would be hell.'
'Yes well i had plenty of practise being married to your mum, an Olsen twin would be a walk in the park.'

So i don't really know how you respond to that kind of comment, here's me saying, go to europe, backpack the planet, go get lost in the world, see the polar caps before they melt, have sex with an eskimo, fall in love in Paris, hitch the amalfi coast, watch the sunset in Zanzibar, when all he wants to do is party in sydney. Anyway at 18 the worlds your oyster I guess, i can only support his ideas, dreams and ambitions, who am i to tell him time is running out, islam is rising, the christian mobilizing, the ecology about to bite back.
We wandered through a bookshop and i saw that there is a generation they called the Y generation, they are Jakes age, which if these marketing people and social engineer types are correct, means that after Y is the Z gen. Then I guess our numbers (or letters) up.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Block cd arrived and it’s fucking brilliant.
I also listened to the karmic hit pod cast which is really interesting and i recommend people check it out if they like their kilbey, the all India radio and big space ship sound amazing from what i heard, ay have to buy their albums as well.

Okays well earlier i said i may be running another deep sex workshop, i met with the Professor this morning and we looked over the preliminaries, it's looking good, this time we will do it over the net, no face to face personality just gets in the way, i like the new format. It's going to take some putting together but it will be very worth it, miles ahead of the old format.

I was looking at New Scientist this morning and scientists in the UK have discovered that basic proteins and enzymes that existed in the primordial soup could not have evolved into anything as they bond with clay and evolution cannot occur. This kinda throws a spanner in the works for Darwinian theory.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

I was watching Gore Vidal this evening, he was sitting in his castle in LA, surrounded by antiques and limos slagging of the current admin, exposing the fall of amerika is imminent, and i was wondering why he was smiling when he suggested LA is in a bubble being pumped full of laughing gas. The irony was he was in the back of a stretch limo being interviewed by Bob Carr whom he considers a friend. It's strange that Bob Carr the man who destroyed Sydney seems to now have his own tv show.
I get tired of people slagging George Bush off, the guys a stooge, he's the puppet of Cheney and Runsfield, he's a good time boy who likes to kick back on the ranch, the last thing he knows about is politics. Everyday people complain to me about America but something inside me often wants to respond by saying, before you criticise another country look at your own.
Here in OZ our govt in collusion with the Indonesians invaded east Timor, carved up its oil, thousands of people were massacred. Our wheat bored funds the army our army fought against, i mean come on, Wake Up. Everyone’s guilty, it's just a matter of degree.
I don't like governments full stop, it's about time we updated democracy, lets give up the idea that we can be governed by geographical co ordinates, ie land and boundries.
My idea is based on Bill Burroughs who suggested, in the fuure people will form countries based on ideology, so any one who wants to be a capitalist will follow the laws of a capitalist society no matter where they live. A gay christian can do the same.
Me I would still be without a home as i have no fixed ideology whatsoever.

Monday, February 20, 2006

Okay up for another cut and paste?
Hang on to your hats brothers and sisters, for this is where the old Newtonian laws stop and we delve into the quantum, the magickians knew this but to say openly would have put them at great risk, the mystics knew this but it's the mystic way to keep stum, now science has knowledge of this, and there is no turning back, unfortunately it takes about 50 years before the mainstream get the information, for example quantum theory was discovered in the late 20's.
Read on...

Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. (Matthew 25:40)



Copyright © April 12, 1997 by Howard Bloom

The artificial construction of reality was to play a key role in the new form of global intelligence which would soon emerge among human beings. If the group brain's "psyche" were a beach with shifting dunes and hollows, individual perception would be that beach's grains of sand. However this image has a hidden snag — pure individual perception does not exist.

'Being here is a kind of spiritual surrender. We see only what the others see, the thousands who were here in the past, those who will come in the future. We've agreed to be part of a collective perception.' Don DeLillo

A central rule of large-scale organization goes like this: the greater the spryness of a massive enterprise, the more internal communication it takes to support the teamwork of the parts. For example, in all but the simplest plants and animals only 5% of DNA is dedicated to DNA's "real job," manufacturing proteins. The remaining 95% is preoccupied with organization and administration, supervising the maintenance of bodily procedures, or even merely interpreting the corporate rule book "printed" in a string of genes.

In an effective learning machine, the connections between internal elements far outnumber windows to the outside world. Take the cerebral cortex, roughly 80% of whose nerves connect with each other, not with sensory input from the eyes or ears. No wonder in human society individuals spend most of their time communicating with each other, not exploring beasts and plants which could make an untraditional dish. This cabling for "bureaucratic maintenance" has a far greater impact on what we "see" and "hear" than most psychological researchers suspect. For it puts us in the hands of a conformity enforcer whose power and subtlety are almost beyond belief.

In our previous episode we mentioned that tbrainsn's emotional center — the limbic system — decides which swatches of experience to "notice" and store in memory. Memory is the core of what we call reality. Think about it for a second. What do you actually hear and see right now? This article. The walls and furnishings of the room in which you sit. Perhaps some music or some background noise. Yet you know sure as you were born that there's a broader world outside those walls. You are certain that your home, if you are away from it, is still there. You can sense each room, remember where most of your things are placed. You know the building where you work — its colors, layout, and the feel of it. Then there are the companions who enrich your life — family, the folks at the office, neighbors, friends, and even people you are fond of whom you haven't talked to in a year or more — few of whom, if any, are in the room with you. You also know we sit on a planet called the earth, circling an incandescent ball of sun, buried in one of many galaxies. At this instant, reading by yourself, where do these realities reside? Inside your mind. Memory in a very real sense is reality. What the limbic system decides to "see" and store away becomes an interior universe pretending to stretch so far outside that it can brush the edges of infinity.

'We are accustomed to use our eyes only with the memory of what other people before us have thought about the object we are looking at.' Guy de Maupassant

The limbic system is more than an emotive sifter of the relevant from the inconsequent. It is an intense monitor of others, using its social fixations to retool your perceptions and your memories. In short, the limbic system makes each of us a plug-in of the crowd.

Elizabeth Loftus, one of the world's premier memory researchers, is among the few who know how powerfully the group shapes what we think we know. In the late 1970s, Loftus performed a series of key experiments. In a typical example, she showed college students a moving picture of a traffic accident, then asked after the film, "How fast was the white sports car going when it passed the barn while traveling along the country road." Several days later when witnesses to the film were quizzed about what they'd seen, 17% were sure they'd spied a barn, though there weren't any buildings in the film at all. In a related experiment subjects were shown a collision between a bicycle and an auto driven by a brunette, then afterwards heard questions about the "blond" at the steering wheel. Not only did they remember the non-existent blond vividly, but when they were shown the sequence a second time, they had a hard time believing that it was the same incident they now recalled so graphically. One subject said, "It's really strange because I still have the blond girl's face in my mind and it doesn't correspond to her [pointing to the woman on the videotape]...It was really weird." In visual memory, Loftus concluded that hints leaked to us by fellow humans are more important than the scene whose details actually reach our eyes.

Though it got little public attention until the debates about "recovered" memories of sexual abuse in the early and mid 1990s, this avenue of research had begun at least two generations ago. It was 1956 when Solomon Asch published a classic series of experiments in which he and his colleagues showed cards with lines of different lengths to clusters of their students. Two lines were exactly the same size and two were clearly not — the mavericks stuck out like basketball players at a convention for the vertically handicapped. During a typical experimental run, the researchers asked nine volunteers to claim that two badly mismatched lines were actually the same, and that the actual twin was a total misfit. Now came the nefarious part. The researchers ushered a naive student into the room with the collaborators and gave him the impression that the crowd already there knew just as little as he did about what was going on. Then a white-coated psychologist passed the cards around. One by one he asked the pre-drilled shills to announce out loud which lines were alike. Each dutifully declared that two terribly unlike lines were perfect twins. By the time the scientist prodded the unsuspecting newcomer to pronounce judgement, he usually went along with the bogus acclamation of the crowd. Asch ran the experiment over and over again. When he quizzed his victims of peer pressure, it turned out that many had done far more than simply go along to get along. They had actually shaped their perceptions to agree, not with the reality in front of them, but with the consensus of the multitude.

To polish off the mass delusion, many of those whose perception had NOT been skewed became collaborators in the praise of the emperor's new clothes. Some did it out of self-doubt. They were convinced that the facts their eyes reported were wrong, the herd was right, and that an optical illusion had tricked them into seeing things. Still others realized with total clarity which lines were duplicates, but lacked the nerve to utter an unpopular opinion. Conformity enforcers had rearranged everything from visual processing to open speech, and had revealed a mechanism which can wrap and seal a crowd into a false belief.

Another experiment indicates just how deeply social suggestion can penetrate the neural mesh through which we think we see hard-and-solid facts. Students with normal color vision were shown blue slides. But one stooge in the room declared the slides were green. Only 32% of the students ended up going along with the vocal but misguided proponent of green vision. Later, however, the subjects were taken aside, shown blue-green slides and asked to rate them for blueness or greenness. Even the students who had refused to see green where there was none in the original experiment showed that the insistent greenies in the room had colored their perceptions. They rated the new slides more green than they would have otherwise. More to the point, when asked to describe the color of the afterimage they saw, the subjects often reported it was red-purple — the hue of an afterimage left by the color green. The words of one determined speaker had penetrated the most intimate sanctums of the eye and brain.

But this is just the iceberg's tip. Social experience literally shapes cerebral morphology. It guides the wiring of the brain through the most intensely formative years of human life, determining, among other things, which of the thinking organ's sections will be enlarged, and which will shrink.

An infant's brain is sculpted by the culture into which the child is born. Six-month olds can distinguish or produce every sound in virtually every human language. But within a mere four months, nearly two thirds of this capacity has been sliced away. The slashing of ability is accompanied by ruthless alterations in cerebral tissue. Brain cells are measured against the requirements of the physical and interpersonal environment. The 50% of neurons found useful thrive. The 50% which remain unexercised are literally forced to die. Thus the floor plan underlying the mind is crafted on-site to fit an existing framework of community.

When barely out of the womb, babies are already riveted on a major source of social cues. Newborns to four-month-olds would rather look at faces than at almost anything else. Rensselaer Polytechnic's Linnda Caporael points out what she calls "micro-coordination", in which a baby imitates its mother's facial expression, and the mother, in turn, imitates the baby's. Since psychologist Paul Ekman, as we'll see later in more detail, has demonstrated that the faces we make recast our moods, the baby is learning how to yoke its emotions to those of a social team. Emotions, as we've already seen, craft our vision of reality. There are other signs that babies synchronize their feelings to those of others around them at an astonishingly early age. Empathy — one of those things which bind us together intimately — comes to us early. Children less than a year old who see another child hurt show all the signs of undergoing the same pain.

'After all, what is reality anyway? Nothin' but a collective hunch.' Lily Tomlin

Cramming themselves further into a common perceptual mold, animal and human infants entrain themselves to see what others see. A four-month old human will swivel to look at an object his parent is staring at. A baby chimp will do the same. By their first birthday, infants have extended their input-gathering to their peers. When they notice that another child's eyes have fixated on an object, they swivel around to focus on that thing themselves. If they don't see what's so interesting, they look back to check the direction of the other child's gaze and make sure they've got it right. When one of the babies points to an item that has caught her fancy, other children look to see just what it is.

One year olds show other ways in which they soak up social pressure. Put a cup and something unfamiliar in front of them and their natural tendency will be to check out the novel object. But repeat the word "cup" and the infant will dutifully rivet its gaze on the drinking vessel. Children go along with the herd even in their tastes in food. when researchers put two-to-five-year olds at a table for several days with other kids who loved the edibles they loathed, the children with the dislike did a 180 degree turn and became zestful eaters of the item they'd formerly disdained. The preference was still going strong weeks after the peer pressure had stopped.

At six, children are obsessed with being accepted by the group and become incredibly sensitive to violations of group norms. They've been gripped by yet another conformity enforcer which structures their perceptions to coincide with those around them.

Even rhythm draws humans together in the subtlest of ways. William Condon of Pennsylvania's Western State Psychiatric Institute analyzed films of adult conversations and noticed a peculiar process at work. Unconsciously, the conversationalists began to coordinate their finger movements, eye blinks and nods. Electroencephalography showed something even more astonishing — their brain waves were moving together. Newborn babies already show this synchrony — in fact, an American infant still fresh from the womb will just as happily match its body movements to the speech of someone speaking Chinese as to someone speaking English. As time proceeds, these unnoticed synchronies draw larger and larger groups together. A student working under the direction of anthropologist Edward T. Hall hid in an abandoned car and filmed children romping in a school playground at lunch hour. Screaming, laughing, running and jumping, each seemed superficially to be doing his or her own thing. But careful analysis revealed that the group was moving to a unified rhythm. One little girl, far more active than the rest, covered the entire schoolyard in her play. Hall and his student realized that without knowing it, she was "the director" and "the orchestrator." Eventually, the researchers found a tune that fit the silent cadence. When they played it and rolled the film, it looked exactly as if each kid were dancing to the melody. But there had been no music playing in the schoolyard. Said Hall, "Without knowing it, they were all moving to a beat they generated themselves." William Condon was led to conclude that it doesn't make sense to view humans as "isolated entities." And Edward Hall took this inference a step further: "an unconscious undercurrent of synchronized movement tied the group together" into what he called a "shared organizational form."

No wonder input from the herd so strongly colors the ways in which we see our world. Students at MIT were given a bio of a guest lecturer. One group's background sheet described the speaker as cold, the other group's handout praised him for his warmth. Both groups sat together as they watched the lecturer give his presentation. But those who'd read the bio saying he was cold treated him as distant and aloof. Those who'd been tipped off that he was warm, rated him as friendly and approachable. In judging a fellow human being, students replaced external fact with input they'd been given socially.

The cues rerouting herd perception come in many forms. Sociologists Janet Lynne Enke and Donna Eder discovered that in gossip, one person opens with a negative comment on someone outside the group. How the rest of the gang goes on the issue depends entirely on the second opinion expressed. If the second prattler agrees that the outsider is disgusting, virtually everyone will chime in with a sound-alike opinion. If, on the other hand, the second commentator objects that the outsider has positive qualities, the group is far less likely to descend like a flock of harpies tearing the stranger's reputation limb from limb.

Crowds of silent voices whisper in our ears, transforming the nature of what we see and hear. The strangest come from choruses of the dead — cultural predecessors whose legacy has a dramatic effect on our vision of reality. Take the impact of gender stereotypes — notions developed over hundreds of generations, contributed to, embellished and passed on by literally billions of people during the long human march through time. In one study, parents were asked to give their impression of their brand new babies. Infant boys and girls are completely indistinguishable aside from the buds of reproductive equipment between their legs. Their size, texture, and the way in which newborns of opposite sex act are the same. Yet parents consistently described girls as softer, smaller and less attentive than boys. The crowds within us resculpt our gender verdicts over and over again. Two groups of experimental subjects were asked to grade the same paper. One was told the author was John McKay. The other was told the paper's writer was Joan McKay. Even female students evaluating the paper gave it higher marks if they thought was from a male.

The ultimate repository of herd influence is language — a device that not only condenses the influence of those with whom we share a common vocabulary, but sums up the perceptual approach of swarms who have passed on. Every word we use carries within it the experience of generation after generation of men, families, tribes, and nations, including their insights, value judgements, ignorance, and spiritual beliefs.

Experiments show that people from all cultures can see subtle differences between colors placed next to each other. But only those societies equipped with names for numerous shades can spot the difference when the two swatches of color are apart. At the turn of the century, The Chukchee had very few terms for visual hues. If you asked them to sort colored yarns, they did a poor job of it. But they had over 24 terms for patterns of reindeer hide, and could classify reindeer far better than the average European scientist, whose vocabulary didn't supply him with appropriate tools.

Physiologist/ornithologist Jared Diamond, in New Guinea, saw to his dismay that despite all his university studies of nature, the natives were far better at distinguishing bird species than he was. Diamond had a set of scientific criteria taught in the zoology classes back home. The natives possessed something better: names for each animal variety, and a set of associations describing characteristics Diamond had never been taught to differentiate — everything from a bird's peculiarities of deportment to its taste when grilled over a flame. Diamond had binoculars and state-of-the-art taxonomy. But the New Guineans laughed at his incompetence. They were equipped with a vocabulary each word of which compacted the experience of armies of bird-hunting ancestors.

Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute's Linnda Caporael points out that even when we see someone perform an action in an unusual way, we rapidly forget the unaccustomed subtleties and reshape our recalled vision so that it corresponds to the patterns dictated by language-borne conventionality. A perfect example comes from 19th century America, where sibling rivalry was present in fact, but according to theory didn't exist. The experts were blind to its presence, as shown by its utter absence from family manuals. In the expert and popular view, all that existed between brothers and sisters was love. But letters from middle class girls exposed unacknowledged cattiness and jealousy.

Sibling rivalry didn't begin to creep from the darkness of perceptual invisibility until 1893, when future Columbia University professor of political and social ethics Felix Adler hinted at the nameless notion in his manual for the Moral Instruction of Children. During the 1920s, the concept of jealousy between boys and girls finally shouldered its way robustly into the repertoire of conscious concepts, appearing in two widely quoted government publications and becoming the focus of a 1926 Child Study Association of America crusade. It was only at this point that experts finally coined the term "sibling rivalry." The formerly non-existent demon was blamed for adult misery, failing marriages, crime, homosexuality, and God knows what all else. By the 1940s, nearly every child-raising guide had extensive sections on this ex-nonentity. Parents writing to major magazines spotted the previously unseeable emotion almost everywhere.

The stored experience language carries can tweak the difference between life and death. It's been reported that one unnamed tribe used to lose starving mothers, fathers and children by the droves each time famine struck, despite the fact that a river flowed near them filled with fish. The problem: they didn't define fish as food. We could easily suffer the same fate if stranded in their wilderness, simply because our culture tells us that a rich source of nutrients is inedible too — insects.

The influence of the mob of those who've gone before and those who stand around us now can be mind-boggling. During the middle ages when universities first arose, a local barber/surgeon was called into the lecture chamber year after year to dissect a corpse for medical students gathered from the width and breadth of Europe. A scholar on a raised platform discoursed about the revelations unfolding before the students' eyes. The learned doctor would invariably describe a network of cranial blood vessels that were nowhere to be found. He'd report a shape for the liver radically different from the form of the organ sliding around on the surgeon's blood-stained hands. He'd verbally portray jaw joints which had no relation to those being displayed on the trestle below him. But he never changed his narrative to fit the actualities. Nor did the students or the surgeon ever stop to correct the book-steeped authority. Why? The scholar was reciting the "facts" as found in volumes over 1,000 years old — the works of the Roman master Galen, founder of "modern" medicine.

Alas, Galen had drawn his conclusions, not from dissecting humans, but from probing the bodies of pigs and monkeys. Pigs and monkeys do have the strange features Galen described. Humans, however, do not. But that didn't stop the medieval professors from seeing what wasn't there. For no more were they ruggedly individualistic observers than are you and I. Their sensory pathways echoed with voices gathered for a millennium, the murmurings of a mob composed of both the living and the dead. The world experts of those days and ours conjured up assemblies of mirage. Like ours, their perceptual faculties were unrecognized extensions of a collective brain.


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26. Jerome S. Bruner. Beyond the Information Given: Studies in the Psychology of Knowing: 380-386; Paul van Geert. "Green, Red and Happiness: Towards a Framework for Understanding.
27. W. Bogoras. The Chukchee. New York: G.E. Stechert, 1904-1909; Jerome S. Bruner. Beyond the Information Given: Studies in the Psychology of Knowing.: 102-103.
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30. For many examples of similar phenomena, see: Robert B. Edgerton. Sick Societies: Challenging the Myth of Primitive Harmony. New York: Free Press, 1992.
31. Daniel J. Boorstin. The Discoverers: A History of Man's Search To Know His World And Himself. New York: Vintage Books, 1985: 344-347.

This document is provided for reference purposes only. If you find ought to disagree with, that is as it ought be. Train your mind to test every thought, ideology, train of reasoning, and claim to truth. There is no justice when even a single voice goes unheard. (1 Thessalonians 5:21, 1 John 4:1-3, John 14:26, John 16:26, Revelation 12:10, Proverbs 14:15, Proverbs 18:13)

Okay thanks Mr. HB.
I guess the points i am alluding to are the arbitrary way we construct our world, what we take in as input is only a percentage of what is there. Why? Because the brain filters reality into a form it can deal with symbolically.
In Chaos Magick this is known as the Psychic Censor, this can be short-circuited by various methods and if one is interested in the magickal universe ultimately this has to be done. The three most common questions people have asked me are.

Is it scary? Hell yeah, it's scary.
Why do it? Any inquiring brain or mind that engages an interest in this type of philosophy cannot stop at hearing about it from some one else. It cannot read about the experience and then believe it unless it has direct experience itself. To do otherwise makes you the consensus reality and part of the mass hallucination

Why do it?
Any inquiring brain or mind that engages an interest in this type of philosophy cannot stop at hearing about it from some one else. It cannot read about the experience and then believe it, unless it has direct experience itself. To do otherwise makes you the consensus reality and part of the mass hallucination. Understand yourself, know thyself, evolve or die. Its a quantum universe and it's yours.

Will this change my brain?
Magick is often reffered to these days as brain change.

Will this Change my ability to function in the shared reality, ie effect my relationships work family?
Not if you start from a sound frame of mind. Not if you adopt a healthy approach and not unless you want it to.

Lets look at the questions in a bit more detail.
I assume that people are approaching this in a methodical manner and have have read some litrature, there's plenty to choose from, they have a basic understanding of the quantum mechanics underlying reality, they have a very sound understanding of memes and how it relates to their world, they have a good understanding that the ego is a tool and not a structure that is fixed in time and space. They have good understanding of the nature of space and time and they are not afraid to play with it. And they have a good idea about their purpose and destiny or place in the universe.

So Fear.
Two types of fear, the one that stems from instinct, don't touch that it's hot, keeps you alive, keeps you breathing, keeps you happy.
The other type is the type is rife in the kingdom unfortunatly, it's often irrational and a by product from the memes we inherit or take on board, he's evil, they are bad, drugs are this, their politics are that, usually this type of fear is based in a duality. Something s good over bad, something is white over black, one thing we must understand is, duality is the illusion, the maya, or at least a veil of it.
Dealing with fear is a life long mission, it's worth taking a few steps, acknowledging fear is a start.
In my own wilderness i realised i was filled with fear, insecurity, the way a caterpiller eats to transform, fear was the black cancer living in my body, fear stopped me form reaching a potential, fear stoped me from being responsible for myself and fear stopped me from being alive.
So I met everything head on. My fear of social situations, threw me into taking on the role of cocktail maker in a busy bar. My fear of conversation, a bar person has to make conversation, a bar person has to appear confident and in control, they have to own the bar, they have to tell you what you are drinking, they have to look like they are fucking shit hot. My fear of physical challenges, i threw myself off a great hight into the ocean at a place called jump rock, a fall that took ages, a fall that i replay over and over, a sinking into an ocean that symbolically means more than the actual event. There are so many fears that it would take ages to relay them but one by one i faced them, sexual, emotional, physical, mental and spiritual. Face the fear. This is not to say one must take chances and risks, no, one must be relativly capable of making a smart decision, one must always know that facing a fear is not an end, it is a process. These are simple examples but as i stated in an earlier post, they concluded in a ritual designed to invok the fear that was nessessary for me to deal with in this lifetime in one huge wave, the ultimate challenge. And more about that later.
Every individual will have to face fear in some way or another and the most common one is fear of death which is brought closer to us everytime some one we know dies. Every one has a number and when its up, there's no way out, except to meet it with grace and dignity. Preparation for death is a huge aspect Egyptians, the Tibetans and various other cultures all mapped the journey after death. Explore death to the point it's your friend, as a natural part of life as putting on your shoes, death is natural. Don't feel that i am some sort of super freak, unafraid of anything, I am not. I surf everyday but i am always aware that i share the ocean with sharks and box jelly fish but i rather get eaten by a shark than die in a car crash.
It's as the buddhists say, the moment of death one must be super concious.
So what is there to be fearful of when the filters are removed? Reality man. Seeing it, feeling it, playing in it, maya is a beautiful thing, it's sensual and seductive, it's beautiful and complex, but reality man, reality is going to blow your mind. There are a limited number of ways to do this. Truama is excellent (awful from a point of veiw of your limbic region) trauma is the best most perfect way to process the disolution of reality, it's a process and often needs a good guide, difficult to navigate on ones own, can be a bit tricky. Drugs are excellent but choose the smart ones, LSD, DMT Mushrooms. Travelling extreme enviroments, can throw out the filter, shake up your reality but when i say extreme i mean extreme, warzones, remote enviroments, places where they don't speak your native tougue and you don't recognise the food. It's unlikely anyone chooses these to undergo ths process, its more a side effect of being in these experiences so if you do want to explore a safer option, check out, Tim Leary, Robert Anton Wilsons, Peter Carrol and Dr. Hyatts work. These come with very good excersises and instructions. But be warned there's no escape from the fear, you have to face it.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Another perfect surfing day in little old Newport although i did get to Babylon for a short while, just long enough for me to get an idea why i left. Anyways, took Pan for a run in the dog park which he enjoyed, saw a few strangers, had chats and plays, then back to mission control. Unfortunately i got involved in an internet discussion with some one who stayed anonymous, the subject being the most evil man alive, Alistair Crowley.
It seems that on mention of his name millions of people are ready to accuse you of black magick, devil worship and child sacrifice, I guess old AC didn’t help matters by using terminology designed to provoke a response, he certainly was not a nice person but what cannot be disputed is he was an incredible explorer of consciousness, one of the first people to bring eastern philosophy to the west and integrate it with a western tradition, he was an amazing traveller, a poet and a novelest and also designed the first astrologically correct tarot pack, he also worked for the British as a double agent and he was also the man behind Churchill’s V sign.
From a Magickal point of view Crowley mapped out the path of sexual magick, made it accessible despite clouding and shrouding it in language that was difficult to absorb because it shocked and rocked those who took it at face value. The golden rule of all esoteric knowledge is, it’s not easy, you have to work for it, you have to be prepared to be destroyed, this is why the Zen monk hits and chases away the eager pupil, if the pupil returns over and over, the teacher will see the level of commitment.
Let’s get this straight, I don’t particularly think AC or his followers are the bee’s knees, but I think everyone deserves a fair chance.
For those interested in his work read Perdurabo by Richard Kaczynski.
I was going to talk about the Psychic Censor today but I am out of time.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Newport for some strange reason has excellent surf this morning. Big, consistant waves, powerful, easy to ride, easy to glide. I am surfed out, washed out and feeling good.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Newport beach surfed the morning and afternoon away, entirely unproductive yet essential for living. Oh i do love daze like these, clear and hot, blue skies blue water, clean, fresh, perfect wave after wave, what more can you ask for. Love and graditude flow through my veins and arteries, my mind is all fluid and ebbing and flowing, heart pumping it's gentle beat through my universe.

Evening time and i am at Palm Beach watching ferry's depart, the ducks swim, pelican glide, clouds sculptures, last rays of sunlight, seagulls fight for scraps, kids playing, a french girl looking glamourous, the families eat chips, the dads eat fish, Proffessor Leary eats a veggie burger.
Yes its the closure of twilight. I spent many an evening doing this in some lost years, i was telling the Proffessor that there was a float tank at the back of the hairdressers next to the old wooden fish and chip shop before it got all groovey and trendy. I made a deal with the lady that i would get three hour floats for the price off one, so consequently many hours were spent floating, uncovering the inner spaces.
Float tanks are a beautiful way to get to a meditative state fast, 3 hours usually and then you leave the reality you came from and break into a new one. Actually there's just nothingness. It's a beautiful place, becuase even time stops, you cease to exist and there is nothing that seperated your mind or body from anything else.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Kilbeys Blog is excellent today, go read it now. But remember to come back to me later. Mmmm. well i did take myself of for a surf in Babalyon, a bowl of soup and some contemplation. Surf big and overwhelming, dark and light, a dualistic poem, i swam passed a huge fish thing, it swam passed me maybe.
Started to assemble my mic and guitar, mmm, it's all a bit complex, lots of nice lights on my mixer and twiddly knobs, i wish i knew three chords to rub together but all i got is the truth. Actually you can do a lot with three chords.
I like the minors, they are the sad melancholy ones, the ones that my charkras respond to.

Well after much plugging in of things, twiddling knobs and buttons, wires all over mission control, many turns at singing through the mic, i actually finally got it working, yeah, i can now add vox to some of my tunes.
Went to see Syriana, mmm, very complex plotline but i must say offers a refreshingly honest look at the state of play in the mid east, re oil and american intrests, old george clooney doing a great job, mr sexy social conciousness may not get the oscar for this one due to the ugly truth.

Genes make me slightly different from you, they determine my physical aspects and a disposition towards various others but it's memes that shape our minds, memes that make me think and act like i do. After destruction of ego, know your memes.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Contemplating my arts grant form, mmm, there's a big blank box where i have to write about my new project that i want to fund. I can't really write, i want $10 000 to go to Peru to take weird drugs in the jungle and have shamanic experiences, so i may suggest a trip to Burning Man or something, although from what i hear burning man is a sell out. But I have to write something, so i'll keep my options open.
I recieved a text from Jake today, far out, i thought i would be another year or two before i heard from him, he seems to want to catch up, which is fine with me, after all its the only reason why i live in sydney. I wonder how he would feel if he just knew the truth about me, well I guess it won't be long now and he will realize his dad is not the person his mum tells him he is.

I went for a surf at Bablyon, fantastic waves but very hard to swim out to.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Walking back with Pan i found myself the centre of an atom, two swirling particles, starlings whizzed around me and for a moment i felt some weird epiphany, came over outta the blue, all gratitude and love, and for a moment everything was perfection, then that moment seemed to last forever.
I recall saying to someone i really admire, 'You can be a mystic or a magickian or both, surrender to the universe or control it, or fluctuate between both.'
They replied, 'Or neither.'
I agreed that was a choice.
But i was not fully honest, one can't have the luxury of choice. It's not your choice to make, the magickians choice, it's made for you. However i did not pursue it, he was stoned and i wanted him to feel comfortable as i drove him home, sometimes these areas of philosophy get sticky.

i was listening to gang of four today, mmm, nice remix disc, tribal and passonate, picked up an eno dvd, met a friendly Kenyan and we spoke about dmt sessions, spent some time pondering my arts grant application.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Wandered through Organic Markets today, heard the conspiracies from the usual suspects, the ones doing the rounds right now:

aspartine a lethal additive found in most sugar substituted foods and drinks is very dangerous and gives symptoms exactly the same as diabetes was authorized by a certain donald rumsfirld whom has shares in the manufacturer.

chemtrails are the name of the trails aircraft spotted over several cities leave behind, these are not the usual smoke trails as a fine moisturized substance is seen falling downwards, research shows a large percentage of these are heavy metal substances like barium.

while these are not unrealistic and quite possibly worth investigating the other theories i heard were nuts,

jews wanna take over the planet
the royal family are lizards

yeah well people will believe anything, i think the best conspiracy theory out there is there is no conspiracy.

So i met with Tim Leary this morning and we discussed the state of Haiti, the Persians, the 12 tribes and the surfing conditions at the beach. By the time i got back to mission control it was lunch time, so i cooked some fish and cous cous Moroccan style then crashed in the hammock. Reading a good dectective book called Mr. Clarinet, although i suspect that the title is very misleading. It's written as a noir pulp fiction, set now, in Haiti, great dialouge, charachters and plot. Its the kind of book you can read in two days on holidays, I'm enjoying those stolen moments.

The surf this afternoon was awful, the worst surf i have been in ever, it was nuts, the rip was to strong to the right, the waves were usless and there was seaweed everywhere not to mention the bluebottles but worse than this was some stupid event involving beer suasages and alpha male australians who had packed the beach with their long boats and loudspeakers and sponsership flags, i mean come on. It's not what i want to see down at the beach.

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Straight after our nightshifts i rendevouz with Agent Stone in the 'Monkey' Cafe in Glebe. I am tired, slightly disheveled, somewhat angry with the world, it's unfortunate because i really wanted to enjoy my time with Agent Stone but recent events are filtering through my defenses, i have not really dealt with Jakobs lack of interest in me, i have not fully grieved for my grandmother, i miss my own family, my brother, i feel out of whack, bent outta shape so far i have no shape, i slip and slide through the market, the earring dude still has not got the clasp for my other earring, its been two months now, Glebe markets, the same old junk, the same t shirts, the same, thai fishermen's pants, the same books, the same socialist workers selling magazines selling socialism. Green Left person says to me, 'Hey do you want to buy a paper?'
'No thanks. I am a Capitalist.'
'Yeah well ya fucking dress like one.'
I am actually wearing board shorts and a t shirt with the sleeves cut off.
Yes this morning I thought, i know i will dress like a capitalist, just to annoy socialists. This is why I am a capitalist. Socialists are dumb, they have no fucking brains at all.
Yeah. Capitalism is an awful system, riddled with faults but it works better than anything else, not all of us want to work in factories supplying the state with nuts and bolts for it's tractors. I actually like the Green Movement, it's the only movement that can save us really but it must operate through a capitalist system, else it can only be a fringe movement. ie solar panels have to be mass produced and sold competitively else no one will buy them. Besides i never saw a socialist country run a benefit concert or offer financial assistance to another less fortunate country.
Anyways we move through the markets and i am floating in an ocean of pretty girls, trying on sunglasses, hats, testing soaps, drinking smoothies, holding hands, ahh summer daze in the city.
We drive over to the fish markets and i stock up on my fish for the next two weeks, i usually eat swordfish, sushami, salmon and get a tub of occy to eat for lunch. It's agent Stones first fish market experience and she gets some sort of prawn thingy. We wander through taste testing. I have to leave, my head is spinning, my fish are melting. I miss my home, my dog, my hammock.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Took myself to the movies and saw Jarhead, which is quite beautifully shot but as far as story goes needed a few more ingredients. I feel that these anti war films suffer because the characters in them are always dumber than the directors, writers and editors. For example the best anti war films are ones where the characters are more than meat heads with guns, thin red line, apocalypse now and birdy, catch 22, all pass the litmus test because they portray their protagonists as being intelligent philosophical people.
I guess its a catch 22 in the first place as only fools would enlist in the army, unless conscripted.
I did think my fave bit in Jarhead was the scene with the horse, it was surreal and moving.
War what is it good for?
Money, Land and TV, i guess.

I spent an few hours with a friend talking about divorce. It's such a strange process, i mean in an enlightened society you should just be able to leave a marriage with what you came into it with at least. Anyway my advice was let anything go, it can be replaced but don't loose your integrity. Once that's gone, it's hard to live, i know i've lost mine a few times. But onwards we go.

So yeah people's try to murder me and then I seemed to awaken into a new life, it was pretty much the same as the old one except it was nothing like it, i finally looked at myself and saw a frightened human being, riddled with insecurity, desires, a man halfway through the best years of their life, feeling unfulfilled and half alive. So I set myself the challenge of reinvention.
I understood I was alone in the universe, yes a social being connected to a web of life but really alone. I had always been a loner, even at school, but I embraced it now, i learnt to live with myself without that feeling of missing out, i started to fill my days with a structure based around creativity, discipline and learning new stuff, challenging myself. For the next few months i started to take on things that i never felt were possible, meditation, yoga, breathing exersises, new skills like being a cocktail waiter, an actor, jumping off cliffs, fire twirling and a slow introduction into the idea of personality being a tool. It was not until i fully became aware of memes much later than i began to see this as a fully formed science.
However one new years night i took it upon myself to cast a little ritual, this was to face all my fears in one large challenge. I used the usual Magickians ritual, gnosis, sigilized intent, charged and let it go.
By this time I was working with sydneys homeless youth making a name for myself amongst various agencies and gaining the respect of my peers and clients. This balanced with my new found confidence beating set challenges and facing my fears I was feeling quite revitalized and dare i say it, reborn. I had built up a new network of friends, i managed to find myself a reasonable place to life and i was beginning to see more of my son. Then the power of my invoccaion came back to claim me.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

A few months back professor Leary and I ran a course, rather reluctantly i add, but we was kind of asked to by a group of North shore peoples.
For a long time we had been talking about the self help industry, the new age courses that were available were mostly crappy, safe models run by charlatans in purple suits and obligritory african jewelry, very middle class and very dumbed down versions of stupid new age philosophy. On the other hand we both independant of one another had accumulated vast experiences in the realm of quantum theory and its application to daoism and magicks, a branch of which was sexual.
There has always been a connection between Doaism and Magick it seemed that the Prof and I were two sides to the same coin, so we had designed a course called DeepSex that we ran. 8 weeks, 8 peoples, 3 hours sessions.
There is nothing like DeepSex out there. Many claim to touch tantra but they are often just perversions of what Tantra actually is, DeepSex went far beyond Tantra. However it was pitched towards a brain that could not deal with the information we gave it. Our students were unable to deal with the basics of sex, they were uncomfortable talking about it, so how could they deal with the quantum let alone the Magickal components. However it was a piolet run for us and we learnt a lot.
Don't pitch towards the monkey mind.
Make people step outta their comfort zones from the word go.
Charge more.
This morning we discussed another run DeepSex2. This has potential and is something I got excited about. More later.

Strangely the surf at Newport was terrible so i went over to Babylon and spent a few hours there. The sea is a creul mistress, harsh and unforgiving, i was amongst the big waves today, they were huge, they crushed me many times over, dumped and whumpped me, lost all sense of everything, like an extreme shiatsu massage, the threshold of pain, pleasure and speed, i was breaking all previous records out there, travelling faster that the speed of life, alone, save for a few surfers on my left and the birds above, it was a beautiful cloudless day. lots of mad wind and the relentless waves tossing me about like a tomato in a salad.

Virgina Woolfe decribed the compensation of growing old as gaining, 'the power of taking hold of experience, of turning it around slowley, in the light.'
I like that.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Intresting start to the day, i was chatting with the usual suspects and this came up, I always think of time exploding outwards towards something away from the Big Bang. I see time as the moment, the now, the face of that explosion. I don't consider what we are exploding into, i have no idea what that is and percieve the explosion more as a breath outwards, eventually we will reach a limit and it will flow inwards, like the breath in. This is where time reverses.
However I was presented with the idea that Time and the Choas from the big Bang is being drawn into an attractor, the Omega point where all information will connect, albeit at different points due to space time folds but eventually everything will converge.
Is there a difference between the two?

I'm listening to Cities in Dust by the Banshees, very nice.
Okay mundane tasks await, wash pansy, pay bills, buy food.
Did i ever mention that i have no food ever at Mission Control, it's all comdoments, any food is eaten straight away, we like to keep it fresh around here.
Mmmm, never got around to the dusting, cleaning cos i started to watch a Church dvd and suddenly I was transported to the front row of a little club and mezmorizd by the dudes and their tunes.
I was sitting there thinking about the song 'Radience' and how he captured the whole event without putting any kind of religious twist on things, that whole thing had been hijacked by the church, the institution not the band, and given a Virgin Mary treatment whereas all three manifestations where of aliens/ transdimentional beings.
Anyway as usual SK had me transfixed upon the other worldly. In a strange way this blog is all due to him, as i needed to join Blogger to post upon his Blog, and i just figured what the hell....and here we are.
Divorce is a very personal trauma, it is not without a great deal of thought that i publish this, because as i said earlier, the map is not the territory, therefore what i write bares little relationship to what happened, it can only be a proximity of what happened to me and the process i underwent for purposes of explaining to you, the reader.

To look back at this point in my life now, causes no pain or trauma, no sorrow or confusion at all.
After being married for a number of years, feeling happy, secure and safe, part of a family experience that we all desire at heart, it ended very suddenly when my wife left after accusing me of having an affair.
This was compounded by many other issues that complicated the situation for me, however my wife had accused me of something i had not done, and no amount of sincerity would change this belief. Other things were said, and actions made that made it impossible for me to ever contemplate being in a relationship with her again.
(One of which was the fact that her fortune teller or physcic had read in her cards that week the insane proposition i had already had two affairs with other women. To her this was irrefutable proof; 'it's in the cards so it must be true' and one has to question the invested faith in a pack of cards)
So in the heat of the moment i made the best decision i could, which was to confess to the phantom affair and take full responsibility. This was a disaster, sending me hurdling into areas of the mind i never knew existed.
Like i said she left and took my son and I lost my home. This happened in the space of a few days and I found myself in a small-unfurnished apartment in Glebe, living alone.
The emotional problems were confounded by feelings of identity confusion, psychosomatic illness that manifested in epilepsy, narcolepsy and a various other newborn neurosis. The worst being I felt that a kind of cancer was eating me, it was black and grew inside me like a skeleton attached to my own. It was fibrous and growing. At one point it had overtaken my body and was now a massive black abyss that lived inside me. I was its host and it would feed on sadness. I began to drift through life carrying this Void entity that had invaded my body.
The material world, (the world of domestic appliances and family cars and jobs and television pop stars, families and friends) all it’s facets and facades seem to fade out and superimposed over the top was a new world, a strange place of hurt, fear and tears, pain and suffering, crisis and trauma.
There was meaning in shadows, meaning in colours, soft pastels and creams seemed pervasive, the lonely tragic figures one throws tokens and coins to in the train station and bus shelters now seemed to offer sanctuary in the depths of their eyes, the coded rambling’s and nonsense they spoke made more sense than the meetings and conversations about mortgages repayments and tennis club memberships from my past life.
I was sinking further away, drifting into a sub life, the murky grey depths. I knew I could fight, I knew I should seek help, I knew that this was the path to madness and beyond, but I had surrendered to it, I had let the tide engulf me, the oceans swallow me up and I was drowning in loss, moving further away from, rational thoughts, common sense and logic, finding some sort of sense in the chaos.
During this period I stopped fighting the insanity, clinging to what i knew, everything was slipping away so fast, surviving now meant letting go of everything I had known and trusting that there was some purpose to what was happening to me. It was an unconcious stratagy, but also it was part of a design that i felt was inevitable.
However I could not see this perspective at all, I had no friends, no family to talk to and no way to cope with the loss, other than loose everything completely, including the last remnants of sanity which i did, with a disturbing enthusiasm. There were no drugs or alchol involved, just a velocity towards utter destruction of ego. I have to mention that this is an essential part of any spiritual process, the ego must be shattered, it can be done in a numer of ways but none so effective as severe shock or tramua. I think travel, certain drugs and certain meditational disiplines can get there but they are long processes and involve an intellectual route, thus the ego is not destroyed, just deconstructed.
Things came to a head when I found myself desperately hungry and alone in the darkness of an empty apartment. It was devoid of furniture and any thing except a bed, a clothes rack and clothes and a photo of my son.
I was overcome by a primal sense of hunger and searched for some cash, as I had no available income or funds. I eventually found $4 in my coat pockets and ventured out in the pouring rain. Immediately I was soaking wet, drenched and lost in the neon glow of the Vietnamese Restaurant across the road. I ran across, bare foot, I had forgotten my shoes.
Slamming my $4 down I asked, ‘What can I get for $4?’
The man behind the counter took my money and said, ‘Boiled Rice.’
I nodded and waited like a grateful and compliant refugee, a sad dog looking for a free meal or a bone in the winter.
Grabbing the bag I raced back, up the steps to the apartment. I could feel the warmth of the bag, the heat transferring its way along my fingers, I clutched that bag so tightly my fingertips burnt.
In the darkness I stood in my trench- coat, saturated and tragic, like a love letter coming apart in the rain. I sat on the floor and opened the tub of boiled rice, smothering my face in the steam as it rose from the food. I was starving and it was intoxicating me like a narcotic.
It was then that I realised I had nothing to eat the rice with, no plastic complementary spoon, no cutlery in my kitchen, no chopsticks. I searched the kitchen, it was empty save for an old plastic tea strainer that some one had left laying in the drawer on its own. I scooped a tea strainer full of rice and pushed the gauze upwards into my mouth.
This was it. The moment at my life thus far had come to pathetic, tragic and actually quite funny. I laughed and laughed. At that point life split down to roads, the one where I cried and let the Abyss swallow me or the one that I found myself on, the one where I laugh back at the universe and the cosmic joke it played on me.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Earlier I spoke about the Magickian not having a choice in initiation, this is where destiny over rides free will, it doesn’t happen again afterwards but often the subject refuses to accept the mantle, only to be pushed further into more extreme versions of reality where they are forced into breakthrough or breakdown situations.
For example the events surrounding my marriage break up pushed me into a four year decent into madness that climaxed in an attempt on my life where i was quite happy to depart from this realm, however my attacker seized with surprise at my ambivalence stopped chocking me and ran away. It was revealed later that this unprovoked attack was carried out by a man who was wanted in three states and had left a trail of havoc wherever he had been. It's funny but my almost dying expeierence left me with a strange lust for living, as if i had been reborn. Later i invoked a ritual and a lifestyle that made me face my fears, consequently placing myself in a situation that one can decribe as unbelivable. However it was not until i was struck by lightening that i really took control of my life.
Anyways more about that later, what i wanted to talk about was the idea of Magickian. It's a strange term to use in this day and age because one assumes the Magickian to fall under the guise of a Gandalf type wizard where in actual fact it's more a quantum based experience. My kind of magickian is one who assumes responsibility for everything around themselves, they are meta programmers, people who use prescriptive language and have a complete understanding of memes and the use of belief as a tool. (The 8 cuircit model is a good short cut, my very good friend the Proffesor Leary used this whereas I used Magick) They are also able to utilize this in their lives and influence their reality. This is science, but not you're deterministic science where everything is reduced, this is science beyond measuring devices and quantifying data. It is not able to be described by language, remember the map is not the territory. Metaphor works here, thus in occult literature metaphor is the tool used to decribe the process
i.e. as above so below.
So Mr. Crowley, possibly the most misunderstood man in history concealed his practise in metaphor, which is why his work is so inaccessible to most minds, for metaphor is the language of the poet, and the poet must have the mind of a magician or mystic to contemplate the poetic.
Leary's 8 cuircut approach would say that most brains can't understand this concept, the monkey brain is to unsophisticated for meta programming, fed on a diet of beer, chips and dead meat it could never form nueral pathways that complement this type of reality.
Anyways the Magickian is really one who transcends pure mysticism, the Magickian is one who sees the quanta as a source of information to use and manipulate as they wish, they do not surrender to a higher force they are agents of force or will as Crowley puts it. The secret for most magickians is to know, your Will.
Having said that I do not subscribe to the Thelmic view of reality, I don’t think Mr. Crowley wanted to start another religion. I think he wanted to free us from its constraint.

Monday, February 06, 2006

My home has been invaded by billions of tiny spiders, they move so fast it's impossible to catch them, they are a horde, like a black sweeping entity, composed of individual cells, acting like a collective, i like watching them on the contrast of my white walls and ceiling, spreading out en masse, they remind me of the Borg. I'd like to film them, then write some music for them.

Evening surf at Avalon beach, the surf was so georgous, so crystal clear and pristine, the waves were massive, the sky was blue, the sun is out, it's beautiful, and so are you.
I am contemplating the perfect life, living on a beach and surfing every day, eating fish, drinking fresh coconuts and making love to some island girl in a hammock, ahh thats a life i lead in a parrallel universe.

Listening to Richard Ashcrofts new cd, he's very cool, i like his voice and i like the strings, there's something really fucking great about that music, i think it's cos he's searching for something.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

What's going on?
The Danish / Norwegian embassy in flames, Syrian protesters shooting guns into the sky, Palestinian terrorists win an election on a platform of war, Sydney beaches hosting race riots, London marchers with placards that offer a new holocaust all over some cartoon etc. Meanwhile the US, the UN and the Vatican are telling the Danish and Norwiegens that they are wrong to publish these pictures, not one person seems to notice the vast over reaction. Excuse me where's the tolerance, the understanding and compassion in Islam. I want to see it. As much as i don't like the west, capitalism, democracy (or what at least passes for it) i think i rather be here than in any other place but the time has come for people to stop this pc bullshit and be honest, Islam is outta control, it's just plain nuts to react the way it has over a cartoon.

Anyways i am exhausted, very strenuous day, lots of fallout with family post grandma, strange conversations and i am so far away it gives me a head ache. All i really want to do is sleep. Sleep and dream. Here's a little story for you.

This is an old story about a wise gentle man watching the caterpillar struggle out of its cocoon. he watched for hours as this little creature tore, ripped and ate its way free from its one time prison. the man was so amazed at the caterpillar he offered to assist it by levering free a large part of the cocoon. The creature fell out, and proceeded to open its wings, however it was deformed and its arms were not fully developed.
You see the mans intentions where honorable, he figured he would help the creature and gain some good karma, but the creature needed the struggle, the struggle would develop muscles and resources and he would have emerged fully formed if left to his own devices. We have no real idea how the laws of karma work, we can only imagine how the universe works, we can only gaze in wonder at the stars because we are the butterfly and the hurricane, in fact there is no butterfly or hurricane, they are the same thing.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

Yesterday after surf drove to newtown, king street packed, where would i park, trust the parking pixies and use the force, perfect space outside the sandrigham, catch mwp in rehersal, i was confused, 'am i the only person who turned up?'
mwp without missing a beat says,'you are in france in 1942.'
me, 'i thought i saw a vortex out there.'

yes i got to watch the soundcheck, and what fun it is, later the usual suspects turn up, Dan drove from Port Mak with his video, Laetitia was there and mwp's lovely lady Tiare gave me a nice warm welcome and made me feel very comforatable. The rest I can only describe as fucking brilliant, very stimulating, amazing sounds, amazing music and yep funny to.

Good news is MWP and SK may be doing some more shows, i hope somewhere really obscure, then i can make an adventure of it.

Picked up Richard Ashcrofts new cd and a few new books to read, as if i need them. I think i have a book habit.

Friday, February 03, 2006

Perfection in the surf today.
Everything is just fine now, all my aura is healed and my charkras balanced. Blissed out. Surf is all ya need.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Lot of speculation about the end of the world this morning, lot of chit chat about 2012, lot of squawking and squealing, morbid interest in the end of civilization, well my friends and sea anenomies, let me tell ya this, civilization will never actually end, because we don't really have any in the first place. Oh yeah we have cultures various historical forces that shape them, memes and constructs, but as far as civilization goes, i agree with Ghandi, it seems like a good idea.
Anyways i think the professor summed it up when he said, it's the end of time that really counts as the end stage in this construct of cilvilization, once time ends, we are free from it's constraint.

Ohh its gearing up to be another hot day, clear sky, blue hammock swinging day. I'm listening to Equatorial Stars Fripp and Eno, ohh it's really quite beautiful, like a sculpture of sound, i think they have captured the kind of music astronaut's will listen to as they travel through space in the future.
Cleaned up Mission Control and then went for a twilight surf, perfect waves this evening, absolutely gorgeous. As we headed into town Leary and I were met by a blonde surfie chick who proceeded to confess her sins to us, ice and crack addict, abusive relationships, tragic death of a child, breakdown and a long stint in some big psych ward, rehabilitation and now she's in love with a life guard and was stalking him, but met us and was wondering if we wanted to drink some bourbon with her. I decline but ask her if she was in the Betty Ford Clinic, 'I've heard lots of good things about that one.'
Leary gets straight to the point, 'No thanks, alcohol's not my drug of choice, you're still stuck on the dumb drugs.'
Anyways we finish up and she babbles on about some other stuff and we begin to make our excuses and leave, there's a lot of crazy girls around, they all seem to be attracted to the Prof and me. Must be his green hair.
In the evening i succumb to a terrible primal testosterone urge to buy pizza, however my neighbour delays me by 3 hours in a conversation about religion, drugs and photography.
I manage to get 3 terrible large pizzas and eat two slices before putting the rest in the fridge, ohh impulsion, sometimes you lead me astray. I have spent a while working on impultion, it's part of initiation, and it's possibly the part that drives people nuts, because for a while it's necessary to follow impulsion to an extreme, it's all part of the surrendering process and letting go, once again the secret is knowing when to stop, when to limit the impulse and how to master it. One can't master anything without being enslaved by it first.
I have a long history of poor impulse control, it has led me down strange roads and laneways, tangents that perhaps i need not have traversed, however once i understood the process i was able to rectify them. Now they just pop up in strange oddities, like pizza once in a blue moon.
If you are perplexed by your own impulses and desires, read The Dice Man by Luke Reinhardt ad then apply it to your life for a one month period. Be sincere or suffer the consequence of mediocrity.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

They Buried my Grandmother today. I was not going to write about it but then while i was laying in my hammock i thought, Grandma Mission was the kind of person you have to write about, she's lived 98 years and been closer to me than anyone else in my family, she's been really quite a fantastic person, always surrounded by friends and family and friends who became like family, yeah Grandma, this blogs for you.

I recall jumping with my new red boots, musta been about 4, i was jumping from stairs with grandma and my aunt sara down below watching, i was just a kid, head filled with dreams, heart filled with wonder, guts filled with ice cream, but the only thing that mattered was those smart new red boots and these two wonderful people who were waiting to catch me if i fell.
Grandma Mission, last time i saw you, you was playing scrabble with my son, house filled with family busy cooking, talking, telling you what to do, i could see ya taking it all in, listening to everything, silent gentle Matriarch, how that family fussed and squabbled and their dramas unfolded, and you still managed to beat Jakob by a few points, no mean task, he was a smart kid. Ha you smiled and said 'the little one played very well.'
Ahhh Wimbledon, you always remind me of my Grandma, that old gothic house with three stories, the winding starcase, the cellars, the apple trees in the garden, the strange victorian lamp outside the room use to frighten me at night, the run from the tv room into the depths of the kitchen where you cooked amazing stuff and told stories and smiled.

I spoke to my brother today. He said we are burying Grandma. I thought to myself, 'nah, you're burying her earthly vessel. Grandma Mission's here with me, right now, in my kitchen cooking up some fishcakes, playing scrabble and waiting to catch me if i fall.
Blah! Two nights without sleep puts me in a grumpy mood and this morning an obnoxious man at the cafe nearly felt the Wrath of Capt Mission.
Here's how it panned out.
Every morning I enjoy my coffee at the cafe where i meet professor Leary for our mornings debrief, my ritual is the dissection of the 'Herald' which I loath as a newspaper, it's a left wing lifestyle magazine for university types and your general middle class property owning socialists, who can't think their way out of a paper bag, they are enslaved by their believes and justifications abound.

Anyways except for Paul Sheehan, who is the only journalist who thinks beyond ideology i generally like to scan the papers contributions and pull them apart, while the Proff offers his opinions. Well this morning a new face stood there with the paper talking for hours to some girls, with the paper folded up under his arm. Now this is a communal paper, that the little Sicilian lady always buys, cos she knows how important it is for us.
Well this guy was looking at me from the corner of his eye, knowing fully well that i needed that paper, coffee just doesn't taste the same without the Herald. Most people like sugar in their coffee, i like a paper. So the oaf sits down, and reads the paper, doesn't even order a coffee, just sits there because he knows it's going to bug me. Then just as i go, he throws the paper down and smiles at me as he walks off.
This is what's known as provocation. I went had a surf, but rest assured the matter is not over, he is my adversary, nemesis, the selfish paper hoarder of Newport, we will cross paths again.
Tim Leary and I debate what makes a good dictator and who would be in the top 5, certainly the 20th century has been the best period for manevolent dictators

Top Five Dictators, not in any order

Pol Pot
Mao Zedong
Idi Amin

Car for a service $250 and the bad news about my calipers, blah, thats goning to cost another 250, what's the point in having a car. Cars. I hate them, there was a time i really enjoyed driving them around, but now i have come to see them as evil death machines, they destroy the planet and their owners are selfish and irresponsible. One day all cars will be melted and the roads will be beautiful gardens that hover craft skim over.

Then it's another mad crazy race around Newport to find a JP. I mean there was a time where every other person was a JP. Now you have to hunt them down, almost an extinct species. Yes it's your photographic prize $20 000 for the bald archie's and i am going to put my picture of the Proffessor in, despite the conspiricy against me, i beat the rules and regulations and got my entry in on time. It's called Earthed, and one day i'd like it to be on a Church cd cover.