Saturday, August 02, 2008

wake up
smoke unfinished joint left over from last nights debauchery
find sunglasses
clean teeth and morning ambulations
start the day with mwp 'alain delon'
it's the swinging sixties at mission control
phone rings
madness is looking for a phone when all you have to do is listen
it's someone uncool
they want me to go into the city to make them look cool
i hate coolness these days, coolness is a state of mind baby, not a label or a flashy haircut
a bmw is coming to pick me up
where's my undies?

feeling like hunter s thompson riding in with his solicitor we were heading over the roseville bridge when the acid started to kick in and the large pterodactyls started swooping down from a cloudless sky, i was listening to 'hologram of baal' turned up loud while my comrade from the cooperate sector was trying to fuck me up by playing his supertramp cd. he had ultimate control as the slick little petroleum deficient beamer had the controls of the stereo attached to the steering wheel, already the trip started turning bad. supertramp. i zoned out, immersed my head in the stream of cars that headed into the river of traffic that led to the ocean that is sydney city centre. meanwhile radio transmissions were coming in loud and clear from my holy guardian angel, she was whispering in my mind about finding a girlfriend from prague to pursue my pornographic pursuits with, but muse i pleaded, 'i don't want a pornographic relationship anymore'
'everyone wants one, so quit whinging.'
'but i'm worn out from those meaningless relationships.'
'listen to the muse, i will never let you down'
'don't i get a say in things'
'not if you want to follow your art.'
'what about my heart'
'forget the heart and stick with art'
'okay muse, you are ironically, the man.'
so we parked in a nice wide street, under a canopy of trees and shaded from the harsh cosmic radiation emanating directly from the sun. i could feel it mutating my skin, changing my densities, fucking with my eyes under my cheap petrol station shades. a strange man muttering about vietnam walked towards us, we had barely left the car and it had started already. like a magnet i was attracting the inner city freakazoids.
why does this happen, oh wise muse.
because you are a freakazoid Mission.
Lord Freakazoid, walking amongst his kingdom, fraternizing with his subjects.
'Hey brother.' I call out to my subject.
'Don't call him over here,' my comrade whispers with hints of agitation and neurotic elements of rich mans paranoia,
'my very wealthy friend here wants to buy you a drink.'
'behave yourself mission' and turning to the raving man dressed in a very tight mismatching suit with large golfing shoes, 'i'm afraid i am not redistribution my wealth today.'
words are muttered, sneers are sneered, i can make out something about marx and engels and then i decide to say something, 'he's a capitalist, he's just following his exploitative nature.'
we stumble onwards into the markets, me on my relentless and endless quest for a good book, him in his relentless and endless quest to find a better girlfriend than the one he has. i'm sucked into the friendly crowd like an egg being swallowed by an anaconda. trinkets, colourful t shirts with bland images, shining bits of glass and home made crafts, fabrics and secondhand stuff, girls with mobile phones and good teeth, i'm smiling a lot, my mouth feels like its made from treacle, it has no limits to it's expandability. i find myself standing in front of a cute english girl selling toys. err not those types of toys, this is a family environment. i recognise her. our paths have crossed once before, in this very lifetime, at this very same place, she beguiled me then and was beguiling me now with her friendly enthusiasm, posh english accent, soft lips and nice boots. she stood right up close to me her face almost touching mine, i could smell her essence leaking from her skin, a venus fly trap, i was already holding back the desire to bite her neck first, before my legs gave way. She was telling me about some of her wares on display but i was preoccupied with the ones that weren't but lay just beyond reach.
we exchanged numbers, she got all bashful and i got all perpendicular as i was abducted by a tangent i couldn't see coming. it was an accent, eastern european with a hint of tangerine and almond, supermodel legs and a glamourous head and a flippy floppy hat. so at the bidding of a demanding and authoritative higher power i'm looking for a moment to intervene and somehow introduce myself to this europian girl but she's got other plans, i think she's with her mother, an older woman or an older friend who looks a bit like a reptile, faces are starting to distort and i'm feeling ungrounded, my stomach sends messages to the brain, of neglect. torn between food and exotic girls, an even hunger creates indecision.
such confliction. i summoned a portal and emerged in the big bookshop where i immediately purchased three books, and would have picked up irvine welsh's new book but for a sudden surge of fiscal responsibility. overwhelmed by a longing to tell someone about 'fraction of a whole' i sent poppy a text because i knew she would dig it. surprisingly she was just about to buy it at that moment. i thought about her and evan, two of the most beautiful people i know, and then in a strange and unfamiliar moment of unselfish desire and i wished them together again.
my friend the uber rich businessman was consuming madly, buying up things and laiden with bags and stressing as he looked at his time piece and hurried me out from the bookshop back to the car. i looked across the road at the markets where my cute little english girl stood, and gave her a wave, with one eye on the flippy floppy hat girl but she had morphed into a fiction. in the distance some conventional blues band played out a very traditional 12 bar tune. the vocalist was great but i wondered why the blues bands all play the same kinda style, there's no innovation left, just carbon copy. i guess the blues band that took it as far as it can go was led zep. after that the blues is kind of dulled.
'oh muse why do you lead me so astray with these girls'
'because you need inspiration lest the fountain runeth dry.'
'but inspiration is trouble oh muse'
'yes turbulance stirs the juices'
'can't my juices just flow in a nice gentle steady stream'
'maybe one day mission, one day.'

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