this morning i spend my time fiddling with i tunes, i phones and attempting all sorts of strange gymnastics with creating appropriate music folders, it's well hard. I'm confused by the whole process, why are things not going where i want them, why are some things just greyed out, what does all this mean, how can i interpret the information when it seems so straightforwards yet will not work, mmm, i do my best and hope for the best. i have probably done it correctly but we will see.
i'm not a technological person, i'm not really very practical at all, all my skills are with words, see here's an example...

...velvet majestic waves of neon sensuality wrapped around her body as the tentacles started to explore her, between the moments of terror she also experienced the zenith of euphoria, what was this alien sensation, this strange heat that aroused yet petrified. her clothes seemed to fall away and the massive tendrils seemed to ooze a purple slime that was like being bathed in some kind of frictionless lubricant, the boundaries began to merge, her mind seemed to fall away and soon she was lost in a pleasure beyond description, a physical, emotional, spiritual bliss had engulfed her. her last thoughts before total obliteration was, wow, i never thought first contact would be like this, they certainly never trained me in diplomatic corps for this. she smiled.

so you see, i better stick to what i am good at.

yesterday i succumb to the weakness of restlessness and decide i need to escape for a few hours in some sort of alternative hell or heaven, just not my own personal one. so the best escape available was the movies. amalia and i head of to see the hurt locker.
she briefs me on the way.
it's a film about the war in iraq
it was made by the ex wife of avitar man james cameron
it's up for the same award as cameran's movie
so we sit down and watch what i have to say is a brilliant movie. the bomb disposal or explosive removal squad comprise of three men and at the start of the movie the main man, the one who wears the special suit gets blown up. his replacement is a man who has no fear, he disregards all rules, he is incredible to watch, his attitude is beyond normal and at the end of the film we begin to understand why. actually during the most important disclosure through a conversation the film projector broke, typical of the beaches deco cinema, they fixed it and although we didn't miss anything it did break the continuity. anyways the story is breathtakingly suspenseful and real, the atmosphere is just as alien as avitar and the characters more believable rater than stereotypes. this is not a mythological film. it has no metaphors, makes no judgement. it's a piece of meditation upon war and the men who fight in them, it's fucking brilliant, go and see it.

i do like civilization, i love the art, the books, movies, the www and the music, i like all these crazy things human kind has done, it's meaningless and meaningful, we are ant's building ant hills, we are bees working away, we are all just trying to stay alive in this strange thing we invented, there's plenty of variety and cultures within cultures, ideology within ideology, something for everyone, except those who have inquiring minds, as you peel away each layer, each fabrication, you cannot compromise on systems that are inhibitory, systems that enslave. religion, socialism, they must be discarded or change. it's amazing how many people still attempt to revive these ancient dinosaurs and at the same time attempt to crush new ones, like scientology.
while the idea of scientology is no more offensive than any other believe systems the status quo will not accept it. last night on some trash tv show i watched a journalist interview some scientologists and with editing they were made to look like kooky fruitcakes, yet their ideas made no less sense than some of the crap the main religious ideologies express.
this awful hatchet job was probably watched by millions of people soaking it all in. some idiot senator in victoria is about to launch an inquiry into it as some people complained about the churches influence over them, and the church apparently just wants money.
hello!!!!!!
the vatican

yeah i like all these strange fabrications we have made, conflicting morality and righteousness rammed down peoples throats by brainwashed zombies. i love the idea that they are so weak as ideas yet people cling to them, the ships going down. wake up, there was no ship, it was all a dream.

what an incredible night, heat drenched it's way through the walls and windows, covered in sweat, dripping i wandered through mission control looking for some let up. nothing, pansy opens an eye, the bat who lives outside on the tree is to hot to swoop, the possums are in my hammock. it's incredibly hot, i resort to the strange tactic of drinking beer. i only drink one kind of beer, it's from el salvador, very tasty. i never really liked beer it's a kind of dumb drink but there are moments when it's perfect. i sat down in my lounge and drunk some beer, smoked a spliff and generally melted into the strange space between awake and asleep, to hot for thinking, to hot for moving around, to hot for anything. at 3am a breeze hit and i retired.
awoken by the phone, always penetrates my sleep. always bringing me back from other realms.

i wrote a while back about creatures from another dimension telling me when they look at humans they see time differently, they see the span of our lives, from the moment we are born to the point of death, they see that shape as a series of progressive stages, like a sort of worm shapes. it's a strange idea but think about it.
i think when s person produces a series of art or music they are are all the same work. i started with a love for reading and writing, my imagination was always excellent, i was always captivated by others. hence my love of sci fi, a genre people criticised me for reading when i was a kid but i figured it was their loss. i spent my skool days reading the most amazing books while every one else learnt how to be practical and pay the mortgage, earn big bucks and all that jazz, me i'm not good at those things, i live in my imagination and it's beautiful.
cultivate your imagination.
it's reflected right back at you.

margret atwoods book payback which was written just before the global meltdown is a brilliantly thought provoking treatise on debt and slavery. it looks at the history of debt pre bible and in the bible and post bible, it looks at the value of money and debt, it looks at the constructed system we mass produce to give it it's power and then it looks at the future which is really the present, where resources are depleted.
this book basically confirms some of my ravings, about the way we all live and the cycles we have been trapped in. it's is a very important piece of work that is exceptionally well written and researched.
i implore people to read it.
most of my readers know i have strange political viewpoints, i see all governments as guilty.and the idea that we continue to see one government as an enemy and another as an ally is crazy. they are all guilty of betraying someone. those idiots that marched against the war in iraq did nothing about the awa scandal, they did nothing when australia was complicit in the invasion of east timor, yet they are highly motivated to scream and yell over some dictators regime change by america. i'm not saying that it was wrong or right, just that moral objectivity is wasted in these realms. just the same as the people who live in palm beach and drive a fleet of mercs, drink expensive champagne and suck massive cuban cigars all complain about evil america and evil capitalism.
payback concludes with the idea that we need to wake up, change our personal life then we can change everything. i concur, you global warming people out there who want to make a difference, it's easy, don't eat meat. yet i know most do.
so how does someone in that position have the right to criticise anyone else.
be true to yourself, the rest is bullshit.

watched a very good film last night called 'the internationalist' about a big evil bank and some secret agents who attempt to stop the bank from being naughty. i thought it was a good story but the acting, and photographic techniques were outstanding, beautiful architectural panoramas, cities portrayed as cold monolithic aesthetic structures where the people who inhabit them are detached and soulless, there was a beautiful realism to this movie and a big shoot out in the guggenheim new york. excellent soundtrack to, finally a movie made by adults for adults. and wow naomi watts is sexy as hell.

the karmic implications in family are complex and confronting, it is not just genetics, the dna that must be unwritten (this requires enormous self insight as who really knows what should be unwritten from the script and what one leaves alone) , the imprinted patterns that must be untangled, the past is always present within these and then there's the future. i have always been aware of this in regards to you jakob, always it has weighed upon me with our interactions, i hope that the work i have done on my own self has prevented passing on negative imprinting that i have from my family. this is prescriptive evolution or meta programming, i have always attempted to be responsible when it came to this.

what a day, what a day.
i was up early, walking the dog, then went in to babylon met with hotrussianbride.com man who was outside the bank, we chat, then i meet jakob in the back of the bookshop where we read international magazines and papers, we chit chat and zip over to the newsagent, he's looking very funky these days, short hair, op shop clothes, the designer man to the wise one, he looks at the fashion mags, i look at the music ones but we both settle on nothing, we jump around saying goodbye, decide to look at a few other places in avalon, he nags me for my sunglasses which are round purple lenses, i say no, he tries to convince me but it's not convincing enough but then we decide to have a coffee together, joined by evan and leanne, jake talks about amsterdam, he says he is not going to take drugs, i try to convince him but he says no, i didn't try to hard. then he goes off with some girls in a car as he leaves i give him the sunglasses, 'pass em down to your children' i say. i have a lovely lunch with evan and leanne and we go looking for cakes. then i come home and fall asleep, i sleep very deeply. i wake up at 6, cook some food, start watching a movie, then towards the end my phone rings. i seek out the phone, it's dark, the floor is covered in books. by the time i find the phone, they have hung up. i call my folks we talk about my trip and somehow it degenerates to a horrible shouting match and mum attempting to make me feel guilty and just making me angry. she goes mental, i slam the phone down, a text arrives, i phone my brother so i can let him know i am thinking about not going to london, my brother says,'go smoke a joint have a beer' then think about it. good advice. i look at the text, it's gravy, i call him, he picks me up, we go for a smoke at our spot. fucking hell i relax. gravy is like that, a good friend. he says some wise words, tales from the far east, these are good tales, i like the far east, it makes me want to catch a passing ship. we go to moon base alpha, gravy's place and smoke some more, he plays me some tunes, they are excellent, i suggest which ones he record for a cd. they are really good, very different yet the influences are very present, xtc, daniel lanious, the beatles, dylan, the cure and then some planet gong in the mix. the songs are very gentle, subtle and great words, the guy is a genius.
i walk home off my tree.
feeling much better.

i first began receiving transmissions at the age of five. of course at that age i was completely devastated by the event and frightened to really talk about it with anyone, so i just said i was an astronaut and hoped people would see me as a imaginative child. i spent many years staring at space, looking out of windows at night time, navigating my way through asteroid storms, radiation clouds, dodging the intergalactic police and escaping the evil lizard empire. but my real enemies were earthbound. skool teachers, adults and the spirit crushing army of defeatism that attempted to crush my spirit as it soared. they damaged me considerably, wounded and dazed i reoriented myself with sex and drugs and shamanistic magickal pursuits, i followed my own drum beat, a drumbeat that took me overseas and a drum beat that led me to escape the clutches of duality. i courted favour with various forms of maya, each leaving me disappointed and somewhat shaken and stirred but eventually i harnessed my outer space skills towards inner space and found my secret weapon. you cannot destroy me.

when i first read the etchings on nevins guitar i knew he was part of the deep fix.
when i first heard louis laugh i knew he was part of the deep fix
when i first had a conversation with val i knew he was part of the deep fix and the deep fix part of him.

finally
vision manifest.
energy flows.
tides ebb
tides flow
one wonders
does one know
eternal night
infinite day
words and music
are just a vibration
the deep fix
is just an idea
but when it vibrates
it's something more
the mind is dissolved
and reassembled made anew
spirit released
in a feed back loop

sleep the luxury of middle age, i drift into a deep sleep sometime after midnight, profoundly deep, an earthquake would not intrude. faces come a haunting my dreams, strange cities and structures from a middle age, a time before time, someone says, 'human civilisation only exists at one minute to midnight on new years eve' if time is a year.
well lets get right back into say march, here i am, riding my dragon above the clouds. we soar down through the wisps of moisture and glide over the ravine and lush rainforest. my dragon is purple, a beautiful wing span that stretches wide and soft intelligent eyes that sparkle. in the distance lays my castle, upon the mountain top, impenetrable and yet exposed, there it is.
four majestic towers spiral upwards from each corner, in the distance i hear the trumpets announce our arrival.
my wives come to greet me, a dragon master comes to take my dragon away and give it food and water. i walk into the chambers, a massive throne room. advisors bring me news, the high priestess awaits patiently, she has news, there are several minor issues, housekeeping to attend to, i drink some water, i eat something sweet, i listen and address each issue as it arises. then the high priestess comes to me.
'we must tend to the plants.'
i'm no gardner but i know what she means.

so here i am in mission control, an invisible man wearing my face, generating ideas, here's one for the times.
the govt recently spent a fortune on offering homes insulation, there has been some sort of fallout as a number of companies were not qualified and jumped on the bandwagon, insulating homes without qualification, and because of this people died. this was part of a stimulus package the dudd government handed out in an effort to buy votes and save companies from collapse.
what if they had given free solar panels installed and working on the roofs of all homes, every single one, from which households use the energy and the excess is fed back into the grid. a simple but more efficient way at solving energy issues.
as well as homes suppling energy in the middle of the desert 30 feet above the ground, massive solar panels are installed, the structure is massive and goes on for hundreds of miles, this energy powers australia. underneath irrigation is used and in the shadow cast plants are grown organically, hemp. for internal use or export.
those people who want to enter australia, now work in the desert constructing such architecture, they are trained and paid a wage, a reasonable wage not a huge one, but meals and accommodation are supplied. after construction finished the people that contributed are granted citizenship, they have saved money, they have contributed and a free to live as citizens of australia.
this is the future i want to live in. the one i will make. vote captain mission now.

i have just finished reading robert harris's book 'the ghost' which is obviously based upon tony blair and the war on terror, the novel is well written and very engaging and the twists and turns are well thought out although i had worked out the final twist about a third of the way through. it's a great book to read on an aircraft, or if you want a good quality escape yet the issues are depressingly real, politics, war, terrorism and the grey areas that they have in common.
i'm about to start 'antipodes of the mind' now by benny shannon. this is the most serious book written about ayahuscia and the most important in many ways. i'll keep you posted.

i guess i am not the most popular person in the world but i never really felt that was anything i needed, i have a handful of friends, people who i trust with my life and that's all i need. i know who i am and what i am here for, this makes me dangerous and generally most people i have got to know end up wanting to destroy me or see me fail. in fact this is the norm. therefore i have to retreat into my inner sanctum, and those enemies that i have will eventually learn that they cannot defeat me, only strengthen my will. i suffer greatly for my own misgivings, my failures and weaknesses and this is really enough. the idea that people want me to feel worse says more about them than me.

captain mission gets the call early afternoon, cooking fish is an area of expertise, the one menu item i know about, and my friend amalia is making a big fish but not sure how to cook it. i head to her place weighing up my options, grill, fry, steam or bake. it's a dinner party for an old friend jp who will be arriving later.
i can see the fish laying on the kitchen table, it's dead eyes, looking at us. it's decided this fish will be baked and amalia scoops out it's guts while i avert my eyes. i don't like playing with fish guts, the stink gets under my skin, it pervades and stays around attracting cats, possums, rabbits and various pesky beasties but it also makes people think i am a fisherman and i end up in bars explaining to people i have no concept of bait, lures or fish species. i just eat them. fishing types don't speak my language, i don't get it and they don't get me.
so i let amalia do this, she is an old hand at gut scooping, i sneak a look and watch her agile fingers grab handfuls of fish intestines and cast them aside, smiling while she does it, it transports me back in time and i have to admire this ruthlessness. ever adaptable amalia presents me with a gutted dead fish and some foil, i chop up some garlic, lemon and chives and we roll the fish in silver foil.
while waiting for people to arrive i raid her itunes, wow millions of amazing cds waiting for me, i rip some miles davis and oscar peterson, some jimi hendrix and massive attack.
jp arrives. it's good to see him, he looks well, healthy but confesses to being anxious, amalia sorts him out with valium and starts pouring alcohol down his neck, some one arrives with sambucca and before to long he rolls around on the floor off his head, he seems less anxious now, almost child like.
the evening dissolves and after much laughing amalia slips away, i think she must have either gone out or gone to bed and i am considering jumping in with her but i'm worried that jp may follow, he's french, so i decide i will just talk to these boys about whatever... books, internet filters, travels, the romans, tv shows.
later it's just jp and i talking about life, where we are, how we got there and it's good. i slip away.

i'm an invisible man, faceless unseen, i slip out doorways and onto the streets, lit by neon signs advertising sex, i wander through the crowds, past the bars and high heels, past the police cars and taxi's, a rat in the gutter, a dealer making deals with an assassin, a one armed midget on a skateboard, a transexual in red pvc miniskirt talking with a priest, some gay guys eating cakes from an all night cake shop. i dive into a corridor, up a flight of steps and past a room filled with mirrors.
the room is bare, empty of everything, except an old magazine that lays on the floor face down. i lock the door and gaze from the window. down below the crowds still flood the street, going about nocturnal business. no one seems to have a kind face. i skin up a joint and wait, flicking through the magazine i read an article on a pop singer from iceland, i like her, she's a singularity.
the joint feels good, i stole a big bag of grass from the scientist who was probing my brain, he didn't notice when he left me to take a phone call, i grabbed it from his desk but now i'm wishing i had taken some cash as well. stupid choice, cash or hash, my body was on auto pilot. just grabbed for need. should have used my mind. the grass is good, it's jamaican skunk, not asian. i can tell the difference. i wish there was some music but theres just the sound of traffic. i wait.
after two hours a package materialises, my instructions, my orders. there's a roll of bills, a passport, a laptop some matches and a small can of lighter fluid and a book, it's the book of enoch. i switch on the computer and see a single file on the desktop. i click on it and the word file pops open.
i read it quickly and then delete it as instructed. then pour the fluid over the laptop and strike the single match, igniting the laptop, i stuff the magazine on the flames and leave carrying the book. i have my orders. i don't know why they didn't send a phone instead it would have come in handy, i guess there are surveillance issues.
i need a face, i need a face man.
the best face man lives in a high rise apartment uptown, i jump a cab, hide the book under the seat, hijacking a ride with some drunk kids, they are talking nonsense to the driver from the back seat, i am up front, as they drive past i jump out, the driver yells as the door opens and the kids laugh.i walk along the main street and turn left into an alley way. slipping down a small street i press a security buzzer.
the face man is home, he buzzes me up.
'any idea?' he asks.
'yeah male, 40's, kinda distinguished and hip, a cross between a shaman and a beat poet.'
'i have a face for you.'
his work is good. first class a true crafts man. i like the shaved head and the facial hair. i like the dark penetrating eyes, fierce intelligence and yet something sad lurking beneath. i like the feel of this face, and the hands are a perfect match, yeah, i can live in a suit like this.
i pay him a large sum. we drink some whisky and i use his phone. i need a place to stay, i have some people find me something outside the city, a beach shack in the north. i smoke a few joints with the face man, we talk about the old days. around morning the phone rings and i am informed they found a place for me. i go check it out. it's perfect. i order some equipment. i start to write.
following my orders.

post trauma i'm walking around like an egyptian mummy, the doctors are amazed at my regeneration powers, dr. who has nothing on me, i heal fast. some head shrink asks me questions
'what is your first memory?'
'well there was this huge explosion of light.'
'what day is it?'
'today.'
'where are you?'
'here'
'why are you so elusive?'
'a fish'
'what will you do now?'
'everything'
'how did you heal so fast?'
'will power'
'what is the meaning of life?'
i start to laugh and they inject me with more drugs. they peel of the bandages to see i am invisible.
i don't mind the drugs, they space me out a bit, it's like a holiday from myself, i go travelling through while they prod, poke, scan and chart me.
when they send me through the magnetic doughnut machine i cause an electrical blackout, the system crashes.
technicians run around, a man in a suit comes from his office and gawks at me, he pulls out a mobile phone.
at night i sneak outside and cclimb up on the rooftop with adrianna the sexy nurse, we smoke joints and watch the stars, i point out sirius.
'that's home baby, i'll take you there one day.'
she giggles and starts to kiss me. we make love on the ceiling and spend the night star gazing. she peels of her human skin revealing herself, she points to pleades and says in her husky voice,
'that's home baby, i'll take you there one day.'
later they put me on a bench and strap some wires into my brain and inject me with some kind of sedative, i slip into a sweet erotic dream. when i wake up the machines are burnt to a crisp.
adrianna and i start to fall in love, we know there are connections between us we can not yet unfathom, we speculate we are agents deep undercover. on a mission we can't quite recall, working for different teams but thrown together, destiny.
one day they hypnotise me and interrogate me. the interrogator attempts to send me back into my early years and he is shadowed by a neuroscientist who has my eyes hooked up to a screen magnifying them thousands of times. unfortunately the neuroscientist has some sort of epileptic seizure and the interrogator begins to regress to his own childhood, he starts crying for his mother.
one night adrianna and i decide we must hack into the mainframe and find a clue to our mission. she surfs through the terminals and accesses the secret files and folders, she breaks through the encryptions and codes, she is navigating her way into the darkest parts of the zeros and ones when she finds the doorway. she gives me a confirmation look, i nod and she descends through the gateway.
seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours, i watch her unable to assist. then suddenly without warning she returns.
she looks at me, i can register the shock in her eyes. it's inevitable, we are looking for one another, we found one another, now we must kill one another.
love has a strange way of working.
'come on adrianna, we don't have to do anything, we are free.'
but i am looking at the weapon she has pointed at my head. she is crying.
'i'm so sorry, i have to follow my orders.'
'do we have to follow orders.'
'i love you so much.'
she says, her fingers start to squeeze the trigger and her eyes begin to close.
she never saw my blade coming at her neck.
as she lay on the floor gasping i stand over her.
some one speaks with my voice, i don't really recognise it,
'everyone is programmed to follow their orders adrianna. they think they are free but they are not. even if they don't follow their direct orders and attempt to rebel, they are just following higher orders. it's a fucking closed system baby. theres no escape, except one.'
she can't believe it. she gasps to speak but can't quite manage. it and the words come out distorted, i think she starts choking on her blood. i make out her final words
'thank you.'

over here at mission control we had a massive dose of summer, very hot, unbelivable, people just chilled out, drank and slept, it was to hot for anything, then suddenly a week of rain. not just normal rain, a years worth in one week. it was incredible, you couldn't drive or walk anywhere, people wore wetsuits to the shops and canoed to work.
i must admit i dislike rain, plus i have a leaky roof which is home to some cute furry creatures, so the wildlife moved in with me for a week, i tell you man, i had had wallabies, possums, bats, spiders and my dog all holed up. i was attempting to play scrabble with them but they don't play by the same rules as me.
anyway the rain stopped and they returned upstairs, which is just as well cos they fucking trashed my place.
summers resumed and back with a vengeance. that intense sun bites the skin.
i went to tims house for dinner, he has a nice place, it's 3 million bucks of beautiful architecture and interior, he was playing some very cool music, indian stuff ragas. we planned some amazon stuff and talked about cuba being a possibility.

many years ago, 18 perhaps, you (jakob) was obsessed about a book i was reading, called 'rule of bone' it had a bright cover and i carried it around but never actually read it. he would always ask me what it was about, he would always ask if he could look at the cover and kept repeating the word bone. he asked me what the bone was, and i could not tell him as i had not read it.
anyway last week i moved all his books in to my place and he told me 'rule of the bone' was his fave book ever. so i picked it up and read it. strange how the past catches up, circles everywhere. anyways it is a great book a huck finn for our times and i can see why he licked it so much. what a fantastic novel.

now i am reading 'renegade' the autobiography of mark e smith from the english band 'the fall' and i have to say it's one of the best music books i have read. he is brilliant and i totally agree with his points except the drinking. i don't really like drinking much. he comes across as a total individual, unique in the same way as steve is but from manchester. his observations are just spot on, he really has a perception that i enjoyed. a man out of time, ahead of his time. very funny to.

halfway through life, am i closer to what i needed than before, yes, but also further away, life is paradox, like some chinese puzzle. i look back in reflection and i think i have travelled far, journeyed over land and sea but also the other landscapes, the terrain of the explorer is multi dimensional, it comes in all directions emotional, physical and spiritual and mental, it's the quadrant formation, but it exists in a sphere. and then when you think it's fixed the boundaries change, one cannot observe and measure the particle and the wave.
the weather churns me up, i don't like rain, it takes me to an unhappy childhood in the streets of london, a place i do not like yet have to return. rain takes me to skool a place that destroyed me and left me with a deep resentment. i was a quiet, introverted boy lost in his imagination and despite the anger and wrath of my teachers stayed in there. years of humiliation and looking for escape routes, hitching around the usa was my first taste of freedom from this. i travelled places, met people, saw the vast unbounded nature morph from car windows, slept under stars in deserts and lived in abandoned shacks in the woods. so from that oint onwards i knew there were other ways. mystical experiences are born from wonder, my path was shaped by a strange eccentric family on my fathers side, especially my grandfather who i have talked about in these blogs.

now i have a better understanding of who i am, where i am in space and time, why i am, the wonder is not so strong. the ayahuscia experience has helped me greatly determine what i am. the intelligence of plants is much more useful to me than human. i am done with humans.

but then i look at them sad and lonely, trying to figure out their way, going through the motions half asleep and dazed from the constructs they cling to. i feel like reaching out to those i do love, the people i really fucking am grateful for to have in my life, jakob my amazing son who is so beautiful and brilliant, my band who i fucking love and respect and my friends, evan, the high priestess, tim, gravy err okay im short on friends but i'm happy with these special people and i'm most grateful for the teachers of lessons, they have ranged from writers who i have absorbed to musicians i respect to ex girlfriends and most of all to my enemies. i love my enemies. i really do. and that is where i am at halfway through life.

the god part of the brain again, i am convinced that the author is mistaken, his early reaction to hallucinogens created an imprint that stayed with him and his rescue by pharmaceuticals confirmed and validated his perception. he talks about this in his introduction. with this imprint he is already formed the part of the brain synaptic network that will lock this belief in, therefore it is true for him, and science will validate it. ego remains alive. yet the aya experience is death, how can this death be meaningless and concerned with genetics when it is a process that can only be navigated by a spiritual surrender. the science would say that this is neurology and they are correct but the same applies to the spiritualistic view of shamanism, belief is the key.
if i looked at some one with a mental illness i could cure them with medication or shamanism which would mean banishing demonic entities from the mind. they are the same, just different language only the shaman is much more powerful as it is natural. the chemical approach would involve suppression and brain chemical alteration. in the end the god part of the brain actually proves nothing, but acts a theory exactly the same way shamanism is. both are constructed measures of reality in a way. however science is a cynics path towards god. and there is nothing wrong with that because there is nothing worse than blind faith.

dream - i am driving a van with a passenger who is in a wheelchair, i have instructions to take the an to a specific area, a sort of educational facility that is part of the old university i went to where i studied photography. i park the van and push what appears to be an empty wheelchair through a small shopping area and restaurant. we have parked the van near a small air strip and i watch the planes take off. then i enter the educational facility and report to what appears to be my old lecturers classroom where ex students are gathered to finish some kind of exam. each student was asked to list a book or books that influenced their images, i have chosen henry millers 'tropic' trilogy.

i think tis dream has something to do with a return to the uk, and old faces. it's like a journey but i'm travelling with my experience (symbolised by the wheelchair) where i have gone from (the university) to the return. the 'tropic' series i have not read, yet i know they are about henry millers stay in paris, an americans adventures, here i am the henry millar in australia, an english person returning to the uk.

one mans woman is another mans
well i am travelling through my life on minus hours sleep, through the rain, the lightning and the thunder, i am in the floating world, numb like i'm on some weird illegal anaesthetic. come on sister take a ride in my bubble, we can cruise past the supermarkets of your desires, picking up some soft porn breakfast cereal and jack up on seventeen varieties of milk, me i like my rice milk. the bubble wants to go left but it's having navigation issues, sabotaged by weird energy beams from the solar flares that penetrate the morning we take a sharp right. i meet up with a friend who has returned from the ukraine, he has been internet dating, spending about one year trawling through the profiles and building up cybernetic friendships with hundreds of girls desperate for escape, and by the law of numbers he found one, now he has returned with a sparkle in his eyes and the hope of return. he shows me photographs on his lap top, looks pretty cold, the girls all look unreal, the photos are glamourous and i see the glamour. i have to escape in my pod as a wave of nausea hits me between the eyes, the desperation bleeds onto the streets and i find some moments sanctuary with another friend tim who has recovered from a dose of gout, but he still laughs about death, crop circles and energetic vibrations and frequencies and general perfection. i like this conversation, i enter into it and we agree an all points metaphysical. the bubble takes me home, i shower, clean my teeth several times, and fall onto the bed, no sleep just a kind of stillness. i have not slept in 48 hours.

wake up, from awake state, a sleep i never had, missed rem, dreams with eyes open is just life, i travel in to the city, i meet martin my brother for a quick lunch and to pick up some posters he has very kindly printed for me. i wander through the bookshops, adyar has nothing new, i wander through the dead can dance section in the cd shop, oh how i have fallen in love with that band, i travel back to my friend mike who is dealing with his mother, she has dementia, its very difficult, i feel for him and his poor mum, i travel to sue and simons for fish pie and lots of wine. i have a good evening, pansy eats some sardines and rice, he is happy laying on the floor with sue. i am relaxed and drive back on the strange roads black with new surface, there is no traffic, no sounds except mick harvey on cd.
i feel inspired and like i have purpose.

the high priestess and i have been drawn into a war with some islamic cult leader, called wahid, who has gate crashed the aya forums with his own syrian rue influence. the war started when the high preistess called him on the fact ayahuscia is not syrian rue. i joined forces with her as wahids posts were extremely nausiating and derogetory to hers. then some dude called woody woodpecker starts to join in, deconmstructing my posts with some weird sacrcastic bent. anyway the out come is the islamic ego cult have backed down, acknowledging that syrian rue is different from ayahuscia.
wonderful result.
this morning i meet my reckless friend amalia who is a kind of globtrotting rock chick with nice feet, we decide to get our feet pampered at one of those feet places but it's so ticklish i can't stop laughing. very funny morning except for the parking ticket.
i have unpacked jakobs books, they are identical to mine, we read the same books.