i forgot to mention in yesterdays blog while i was wandering about carnaby street with jake we had this conversation about fashion.
'jakob your very fashionable and have a trendy look.'
'no i'm not trendy.'
'you are very trendy, look at you, you're like the cat walk model looking for the cat walk.'
'i'm so not trendy dad.'
'only a super trendy person would say that.'
then someone stops us, a lady and a guy with a camera.
she asks if she can take jakobs photograph for the evening standard newspapers fashion pages. jake does some poses and answers some questions, when they ask him what his occupation is he replies, 'zookeeper.'
as we wander off he looks at me to which i say, 'well if you were not trendy before you are now.'
i aslo walk by a shop called, 'the great beast' it's a gothic type shop that has been around for at least 30 years and i actually bought my first ever ring from there. we go in and look around, they are playing 'riders on the storm' the doors beautiful keyboards slide through the air and we look at their amazing stuff. even jake likes it.
i still have that ring, it's a silver pentagram with a moonstone in the middle, quite striking and beautifully made. occasionally i will wear it but now i am to fat, you don't see many fat goths.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
this morning jake and i are heading into london, he needs to open a bank account and get a new mobile number, neither of which we do, and he wants to look at some clothes shops. i’m his guide being a dedicated follower of fashion.
before i leave i ask my mum if i can get the phone number of the house seeing as though my mobile is not picking up signals, although it receives and sends texts. so there i am in the kitchen asking for the phone number.
my mum goes to her address book and gets out all her numbers from overseas.
‘mum i just want the home phone number.’
‘why don’t you take all the numbers?’
‘i don’t need all the numbers i just want the home number.’
then before i can even breath she starts screaming at me, ‘why don’t you want the other phone numbers i was calling you this morning to give them to you but you were not listening, your just rude, in fact everyone says you are rude, not just me, everyone.’
so standing my ground i reply, ‘i didn’t hear you calling me at all, i was in my room, or having a shower but i did not hear you.’
so she goes on, ‘you don’t listen, your a rude man and it’s not just me that says it.’
i’m fighting my inner conflicts, how easy it would be to just fucking hit her. i mean how much can a man take. i’ve had a life time of this shit and there’s only so much abuse im prepared to take. i saw this coming and made an informed choice to see it through, basically for my dad, but it’s the devils bargain really, i have to much self worth and respect for myself.
so i say very calmly, ‘mum, come on. think about what you’re saying. i have asked you for one phone number and look at your response.’
more allegations of rudeness and not listening.
‘well actually it’s you that are not listening, i have said several times i just want your home phone number. it’s really simple.there’s nothing rude about that at all.’
‘everyone thinks your very rude.’
then i snap.
‘the only person in this house who is rude is you, your actually a very rude abusive person who twists and distorts things and uses an outdated and ineffective form of emotional blackmail to make me feel guilty or inferior but all it does is make you something really ugly.’
i walk out.
this is what i am up against, a mentally ill mother who spends every moment of her time degrading me and comparing me to martin who is her favored son. while i have no objection to her favorite’s i do to being personally attacked and degraded. fuck her.
i walk out into the garage and confront my dad.
‘i came here to see you dad, not her but you may as well just take me back to the airport because i’m actually not interested in being abused by her madness anymore. it was okay when i was a kid and helpless and unable to defend myself against something i didn’t understand but things have changed, i’m actually an adult who can distinguish between whats healthy and what’s not.’
dad looks at me, he looks sad. ‘i’ll talk to her.’
i jump in the car with martin and jake and while jake is incredibly sensitive to the dynamics martin smirks and diminishes the issues. for him he cannot empathize, cannot sympathize or cannot recognize what a sensitive situation exists, he has no experience of mental illness and is desensitized to her behavior completely, plus he’s never on the receiving end as he’s some sort of corporate guy and i work with, wait for it, people with mental illnesses.
of course i always have.
jake and i go to see martins flat, it’s wonderful, massive great big place in the centre of islington, very nice place save for the animal skins on the floor.
we help him carry some furniture in then head of to the train station, jake lights up a cigarette, he’s hanging out for a smoke. he asks if i want one knowing what i have been through in the morning, ‘jake’ i say, ‘i’m going to need something stronger than that.’
wandering around london in the pouring rain, i take jake to all my favorite clothes ares, when i was his age i was the same, it’s incredible to believe but i was a sharp dresser once upon a time. so we walk along the back streets of carnaby st where i used to work.
in the summer holidays back around 1977 i worked in a punk rock shop next to a shop that boy george owned. i think i wrote about this period in an earlier blog but it was a time when london was vital, it was exciting and vibrant but wandering along it now it feels really tragic.
there’s lots of little second hand shops and jake and i go on a wild hunt for outrageous stuff, he ends up buying a few things and a burgundy bag while i find a black punk jacket with an anarchist sign on the back. fuck it i think to myself, i’m an anarchistic kind of person and this seems quite apt given i was just reminiscing about my punk days to jake.
as we wandered down wardour street i told him about the marquee club and the 100 club and all the bands i saw there.
x ray spex,
the ruts
the clash
the jam
siouxsie and the banshees
the vibrators
the sound
eddie and the hot rods
the slits
the damned
the buzzcocks
the adverts
and on it goes...
punk wasn’t just an aggressive noise it was a movement, a reaction to smash up all the control and power and take things into our own hands, it was about doing it yourself, do it yourself bands, where it didn't matter if there was no lead guitar solo or drum solo but just an energy and some good words, it didn't matter that the magazine was printed n glossy paper with lots of adverts, instead it was just photocopied fanzines and free press covering music politics fashion and design. yeah those punk years were amazing but as all counter culture movements it was repackaged and consumed by the mass market and instantly lost it’s integrity and therefore it’s power. this is why bands like the church are so valuable, they don’t compromise, they remain true and hold on to their essence. sk and mwp told me once they wrote a manifesto as kids starting out that stated their intentions and they stuck with it, thirty years later.
anyways jake leaves me in london’s biggest bookshop, foyles in charing cross. i notice that
phillip pullman has a very interesting book out called ‘the good man jesus and the scoundrel christ’ which looks brilliant but i am so broke i can’t buy it. jake and i discuss pooling resources to get it, he’s also a big pullman fan but we decide to wait for the paperback.
i am looking at the sci fi when i over hear a conversation between two scottish girls,
they are talking about ‘cites of the red night’ from which my name sake captain mission plays a large role. one says, ‘it’s his best book, really good, there’s this great pirate in it called, captain mission.’
when i read that book i was already known as captain mission but after reading it knew that it was a name that i felt an affinity to. although if you are thinking of a burroughs book, read ‘ghost of a chance’ in which captain mission is the main character and it is a great environmental message.
i hover upon the edge of actually saying something but then i think better of it, i mean what can i say, ‘hey i am captain mission’. it’s a bit like saying to a stranger ‘i am sherlock holmes.’
another strange thing about london is the coffee is crap, really the worst coffee i have ever had the only place is starbucks, one every few blocks.
we wander through the small alley ways of covent garden, all designer labels and high price tags, jakob and i are definitely on a second hand budget but we admire the suits and styles.
as we head home on the tube i begin to feel the dread, we are both exhausted, i confess to jake, ‘i don’t think i can last.’
jake says, ‘mmm, try to be positive, keep positive or it will get worse.’
‘i’ll try. thanks for listening jake, i’m really grateful that you understand.’
‘oh i understand, she is nuts.’
ha there’s always that moment where the student outgrows the teacher.
before i leave i ask my mum if i can get the phone number of the house seeing as though my mobile is not picking up signals, although it receives and sends texts. so there i am in the kitchen asking for the phone number.
my mum goes to her address book and gets out all her numbers from overseas.
‘mum i just want the home phone number.’
‘why don’t you take all the numbers?’
‘i don’t need all the numbers i just want the home number.’
then before i can even breath she starts screaming at me, ‘why don’t you want the other phone numbers i was calling you this morning to give them to you but you were not listening, your just rude, in fact everyone says you are rude, not just me, everyone.’
so standing my ground i reply, ‘i didn’t hear you calling me at all, i was in my room, or having a shower but i did not hear you.’
so she goes on, ‘you don’t listen, your a rude man and it’s not just me that says it.’
i’m fighting my inner conflicts, how easy it would be to just fucking hit her. i mean how much can a man take. i’ve had a life time of this shit and there’s only so much abuse im prepared to take. i saw this coming and made an informed choice to see it through, basically for my dad, but it’s the devils bargain really, i have to much self worth and respect for myself.
so i say very calmly, ‘mum, come on. think about what you’re saying. i have asked you for one phone number and look at your response.’
more allegations of rudeness and not listening.
‘well actually it’s you that are not listening, i have said several times i just want your home phone number. it’s really simple.there’s nothing rude about that at all.’
‘everyone thinks your very rude.’
then i snap.
‘the only person in this house who is rude is you, your actually a very rude abusive person who twists and distorts things and uses an outdated and ineffective form of emotional blackmail to make me feel guilty or inferior but all it does is make you something really ugly.’
i walk out.
this is what i am up against, a mentally ill mother who spends every moment of her time degrading me and comparing me to martin who is her favored son. while i have no objection to her favorite’s i do to being personally attacked and degraded. fuck her.
i walk out into the garage and confront my dad.
‘i came here to see you dad, not her but you may as well just take me back to the airport because i’m actually not interested in being abused by her madness anymore. it was okay when i was a kid and helpless and unable to defend myself against something i didn’t understand but things have changed, i’m actually an adult who can distinguish between whats healthy and what’s not.’
dad looks at me, he looks sad. ‘i’ll talk to her.’
i jump in the car with martin and jake and while jake is incredibly sensitive to the dynamics martin smirks and diminishes the issues. for him he cannot empathize, cannot sympathize or cannot recognize what a sensitive situation exists, he has no experience of mental illness and is desensitized to her behavior completely, plus he’s never on the receiving end as he’s some sort of corporate guy and i work with, wait for it, people with mental illnesses.
of course i always have.
jake and i go to see martins flat, it’s wonderful, massive great big place in the centre of islington, very nice place save for the animal skins on the floor.
we help him carry some furniture in then head of to the train station, jake lights up a cigarette, he’s hanging out for a smoke. he asks if i want one knowing what i have been through in the morning, ‘jake’ i say, ‘i’m going to need something stronger than that.’
wandering around london in the pouring rain, i take jake to all my favorite clothes ares, when i was his age i was the same, it’s incredible to believe but i was a sharp dresser once upon a time. so we walk along the back streets of carnaby st where i used to work.
in the summer holidays back around 1977 i worked in a punk rock shop next to a shop that boy george owned. i think i wrote about this period in an earlier blog but it was a time when london was vital, it was exciting and vibrant but wandering along it now it feels really tragic.
there’s lots of little second hand shops and jake and i go on a wild hunt for outrageous stuff, he ends up buying a few things and a burgundy bag while i find a black punk jacket with an anarchist sign on the back. fuck it i think to myself, i’m an anarchistic kind of person and this seems quite apt given i was just reminiscing about my punk days to jake.
as we wandered down wardour street i told him about the marquee club and the 100 club and all the bands i saw there.
x ray spex,
the ruts
the clash
the jam
siouxsie and the banshees
the vibrators
the sound
eddie and the hot rods
the slits
the damned
the buzzcocks
the adverts
and on it goes...
punk wasn’t just an aggressive noise it was a movement, a reaction to smash up all the control and power and take things into our own hands, it was about doing it yourself, do it yourself bands, where it didn't matter if there was no lead guitar solo or drum solo but just an energy and some good words, it didn't matter that the magazine was printed n glossy paper with lots of adverts, instead it was just photocopied fanzines and free press covering music politics fashion and design. yeah those punk years were amazing but as all counter culture movements it was repackaged and consumed by the mass market and instantly lost it’s integrity and therefore it’s power. this is why bands like the church are so valuable, they don’t compromise, they remain true and hold on to their essence. sk and mwp told me once they wrote a manifesto as kids starting out that stated their intentions and they stuck with it, thirty years later.
anyways jake leaves me in london’s biggest bookshop, foyles in charing cross. i notice that
phillip pullman has a very interesting book out called ‘the good man jesus and the scoundrel christ’ which looks brilliant but i am so broke i can’t buy it. jake and i discuss pooling resources to get it, he’s also a big pullman fan but we decide to wait for the paperback.
i am looking at the sci fi when i over hear a conversation between two scottish girls,
they are talking about ‘cites of the red night’ from which my name sake captain mission plays a large role. one says, ‘it’s his best book, really good, there’s this great pirate in it called, captain mission.’
when i read that book i was already known as captain mission but after reading it knew that it was a name that i felt an affinity to. although if you are thinking of a burroughs book, read ‘ghost of a chance’ in which captain mission is the main character and it is a great environmental message.
i hover upon the edge of actually saying something but then i think better of it, i mean what can i say, ‘hey i am captain mission’. it’s a bit like saying to a stranger ‘i am sherlock holmes.’
another strange thing about london is the coffee is crap, really the worst coffee i have ever had the only place is starbucks, one every few blocks.
we wander through the small alley ways of covent garden, all designer labels and high price tags, jakob and i are definitely on a second hand budget but we admire the suits and styles.
as we head home on the tube i begin to feel the dread, we are both exhausted, i confess to jake, ‘i don’t think i can last.’
jake says, ‘mmm, try to be positive, keep positive or it will get worse.’
‘i’ll try. thanks for listening jake, i’m really grateful that you understand.’
‘oh i understand, she is nuts.’
ha there’s always that moment where the student outgrows the teacher.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
driving around my old haunts. i stop to look at horses galloping in a muddy field, the sound of hooves, the splatter of mud as it's thrown up, the breathe that escapes their nostrils, it's cold and misty, slightly perfect for the scene. i recall horse riding with my girlfriend when i was younger, we had two horses sparkle and sapphire. i met sarah in america.
having left university and getting a job with a fashion photographer in london i quickly became bored with the glamour and photographers assistant life. i was paid peanuts, had to set up all the shots and this guy would come in and press the shutter, then he would leave me to run down the lab and organise the printing. my days would finish so late i'd end up staying in the studio, i met a lot of people but fr the $ i was getting i felt some what exploited. also there was so much to the photographic industry that was business, not that much art at all. i wanted excitement and adventure and a war to document. one day in my lunch break i bought a one way ticket to the usa and packed a small bag and went off on a jack kerouac like adventure.. i ended up at newark new jersey which looked like an industrial waste land on the moon at the time, i managed to get a bus into NYC where i stayed at the Y hotel in times square, a hotel inhabited by transexuals, prostitutes, drug addicts and alcoholic poets. i liked it, the energy of NYC was wild, this was before they cleaned it up, a different city. there was an edge and a electricity that ran through the air, everything had an edge, i wandered around for a few days exploring the sights. i went up those twin towers, man they were amazing, really amazing. i roller skated through central park, bought a bag of green goddess from a rasta, they came in dime bags or nickel bags at that time. imagine that with the cost of inflation now.
i met a couple of girls wendy and adrieana whom seemed to adopt me, they paid for everything, gave me the keys to their home, a loan of a car, tennis lessons, took me out for dinner, to bars and clubs, we had a great time. i went to see gremlins with them, it was the first time it was showing in the cinema so it was quite an event, a premiere. i'd never been to one and never even heard of gremlins. before the movie we went to a bar and drunk about half a bottle of jack danials each, plus we'd smoked a dime bag and taken some quaaludes which all the young girls seemed to do in america, we were very very smashed.
i recall wanting to see zelig the woody allen film that was also opening instead but the girls insisted we would see gremlins. everything was fine till they pul a gremlin in a liquidizer, then i could feel the nausea.
oh what a night, the three of us absolutely trashed. i never saw the end of gremlins but we did go see zelig the following week which i loved but the girls didn't, in fact they almost got thrown out for flicking popcorn at the people below.
i was in a bar, late night drinking millar beer reading john fowles the magus. when a guy sits next to me, we start talking, chewing the fat and it turns out this guy, gene, runs a therapeutic agency based out in pennsylvania where inner city impoverished and disadvantaged kids get a taste of life in the country side and an adventure along with counselling, he employs about 70 staff and they work with these kids. take them camping, give them tennis lessons, go kayaking, water skiing, swimming, and run these therapy sessions where they get to talk about their personal issues. he asks me if i want a job as he has one vacancy driving speed boats for the water skiers.
'oh yeah i can do that.'
i say ever the opportunist.of course i have never been in a speed boat in my life before but i know it can't be to difficult. he offers to pay me cash, feed and accommodate me. writes an address down along side a date and time. asks me to show up pre camp so i can set up the site with the other staff.
i break the news to the girls who are not happy.
i have about three weeks before i need to be at round lake in pa so i potter around new york, smoking and exploring the place, the girls are withdrawing and i feel a bit sad but what the hell, they were beginning to give me a head ache. we did have a lot of fun though but i will never touch JD again.
i hitched down to the location, rocked up to the jetty where a few young guys were mucking around on the boats, i asked for a quick lesson in how to drive them, a guy with blond curly hair takes me out for a spin. we are travelling across this huge lake, i take the wheel and throttle. i get a feel for it, easy. we must be travelling at 70mph when he says what ever you do don't spin the wheel.and off course i do. the boat turns at a 90 degree angle and we both go flying, fortunately i have one hand on the wheel and correct it before we are thrown overboard.
anyway i make my apologies and head back to shore with his guy who is actually very cool about it, he gives me all the information i need to know about driving power boats for water skiers.. i report to gene and he invites me to dinner with his family. they stay in a big house at the top of the facility, it's a massive operation, there are about 12 cabins each sleep 12 kids with one councillor, they are in a horse shoe shape around an american flag. there's a canteen and a nurses quarters. the whole thing is built around a massive lake and mountain range, it's quite beautiful. some of the staff are staff have arrived and they look kinda beautiful to.
anyway i take to driving speedboats like a duck to water, it's in my blood, out in the sun on the water, the sound of laughing kids, i keep everything cool, no speeding, safety first, start feeling some responsibility for the first time in my life.
the strangest thing is these kids all take a shine to me, they start hanging out with me, taking to me, i'm not sure if it was my strange accent or the fact i never asked them how they were feeling but i guess they felt i was a novelty and somewhat safe.
each evening i would be invited to have a meal with gene and his family and i would start bringing up in conversation small bits of information that these kids told me about their home life or some event that they had been through and gene said i was actually getting more information than the councillors. i think the reason these kids liked me and felt okay about opening up to me was i was just a big kid myself, the speedboats were the most fun i ever had, i laughed all day long and never took anything to seriously. i never really knew what to say to these kids after they told me they ad been abused or beaten or whatever it was, i just said something silly like, 'jesus man that's heavy shit, your a great kid, really smart and your family are fucked up.'
really bad huh?
anyway the kids liked this, they liked not having to open up everything and then being told their parents were fucked up. i think it confirms what they know but are afraid to acknowledge.
however i was totally naive about this and it was an area i was careful not to dabble in.
often gene would give me a task, 'see if you can get harry to talk about his pets.'
i'd return the following night saying, 'harry's mother flushed his puppy down the toilet in front of him,'
yeah it got pretty intense.
anyways gene asked me if i wanted a job as a councillor next year he would offer me on site training with his other councillors who were acknowledging that i was relatively good. i agreed, seemed like a good idea.
anyway for the rest of that season i just drove boats but i met sarah who was an english horse riding instructor.
when we returned to the uk i moved into her place and learnt how to ride. i like horses, although keeping them is hard work and not my idea of fun.
watching these horses in the field running along took me back.
having left university and getting a job with a fashion photographer in london i quickly became bored with the glamour and photographers assistant life. i was paid peanuts, had to set up all the shots and this guy would come in and press the shutter, then he would leave me to run down the lab and organise the printing. my days would finish so late i'd end up staying in the studio, i met a lot of people but fr the $ i was getting i felt some what exploited. also there was so much to the photographic industry that was business, not that much art at all. i wanted excitement and adventure and a war to document. one day in my lunch break i bought a one way ticket to the usa and packed a small bag and went off on a jack kerouac like adventure.. i ended up at newark new jersey which looked like an industrial waste land on the moon at the time, i managed to get a bus into NYC where i stayed at the Y hotel in times square, a hotel inhabited by transexuals, prostitutes, drug addicts and alcoholic poets. i liked it, the energy of NYC was wild, this was before they cleaned it up, a different city. there was an edge and a electricity that ran through the air, everything had an edge, i wandered around for a few days exploring the sights. i went up those twin towers, man they were amazing, really amazing. i roller skated through central park, bought a bag of green goddess from a rasta, they came in dime bags or nickel bags at that time. imagine that with the cost of inflation now.
i met a couple of girls wendy and adrieana whom seemed to adopt me, they paid for everything, gave me the keys to their home, a loan of a car, tennis lessons, took me out for dinner, to bars and clubs, we had a great time. i went to see gremlins with them, it was the first time it was showing in the cinema so it was quite an event, a premiere. i'd never been to one and never even heard of gremlins. before the movie we went to a bar and drunk about half a bottle of jack danials each, plus we'd smoked a dime bag and taken some quaaludes which all the young girls seemed to do in america, we were very very smashed.
i recall wanting to see zelig the woody allen film that was also opening instead but the girls insisted we would see gremlins. everything was fine till they pul a gremlin in a liquidizer, then i could feel the nausea.
oh what a night, the three of us absolutely trashed. i never saw the end of gremlins but we did go see zelig the following week which i loved but the girls didn't, in fact they almost got thrown out for flicking popcorn at the people below.
i was in a bar, late night drinking millar beer reading john fowles the magus. when a guy sits next to me, we start talking, chewing the fat and it turns out this guy, gene, runs a therapeutic agency based out in pennsylvania where inner city impoverished and disadvantaged kids get a taste of life in the country side and an adventure along with counselling, he employs about 70 staff and they work with these kids. take them camping, give them tennis lessons, go kayaking, water skiing, swimming, and run these therapy sessions where they get to talk about their personal issues. he asks me if i want a job as he has one vacancy driving speed boats for the water skiers.
'oh yeah i can do that.'
i say ever the opportunist.of course i have never been in a speed boat in my life before but i know it can't be to difficult. he offers to pay me cash, feed and accommodate me. writes an address down along side a date and time. asks me to show up pre camp so i can set up the site with the other staff.
i break the news to the girls who are not happy.
i have about three weeks before i need to be at round lake in pa so i potter around new york, smoking and exploring the place, the girls are withdrawing and i feel a bit sad but what the hell, they were beginning to give me a head ache. we did have a lot of fun though but i will never touch JD again.
i hitched down to the location, rocked up to the jetty where a few young guys were mucking around on the boats, i asked for a quick lesson in how to drive them, a guy with blond curly hair takes me out for a spin. we are travelling across this huge lake, i take the wheel and throttle. i get a feel for it, easy. we must be travelling at 70mph when he says what ever you do don't spin the wheel.and off course i do. the boat turns at a 90 degree angle and we both go flying, fortunately i have one hand on the wheel and correct it before we are thrown overboard.
anyway i make my apologies and head back to shore with his guy who is actually very cool about it, he gives me all the information i need to know about driving power boats for water skiers.. i report to gene and he invites me to dinner with his family. they stay in a big house at the top of the facility, it's a massive operation, there are about 12 cabins each sleep 12 kids with one councillor, they are in a horse shoe shape around an american flag. there's a canteen and a nurses quarters. the whole thing is built around a massive lake and mountain range, it's quite beautiful. some of the staff are staff have arrived and they look kinda beautiful to.
anyway i take to driving speedboats like a duck to water, it's in my blood, out in the sun on the water, the sound of laughing kids, i keep everything cool, no speeding, safety first, start feeling some responsibility for the first time in my life.
the strangest thing is these kids all take a shine to me, they start hanging out with me, taking to me, i'm not sure if it was my strange accent or the fact i never asked them how they were feeling but i guess they felt i was a novelty and somewhat safe.
each evening i would be invited to have a meal with gene and his family and i would start bringing up in conversation small bits of information that these kids told me about their home life or some event that they had been through and gene said i was actually getting more information than the councillors. i think the reason these kids liked me and felt okay about opening up to me was i was just a big kid myself, the speedboats were the most fun i ever had, i laughed all day long and never took anything to seriously. i never really knew what to say to these kids after they told me they ad been abused or beaten or whatever it was, i just said something silly like, 'jesus man that's heavy shit, your a great kid, really smart and your family are fucked up.'
really bad huh?
anyway the kids liked this, they liked not having to open up everything and then being told their parents were fucked up. i think it confirms what they know but are afraid to acknowledge.
however i was totally naive about this and it was an area i was careful not to dabble in.
often gene would give me a task, 'see if you can get harry to talk about his pets.'
i'd return the following night saying, 'harry's mother flushed his puppy down the toilet in front of him,'
yeah it got pretty intense.
anyways gene asked me if i wanted a job as a councillor next year he would offer me on site training with his other councillors who were acknowledging that i was relatively good. i agreed, seemed like a good idea.
anyway for the rest of that season i just drove boats but i met sarah who was an english horse riding instructor.
when we returned to the uk i moved into her place and learnt how to ride. i like horses, although keeping them is hard work and not my idea of fun.
watching these horses in the field running along took me back.
another skool memory was cross country running, a terrible sport that was inflicted upon us kids however i took it very personally as we were forced to run in the most outrageous conditions, heavy rain, sleet, snow and blizzards while the teacher followed us in their car, yelling out, 'run faster you lazy bastard mission.'
in the end i decided with stuart we would just run away, up the heath to the cake shop where we would buy old cakes and meet two girls from the private girls skool and smoke a joint eat cake, much better than running around in the rain.
eventually we would walk back and either stuart or i would pretend we had hurt our ankle or got lost but one day the teacher caught us and made us run around a field in circles until we collapsed.
most of the teachers hated me, except my english teacher who said i was the best pupil in the class and gave me a copy of 'catcher in the rye' he encouraged me to write and offered to get my essays and stories published but the next week he was beaten up very badly by a pupil and left.
my class was perhaps one of the worst classes in the skools history, very violent, aggressive and i think potential criminals, the year below was the opposite. i hung out with the year below more, that's how i knew andy ridgly and george micheal. although andy ridgly and i did enjoy going to skool tripping on lsd, i recall once we did an art exam under the influence of very powerful lsd. actually i passed that exam with a grade B so there you go.
i left skool with 2 A levels in english and art
and 5 O levels in biology, politics, economics, english and art.
it surprised everyone including myself, although i never even bothered collecting the certificates.
the years i was finishing skool we had this class where we would learn how to sign on the dole, we were given lessons in how to apply for unemployment benefit, it was during the middle of thatchers years and there was a lot of issues, one being the war in northern island. like all the kids i had to attend the careers guidance officers office.
i rocked up without a clue as to what i wanted to do but i knew it was something to do with writing, the idea of travelling the world, living in exotic countries smoking opium and banging out wild stories really appealed to me, although now i'd probably just be happy being in sydney, however when i went into the office the career guidance councillor asked me what i wanted to be.
'a writer.' i said looking around his office at all the pictures of tanks an aircraft.
'you can't be a writer what else.'
'i want to write, that's it.'
'well have you ever thought of joining the army?'
'no.'
he pushed some papers towards me and started talking about the military life, about how a strapping young man like me would benefit from the army experience.
i left the office with the papers and a few days later found out that no matter what people had answered when they went in the office, even if they said, 'shop assistant, film director, porn actor, supermodel, las vegas lounge singer,' they were all given the paper work to sign up. most of them did, and they were sent to northern island.
at some point we all had to complete a weeks work experience, since my only experience of work so far was a paper round where i was chased by vicious swans or geese and working in a sweet shop at weekends where i gave away sweets to all the little kids who came in if i liked them i had no real idea of what experience i would like fearing they would send me to the army, but i persisted with requesting i was a writer at heart and even said i would like to be a journalist.
to my surprise the local paper employed me for a week, and i hung out with their team of journalists. of course you have to start being some kind of office boy and work your way up so my role changed every day, getting an experience of what it was like to work in a newspaper environment. i particularly enjoyed the long lunches at the pub. on my last day they sent me with the photographer to photograph the local netball teams.
now this was a defining moment. i hung out all day with these netball players who all looked awesome for their photograph and everyone knows girls love having their picture taken so there i was a 16 year old hanging out with a bunch of girls in short skirts, wow i'd discovered what i wanted to do with my life.
university- i studied photography, i had great lectures, and became obsessed with the idea of photojournalism, a marriage of all my desires but specifically a war correspondent. i had specialised in studying the war correspondents of magnum and found their work and their ideas brilliantly close to the things i felt passionate about. they mixed everything together, writing, photography and danger. some of those pics were so artistic and beautiful, some shocking and some just plain tragic.
anyway as part of my course i had to attend lectures on microfilm held by a nerdy middle aged indian guy called mr patel.
i went to a few classes then started skipping to make out with sally in the darkroom. one day mr patel saw me having lunch and told me i must attend the next class where he gave a lecture to us, apparently i was not alone in skipping his classes.
i recall how he stood before us and gave this talk about the future of society and how micro film would revolutionise the way we live. he went on about it's million and one uses and why we should attend the class. obviously he was chasing a fading star, computers made microfilm obsolete.
in the end i decided with stuart we would just run away, up the heath to the cake shop where we would buy old cakes and meet two girls from the private girls skool and smoke a joint eat cake, much better than running around in the rain.
eventually we would walk back and either stuart or i would pretend we had hurt our ankle or got lost but one day the teacher caught us and made us run around a field in circles until we collapsed.
most of the teachers hated me, except my english teacher who said i was the best pupil in the class and gave me a copy of 'catcher in the rye' he encouraged me to write and offered to get my essays and stories published but the next week he was beaten up very badly by a pupil and left.
my class was perhaps one of the worst classes in the skools history, very violent, aggressive and i think potential criminals, the year below was the opposite. i hung out with the year below more, that's how i knew andy ridgly and george micheal. although andy ridgly and i did enjoy going to skool tripping on lsd, i recall once we did an art exam under the influence of very powerful lsd. actually i passed that exam with a grade B so there you go.
i left skool with 2 A levels in english and art
and 5 O levels in biology, politics, economics, english and art.
it surprised everyone including myself, although i never even bothered collecting the certificates.
the years i was finishing skool we had this class where we would learn how to sign on the dole, we were given lessons in how to apply for unemployment benefit, it was during the middle of thatchers years and there was a lot of issues, one being the war in northern island. like all the kids i had to attend the careers guidance officers office.
i rocked up without a clue as to what i wanted to do but i knew it was something to do with writing, the idea of travelling the world, living in exotic countries smoking opium and banging out wild stories really appealed to me, although now i'd probably just be happy being in sydney, however when i went into the office the career guidance councillor asked me what i wanted to be.
'a writer.' i said looking around his office at all the pictures of tanks an aircraft.
'you can't be a writer what else.'
'i want to write, that's it.'
'well have you ever thought of joining the army?'
'no.'
he pushed some papers towards me and started talking about the military life, about how a strapping young man like me would benefit from the army experience.
i left the office with the papers and a few days later found out that no matter what people had answered when they went in the office, even if they said, 'shop assistant, film director, porn actor, supermodel, las vegas lounge singer,' they were all given the paper work to sign up. most of them did, and they were sent to northern island.
at some point we all had to complete a weeks work experience, since my only experience of work so far was a paper round where i was chased by vicious swans or geese and working in a sweet shop at weekends where i gave away sweets to all the little kids who came in if i liked them i had no real idea of what experience i would like fearing they would send me to the army, but i persisted with requesting i was a writer at heart and even said i would like to be a journalist.
to my surprise the local paper employed me for a week, and i hung out with their team of journalists. of course you have to start being some kind of office boy and work your way up so my role changed every day, getting an experience of what it was like to work in a newspaper environment. i particularly enjoyed the long lunches at the pub. on my last day they sent me with the photographer to photograph the local netball teams.
now this was a defining moment. i hung out all day with these netball players who all looked awesome for their photograph and everyone knows girls love having their picture taken so there i was a 16 year old hanging out with a bunch of girls in short skirts, wow i'd discovered what i wanted to do with my life.
university- i studied photography, i had great lectures, and became obsessed with the idea of photojournalism, a marriage of all my desires but specifically a war correspondent. i had specialised in studying the war correspondents of magnum and found their work and their ideas brilliantly close to the things i felt passionate about. they mixed everything together, writing, photography and danger. some of those pics were so artistic and beautiful, some shocking and some just plain tragic.
anyway as part of my course i had to attend lectures on microfilm held by a nerdy middle aged indian guy called mr patel.
i went to a few classes then started skipping to make out with sally in the darkroom. one day mr patel saw me having lunch and told me i must attend the next class where he gave a lecture to us, apparently i was not alone in skipping his classes.
i recall how he stood before us and gave this talk about the future of society and how micro film would revolutionise the way we live. he went on about it's million and one uses and why we should attend the class. obviously he was chasing a fading star, computers made microfilm obsolete.
kate bush, wow!
i love aerial, i think it has moments of absolute perfection, listen to it on head phones, the production is perfect, the arrangements are divine and the whole pice just sublime. it's brilliant for the nights you are alone. just a glass of wine and some memories that are flowing by, old english ones.
even though i disliked england immensely when i was younger i had some fun while i lived in it, i had very few friends, my mate stewart was a character, a sort of hippy to my punk, he was always listening to heavy rock, led zep and deep purple while i was enmeshed in bowie and punk, it was a strange friendship but i guess we were both outsiders, both very dyslexic, both forced to think outside the box, brighter than most kids but unable to tell left from right. plus we liked girls while other boys played soccer and punched one another as their prime source of passion.
and for some reasons the girls liked us. i guess we were just underdogs, and every one loves an underdog.
i had a terrible maths teacher, an awful man called mr. lockett who picked on me continually, every chance to humiliate or degrade me he would seize the moment, long rambling tirades against me, day after day, i'd just stare out the window looking at clouds while he rambled on about logarithms and cosines not realising his attitude to me was imprinting me with a terrible dislike for anything mathematical., then one day in the middle of the maths lesson he said, 'mission what is the cosine of blah blah blah', reeling of some weird number with a dot in the middle.
i look up and say the first sequence of numbers that come into my head, 3576599.37 and his jaw drops. he shakes his head, he buries his head in the logarithm book and i can see his eyes scanning the tables, then he looks at me, walks over and picks up the log book that lays closed on my desk. he walks away looking at me in absolute bewilderment.
out of all the numbers that was the right one, i don't know how i did it, i just said the first numbers that came to my head and if i had to repeat that trick i would get it wrong.
another time another teacher was picking on me, when one of the girls in my class said, 'hey why do you always pick on him.'
before i knew it all the girls started defending me and attacking the teacher who backed off and it was amazing, to think that these school girls stood up for me really was an incredible thing. most of these girls i can't recall at all except for shirley hollimen who i dated a few times but she dumped me for andrew wrigley the guy from wham who i went to skool with. later she dumped him for gary kemp the guy from spandau ballet. but while we were friends she had a best friend called tracy who was equally as gorgeous, we all became punk rockers and dyed our hair. tracy pierced her tongue with a safety pin and i fell in love with her.
what a cool girl.
i love aerial, i think it has moments of absolute perfection, listen to it on head phones, the production is perfect, the arrangements are divine and the whole pice just sublime. it's brilliant for the nights you are alone. just a glass of wine and some memories that are flowing by, old english ones.
even though i disliked england immensely when i was younger i had some fun while i lived in it, i had very few friends, my mate stewart was a character, a sort of hippy to my punk, he was always listening to heavy rock, led zep and deep purple while i was enmeshed in bowie and punk, it was a strange friendship but i guess we were both outsiders, both very dyslexic, both forced to think outside the box, brighter than most kids but unable to tell left from right. plus we liked girls while other boys played soccer and punched one another as their prime source of passion.
and for some reasons the girls liked us. i guess we were just underdogs, and every one loves an underdog.
i had a terrible maths teacher, an awful man called mr. lockett who picked on me continually, every chance to humiliate or degrade me he would seize the moment, long rambling tirades against me, day after day, i'd just stare out the window looking at clouds while he rambled on about logarithms and cosines not realising his attitude to me was imprinting me with a terrible dislike for anything mathematical., then one day in the middle of the maths lesson he said, 'mission what is the cosine of blah blah blah', reeling of some weird number with a dot in the middle.
i look up and say the first sequence of numbers that come into my head, 3576599.37 and his jaw drops. he shakes his head, he buries his head in the logarithm book and i can see his eyes scanning the tables, then he looks at me, walks over and picks up the log book that lays closed on my desk. he walks away looking at me in absolute bewilderment.
out of all the numbers that was the right one, i don't know how i did it, i just said the first numbers that came to my head and if i had to repeat that trick i would get it wrong.
another time another teacher was picking on me, when one of the girls in my class said, 'hey why do you always pick on him.'
before i knew it all the girls started defending me and attacking the teacher who backed off and it was amazing, to think that these school girls stood up for me really was an incredible thing. most of these girls i can't recall at all except for shirley hollimen who i dated a few times but she dumped me for andrew wrigley the guy from wham who i went to skool with. later she dumped him for gary kemp the guy from spandau ballet. but while we were friends she had a best friend called tracy who was equally as gorgeous, we all became punk rockers and dyed our hair. tracy pierced her tongue with a safety pin and i fell in love with her.
what a cool girl.
i'm having a few good chats with my dad, although he looks at me in a mixture of fear and wonder.i guess having a freaky beard and painted toes don't help. talking about deconstructing reality, meta programming and plant spirits maybe is a bit much for him but i don't see the point in putting on a mask and being some one i am not, i guess if i could play that game i would not attract so much angst from everyone. i still think they really resent the fact i did not become a solicitor or lawyer. who knows.their generation cannot cope with anything that is beyond their realm of understanding, i guess old people need to feel firmly based in the structures they have lived in yet i am so the opposite, always attempting to define the limits, the boundaries, like a philosophical larry david, i tend to push the argument, oh no i sound like my.....mum.
the problem with religious people is the moment you start questioning anything about what they believe or inject some humour into it they take offence.
i have managed to offend everyone.
but my point is this, if you believe something based on faith and some one laughs at that belief or questions it, and your response is to get upset or angry, how strong is your faith in the first place.
my family are so different from me, we are miles apart and i am finding it very difficult, they take their holy books at face value, they cannot understand that there are deeper esoteric meanings to stories and tales, they cannot perceive metaphor and any line of questioning results in anger or some emotional response from them that is totally over the top and unrelated to the question, in fact it defies any logic what so ever.
i am being told to respect something that they have faith in yet i do not, yet i do respect their belief in it but it is apparent any line of questioning that is to difficult to answer or controversial results in an attack upon myself.
while i can be humble enough to know when to retreat, i am smart enough to know when faith is based upon something that is a weak constructed framework. just like financial systems and political systems religious ones are very weak.
now i quite like a lot of the esoteric meaning within judaism, it's quite remarkable and my knowledge of it extends way beyond most people who deem themselves religious, but the bottom line is it is no different from any other traditional religion. people have taken the surface and called it an ocean, yet the richness and wisdom is under the surface.
i think sometimes my family fear my intellect, i think it threatens them and i feel very depressed about this. however the general attitude my mother has had about me has changed, there's a distance which is better than the awful emotional blackmail and bitterness that existed before.
i can see martins loathing of me sometimes, it a hostile and resentful glare that says much more than he may think. he thinks i don't respect the traditions or the beliefs but he is mistaken, i do.
so there it is the vast distance that lays between us as a family, me and them. always the outsider, the son that left to live in australia. truth is i was always leaving england, before australia i left to get away from my family, a bit of space helps.
i have managed to offend everyone.
but my point is this, if you believe something based on faith and some one laughs at that belief or questions it, and your response is to get upset or angry, how strong is your faith in the first place.
my family are so different from me, we are miles apart and i am finding it very difficult, they take their holy books at face value, they cannot understand that there are deeper esoteric meanings to stories and tales, they cannot perceive metaphor and any line of questioning results in anger or some emotional response from them that is totally over the top and unrelated to the question, in fact it defies any logic what so ever.
i am being told to respect something that they have faith in yet i do not, yet i do respect their belief in it but it is apparent any line of questioning that is to difficult to answer or controversial results in an attack upon myself.
while i can be humble enough to know when to retreat, i am smart enough to know when faith is based upon something that is a weak constructed framework. just like financial systems and political systems religious ones are very weak.
now i quite like a lot of the esoteric meaning within judaism, it's quite remarkable and my knowledge of it extends way beyond most people who deem themselves religious, but the bottom line is it is no different from any other traditional religion. people have taken the surface and called it an ocean, yet the richness and wisdom is under the surface.
i think sometimes my family fear my intellect, i think it threatens them and i feel very depressed about this. however the general attitude my mother has had about me has changed, there's a distance which is better than the awful emotional blackmail and bitterness that existed before.
i can see martins loathing of me sometimes, it a hostile and resentful glare that says much more than he may think. he thinks i don't respect the traditions or the beliefs but he is mistaken, i do.
so there it is the vast distance that lays between us as a family, me and them. always the outsider, the son that left to live in australia. truth is i was always leaving england, before australia i left to get away from my family, a bit of space helps.
Monday, March 29, 2010
i have been selected along with about 20 others to participate in a test. each of us will prepare a meal, from which a certain man will come and taste a sample and then tell us from that taste what life has promised us.
we are taken into a strange medieval almost fantasy environment, i feel like i am in a a sony playstation game, but it’s real. there is castles, rolling hills, dragons, ravens and medieval wenches and knights who are part of this landscape, we are all separated and told we have a certain time to prepare the meal, then we have to present it to the man who awaits at the centre of the maze.
i look at the maze, it is massive, it has a huge entrance and operates on many levels, and we are told has many dangers.
i’m uncertain how or what i prepare, it’s something i take care about but have no details, i carry it into the maze. along the way there are many challenges none are revealed in my dream, but i have an idea that it took quite an effort to get there, it was dangerous, but when i finally reach the centre i am confronted by a huge gate and a view of a tournament area that has various split levels and stairs. in the distance i can see a robed man wandering around a large table, he must be this man who tells us what life has promised us. he moves from table to table. i race towards him, just as i get to a long passage way that leads directly towards him a murder of ravens attack me, and the meal i prepared falls to the ground ruined. i wave my arms around trying to get the birds away, then a dragon appears and the birds fly away, i am running back into the maze, carefully attempting to remember my directions so i can get back. i double back on myself, this time on a different level, lower level, i realize that i can still be part of this game as all i need to do is offer a ‘taste.’ so climbing back to the spillage i grab a golden spoon and scoop up whatever it is i have prepared. then i race back.
the tasting is almost finished, i seem to be running towards the final table, but again i never get there, however whatever obstacle stops me (i think it’s some nasty knights) i still have my sample on my spoon. i pick myself up and see the man in the distance, he is finished tasting the food, the contestants all look very sad and unhappy, i wonder if it is worth knowing what life has promised but decide that i should try my very best. i grab the spoon and attempt to head the man off before he reaches the large gates he is walking towards, i can approach form the other direction. i run, very fast. it takes a few minites but i get to the gates and burst through.
below me the man stands stopped in his tracks at the figure who is approaching, he looks at me and smiles. i hold my spoon with it’s morsel of food in it with extended arm, i am walking towards him, i have beaten the clock but i throw the food to one side. his entourage all frozen in shock, time slows down and everything plays out in synchronistic detail, his jean luc pichard (patrick stewart) face, wise and gentle, the spark in his eyes, the soft voice but yet loud and clear. we both say at exactly the same time, ‘life has promised us nothing.’
he walks up to me and hugs me. he whispers in my ears with that jean luc picard kind of shakespearian gravity, ‘i love you like a brother because....’
and then i wake up.
i am trying to understand what this dream means, i don’t really know, there are so many levels to it. so many ways to interpret it. and what was he going to say, what words did i not hear, and should i know what they are.
‘and life promises us nothing.’ this is so very true, another great truth.
when i think about my battles with free will and destiny competing over my life i have understood through the years there are times when you have to recognise destiny and surrender to it, and there are times when you have to develop your will. magick is all about developing and building a relationship with your will and the engagement of it in the world. but this is a terrifying and dangerous process, that’s why the magickians path is fraught with complexities and strict guidelines, it is a maze in itself and the dragons are real.
so eventually you reach a strange conclusion, when you have done the great work, destiny and free will are the same.
‘i love you like a brother because....’ do i need the completed statement? is love enough. yeah i think it is.
we are taken into a strange medieval almost fantasy environment, i feel like i am in a a sony playstation game, but it’s real. there is castles, rolling hills, dragons, ravens and medieval wenches and knights who are part of this landscape, we are all separated and told we have a certain time to prepare the meal, then we have to present it to the man who awaits at the centre of the maze.
i look at the maze, it is massive, it has a huge entrance and operates on many levels, and we are told has many dangers.
i’m uncertain how or what i prepare, it’s something i take care about but have no details, i carry it into the maze. along the way there are many challenges none are revealed in my dream, but i have an idea that it took quite an effort to get there, it was dangerous, but when i finally reach the centre i am confronted by a huge gate and a view of a tournament area that has various split levels and stairs. in the distance i can see a robed man wandering around a large table, he must be this man who tells us what life has promised us. he moves from table to table. i race towards him, just as i get to a long passage way that leads directly towards him a murder of ravens attack me, and the meal i prepared falls to the ground ruined. i wave my arms around trying to get the birds away, then a dragon appears and the birds fly away, i am running back into the maze, carefully attempting to remember my directions so i can get back. i double back on myself, this time on a different level, lower level, i realize that i can still be part of this game as all i need to do is offer a ‘taste.’ so climbing back to the spillage i grab a golden spoon and scoop up whatever it is i have prepared. then i race back.
the tasting is almost finished, i seem to be running towards the final table, but again i never get there, however whatever obstacle stops me (i think it’s some nasty knights) i still have my sample on my spoon. i pick myself up and see the man in the distance, he is finished tasting the food, the contestants all look very sad and unhappy, i wonder if it is worth knowing what life has promised but decide that i should try my very best. i grab the spoon and attempt to head the man off before he reaches the large gates he is walking towards, i can approach form the other direction. i run, very fast. it takes a few minites but i get to the gates and burst through.
below me the man stands stopped in his tracks at the figure who is approaching, he looks at me and smiles. i hold my spoon with it’s morsel of food in it with extended arm, i am walking towards him, i have beaten the clock but i throw the food to one side. his entourage all frozen in shock, time slows down and everything plays out in synchronistic detail, his jean luc pichard (patrick stewart) face, wise and gentle, the spark in his eyes, the soft voice but yet loud and clear. we both say at exactly the same time, ‘life has promised us nothing.’
he walks up to me and hugs me. he whispers in my ears with that jean luc picard kind of shakespearian gravity, ‘i love you like a brother because....’
and then i wake up.
i am trying to understand what this dream means, i don’t really know, there are so many levels to it. so many ways to interpret it. and what was he going to say, what words did i not hear, and should i know what they are.
‘and life promises us nothing.’ this is so very true, another great truth.
when i think about my battles with free will and destiny competing over my life i have understood through the years there are times when you have to recognise destiny and surrender to it, and there are times when you have to develop your will. magick is all about developing and building a relationship with your will and the engagement of it in the world. but this is a terrifying and dangerous process, that’s why the magickians path is fraught with complexities and strict guidelines, it is a maze in itself and the dragons are real.
so eventually you reach a strange conclusion, when you have done the great work, destiny and free will are the same.
‘i love you like a brother because....’ do i need the completed statement? is love enough. yeah i think it is.
oh it's about 2am and i am wide awake, mum and dad have sold their house, they have been asked to move out, actually they were supposed to move out the day i arrived but it appears they have been offered a few extra months which enables them to find somewhere new rather than a temporary transition. they have decided to move into the centre of london after we leave. mum says she no longer cares about the big house, she just has to move somewhere smaller so she can look after my dad who is having trouble climbing up stairs. for a moment i think even i have trouble climbing up stairs but the words fortunately don't leave my lips. age has crept up on dad, it's shocking to see and learn that he has lost that vitality and strength, he's in that holding pattern with the knowledge that days are numbered, we all are i guess. this creates tension, because part of me wants to talk about this with him, i really believe this is why i am here.
i was there for my uncle and mentor gabriel, nursing him through his cancer and assisting the process of helping his family understand the letting go, that's what i have found the most difficult part about death, the ones left behind have not quite made their peace, they are the ones clinging onwards, often the individual who is dying is ready but feels guilt or responsibility. i'm not saying that once some one is going to die everyone should just let them die, but once the person has made the decision people should enable that. i guess it's grace i am talking about.
all my work with the ayahuscia has shown me there is intelligence after death, something off us continues, my own past lives are as clear to me now as my current one, sometimes clearer. GOD in it's million different forms gives us a brain and a mind and a body but the spirit is his. having died a few times myself i am positive this is cool.
so captain's mission is to assist transition and transmigration of the spirit onto it's next stage, i may not be there for this moment but i can offer my perspective in subtle ways without freaking anyone out. i am well aware of how taboo this area is, i am not a stranger to how people see me when i talk of death but when you 'know' something is true you stop caring about what others think. ask any one in an institution.
i was there for my uncle and mentor gabriel, nursing him through his cancer and assisting the process of helping his family understand the letting go, that's what i have found the most difficult part about death, the ones left behind have not quite made their peace, they are the ones clinging onwards, often the individual who is dying is ready but feels guilt or responsibility. i'm not saying that once some one is going to die everyone should just let them die, but once the person has made the decision people should enable that. i guess it's grace i am talking about.
all my work with the ayahuscia has shown me there is intelligence after death, something off us continues, my own past lives are as clear to me now as my current one, sometimes clearer. GOD in it's million different forms gives us a brain and a mind and a body but the spirit is his. having died a few times myself i am positive this is cool.
so captain's mission is to assist transition and transmigration of the spirit onto it's next stage, i may not be there for this moment but i can offer my perspective in subtle ways without freaking anyone out. i am well aware of how taboo this area is, i am not a stranger to how people see me when i talk of death but when you 'know' something is true you stop caring about what others think. ask any one in an institution.
i’m a holy avenging angel listening to dead can dance on my headphones storming the nights, taking the moment and turning it to new gold dreams, guns blazing amber light in the heat of the desert.
i set the world aflame with my sword, ezeikiel which translated means angel of transformation, i ride where the barren wastelands stretches north south east and west, where the flesh withers and bones buried under sand from ancient times have turned to dust as vultures of the necromomicon use thermoregulation to enable them to survive extreme temperatures, sandstorms and fire so they can feed on the carcasses of the slain and terrorize the wounded. they control a small army of subhumans who do their dirty work, people who have sold their soul to the devil, people who are no longer human, parasites of humanity, who serve only the vulture gods.
they have sent their best men and women, they all have tasted blood and have the hunger of the kill fresh upon their tongues, they have the lust deep in their hearts, they carry the banner of the vulture skull and fear nothing except a dishonorable death. they appear out of the dust like a red cloud.
a grim looking bedouin has foretold this to you many days ago, you have prepared. there are no surprises left for you, it has been written in the eye of the tiger, the stars in the skies, the patterns on the sand.
the stallion you ride heads towards the dust storm, ezeikel drawn gleams and screams as it slices the air above your head. you have fear on your lips and in your heart but you have the mind of a buddha, you have died a million times, and one more death at the hands of the horde, ha, you laugh out loud, it is a good day to die.
the opponents are confused, bewildered, a laughing man riding towards them with a single sword, it’s a certain death. it cannot be so. something is wrong, doubt flickers like flames in the wind, and that’s all it takes.
it has been written.
‘inshallah’ the old man said as he saw the future and that was the name he gave you.
i set the world aflame with my sword, ezeikiel which translated means angel of transformation, i ride where the barren wastelands stretches north south east and west, where the flesh withers and bones buried under sand from ancient times have turned to dust as vultures of the necromomicon use thermoregulation to enable them to survive extreme temperatures, sandstorms and fire so they can feed on the carcasses of the slain and terrorize the wounded. they control a small army of subhumans who do their dirty work, people who have sold their soul to the devil, people who are no longer human, parasites of humanity, who serve only the vulture gods.
they have sent their best men and women, they all have tasted blood and have the hunger of the kill fresh upon their tongues, they have the lust deep in their hearts, they carry the banner of the vulture skull and fear nothing except a dishonorable death. they appear out of the dust like a red cloud.
a grim looking bedouin has foretold this to you many days ago, you have prepared. there are no surprises left for you, it has been written in the eye of the tiger, the stars in the skies, the patterns on the sand.
the stallion you ride heads towards the dust storm, ezeikel drawn gleams and screams as it slices the air above your head. you have fear on your lips and in your heart but you have the mind of a buddha, you have died a million times, and one more death at the hands of the horde, ha, you laugh out loud, it is a good day to die.
the opponents are confused, bewildered, a laughing man riding towards them with a single sword, it’s a certain death. it cannot be so. something is wrong, doubt flickers like flames in the wind, and that’s all it takes.
it has been written.
‘inshallah’ the old man said as he saw the future and that was the name he gave you.
usual performance with the family, within five minutes we are all in disagreement, the english sky darkens and a big moon hangs in the air ominously, strange pole type structures line the roadside, the cars are all undisciplined, driving faster than they should, the centre does not hold here, things fall apart, i’m in the back of the car staring out the window bleakly wondering if i should have got off at amsterdam or paris arranged to meet jake, hole up in pigalle in a cheap hotel, living on potatoes and wine busking with three chords and the truth, see there’’s always options and choices but i am committed, yes i am in full on warrior mode, if i could apply war paint i would but i have to make do with painted toe nails, i’m here to defend myself, honor and self respect against the judgmental and often mistaken perceptions of an older model brain and generation that subconsciously hate their children so i attack fast, with unusual rapier blade wit and directed intelligence i assume control, i draw diagrams and maps on scraps of paper, i’ve been in london 20 min’s and i’m already in the thick of family politics, explaining myself, justifying my self. i’m tired and i really was looking for a easy evening with at least one good nights sleep before round one but i have to help them see that i am still a good guy despite my dabbling with lucifer, sex magick, opiates and pornography, south american plant goddesses and refer madness and various exotic indulgences i cannot name.
look i can’t self direct my evolution if your just going to criticize my choices. i lean over from behind and grab the wheel from my brother, the car twists and spins and the landscape spins with it, i can see my left side but the right is somewhat obscured, my brother screams, mum stops mid diatribe, dad looks stunned, see, i’m the driver of my car, that’s all it is and when some one else attempts to drive it in a direction that makes me unsafe i don’t like it. so let me drive my car and if i need directions i’ll ask, otherwise drive your own. and i won’t interfere in fact i will be positive and reasonable and often chip in for gas.
silence all the way home, but the point is made, it was made hard and with a certain dramatic impetus that has shocked everyone. i went in hard and early, the cards on on the table, jokers and aces.
after a shower, a shave and an exchange of strange family gifts we sit down for an equally strange meal, mmm, now the weirdness is over the strangeness has begun sooner than i thought. however, in the aftermath of dinner we do start to laugh about things and the family discussions are steered into more debatable topics.
my mum bought me a 10 pack of toothbrushes, i’m so happy.
i have a shower, the water is so different here, it’s weak and lacks vitality, i drink a lot of whiskey with my dad, he’s become very religious, i notice this with old people, they get like this, i have no opinion on it, it’s just a fear i guess, it’s just there’s a difference between religious outlook and spiritual outlook. anyway it’s good to sit with your dad and drink a whisky weather your spiritual or religious or none of the above.
unpacking my small bag i flush out the alister reynolds book i bought at sydney airport, i’ve nearly finished dan simmons ‘black hills’ and i would only recommend it if you are or were a member of the real human free people or as the americans called them red indians. it is a sad weighty book, filled with poetry and loss, as the americas lost it’s esoteric roots, killed the buffalo, the native people, the history, the wisdom, it’s landscape changed and it took a course towards what it is today, neither good or bad just different. the disconnection between the spirit of the land and nature has resulted in the calamity we all live in. sometimes i love it just as much as you, sometimes i am seduced by it’s colours and glamour sometimes i am taken into it’s heart and dance with it’s devils and demons, sometimes i embrace it but at the back of my mind i know it is not real, in my past life i understood this, in this life i understood this again and what can i do, what conclusion can anyone reach except brothers and sisters, it is a good day to die.
here in lies the truth. the real human free people think it is a good day to die.
i pull out some clothes, i’ve taken hardly anything, some books and music. but the horrible thought that hammers home as i search through my stuff is i have not got the deep fix footage i burnt at amalias house. the footage i was going to edit and post online, curses. i must have left it on my desk.
a short sleep and i awake at 4am, wander down to make some tea, read a bit, look at the sky, but it’s not really working for me, the sky is grey and dark and it’s a cold spring morning and some birds make their call as the sun rises, but the birds sound pathetic as though they have no spirit, the fog swirls around the house and i wander through the big old house, looking at the sculptures, the paintings, it’s filled with art stuff, magazines and travel trinkets, mum and dad had a lifetime traveling, they saw the world together, travelled into the most unusual places and they still hold hands when they sit in the sofa, they still do everything together, it’s sickening yet wow, it blows my mind. what ever issues i have with my parents i am in awe of the fact they have a very strong relationship.
i stop at a roman bust, a head upon a pillar, see i would adorn it, dress it up, put my glasses over his eyes, my hat upon his head, my scarf wrapped around his neck, i would call him zero like a cross between an emperor and a philosopher senator. but he sits there on his pillar with his fixed stare looking bored and lost.
there’s lots of paintings, one i like. it’s a small group of jews in a tiny basement huddled together around a burning candle, they look to be saying a prayer together, but it’s dark, these are dark times and the only light is from the candle. they seem consumed by the darkness yet safe with their light. very symbolic very rich, i like that, if i inherit anything from my folks, i think that’s all i want. it’s painted by a lady called ‘scarlet.’
later my mother starts to tell me about where they purchased their art from, people they met on their travels, people that were young artists starting out who have gone onwards to become successful. i guess the value of this stuff is high but the memories attached are even higher. but the other art just don’t work for me, it’s clunky a bit bland and despite the parisian street scenes somewhat cliqued. there’s some massive flowers on a canvass painted by a famous south american painter, it’s not really my cup of tea.
there’s other stuff, exotic emblems from around the world, amazonian carvings, trinkets from asia and the americas, there’s a nice sun room mum calls a conservatory, a sort of lounge area that is part green house and part relaxation room, it’s filled with exotic plants. i sit down and look at the garden, it’s an english garden, very manicured and disturbing as there is no wild areas. i find it difficult to appreciate a garden without wild bits, i love my chaos. my dad is the gardener, it’s his love and passion, he’s very good with plants in that english gentle way.
meals are very civilized, we sit around a dinning table and various things are brought out, it’s kind of mediterranean then at 9am everyone sit’s around the tv to watch what i describe as the english version of ‘the insiders.’ a program where the current affairs of the week are dissected and analyzed in detail by a panel of guests. it’s strange my family is so political, they are so animated and passionate about this, i am some what bewildered and feel like sneaking of for a spliff. i grew up in this type of environment, instead of playing with toys or colouring in books i was forced to watch the news or current affairs, we were made to have opinions and see things from many angles always going on marches and demos, my mom just loved it, yelling and shouting out at protests and punching police men and politicians, causing a disturbance and starting a riot, i sweated away writing letters to political prisoners in russia and god knows where else, i was denied a normal youth but had this strange world of ideology and art. and now i am an adult, a freak, so whose fault is it i hate politics and ideologies.
london, i never really liked you very much. except the punk years, your history, your geography, your culture, it was all soaked in blood and rituals of the rich fat exploiting empire, and now it’s a stinking cesspool of multi cultural anxiety and tension as it’s outpost nations have come back home to ravage the mother country, the empire can’t strike back, it is a fading star, impotent and dreary it has nothing to offer anyone anymore, no innovation, no music (name a good uk band from the last decade) no writers (well amis is american) no artists (tracey emin is a turk and not that good, banksy is better) and no hope. all i see here is defeat.
each moment i am here reminds me how much i want to become an australian or a freaking norwegian just not english.
i drive mum to the shops, her fave deli where she introduces me as her son with the good heart. it’s a new phase in our relationship.
look i can’t self direct my evolution if your just going to criticize my choices. i lean over from behind and grab the wheel from my brother, the car twists and spins and the landscape spins with it, i can see my left side but the right is somewhat obscured, my brother screams, mum stops mid diatribe, dad looks stunned, see, i’m the driver of my car, that’s all it is and when some one else attempts to drive it in a direction that makes me unsafe i don’t like it. so let me drive my car and if i need directions i’ll ask, otherwise drive your own. and i won’t interfere in fact i will be positive and reasonable and often chip in for gas.
silence all the way home, but the point is made, it was made hard and with a certain dramatic impetus that has shocked everyone. i went in hard and early, the cards on on the table, jokers and aces.
after a shower, a shave and an exchange of strange family gifts we sit down for an equally strange meal, mmm, now the weirdness is over the strangeness has begun sooner than i thought. however, in the aftermath of dinner we do start to laugh about things and the family discussions are steered into more debatable topics.
my mum bought me a 10 pack of toothbrushes, i’m so happy.
i have a shower, the water is so different here, it’s weak and lacks vitality, i drink a lot of whiskey with my dad, he’s become very religious, i notice this with old people, they get like this, i have no opinion on it, it’s just a fear i guess, it’s just there’s a difference between religious outlook and spiritual outlook. anyway it’s good to sit with your dad and drink a whisky weather your spiritual or religious or none of the above.
unpacking my small bag i flush out the alister reynolds book i bought at sydney airport, i’ve nearly finished dan simmons ‘black hills’ and i would only recommend it if you are or were a member of the real human free people or as the americans called them red indians. it is a sad weighty book, filled with poetry and loss, as the americas lost it’s esoteric roots, killed the buffalo, the native people, the history, the wisdom, it’s landscape changed and it took a course towards what it is today, neither good or bad just different. the disconnection between the spirit of the land and nature has resulted in the calamity we all live in. sometimes i love it just as much as you, sometimes i am seduced by it’s colours and glamour sometimes i am taken into it’s heart and dance with it’s devils and demons, sometimes i embrace it but at the back of my mind i know it is not real, in my past life i understood this, in this life i understood this again and what can i do, what conclusion can anyone reach except brothers and sisters, it is a good day to die.
here in lies the truth. the real human free people think it is a good day to die.
i pull out some clothes, i’ve taken hardly anything, some books and music. but the horrible thought that hammers home as i search through my stuff is i have not got the deep fix footage i burnt at amalias house. the footage i was going to edit and post online, curses. i must have left it on my desk.
a short sleep and i awake at 4am, wander down to make some tea, read a bit, look at the sky, but it’s not really working for me, the sky is grey and dark and it’s a cold spring morning and some birds make their call as the sun rises, but the birds sound pathetic as though they have no spirit, the fog swirls around the house and i wander through the big old house, looking at the sculptures, the paintings, it’s filled with art stuff, magazines and travel trinkets, mum and dad had a lifetime traveling, they saw the world together, travelled into the most unusual places and they still hold hands when they sit in the sofa, they still do everything together, it’s sickening yet wow, it blows my mind. what ever issues i have with my parents i am in awe of the fact they have a very strong relationship.
i stop at a roman bust, a head upon a pillar, see i would adorn it, dress it up, put my glasses over his eyes, my hat upon his head, my scarf wrapped around his neck, i would call him zero like a cross between an emperor and a philosopher senator. but he sits there on his pillar with his fixed stare looking bored and lost.
there’s lots of paintings, one i like. it’s a small group of jews in a tiny basement huddled together around a burning candle, they look to be saying a prayer together, but it’s dark, these are dark times and the only light is from the candle. they seem consumed by the darkness yet safe with their light. very symbolic very rich, i like that, if i inherit anything from my folks, i think that’s all i want. it’s painted by a lady called ‘scarlet.’
later my mother starts to tell me about where they purchased their art from, people they met on their travels, people that were young artists starting out who have gone onwards to become successful. i guess the value of this stuff is high but the memories attached are even higher. but the other art just don’t work for me, it’s clunky a bit bland and despite the parisian street scenes somewhat cliqued. there’s some massive flowers on a canvass painted by a famous south american painter, it’s not really my cup of tea.
there’s other stuff, exotic emblems from around the world, amazonian carvings, trinkets from asia and the americas, there’s a nice sun room mum calls a conservatory, a sort of lounge area that is part green house and part relaxation room, it’s filled with exotic plants. i sit down and look at the garden, it’s an english garden, very manicured and disturbing as there is no wild areas. i find it difficult to appreciate a garden without wild bits, i love my chaos. my dad is the gardener, it’s his love and passion, he’s very good with plants in that english gentle way.
meals are very civilized, we sit around a dinning table and various things are brought out, it’s kind of mediterranean then at 9am everyone sit’s around the tv to watch what i describe as the english version of ‘the insiders.’ a program where the current affairs of the week are dissected and analyzed in detail by a panel of guests. it’s strange my family is so political, they are so animated and passionate about this, i am some what bewildered and feel like sneaking of for a spliff. i grew up in this type of environment, instead of playing with toys or colouring in books i was forced to watch the news or current affairs, we were made to have opinions and see things from many angles always going on marches and demos, my mom just loved it, yelling and shouting out at protests and punching police men and politicians, causing a disturbance and starting a riot, i sweated away writing letters to political prisoners in russia and god knows where else, i was denied a normal youth but had this strange world of ideology and art. and now i am an adult, a freak, so whose fault is it i hate politics and ideologies.
london, i never really liked you very much. except the punk years, your history, your geography, your culture, it was all soaked in blood and rituals of the rich fat exploiting empire, and now it’s a stinking cesspool of multi cultural anxiety and tension as it’s outpost nations have come back home to ravage the mother country, the empire can’t strike back, it is a fading star, impotent and dreary it has nothing to offer anyone anymore, no innovation, no music (name a good uk band from the last decade) no writers (well amis is american) no artists (tracey emin is a turk and not that good, banksy is better) and no hope. all i see here is defeat.
each moment i am here reminds me how much i want to become an australian or a freaking norwegian just not english.
i drive mum to the shops, her fave deli where she introduces me as her son with the good heart. it’s a new phase in our relationship.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
deep in the bowels of downtown seoul, away from the neon glare and hysterical shop fronts sits captain mission waiting for dawn, he is a strange man, fat and slow with a silly moustache and oriental like beard. the locals fear and respect him, they call him captain chingu, i don't know what that means but everyone seems to use it. i'm drinking something called oolong tea (although i call it oblong tea) which tastes like smoked wood. the old lady says it's good for my blood, i say my bloods in bad shape, she says drink and pours me more. an older man, maybe her husband is showing me a map, he hardly speaks any english but his eyes communicate well, he's showing me where he lives, near the yellow sea.
the yellow sea, i've been here before, i met the yellow empress here a very long time ago, she taught me some tantra, although now it is unrecognisable, with the high ways and neon roadsigns ever changing, the traffic and pollution.
the old man offers me a smoke, it's not a cigarette so i partake, it goes down well, familiar but within seconds i feel nausea.
there's a little time shift, some lighting change and the old man is younger, he is a warlord riding a beautiful white mare, i am his prisoner, thats right, realisation, he is the yellow emperor and i was sleeping with his wife. i am tied and bound and kneel before him. he pulls out his sword. his eyes are not so kind now. the vision fades in and out, time shifts like water and i finish my tea. the old man stands up to say good bye, i put some change on the table and bow.
back at the hotel i shower and watch some weird tv show, i read a little and then think about how everything comes back in patterns, there's no escape from unfinished business. it's like a 12 step program, (i needed a 12 step program to quit you baby) you have to make amends and correct mistakes. this is what i have to do, go into the heart of the storms and make it still, do my best to heal myself and those i care about.
it's true i can do this, i got powers even i don't understand, so here i am about to return to london, to strange family dynamics and ways, to repair things that need repairing and make peace.
the yellow sea, i've been here before, i met the yellow empress here a very long time ago, she taught me some tantra, although now it is unrecognisable, with the high ways and neon roadsigns ever changing, the traffic and pollution.
the old man offers me a smoke, it's not a cigarette so i partake, it goes down well, familiar but within seconds i feel nausea.
there's a little time shift, some lighting change and the old man is younger, he is a warlord riding a beautiful white mare, i am his prisoner, thats right, realisation, he is the yellow emperor and i was sleeping with his wife. i am tied and bound and kneel before him. he pulls out his sword. his eyes are not so kind now. the vision fades in and out, time shifts like water and i finish my tea. the old man stands up to say good bye, i put some change on the table and bow.
back at the hotel i shower and watch some weird tv show, i read a little and then think about how everything comes back in patterns, there's no escape from unfinished business. it's like a 12 step program, (i needed a 12 step program to quit you baby) you have to make amends and correct mistakes. this is what i have to do, go into the heart of the storms and make it still, do my best to heal myself and those i care about.
it's true i can do this, i got powers even i don't understand, so here i am about to return to london, to strange family dynamics and ways, to repair things that need repairing and make peace.
hotel review
hotel june downtown souel south korea
nested in the heart of neon city lays the tiny little june hotel, which looks very cute and attractive as you check in to the small lobby, friendly staff, not to many tripping over themselves or cluttering up the halls, just a couple of good looking smartly dressed types who efficiently fill out the paperwork and give you your key.
i ride the lift up and down, play with the buttons, wander into places i shouldn't then decide i need a shower. the rooms are well laid out, easy to find. the problem is if you arrive after dark, you open the front door, you walk in looking for a light switch and the door closes behind you, but there's no light switch, you hold your hands out, feeling along the surface of the walls, falling over the slippers they kindly left you, the stool, walking into the dresser, feeling the twin beds, searching the lamps between the beds, nothing, its so dark you can't see anything. later you discover that the key has to be placed in a strange holder that connects the wires to make the lights work, they are all on a flat touch panel near the bed.you spend the next hour playing with the combinations, i like very low lights. the tv offers 45 different types of korean shows, all look awful so i run the bath. however the bath has 10 different nozzles none of them fill the bath, they operate showers. i very rarely have a bath anyway so i settle on the shower, yeah well, i can't get the combination of nozzles correct, so i have a cold shower on my left side and a hot one on my right.
i raid the bar fridge.
it's a nice room, very hi tech and clean, good air con, good accessories and a nice view of some buildings. but the best thing about it is the beds, firm mattress, soft blankets, oh clean sheets. another interesting point is no art, anywhere in the room, no tacky paintings, no silly portraits, just blank walls.
hotel june downtown souel south korea
nested in the heart of neon city lays the tiny little june hotel, which looks very cute and attractive as you check in to the small lobby, friendly staff, not to many tripping over themselves or cluttering up the halls, just a couple of good looking smartly dressed types who efficiently fill out the paperwork and give you your key.
i ride the lift up and down, play with the buttons, wander into places i shouldn't then decide i need a shower. the rooms are well laid out, easy to find. the problem is if you arrive after dark, you open the front door, you walk in looking for a light switch and the door closes behind you, but there's no light switch, you hold your hands out, feeling along the surface of the walls, falling over the slippers they kindly left you, the stool, walking into the dresser, feeling the twin beds, searching the lamps between the beds, nothing, its so dark you can't see anything. later you discover that the key has to be placed in a strange holder that connects the wires to make the lights work, they are all on a flat touch panel near the bed.you spend the next hour playing with the combinations, i like very low lights. the tv offers 45 different types of korean shows, all look awful so i run the bath. however the bath has 10 different nozzles none of them fill the bath, they operate showers. i very rarely have a bath anyway so i settle on the shower, yeah well, i can't get the combination of nozzles correct, so i have a cold shower on my left side and a hot one on my right.
i raid the bar fridge.
it's a nice room, very hi tech and clean, good air con, good accessories and a nice view of some buildings. but the best thing about it is the beds, firm mattress, soft blankets, oh clean sheets. another interesting point is no art, anywhere in the room, no tacky paintings, no silly portraits, just blank walls.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
massive strange forces are at work in captain missions life, cyclic patterns are converging through the space time continuum, events unfold where they lay exposed like a archaeologists excavation ripping open the earth and leaving an ancient temple gleaming in sunlight.
i'm packing some clothes, a few shirts and pants, some books and music, i travel very light, escaping gravity, but you can never escape the past. the past always comes back.
it's my last night in sydney i go down to have dinner with miss renwick, dinner consists of el sal beer and asparagus, see that's my kind of girl.
she plays me the soundtrack to our life together and then as if i am under the hypnotists spell, she's taking me on a very strange personal journey, one i don't really understand until about two in the morning when i suddenly have a massive meltdown and i'm not sure why, either i'm sad because i lost something i love or i'm happy cos i found something i love, but either way any heightened emotional state for me now results in a tangle of confusion, however while we were drinking beer and listening to this music from our past i felt as if a key was unlocking memories, entering very deep into my dna and i could feel the fragments and emotions of our relationship escaping confinement and we remembered. i saw photographs of us together, and we looked great together, natural as if we were happy.
the result of such an opening of feelings was amazing and transformative, memories, events, songs, people, all seemed to rise from some dark under the surface layer where i could name them and frame them with amalias help. and the picture we made was good, it was actually really brilliant.
i don't know something happened that night, a saturn return, a loop come full circle, history repeating itself, fate coming to correct a mistake, you see how fate hunts you down when your unprepared and not really expecting it, it always comes, unresolved shit being resolved when your busy keeping your head down, some sort of weird magnetic pull adjusting the forces between us, magick, voodoo, fucking love / not love. i can't deal with that so i jump on a plane and fly to korea. but i am wearing a turquoise necklace amalia gave me, and i love wearing it for some strange reason.
life just beats the crap outta you, it batters you every which way, that’s the fucking truth, there’s no way around it, you reach my age and you just want to have a simple life, find a girl, get a dog, keep it together. i'm a fucking ancient old man on the way down. don't have any money, no property, no prospects, i have an amazing son called jakob and a dog called pan, i have brilliant friends and a heart full of soul, that's gotta count for something.
i'm packing some clothes, a few shirts and pants, some books and music, i travel very light, escaping gravity, but you can never escape the past. the past always comes back.
it's my last night in sydney i go down to have dinner with miss renwick, dinner consists of el sal beer and asparagus, see that's my kind of girl.
she plays me the soundtrack to our life together and then as if i am under the hypnotists spell, she's taking me on a very strange personal journey, one i don't really understand until about two in the morning when i suddenly have a massive meltdown and i'm not sure why, either i'm sad because i lost something i love or i'm happy cos i found something i love, but either way any heightened emotional state for me now results in a tangle of confusion, however while we were drinking beer and listening to this music from our past i felt as if a key was unlocking memories, entering very deep into my dna and i could feel the fragments and emotions of our relationship escaping confinement and we remembered. i saw photographs of us together, and we looked great together, natural as if we were happy.
the result of such an opening of feelings was amazing and transformative, memories, events, songs, people, all seemed to rise from some dark under the surface layer where i could name them and frame them with amalias help. and the picture we made was good, it was actually really brilliant.
i don't know something happened that night, a saturn return, a loop come full circle, history repeating itself, fate coming to correct a mistake, you see how fate hunts you down when your unprepared and not really expecting it, it always comes, unresolved shit being resolved when your busy keeping your head down, some sort of weird magnetic pull adjusting the forces between us, magick, voodoo, fucking love / not love. i can't deal with that so i jump on a plane and fly to korea. but i am wearing a turquoise necklace amalia gave me, and i love wearing it for some strange reason.
life just beats the crap outta you, it batters you every which way, that’s the fucking truth, there’s no way around it, you reach my age and you just want to have a simple life, find a girl, get a dog, keep it together. i'm a fucking ancient old man on the way down. don't have any money, no property, no prospects, i have an amazing son called jakob and a dog called pan, i have brilliant friends and a heart full of soul, that's gotta count for something.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
what do i know, fuck man, i don't really know much at all, the sky is blue, the sea is wet, it's beautiful and so are you, it kinda starts getting blurry after that. everything is just a wild guess, some strange intuitive feeling, the small questions don't really figure into the equation.
what should i wear?
red or green?
up or down?
margarine or butter?
work or play?
eat or drink?
i never really got to hung up on the details, i was always a big picture guy, you either do or you don't. some people can't stop thinking about the details, some people get stuck in details, who the fuck cares about details when the whole freaking concept of life is at question, come on, don't you wanna know what it is all about, don't you want the answer, don't you have to know if god exists, if there is life on other planets, if the human experience has a future, come on. compared to 'what will i wear' these questions demand interest. steve kilbey told me a fantastic story once, a brilliant story about julian cope. when julian first met steve he came running up and said, 'steve steve', grabbing steves collar he says, 'what's it mean?'
steve in his cool way says, 'what does what mean julien?'
to which julian replies, 'everything.'
everything. i want the answer and i am not gonna settle for anything less than the truth. i have demanded the truth in this lifetime, in my past lives i found some answers but not the answer and this lifetime i found the answer.
love baby, it's LOVE.
what the fuck else is there that matters.
ultimately everything reduces down to two essential energetic states, fear and love. what else can you do with life but reach a state of love and transmute fear. this has always been my mission. sometimes i just forget. sometimes i need reminding. the problem is my love is not the same as the conventional concept. i see love as a very strong force, warrior force, you can kill with it. love fucking starts wars baby, read your greek history, love builds monuments like the taj mahal, love fucking pulls the water across the earth in tides, you think the moons gravitational pull does it but it's really love, the same love that scientists discover cures with the same love that pulls people across lifetimes till they find the person they love, everything comes down to fear and love.
LOVE
what should i wear?
red or green?
up or down?
margarine or butter?
work or play?
eat or drink?
i never really got to hung up on the details, i was always a big picture guy, you either do or you don't. some people can't stop thinking about the details, some people get stuck in details, who the fuck cares about details when the whole freaking concept of life is at question, come on, don't you wanna know what it is all about, don't you want the answer, don't you have to know if god exists, if there is life on other planets, if the human experience has a future, come on. compared to 'what will i wear' these questions demand interest. steve kilbey told me a fantastic story once, a brilliant story about julian cope. when julian first met steve he came running up and said, 'steve steve', grabbing steves collar he says, 'what's it mean?'
steve in his cool way says, 'what does what mean julien?'
to which julian replies, 'everything.'
everything. i want the answer and i am not gonna settle for anything less than the truth. i have demanded the truth in this lifetime, in my past lives i found some answers but not the answer and this lifetime i found the answer.
love baby, it's LOVE.
what the fuck else is there that matters.
ultimately everything reduces down to two essential energetic states, fear and love. what else can you do with life but reach a state of love and transmute fear. this has always been my mission. sometimes i just forget. sometimes i need reminding. the problem is my love is not the same as the conventional concept. i see love as a very strong force, warrior force, you can kill with it. love fucking starts wars baby, read your greek history, love builds monuments like the taj mahal, love fucking pulls the water across the earth in tides, you think the moons gravitational pull does it but it's really love, the same love that scientists discover cures with the same love that pulls people across lifetimes till they find the person they love, everything comes down to fear and love.
LOVE
mmm, wake up, have a quick chat with jules who gives me some great strategies on dealing with families, i walk dog, god i love my dog, he's been the most loyal companion i have had, stuck with me through everything, good and bad, been there for me with his wagging tail and happy face, licked me when i needed licking, saved my life once, put up with my habits without complaining and generally just been fucking a great friend, if only i can find a girl with those qualities. i drop him off at renatta's who is looking after him, he knows something is up, he looks really disturbed while i hand over a sack of dog food and stuff. i have to race away lest i display some weird emotional strangeness.
over to amalia's where we spend the day err, well what did we do, what ever it was i felt good, it felt safe and calm and i dunno, am i just going soft in my old age?
anyways amalia, how can i describe her, she's about three different kinds of people, possibly four, three are the coolest girls you ever met, like freezer cool. instantly loveable, one you just wanna fuck, one you want to cuddle and one you wanna jump on an aircraft with and go on some adventure. ha! ironically we did none of the above, she is off overseas to the US while i will be travelling europa. anyways we discuss weird impulses and behaviours that seem computer generated, like buying stuff on e bay, waiting for the delivery, the idea of addiction, the conceptual ramifications of these things into other peoples lives and the idea that we are both somewhat jaded with it all. the human spirit cannot be nourished by e bay, amazon and these things we distract ourself with, the answers lay in love and spiritual practice, and i don't mean fucking sitting meditating in a cave.
holy men / women cannot impress me with walking on water, tricks and trinkets, spiritual people leave no impression upon me unless they are able to take that light they preach with and walk into the total darkness.
i recall my friend and i running a course on post tantric sexual energy and towards the last week one of our class, an older man who had remained quite consistently detached said,'i don't need this, i am in a state of love all the time.'
to which my friend very quickly said, 'that's great, now take that love downtown mogadishu. (the capital of somalia)
a brilliant response.
the point i am trying to make is when your sage wanders into these dark spots and works in those areas then i respect them more than the tricks and chitter chatter of love peace and happiness nonsense from the safety of their mindsets.
personally right now i don't think i wanna walk into downtown mogadishu but i served my apprenticeship and so has amalia. that make's her cool in my book.
oh yeah so we have a history. i can't recall much of it but she was young and i was possibly a different man, pre brain blow, so whatever happened is ancient history. i'm only interested in now and nows good.
we also watch two episodes of the second series of 'in treatment' which is awesome, really brilliant tv. there's some incredible truth about this show, the writing is excellent and the therapist is very good, he engineers the energy, the politics of control and power, just like a magickian would, he is a mirror and his mind reflects back, his creation changes. this is energy work made visible, tangible work, very powerful, very honest and very real.
home to attempt packing. or at least something preparatory, mmm. maybe.
over to amalia's where we spend the day err, well what did we do, what ever it was i felt good, it felt safe and calm and i dunno, am i just going soft in my old age?
anyways amalia, how can i describe her, she's about three different kinds of people, possibly four, three are the coolest girls you ever met, like freezer cool. instantly loveable, one you just wanna fuck, one you want to cuddle and one you wanna jump on an aircraft with and go on some adventure. ha! ironically we did none of the above, she is off overseas to the US while i will be travelling europa. anyways we discuss weird impulses and behaviours that seem computer generated, like buying stuff on e bay, waiting for the delivery, the idea of addiction, the conceptual ramifications of these things into other peoples lives and the idea that we are both somewhat jaded with it all. the human spirit cannot be nourished by e bay, amazon and these things we distract ourself with, the answers lay in love and spiritual practice, and i don't mean fucking sitting meditating in a cave.
holy men / women cannot impress me with walking on water, tricks and trinkets, spiritual people leave no impression upon me unless they are able to take that light they preach with and walk into the total darkness.
i recall my friend and i running a course on post tantric sexual energy and towards the last week one of our class, an older man who had remained quite consistently detached said,'i don't need this, i am in a state of love all the time.'
to which my friend very quickly said, 'that's great, now take that love downtown mogadishu. (the capital of somalia)
a brilliant response.
the point i am trying to make is when your sage wanders into these dark spots and works in those areas then i respect them more than the tricks and chitter chatter of love peace and happiness nonsense from the safety of their mindsets.
personally right now i don't think i wanna walk into downtown mogadishu but i served my apprenticeship and so has amalia. that make's her cool in my book.
oh yeah so we have a history. i can't recall much of it but she was young and i was possibly a different man, pre brain blow, so whatever happened is ancient history. i'm only interested in now and nows good.
we also watch two episodes of the second series of 'in treatment' which is awesome, really brilliant tv. there's some incredible truth about this show, the writing is excellent and the therapist is very good, he engineers the energy, the politics of control and power, just like a magickian would, he is a mirror and his mind reflects back, his creation changes. this is energy work made visible, tangible work, very powerful, very honest and very real.
home to attempt packing. or at least something preparatory, mmm. maybe.
what a slippery day, i have so many things to do but generally can't commit to anything, i'm undisciplined and somewhat bewildered by everything.
i meet agent stone and her baby, we have a chia in avalon, it's nice, peaceful, that baby looks cute, it's smiling and playing with everything it can reach. i like babies when they are at this stage, exploring the world, fuck man it never stopped for me, i just keep on reaching.
i meet with hp who is back from somewhere up north where she has been drinking syrian rue and aya with the tribes. she looks all focused and disciplined in contrast to me.
i meet evan who offers me a ride to the airport, we discuss russian brides.
later i meet tim who makes me dinner, a strange mexican like meal with corn, it's quite wonderful, very nutritious and for desert we have poached apricots in a pear brandy, wow, 60% proof. i go home, fall asleep real easy.
in the morning loius rings me, wishing me well, what a nice chap.
it seems i have a lot to do today, i have to drop pansy off, i have to pack and pay bills, prepare for being away. blah!
i meet agent stone and her baby, we have a chia in avalon, it's nice, peaceful, that baby looks cute, it's smiling and playing with everything it can reach. i like babies when they are at this stage, exploring the world, fuck man it never stopped for me, i just keep on reaching.
i meet with hp who is back from somewhere up north where she has been drinking syrian rue and aya with the tribes. she looks all focused and disciplined in contrast to me.
i meet evan who offers me a ride to the airport, we discuss russian brides.
later i meet tim who makes me dinner, a strange mexican like meal with corn, it's quite wonderful, very nutritious and for desert we have poached apricots in a pear brandy, wow, 60% proof. i go home, fall asleep real easy.
in the morning loius rings me, wishing me well, what a nice chap.
it seems i have a lot to do today, i have to drop pansy off, i have to pack and pay bills, prepare for being away. blah!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
travelling along the desert vista away from the interference mankind transmits we come to see the horizon, stretched out before us, the sun burns in the sky, causality, shadows elongated and elastic pulled out like rubber bands, we dance and play, child minds entertained in natures gift, these moments are far and few between but we are grateful when they come. you pour your bottled water over me as i twist and turn and spin, my arms flaying about, my head thrown back, laughing.
you steady me and i fall into your arms, to a kiss.
in the desert things like this happen all the time.
we walk back to the car, it's an old beaten up pick up but we call it, 'trident' because it has a sticker of king neptune on the windshield. it's white but stained red with the desert.
you drive, i sit back and look at the sky, not a cloud, not a single one. you slide in a tape, it's the rolling stones, 'emotional rescue' we start to sing the 'ohhhh ohhhs' and laugh a bit more.
sunset and the nearest town is an hour away, we decide to stay in the motel nearest the bar. a quick shower, change of clothes, we head off for dinner and a few beers. we share a spliff on the way in.
the restaurant area of the bar is empty save for two bored waitresses and a cook who looks like he just got outta jail, 'order carefully' i say, 'i aint sending it back.'
the fan above rattles and the jukebox plays some strange country and western songs fom the 50's. the waitress looks very disappointed we strolled in to mess with her evening. we order the salads and some beers, i don't trust anything that comes outta the kitchen cooked. the salads arrive but they look like they been dead a long time. we drink a few beers to disguise the taste.
i leave a $20 bill on the table, we say bye and head into the bar.
here people swarm, dressed in jeans and t- shirts, the friendly crowd all smile at us. i notice the men carry guns and i notice the women do to, in fact they all do.
we grab a few beers. the bar man attempts some chit chat.
'you folks passing through?'
'yeah we just stopping the night, we will be on the way at sunrise.'
'where you folks heading?'
'santa fe'
'ah yeah, well highway 66 will take you all the way.'
'yeah great, thanks.' i feel like adding something about kicks but think better of it. you just don't know with these small town people, so i ask, 'what's the name of this town anyway?'
'why sir this town is roswell.'
'oh the rosewell,' you say all curious.
'yes the roswell.'
'you ever seen any aliens.' you add.
'yeah they pass through here all the time.'
we grab the beers and return to our table.
'fucking hell man, this is roswell, we should go check it out.'
'check out what, the alien space ships?'
'area 51.' you say
'what the fuck is area 51?'
'it's where the military kept the aliens they found.'
i laugh, 'get real, where did you hear that?'
'every one knows it, where have you been hiding.'
'there are no aliens, just us city folk, you heard the man.'
'come on,' you tease, 'don't be a spoil sport, we have loads of time.'
you have the map spread out across your lap, fingers dance across the page, 'just follow this dirt track and turn left when you get to the fence.'
'we can't get through a fence, especially if it's an army base.'
'we will just have a look, you just don't know.'
'mmm i liked it when you were being romantic babe.'
'come on, it's an adventure.'
we follow the fence for a few k's, then we see the hangers in the distance, massive silver installations, about five in a row, sunlight glinting off their roofs, almost blinding to look at. you see the rip in the fence, it's tiny but it's large enough for us to squeeze through. your out of the car before i can even begin to reason with you, in fact as your crawling through the fence i reason that there is no point in reasoning with you. you are having an adventure. i follow.
we walk up to the hangers, side by side, our boots stomping in the sand, our hands almost touching, our faces squinting from the glare. the doors are locked up. you push one but it won't give. i'm kind of glad. somewhere deep inside my guts i have a bad feeling. we shouldn't be there. the place is empty, must be empty for a reason i think.
we wander around the perimeter until we see a window. it's a little high for us to look into so i kneel down and you clamber onto my back. i hear you wiping the dust of the glass. a sharp intake of breath, ''it's empty but it's huge. i mean it's fucking just huge.'
i hope you are going to jump down but you don't, you stay upon my back, i can hear your breathing, feel your weight, some beads of sweat roll down onto my neck mixing with my own, i can feel your anxiety.
'babe, what is it?'
'there's some kind of object there, moving around, it doesn't move like a person though, it moves differently, like a machine.'
'okay get down now.'
you do, and we swap places.
the machine is human in shape but it is a machine, silver surface, large eyes, or at least orbs where the eyes should be, it is difficult to make out any other details except that it is moving erratically and looks somewhat damaged.
'what is it?' you ask.
i shrug, 'could be anything, this is military right?'
'was, now it's just an abandoned warehouse.'
we wander along the edge of the building looking for an opening. there is another doorway but it is locked. i fiddle with the padlock, 'you know this can be easily cut with metal cutters or some kinda big secateurs, it's not exactly fort knox.'
'let me see.'
a few moments later and with a hair clip you have opened the padlock. i wish you hadn't done that but there's no going back, we walk inside.
the air tasted stale, as if it had been locked up for a few years, it whooshed past us escaping. across the hanger was the metallic object, it was some sort of robot. it's head was comprised of a huge orb with two large orb eyes like an insect, it had a body that was almost humanoid but not quite, it looked as if some sort of circuitry was encased in a transparent silver shield all around it's torso and it's limbs were like telescopic octopus tentacles but robotic and the same silver. it seemed distressed and had not noticed us yet. on the floor is a few scraps of paper and folders, i grab one and read the letterhead
'USA MILITARY PROJECT CLASSIFIED AREA 57'
'area 57. what the hell is that?'
'maybe it's another type of alien hanger.'
'every one knows area 51 but i never heard of area 57.'
'what else do these papers say.'
we gather up as many as we can, the floor is strewn with papers and files but a lot of them are meaningless, mumbo jumbo, military talk. we piece together an idea.
while area 51 dealt with aliens area 57 deals with robots and androids that have been captured from the aliens and kept separate. there are four hangers and four different types of robot. this one seemed to have survived a wreckage that was found in the arctic, it was shipped over in 1955 and had been studied by a multi international team of scientists and engineers. there was a letter from the vice president and one from a general. there was a list of russian scientists and what looked like norwegian names.
we looked at the strange robotic creature that wandered around, it looked so clumsy and lost, a little pathetic.
you steady me and i fall into your arms, to a kiss.
in the desert things like this happen all the time.
we walk back to the car, it's an old beaten up pick up but we call it, 'trident' because it has a sticker of king neptune on the windshield. it's white but stained red with the desert.
you drive, i sit back and look at the sky, not a cloud, not a single one. you slide in a tape, it's the rolling stones, 'emotional rescue' we start to sing the 'ohhhh ohhhs' and laugh a bit more.
sunset and the nearest town is an hour away, we decide to stay in the motel nearest the bar. a quick shower, change of clothes, we head off for dinner and a few beers. we share a spliff on the way in.
the restaurant area of the bar is empty save for two bored waitresses and a cook who looks like he just got outta jail, 'order carefully' i say, 'i aint sending it back.'
the fan above rattles and the jukebox plays some strange country and western songs fom the 50's. the waitress looks very disappointed we strolled in to mess with her evening. we order the salads and some beers, i don't trust anything that comes outta the kitchen cooked. the salads arrive but they look like they been dead a long time. we drink a few beers to disguise the taste.
i leave a $20 bill on the table, we say bye and head into the bar.
here people swarm, dressed in jeans and t- shirts, the friendly crowd all smile at us. i notice the men carry guns and i notice the women do to, in fact they all do.
we grab a few beers. the bar man attempts some chit chat.
'you folks passing through?'
'yeah we just stopping the night, we will be on the way at sunrise.'
'where you folks heading?'
'santa fe'
'ah yeah, well highway 66 will take you all the way.'
'yeah great, thanks.' i feel like adding something about kicks but think better of it. you just don't know with these small town people, so i ask, 'what's the name of this town anyway?'
'why sir this town is roswell.'
'oh the rosewell,' you say all curious.
'yes the roswell.'
'you ever seen any aliens.' you add.
'yeah they pass through here all the time.'
we grab the beers and return to our table.
'fucking hell man, this is roswell, we should go check it out.'
'check out what, the alien space ships?'
'area 51.' you say
'what the fuck is area 51?'
'it's where the military kept the aliens they found.'
i laugh, 'get real, where did you hear that?'
'every one knows it, where have you been hiding.'
'there are no aliens, just us city folk, you heard the man.'
'come on,' you tease, 'don't be a spoil sport, we have loads of time.'
you have the map spread out across your lap, fingers dance across the page, 'just follow this dirt track and turn left when you get to the fence.'
'we can't get through a fence, especially if it's an army base.'
'we will just have a look, you just don't know.'
'mmm i liked it when you were being romantic babe.'
'come on, it's an adventure.'
we follow the fence for a few k's, then we see the hangers in the distance, massive silver installations, about five in a row, sunlight glinting off their roofs, almost blinding to look at. you see the rip in the fence, it's tiny but it's large enough for us to squeeze through. your out of the car before i can even begin to reason with you, in fact as your crawling through the fence i reason that there is no point in reasoning with you. you are having an adventure. i follow.
we walk up to the hangers, side by side, our boots stomping in the sand, our hands almost touching, our faces squinting from the glare. the doors are locked up. you push one but it won't give. i'm kind of glad. somewhere deep inside my guts i have a bad feeling. we shouldn't be there. the place is empty, must be empty for a reason i think.
we wander around the perimeter until we see a window. it's a little high for us to look into so i kneel down and you clamber onto my back. i hear you wiping the dust of the glass. a sharp intake of breath, ''it's empty but it's huge. i mean it's fucking just huge.'
i hope you are going to jump down but you don't, you stay upon my back, i can hear your breathing, feel your weight, some beads of sweat roll down onto my neck mixing with my own, i can feel your anxiety.
'babe, what is it?'
'there's some kind of object there, moving around, it doesn't move like a person though, it moves differently, like a machine.'
'okay get down now.'
you do, and we swap places.
the machine is human in shape but it is a machine, silver surface, large eyes, or at least orbs where the eyes should be, it is difficult to make out any other details except that it is moving erratically and looks somewhat damaged.
'what is it?' you ask.
i shrug, 'could be anything, this is military right?'
'was, now it's just an abandoned warehouse.'
we wander along the edge of the building looking for an opening. there is another doorway but it is locked. i fiddle with the padlock, 'you know this can be easily cut with metal cutters or some kinda big secateurs, it's not exactly fort knox.'
'let me see.'
a few moments later and with a hair clip you have opened the padlock. i wish you hadn't done that but there's no going back, we walk inside.
the air tasted stale, as if it had been locked up for a few years, it whooshed past us escaping. across the hanger was the metallic object, it was some sort of robot. it's head was comprised of a huge orb with two large orb eyes like an insect, it had a body that was almost humanoid but not quite, it looked as if some sort of circuitry was encased in a transparent silver shield all around it's torso and it's limbs were like telescopic octopus tentacles but robotic and the same silver. it seemed distressed and had not noticed us yet. on the floor is a few scraps of paper and folders, i grab one and read the letterhead
'USA MILITARY PROJECT CLASSIFIED AREA 57'
'area 57. what the hell is that?'
'maybe it's another type of alien hanger.'
'every one knows area 51 but i never heard of area 57.'
'what else do these papers say.'
we gather up as many as we can, the floor is strewn with papers and files but a lot of them are meaningless, mumbo jumbo, military talk. we piece together an idea.
while area 51 dealt with aliens area 57 deals with robots and androids that have been captured from the aliens and kept separate. there are four hangers and four different types of robot. this one seemed to have survived a wreckage that was found in the arctic, it was shipped over in 1955 and had been studied by a multi international team of scientists and engineers. there was a letter from the vice president and one from a general. there was a list of russian scientists and what looked like norwegian names.
we looked at the strange robotic creature that wandered around, it looked so clumsy and lost, a little pathetic.
now it's not often i blow my own trumpet, i am far to self critical to even consider myself of any talent, except maybe writing, i have a good writing style that i am comfortable with, but obviously it requires discipline and work. as a song writer i'm developing, my muse and i have a very good relationship, ideas come they take shape and form and eventually i understand the intention. it's a part intuitive process, part using my subconscious and alchemicalizing this into a manifested reality. the reality part i am pretty crap at, i can produce the basic elements, the atmospheres and the skin but it is val's genius that gives it blood.
what he does is sculpt the block i give him, gives it shape and life. it's a great partnership.
in my humility i occasionally do have to make some small claims like the following,
i am extremely proud of a song i just wrote, it's called HGA and it's something close to what i am striving for in words and music. once i get the vocals down with val and he adds his parts i think i can say i have reached a landmark in my personal ambitions as a writer. i don't know how one measures success other than ones own standards but HGA feels like i am evolving in a healthy and positive direction as a writer and this is all i care about when it comes to myself.
i can't wait to get into a studio and finish this song, indeed all the snuff music songs, it's looking to be a very interesting project and the tunes we have so far are really quite amazing, val's flourishes and base lines enrich these songs and make them breath. HGA is filled with potential. i think it's got the magick.
what he does is sculpt the block i give him, gives it shape and life. it's a great partnership.
in my humility i occasionally do have to make some small claims like the following,
i am extremely proud of a song i just wrote, it's called HGA and it's something close to what i am striving for in words and music. once i get the vocals down with val and he adds his parts i think i can say i have reached a landmark in my personal ambitions as a writer. i don't know how one measures success other than ones own standards but HGA feels like i am evolving in a healthy and positive direction as a writer and this is all i care about when it comes to myself.
i can't wait to get into a studio and finish this song, indeed all the snuff music songs, it's looking to be a very interesting project and the tunes we have so far are really quite amazing, val's flourishes and base lines enrich these songs and make them breath. HGA is filled with potential. i think it's got the magick.
Monday, March 22, 2010
monday blues, the start of the week and i'm feeling awkward, very strange, a creeping malaise has crawled into my spine and i feel some what ambivalent about travelling, i should be ecstatic but i am strangely numb. i take pan for a long walk, he catches the frisbee, i grab a coffee and ponder the papers then i meet amalia who is also going away, we both feel somewhat less than we know we should, it's very strange. we drink amazonian drinks and then decide to get out nails done at the nail doing place but when we walk in we are both overcome by fumes and toxic odours that engulf our lungs and infect our neural networks, amalia starts growing wings and i feel myself falling down a rabbit hole, i reach for the door but the fumes are powerful and they have gripped me hard.
a mad hater yells some abuse at me
a cheshire cats floating mouth attempts to bite me
a dodo dies
a caterpillar smokes a joint with me and a friendly gryphon and when we get stoned we mock a turtle
later the hatter invites us to a tea party where they serve us blueberries but amalia and i know they are really raspberries, we call them on it and the queen of hearts threatens to chop of our heads but amalia shoots her in the head and we escape with some cake and some tea.
strange but true
a mad hater yells some abuse at me
a cheshire cats floating mouth attempts to bite me
a dodo dies
a caterpillar smokes a joint with me and a friendly gryphon and when we get stoned we mock a turtle
later the hatter invites us to a tea party where they serve us blueberries but amalia and i know they are really raspberries, we call them on it and the queen of hearts threatens to chop of our heads but amalia shoots her in the head and we escape with some cake and some tea.
strange but true
its very late and i have written a song for a friend, played frisbee with pansy and gone out for dinner with tim and am watching sin city on tv, what a brilliantly stylish story and so well acted, i loved clive owen in this, his story and the love he had for his woman in girls town was cool to, that's cool love. anyway i loved bruce willis to, just great stories and over the top but so well executed. the way frank miller writes, it's unique. the love stories are fantastic but they are essentially love stories, very deep and multi levelled, the males are broken and beaten and busted up, the women hearts of gold but deceptively hard. the male leads all act from love, redemption and some form of desperation.
it's a great film.
it's a great film.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
having said that there is times when alcohol is great and serves a purpose one can describe as self medicating, so in many ways alcohol has a place, i guess. as life gets stressful and complex so does the escape route out and the vodka i had before my gig was pretty good, it carried me somewhat through what should have been an ocean of nervous potential to being something realised. i guess alchol has it's place in my life, and there are no dumb drugs just wise choices and informed minds making them.
we never spoke about alcohol, it's strange as i grew up in london where there was a pub on every corner and the first thing you did when you looked the right age was go down the pub and get drunk, it was silly but that's what you do when you are young and your brain is developing. so i would drink cider or some horrid beer. i'd drink with my friends stewart and andy. later i would go to berlin and drink in bars, berlin was a drinking haven as the bars were amazing nut during this kind of time i discovered grass and my drinking which predominantly consisted of whiskey to keep warm, seemed to decline, and instead of going out drinking i stayed home and smoked. however there is something about girls, bars and drinking that seems to catapult me into relationships. i think i met most of my ex girlfriends in bars after a big night out. so there's a pattern, i even met my ex wife in a pub. mind you at that time i did not drink, i used to smoke the green goddess and go into the pub and order a mineral water.
my local pub was filled with bikers and a high population of au pair girls, whom i found myself drawn towards.
then there was my lost sydney years where i discovered obliteration through alcohol, again each bar experience would result in some weird relationship and a whole load of misery so i gave up alcohol and stuck to the green goddess.
but if i do drink it's at home, usually a home made cocktail made from blue berries or vodka drinks i imbue with various flavours, usually honey.
sometimes i drink el salvadorian beers when im hot and my brain refuses to stop but i'd like an alcohol free life.i like the smart drugs.
my local pub was filled with bikers and a high population of au pair girls, whom i found myself drawn towards.
then there was my lost sydney years where i discovered obliteration through alcohol, again each bar experience would result in some weird relationship and a whole load of misery so i gave up alcohol and stuck to the green goddess.
but if i do drink it's at home, usually a home made cocktail made from blue berries or vodka drinks i imbue with various flavours, usually honey.
sometimes i drink el salvadorian beers when im hot and my brain refuses to stop but i'd like an alcohol free life.i like the smart drugs.
currently i am listening to one of my fave rock songs.
it's janes addiction three days, which has the best constructed build up ever. i love the guitars searing away and the way the drums go all tribal, that pounding base line, but perry just delivers the best vocals, like a snake, it's powerful shamanic and leaves you wasted like you spent forty days and nights in the desert being tempted and now all you wanna do is fuck eat and sleep. i love the primal energy in this song, it has a beauty that is long missing from most modern music, it has the voodoo, the magick.
i never saw them live, i had tickets but they cancelled the show.
im a big fan of perry farrel, i like his approach to music and he's a smart guy. very low key political environmental mover and shaker, people assume he's just a voice but he's an amazing organiser and dedicated to making the planet a better place for people to live. i also like what he says about his wife, "etty and I have been working together since 1997. The very first time I saw her come in and shake her... ponytail, I hired her and I fell in love with her on the spot. We travel together and we have a collective memory. so in another words, I don't remember anything and she just reminds me of everything. so we share this memory bank. and it ain't a bad thing waking up with a hot chick in your bed everyday."
sounds great to me.
it's janes addiction three days, which has the best constructed build up ever. i love the guitars searing away and the way the drums go all tribal, that pounding base line, but perry just delivers the best vocals, like a snake, it's powerful shamanic and leaves you wasted like you spent forty days and nights in the desert being tempted and now all you wanna do is fuck eat and sleep. i love the primal energy in this song, it has a beauty that is long missing from most modern music, it has the voodoo, the magick.
i never saw them live, i had tickets but they cancelled the show.
im a big fan of perry farrel, i like his approach to music and he's a smart guy. very low key political environmental mover and shaker, people assume he's just a voice but he's an amazing organiser and dedicated to making the planet a better place for people to live. i also like what he says about his wife, "etty and I have been working together since 1997. The very first time I saw her come in and shake her... ponytail, I hired her and I fell in love with her on the spot. We travel together and we have a collective memory. so in another words, I don't remember anything and she just reminds me of everything. so we share this memory bank. and it ain't a bad thing waking up with a hot chick in your bed everyday."
sounds great to me.
so how should we live, this is the fundamental question one needs to address in their own lives.
the answer is simple. it is the duty of every one to escape their genetic imprints and meta program their own evolution, there are various ways to do this but i'd recommend the well trodden path of the native peoples, american indians, adopt the practise into life, never stray to far from the community responsibilities for this is the realm of formation where everything materialises. everything you experience is your creation, filtered through your judgements and values and morality. if your morality is inflexible and narrow your judgements will decrease your own perception, one cannot cling to the moral code of power and control, one has to embrace ones own power and ones own relationship to the universe. the magickal frame works of the west were mapped true by the most courageous of magickians, the true free spirits. they dared to think outside the square, travel down paths forbidden. they left their work for us to draw upon, and we should take heed. i followed their reality maps, i practiced their ideas and along with the ayahuscian experience and a mystical background formed my perceptions. these may be wrong but they work for me. that's all i need.
why is kabbalah an oral tradition, why is mysticism veiled in secrecy and the occult so strewn with land mines, it is a very dangerous path to travel without guidance. each generation passes this wisdom down, each individual attempts to come to some understanding of it, like a generational relay finally some one gets the baton and makes that run, i have the baton, it was given to me from my great grandfather and i have run with it. pass it forwards, live authentically, breath good. banish fear and embrace love.
the answer is simple. it is the duty of every one to escape their genetic imprints and meta program their own evolution, there are various ways to do this but i'd recommend the well trodden path of the native peoples, american indians, adopt the practise into life, never stray to far from the community responsibilities for this is the realm of formation where everything materialises. everything you experience is your creation, filtered through your judgements and values and morality. if your morality is inflexible and narrow your judgements will decrease your own perception, one cannot cling to the moral code of power and control, one has to embrace ones own power and ones own relationship to the universe. the magickal frame works of the west were mapped true by the most courageous of magickians, the true free spirits. they dared to think outside the square, travel down paths forbidden. they left their work for us to draw upon, and we should take heed. i followed their reality maps, i practiced their ideas and along with the ayahuscian experience and a mystical background formed my perceptions. these may be wrong but they work for me. that's all i need.
why is kabbalah an oral tradition, why is mysticism veiled in secrecy and the occult so strewn with land mines, it is a very dangerous path to travel without guidance. each generation passes this wisdom down, each individual attempts to come to some understanding of it, like a generational relay finally some one gets the baton and makes that run, i have the baton, it was given to me from my great grandfather and i have run with it. pass it forwards, live authentically, breath good. banish fear and embrace love.
here's something interesting i found on the web...
Definition of God: God is an entity that must have the following properties:
Omniscient. God must be All Knowing and have instantaneous knowledge of all things.
Omnipresent. God must be present everywhere. Here on earth and in a galaxy a million light years away.
Omnipotent. God must have unlimited power which we can define as the spontaneous ability to create unlimited amounts of energy or matter in any form.
Self-Aware. God must be "self-aware."
In quantum mechanics it has already been proven that the Universe has ALL of these properties, and therefore, the Universe satisfies this definition of God and is, therefore, God. Let's examine each of these properties. For a period of time physicists were baffled how to interpret some of the results that came from the mathematics of Quantum Physics. For example, the math showed that everything that exists in the univese like an electron must has INSTANTANEOUS knowledge of everything else in the universe, even if it is a million light years away! The math showed that information about anything must travel faser than light but it was not clear how this occured until recent developments have led physicists to proofs from string theory that the universe as it exists today has 26 dimensions and at least 3 of these dimensions are of ZERO "length" (technically it isn't length but that is beyond this discussion). The implications of this are mind blowing. For the math and equations to be valid mean that everything in the Universe is connected at least one point of ZERO LENGTH and that means everything is connected to everything else those dimensions of zero length and that explains how information is instantaneously tramsiited about everything to everything satisfying the property that God must be Omniscient and also gives the Universe the property of being Omnipresent since everything, ourselves included, is connect to and a part of everything else as eastern religion has stated for centuries. We are God and God is us and we are connected to all that exists.
Several theorems in theoretical physics have proven that from any point in time and space an unlimited amount of matter and energy can appear or disappear--don't confuse this with conservation of mementum which is something completelty different. And several recent proofs in theoretical physics have shown that the Universe must be "self-aware." Religion was historically science and man's early attempt to explain the Universe around him that we now know is a part of each of us. The FACT that science has proven we live in a Universe where everything is physically touching everything else at a single point means that the appearance that objects are far away is an illusion and that all things we see are in fact touching us and a part of us as we are a part of all that exists.
In the writings of Kabbalah, 5,000 years before Christ, we have writings of God's causing effects even before the beginning of time and these writings declare the existence of dimensions beyond our time and space, extra dimensions in which God exists and operates. These extra dimensions are now verified by numerous scientific discoveries and proofs. It is well established among physicists that virtual particles can pop into existence from nothingness through quantum tunneling. And recent breakthroughs by physicists have shown that powerful evidence exists that there is something going on behind it all as Einstein believed.
Kabbalah is in complete agreement with science. A rabbi wrote down 5,000 before Christ a mathematical calculation to determine the age of the Universe---he calcualted that it was 13.5 BILLION years old. Unitil just a few years ago scientists believed the Universe was only 3 to 5 billion years old and recently a group of scientists shared the Nobel Prize for showing that the Universe was 13.5 Billion years old. The probability that the Rabbi could have guessed at this number is about a Trillion to one and this is just one of fascinating things in Kabbalah.
In Kabbalah it was written 5,000 years before Christ that the Universe started with 10 points of light and then there was a big explosition and there were 26 points of light.
The greatest minds in theoretical physics have shown recently that the before the Big Bang there were "open strings." In the case of string theory, mathematical consistency requires spacetime to have 10 dimensions for open strings. Then came the Big Bang and the strings closed and closed strings require 26 dimensions for the math to work.
Richard Feynman, recognized as our foremost authority on the subject of creation, a brilliant physicist, and Nobel Laureate, is quoted as saying that physicists ought to remind themselves of how much they dont know by putting a sign on the walls of their offices with the number, 137. Feynman stated, "It is one of the greatest mysteries of physics, a magic number that comes to us with no understanding by man. You might say the "hand of God" wrote that number and we dont know how He pushed the pencil." It was written in the works of Kabbalah, 5,000 years before Christ, that the numbers, 26 and 137, which are said to be the fundamental numbers of the universe.
Werner Heisenberg, another giant in the world of physics said that all the problems of quantum theory would disappear only when 137 was explained. The book of Genesis says God told Moses that He has revealed Himself under other names but that His true essence is the number of the four letter s YHVH which translates into English as Yahweh or Jehovah. It is used by many Christian sects as the name of God. The number of YHVH is 26. Yud = 10, Hay = 5, and a Vav = 6, for a total of 26. In English, G is the seventh letter of the alphabet, O is fifteenth, and D is fourth. 7 + 15 + 4 equals 26. Kabbalah teaches God is 26.
Neils Bohr discovered that when electrons absorbed energy they jumped to higher orbits and that these jumps occur at very specific distances from the nucleus. He created a chart showing the maximum number of electrons possible in each orbit and he was exactly correct in the sequence of number. On his death bed he confessed that he derived these numbers from the number 26 in Kabbalah that are shown below. Kabbalah correctly predicted the electrons in the increasing orbits of the hydrogen atom, and wrote that these numbers are the "energy emanations of the smallest thing that makes up matter" which we know today is the hydrogen atom.
Kabbalah calculated: 2, 8, 18, 32, 50, 72, 98, 128, 162, 200, 242, 288 /
The Kabbalists had an understanding of the structure of the hydrogen atom 5,000 years before Christ and they wrote down the EXACT sequence of numbers above representing the energy levels of the hydrogen atom.
pretty cool huh?
all knowledge is information. the universe is information, everything is known, there are no mysteries, just the journey to them.
Definition of God: God is an entity that must have the following properties:
Omniscient. God must be All Knowing and have instantaneous knowledge of all things.
Omnipresent. God must be present everywhere. Here on earth and in a galaxy a million light years away.
Omnipotent. God must have unlimited power which we can define as the spontaneous ability to create unlimited amounts of energy or matter in any form.
Self-Aware. God must be "self-aware."
In quantum mechanics it has already been proven that the Universe has ALL of these properties, and therefore, the Universe satisfies this definition of God and is, therefore, God. Let's examine each of these properties. For a period of time physicists were baffled how to interpret some of the results that came from the mathematics of Quantum Physics. For example, the math showed that everything that exists in the univese like an electron must has INSTANTANEOUS knowledge of everything else in the universe, even if it is a million light years away! The math showed that information about anything must travel faser than light but it was not clear how this occured until recent developments have led physicists to proofs from string theory that the universe as it exists today has 26 dimensions and at least 3 of these dimensions are of ZERO "length" (technically it isn't length but that is beyond this discussion). The implications of this are mind blowing. For the math and equations to be valid mean that everything in the Universe is connected at least one point of ZERO LENGTH and that means everything is connected to everything else those dimensions of zero length and that explains how information is instantaneously tramsiited about everything to everything satisfying the property that God must be Omniscient and also gives the Universe the property of being Omnipresent since everything, ourselves included, is connect to and a part of everything else as eastern religion has stated for centuries. We are God and God is us and we are connected to all that exists.
Several theorems in theoretical physics have proven that from any point in time and space an unlimited amount of matter and energy can appear or disappear--don't confuse this with conservation of mementum which is something completelty different. And several recent proofs in theoretical physics have shown that the Universe must be "self-aware." Religion was historically science and man's early attempt to explain the Universe around him that we now know is a part of each of us. The FACT that science has proven we live in a Universe where everything is physically touching everything else at a single point means that the appearance that objects are far away is an illusion and that all things we see are in fact touching us and a part of us as we are a part of all that exists.
In the writings of Kabbalah, 5,000 years before Christ, we have writings of God's causing effects even before the beginning of time and these writings declare the existence of dimensions beyond our time and space, extra dimensions in which God exists and operates. These extra dimensions are now verified by numerous scientific discoveries and proofs. It is well established among physicists that virtual particles can pop into existence from nothingness through quantum tunneling. And recent breakthroughs by physicists have shown that powerful evidence exists that there is something going on behind it all as Einstein believed.
Kabbalah is in complete agreement with science. A rabbi wrote down 5,000 before Christ a mathematical calculation to determine the age of the Universe---he calcualted that it was 13.5 BILLION years old. Unitil just a few years ago scientists believed the Universe was only 3 to 5 billion years old and recently a group of scientists shared the Nobel Prize for showing that the Universe was 13.5 Billion years old. The probability that the Rabbi could have guessed at this number is about a Trillion to one and this is just one of fascinating things in Kabbalah.
In Kabbalah it was written 5,000 years before Christ that the Universe started with 10 points of light and then there was a big explosition and there were 26 points of light.
The greatest minds in theoretical physics have shown recently that the before the Big Bang there were "open strings." In the case of string theory, mathematical consistency requires spacetime to have 10 dimensions for open strings. Then came the Big Bang and the strings closed and closed strings require 26 dimensions for the math to work.
Richard Feynman, recognized as our foremost authority on the subject of creation, a brilliant physicist, and Nobel Laureate, is quoted as saying that physicists ought to remind themselves of how much they dont know by putting a sign on the walls of their offices with the number, 137. Feynman stated, "It is one of the greatest mysteries of physics, a magic number that comes to us with no understanding by man. You might say the "hand of God" wrote that number and we dont know how He pushed the pencil." It was written in the works of Kabbalah, 5,000 years before Christ, that the numbers, 26 and 137, which are said to be the fundamental numbers of the universe.
Werner Heisenberg, another giant in the world of physics said that all the problems of quantum theory would disappear only when 137 was explained. The book of Genesis says God told Moses that He has revealed Himself under other names but that His true essence is the number of the four letter s YHVH which translates into English as Yahweh or Jehovah. It is used by many Christian sects as the name of God. The number of YHVH is 26. Yud = 10, Hay = 5, and a Vav = 6, for a total of 26. In English, G is the seventh letter of the alphabet, O is fifteenth, and D is fourth. 7 + 15 + 4 equals 26. Kabbalah teaches God is 26.
Neils Bohr discovered that when electrons absorbed energy they jumped to higher orbits and that these jumps occur at very specific distances from the nucleus. He created a chart showing the maximum number of electrons possible in each orbit and he was exactly correct in the sequence of number. On his death bed he confessed that he derived these numbers from the number 26 in Kabbalah that are shown below. Kabbalah correctly predicted the electrons in the increasing orbits of the hydrogen atom, and wrote that these numbers are the "energy emanations of the smallest thing that makes up matter" which we know today is the hydrogen atom.
Kabbalah calculated: 2, 8, 18, 32, 50, 72, 98, 128, 162, 200, 242, 288 /
The Kabbalists had an understanding of the structure of the hydrogen atom 5,000 years before Christ and they wrote down the EXACT sequence of numbers above representing the energy levels of the hydrogen atom.
pretty cool huh?
all knowledge is information. the universe is information, everything is known, there are no mysteries, just the journey to them.
don't fear the reaper, life is about death, sooner or later you gotta come to terms with the fact you will die and make what ever preparations you have to. in my history i seemed to have many close encounters with death, like a ghost hunting me but never actually taking me, it was always there, even when i was born it was touch and go for six months, from that point onwards i was in it's shadow until i drank ayahuscia and died, wow many times over, through my past lives, over and over until this one where i received my answers.
the secret of life is death.
death is not the end, it is a change of energetic states. physical science dictates in law that energy cannot be destroyed, even through a black hole, therefore spiritual laws have some evidential truth when they say that the essence of your life lives on after death. even if your body decomposes and is eaten by worms and tree food your atonic structure is still there, it's state may have changed but it is there, as is your spiritual structure which if you have prepared well liberates you towards another level of existence. i have been privileged to see this state, it's the sea of potential where all is known, like a bed of quanta and ocean, at peace, no desire, no need, nothing yet everything. it's bliss.
however nothing forced me into life more than this knowledge, live each moment, enjoy every thing, loose your fear and rejoice in the dance we are in, the gift of creation. i may be a jaded old fool but i am equally at peace with my creations, embracing the magickal elements that i have mastered and the ones i have not. my body needs work, i need to discipline myself, i carry around a lot of fat i need to shed, my diet needs addressing, no more ice cream, no more fatty foods, it's exersise everyday, yoga, swim and walking. these are my tasks.
the secret of life is death.
death is not the end, it is a change of energetic states. physical science dictates in law that energy cannot be destroyed, even through a black hole, therefore spiritual laws have some evidential truth when they say that the essence of your life lives on after death. even if your body decomposes and is eaten by worms and tree food your atonic structure is still there, it's state may have changed but it is there, as is your spiritual structure which if you have prepared well liberates you towards another level of existence. i have been privileged to see this state, it's the sea of potential where all is known, like a bed of quanta and ocean, at peace, no desire, no need, nothing yet everything. it's bliss.
however nothing forced me into life more than this knowledge, live each moment, enjoy every thing, loose your fear and rejoice in the dance we are in, the gift of creation. i may be a jaded old fool but i am equally at peace with my creations, embracing the magickal elements that i have mastered and the ones i have not. my body needs work, i need to discipline myself, i carry around a lot of fat i need to shed, my diet needs addressing, no more ice cream, no more fatty foods, it's exersise everyday, yoga, swim and walking. these are my tasks.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
far out, out of all the twists and turns i took i was always alone, travelling my journey, having my experience yet i was completely isolated in terms of friends, i never had any, i was on my own. yet here i am surrounded by the best friends any one could wish for, i'm a very lucky man. tonight evan and leanne take me out to a vegetarian restaurant where we eat great food and talk about health, alternative industries and strange alchemical products we use. we eat ice cream apple crumble and honey comb chocolate cake for desert, it's yummy.
im going to miss evan and leanne, i'm going to miss the high priestess and tim, i will miss my band and i will miss my dog. these are my friends.
im going to miss evan and leanne, i'm going to miss the high priestess and tim, i will miss my band and i will miss my dog. these are my friends.
Friday, March 19, 2010
so friday evening and i get a text from my dear friend evan and leanne who are reading a book that says, 'it contains a vast library of information that can be drawn upon to heal ourselves and our planet'
this is true.
ayahuscia is the the window into an intelligence beyond our experience aka god. i'm not saying ayahuscia is god, i'm saying it could be described as god. this is because it is beyond any human intelligence, it's beyond anything, it is the avatar of our time and it is a PLANT!
how can ones life not be changed profoundly by such an experience.
the healing force behind it is beautiful, it's healing on all levels, and answers your questions in the most powerful way. i don't really know what else to say about it. i hope that people who drink it out there do it with the respect and reverence it deserves. follow dieta and diet restrictions, meditate for a while, reflect and be true before drinking and the honouring process works both ways.
i'm anxious about going to london, it's a massive shock stepping away from my quiet life, my routines and rituals but i guess i should prepare and attempt to be in a positive mental frame. even though jake is still in the air i feel like i miss being nearby, what a great inspirational and brilliant young man he is. my hero. i am a proud dad jake.
i took weird strange eccentric tangents in my life, and i covered a lot of ground, come a long way and got a long way to go.
healthy body is my next challenge.
this is true.
ayahuscia is the the window into an intelligence beyond our experience aka god. i'm not saying ayahuscia is god, i'm saying it could be described as god. this is because it is beyond any human intelligence, it's beyond anything, it is the avatar of our time and it is a PLANT!
how can ones life not be changed profoundly by such an experience.
the healing force behind it is beautiful, it's healing on all levels, and answers your questions in the most powerful way. i don't really know what else to say about it. i hope that people who drink it out there do it with the respect and reverence it deserves. follow dieta and diet restrictions, meditate for a while, reflect and be true before drinking and the honouring process works both ways.
i'm anxious about going to london, it's a massive shock stepping away from my quiet life, my routines and rituals but i guess i should prepare and attempt to be in a positive mental frame. even though jake is still in the air i feel like i miss being nearby, what a great inspirational and brilliant young man he is. my hero. i am a proud dad jake.
i took weird strange eccentric tangents in my life, and i covered a lot of ground, come a long way and got a long way to go.
healthy body is my next challenge.
jake left for amsterdam this evening, we catch up for coffee this morning, he looks anxious, i get him a book, a copy of monstrum by donald james, i regret buying that for him as its a dark story about a detective looking for his son, but i guess it is a good read for the plane.
we wander through avalon, jake tells me he will be away for two years. we talk about his grandmother, who is ill. i talk to him about my grandfather and how i am very close to him still, beyond the grave, we discuss energy and essence. it's a good conversation but also sad.
we say goodbye. i will meet him in 10 days.
the rest of the day i tidy up my house and potter around. i pay bills and generally feel saddened that jake is far away. i miss him already.
i will smoke a joint tonight in honour and wish you a good flight and safe journey.
we wander through avalon, jake tells me he will be away for two years. we talk about his grandmother, who is ill. i talk to him about my grandfather and how i am very close to him still, beyond the grave, we discuss energy and essence. it's a good conversation but also sad.
we say goodbye. i will meet him in 10 days.
the rest of the day i tidy up my house and potter around. i pay bills and generally feel saddened that jake is far away. i miss him already.
i will smoke a joint tonight in honour and wish you a good flight and safe journey.
it's a long flight and the effects of the ephemeral are starting to peak, but also the mushrooms are beginning to kick in strong, he can feel their alien heat flood his bloodstream, he can sense the energy through his body as it settles into his aura. he knocks back the vodka and lets it drain away onto his chest, never a good idea to mix intoxications especially alcohol but his predicament is so vast he needs to have something grounding and physical to cling to.
opening the book he continues to read, the professer has accepted he is responsible as a god to his creation, the foam bubble universe that has blended with his beloved roxy's consciousness. he begins to allow his universe to gain self awareness. it must do this alone although he is always there present should any one seek him.
the universe takes some strange evolutionary directions, many twists and turns and many dead ends but eventually the universe is becoming self aware attaining consciousness through love. roxy is actively working the female energetic component, the goddess.
max pulls out the matrix, he unfolds it. it looks not unlike a crop circle, hieroglyphic. he knows he should release the spirit but wants to do this in a safe contained environment, not an aircraft, he sneaks of for a hash cake and rides out the ephemeral wave.
now he hurdles through space looking upon a giant screen that shows well, it seems to be foam, the quantum foam, the shape of the universe. he looks at it floating there in space, each bubble another universe. this is the big picture in four dimensions. he gasps at the vastness of it, but also for what he sees is the essence of roxy, she is draped across this foam, her consciousness scattered throughout every atom. it is this that he loves. he puts his hand to the screen, the image pixilates and he turns away, directing the space craft back into the foam.
as he gets closer the foam bubble mass enlarges across the screen, in a few years he will enter the universe completely and then he will navigate towards the central bubble, the one that contains roxy.
he wanders through the ships labs and comes to the bubble gun, it looks like a small toy, a bright coloured children's plaything. he picks up the gun and points it at his head.
max puts down the book again, the mushrooms are making it difficult to read, his vision changes all the time, sometimes it's just to bright for him. he sweats and feels dehydrated.
how does this story end he wonders.
ephemeral takes him into the eye of the storm, he feels time slipping away, he opens the book and lets the multiple selves split away and separate, these are different stories, tangents all exploring all gathering the information, and one by one they send it back to max. the main one.
the scientist is max, roxy lives in the plants, she lives in all life. the bubble gun did this, and the only way to unfix it is by letting love work its magick, over eons.
when max awakes again he is sleeping in a bed, a simple large wooden bed. next to him is the witch. she lays in his arms, she is the face of roxy. she opens an eye and smiles.
later they drink tea.
'what happened was it real?' max asks.
'real as anything else is, ephemeral is a powerful substance. it operates on many levels and i don't think anyone else from the human realm has attempted to ever use it. i'm surprised you have used it for so long and are still here. ephemeral often takes the user away.'
'well i do feel like i was.'
'then perhaps you were max.'
'did i solve the case?'
'let's have a look at the matrix.'
i searched through the paperback copy of the bubble gun and found the paper folded up. we placed it on the table and opened it up. and there it was covered in ancient writing and contained in one elegant diagram, the tree of life.
opening the book he continues to read, the professer has accepted he is responsible as a god to his creation, the foam bubble universe that has blended with his beloved roxy's consciousness. he begins to allow his universe to gain self awareness. it must do this alone although he is always there present should any one seek him.
the universe takes some strange evolutionary directions, many twists and turns and many dead ends but eventually the universe is becoming self aware attaining consciousness through love. roxy is actively working the female energetic component, the goddess.
max pulls out the matrix, he unfolds it. it looks not unlike a crop circle, hieroglyphic. he knows he should release the spirit but wants to do this in a safe contained environment, not an aircraft, he sneaks of for a hash cake and rides out the ephemeral wave.
now he hurdles through space looking upon a giant screen that shows well, it seems to be foam, the quantum foam, the shape of the universe. he looks at it floating there in space, each bubble another universe. this is the big picture in four dimensions. he gasps at the vastness of it, but also for what he sees is the essence of roxy, she is draped across this foam, her consciousness scattered throughout every atom. it is this that he loves. he puts his hand to the screen, the image pixilates and he turns away, directing the space craft back into the foam.
as he gets closer the foam bubble mass enlarges across the screen, in a few years he will enter the universe completely and then he will navigate towards the central bubble, the one that contains roxy.
he wanders through the ships labs and comes to the bubble gun, it looks like a small toy, a bright coloured children's plaything. he picks up the gun and points it at his head.
max puts down the book again, the mushrooms are making it difficult to read, his vision changes all the time, sometimes it's just to bright for him. he sweats and feels dehydrated.
how does this story end he wonders.
ephemeral takes him into the eye of the storm, he feels time slipping away, he opens the book and lets the multiple selves split away and separate, these are different stories, tangents all exploring all gathering the information, and one by one they send it back to max. the main one.
the scientist is max, roxy lives in the plants, she lives in all life. the bubble gun did this, and the only way to unfix it is by letting love work its magick, over eons.
when max awakes again he is sleeping in a bed, a simple large wooden bed. next to him is the witch. she lays in his arms, she is the face of roxy. she opens an eye and smiles.
later they drink tea.
'what happened was it real?' max asks.
'real as anything else is, ephemeral is a powerful substance. it operates on many levels and i don't think anyone else from the human realm has attempted to ever use it. i'm surprised you have used it for so long and are still here. ephemeral often takes the user away.'
'well i do feel like i was.'
'then perhaps you were max.'
'did i solve the case?'
'let's have a look at the matrix.'
i searched through the paperback copy of the bubble gun and found the paper folded up. we placed it on the table and opened it up. and there it was covered in ancient writing and contained in one elegant diagram, the tree of life.
it is not until the cactus spirit is transferring into the matrix that max glimpses the cactus spirit is in fact female, that the form is indeed quite pleasing to his eye, lithe and elfish with a cheeky sparkle in her eyes and a look of recognition shared, an instant that speaks volumes and had a certain gravity.
the cactus spirit shares it to.
time freezes, dissolves, pops, everything distorts momentarily but as reality reassembles it’s changed. max finds his hand reaching out towards the spirit, it grabs her hand and she in turn reaches towards him.
‘roxy.’ he says.
‘max’ she whispers as the matrix seals itself. joseph achillies is moaning on the floor, he is disorientated and requires attention, he looks to max pleading for answers.
‘what the hell is this?’
‘who are you?’
‘mr achillies i am max, i have been assigned the task of protecting you, please don’t worry, i will return you to your office soon. you have just had a difficult experience and you need to rest.’
‘difficult experience, i want an answer. what the hell am i doing here?’ he’s attempting to stand up but he’s a bit wobbly.
max has been through this ritual many times, he strides over to joe and prods his forehead, joe looks stunned and amazed, then his eyes close and he falls down.
on the plane trip back home max processes the events, he holds roxy in the matrix field in his wallet. this is basically an energetic sigil represented by the intention, and traps forms in two dimensional space. he considers the implications of the revelations, roxy is the character from his book and it seems he is her partner, the scientist.
he thinks about the kabbilistic terms and representation. all creation is the part of god that has the divine spark, all life contains this. the ultimate being is separated from his creation, his wife, the only way to unite them is through love, or at least acts of love. these acts are measured in the heart.
the emphemeral plus the mushrooms would have caused a glitch in the dimensional walls, leakage perhaps, or some strange spillage, certain levels of realities reveal themselves, certain patterns are manifested and certain enlightenments are gained. things do get twisted and turned and or untwisted depending on how one sees.
he reached into his bag and pulled out the book. ‘the bubble gun.’
flicking through the pages he already read he finds his place in the narrative and settles into his seat.
the scientist is in despair, yet he is also a scientist so somewhat pragmatic, he cannot travel backwards in time but he can certainly love his creation, it is after all in essence roxy. she exists in everything in this universe. so he begins to care deeply for his universe and although he intervenes occasionally he knows that roxy is free to discover who and what she is and eventually how to get back to him.
this takes an eternity. during which the professor explores and cares for his creation, sending messengers into it, sending signs and symbols of guidance and hope, some of the creative elements have discovered that he exists, they fight and squabble amongst themselves but some are unconditional devotees who in their own private way love him and her, this creates sparks within creation that send energetic bolts through the time and space across the dimensions and reconnect roxy with himself. it's not much but it's a start.
eventually after a few eons the whole planet begins to awaken, the single cells are actualised, self aware and egoless they take their place in the whole, knowing a kind of blissful peace and exulted state. thus bringing union closer.
max closes the book and orders a vodka.
the cactus spirit shares it to.
time freezes, dissolves, pops, everything distorts momentarily but as reality reassembles it’s changed. max finds his hand reaching out towards the spirit, it grabs her hand and she in turn reaches towards him.
‘roxy.’ he says.
‘max’ she whispers as the matrix seals itself. joseph achillies is moaning on the floor, he is disorientated and requires attention, he looks to max pleading for answers.
‘what the hell is this?’
‘who are you?’
‘mr achillies i am max, i have been assigned the task of protecting you, please don’t worry, i will return you to your office soon. you have just had a difficult experience and you need to rest.’
‘difficult experience, i want an answer. what the hell am i doing here?’ he’s attempting to stand up but he’s a bit wobbly.
max has been through this ritual many times, he strides over to joe and prods his forehead, joe looks stunned and amazed, then his eyes close and he falls down.
on the plane trip back home max processes the events, he holds roxy in the matrix field in his wallet. this is basically an energetic sigil represented by the intention, and traps forms in two dimensional space. he considers the implications of the revelations, roxy is the character from his book and it seems he is her partner, the scientist.
he thinks about the kabbilistic terms and representation. all creation is the part of god that has the divine spark, all life contains this. the ultimate being is separated from his creation, his wife, the only way to unite them is through love, or at least acts of love. these acts are measured in the heart.
the emphemeral plus the mushrooms would have caused a glitch in the dimensional walls, leakage perhaps, or some strange spillage, certain levels of realities reveal themselves, certain patterns are manifested and certain enlightenments are gained. things do get twisted and turned and or untwisted depending on how one sees.
he reached into his bag and pulled out the book. ‘the bubble gun.’
flicking through the pages he already read he finds his place in the narrative and settles into his seat.
the scientist is in despair, yet he is also a scientist so somewhat pragmatic, he cannot travel backwards in time but he can certainly love his creation, it is after all in essence roxy. she exists in everything in this universe. so he begins to care deeply for his universe and although he intervenes occasionally he knows that roxy is free to discover who and what she is and eventually how to get back to him.
this takes an eternity. during which the professor explores and cares for his creation, sending messengers into it, sending signs and symbols of guidance and hope, some of the creative elements have discovered that he exists, they fight and squabble amongst themselves but some are unconditional devotees who in their own private way love him and her, this creates sparks within creation that send energetic bolts through the time and space across the dimensions and reconnect roxy with himself. it's not much but it's a start.
eventually after a few eons the whole planet begins to awaken, the single cells are actualised, self aware and egoless they take their place in the whole, knowing a kind of blissful peace and exulted state. thus bringing union closer.
max closes the book and orders a vodka.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
max worked the subconscious crimes, he was an old skool investigator, walking in many worlds, solving the unusual metaphysical dilemmas for his rich and powerful clientele, occasionally he would take on pro bono work but he had child support payments like everyone else, he had bills piling up and interest growing on credit cards, he also had a habit he needed sating.
one afternoon the phone rings, his agent asks if he would take on a case.
the agent is an american woman, she lives in new york city and has agoraphobia but in the web she is free and has many contacts, she is the nexus of all information pertaining to sub crime and sooner or later she finds something she knows max will be interested in.
such was the case march 19th 2010 when she awoke max from an afternoon siesta with the offer of a case.
'send the file over trixie.'
he flicked open his mac powerbook and booted it up, accessing his e mail he opened the file.
he scanned the information.
his client was a cactus entity who had found himself trapped in the soul of a republican politician. max looked over the relevant information, the politician was joseph achilles a greek shipping magnate who had found power the next acquisition after his fourth billion. he was one of the richest men on the planet but he was also not far away from being the most powerful, however since a trip to mexico he seemed to have trapped the cactus spirit within his soul and now the spirit wants out or was it the other way around, the report was ambiguous. it appeared that the cactus spirit was enjoying his earthly form, boozing it up in bars, brothels and roadside dinners, hassling waitresses and clocking up debts in casinos, meanwhile our fave republican was attempting to regain some discipline and control. or the story could read that the republican senator had taken the cactus god on a wild debauched hedonistic romp through excess and the cactus spirit could not escape, either way separation was needed.
max flicked the pages, it appears that the senator was under strict surveillance in a private mental institute in new mexico.
he accepted the case and within seconds was booked on a flight.
max had worked cases like this for many years, he was an old hand, he liked to research but his main tool was intuition and instinct, he used a form of chaos magick and some methodology adopted and adapted from various occult and esoteric traditions. he grabbed a book from the airport bookshop, he chose the book by his seat number, row 7, seat 3 which he translated to mean the 7th shelf the 3rd row. from here he looked at the spines and held his hand over them waiting for intuition to kick in, he was drawn towards two, but chose the one he thought he could also read, a sci fi novel by alister reynolds called 'bubble gun.'
he checked in, grabbed a bottle of water and went into the bathroom cubicle to shoot up. he had been using ephemeral for seven years now, it was his narcotic of choice after a stint with various opiates and psychedelics and extensive plant based spirits he had accessed the ephemeral via a massive dose of dmt that he had injected into himself. the dmt opened a gateway into the machine elf universe where he was given access to the machine elves drug of choice, made by their inter dimensional chemistry, never used by humans ever before. as he hit the vein ephemeral swept through his body. one of the amazing things about this substance was it allows the user to operate in many dimensional realms at the same time, while max was waiting for his flight, listening for departure details and starting to read bubble gun, he was also wandering through the enchanted forest looking for the witch that lived there. another max was also enjoying the pleasures of anteres 7 but that is another narrative completely.
following a natural trail he wandered through the trees and along the path, birds flew around him and sung their gentle song, butterflies flocked in the sunlight that filtered between the leaves and a squirrel ran up a tree. max could read the animals minds, he was able to telepathically ask where the witch lived. follow the freaking trail the squirrel replied.
eventually he came to a small shabby but cute cottage, there was a large herb garden outside the front, and a letter box with a package in it. he wandered past and knocked on the door.
the problem with witches is they are quite mad at the best of times and it's very difficult to get them to be direct, they like to be metaphorical and elusive, everything they say has a certain ambiguity about it, but there is no doubt they manufacture the best spells for hey type of work max had in mind.
'i need a binding spell, and a containment spell and possibly a matrix seal.'
seal seal seal, matrix containment to bind, why what an unusual request dear chap. unusual and obscure. who did you not say you are?'
'madame i am max, and i offer you some silver in return for your service.'
'oh max i care nothing for trinkets, i require other essential substances for my services. we witches are not so enamoured by the glamour of trinkets. anyways i will put a brew on the stove, you will drink?'
'yes i'd love to.'
we sipped the tea, magick mushroom tea, i felt the warmth invade my chest. my brain started to process the situation i was on ephemeral now mushrooms, the time shifts would start to become some what random, so i focused my attention of procuring the spells i had come for.
'i don't have much more time. i would be happy to trade anything for the spells that you require'
the witch spun around, she seemed to do a dance, and then strangely she smiled at me, 'mmmm, it has been a long long time since i have had any physical attention', she morphed before my eyes, then changed again, various feminine forms flickered until she found one that suited me, 'well i don't have much time.'
'ha it won't take long from what i recall.'
so now i come back from the enchanted forest with the spells and feeling somewhat jaded, it was simple in the old days. ephemeral takes me into the desert where i prepare for the trap i will use to contain the cactus spirit. i find a suitable san pedro and draw the circle, hoping that a wind won't arise.
my physical body starts to get stuck into 'bubble gun.'
the story starts with a scientist travelling on a space ship in an unknown part of the universe. he is inventing a weapon although it is not really a weapon but a simulacra of the universe. he calls the weapon the bubble gun based on the idea that the universe is made of foam and each bubble within each bit of foam is a whole universe, the scientist is a genius but he is also a firm atheist and he wants to prove that he can be a god to the universe he creates with his bubble gun. however he is old and life has jaded him, he is cynical and suffers from melancholia, he has lost everyone he loves trough the trials and tribulations of life, he has no faith in man or god.he is prone to bouts of envy, jealously and violent acts of destruction.
actually he is a bit like god.
the scientist prepares to fire his gun when his ship picks up a stowaway, a beautiful girl called roxanne, a space pirate who is wounded and needs some medical aid. he does the noble thing and takes her on board where they start a relationship and the scientist begins to fall in love, the bubble gun no longer the object of his attention. he knows he has found his peace and truth in roxy. they spend many years together, enjoying their company and exploring the gift of love when one evening there is a terrible accident in the lab, the zap gun activates and actually shoots it's intent through roxy whose body dissolves into a billion million trillion elemental atoms that are then embedded in the small bubble created by the gun. the bubble splits in half,
then again and again as the first foam of the alternative man made universe begins to form.
each bubble each part of each bubble is a universe containing a conscious part of roxy.
the scientist discovers this and despite his attempts to rescue her he cannot. so he is god to his creation, the only thing he can do is love it, and the only thing the creation can do is find the spark of roxy and love it so that maybe this love, this strange force can reconcile.
the plane touches down in santa fe, max catches a cab into the desert where his other self has prepared the magick circle. he makes a slight detour to grab the senator from the mental health facility. by all accounts and purposes they are pleased to get rid of him, he has begun to become sexually provocative to the female staff and he has refused his meds choosing to drink tequila and listen to mexican pop music rather than the nice general piped muzak they play all day. in fact he is quite a belligerent spirit and max has to administer some tranquillisers against his better judgement just to get him into the car. they drive out into the desert and wait for midnight.
under the full moon keeping his eye on the second hand max cast the banishing rituals and got reading for the binding. he could not begin until after midnight and as the second hand passed the twelve he began. banishing rituals come in all shapes and sizes but the two keys to a successful banishing are intent and vibration. max's voice rung through the night. the cactus god seemed to leave the body of joseph achilles, a cheerful trickster, tinged green and sparkling mischief, strange energy radiates from his skin, an electric field spilling out into the night.
max is woking now, chanting the incantation to over power the spirit and keep it locked inside the circle. it is all about will power, focus and concentration. fortunately max is adept at this. the cactus spirit starts to sing a song of surrender and max moves in for the kill, the containment spell quickly followed by the matrix field. but max is on mushrooms while under the influence of ephemeral, this has dangerous and unpredictable consequences.
one afternoon the phone rings, his agent asks if he would take on a case.
the agent is an american woman, she lives in new york city and has agoraphobia but in the web she is free and has many contacts, she is the nexus of all information pertaining to sub crime and sooner or later she finds something she knows max will be interested in.
such was the case march 19th 2010 when she awoke max from an afternoon siesta with the offer of a case.
'send the file over trixie.'
he flicked open his mac powerbook and booted it up, accessing his e mail he opened the file.
he scanned the information.
his client was a cactus entity who had found himself trapped in the soul of a republican politician. max looked over the relevant information, the politician was joseph achilles a greek shipping magnate who had found power the next acquisition after his fourth billion. he was one of the richest men on the planet but he was also not far away from being the most powerful, however since a trip to mexico he seemed to have trapped the cactus spirit within his soul and now the spirit wants out or was it the other way around, the report was ambiguous. it appeared that the cactus spirit was enjoying his earthly form, boozing it up in bars, brothels and roadside dinners, hassling waitresses and clocking up debts in casinos, meanwhile our fave republican was attempting to regain some discipline and control. or the story could read that the republican senator had taken the cactus god on a wild debauched hedonistic romp through excess and the cactus spirit could not escape, either way separation was needed.
max flicked the pages, it appears that the senator was under strict surveillance in a private mental institute in new mexico.
he accepted the case and within seconds was booked on a flight.
max had worked cases like this for many years, he was an old hand, he liked to research but his main tool was intuition and instinct, he used a form of chaos magick and some methodology adopted and adapted from various occult and esoteric traditions. he grabbed a book from the airport bookshop, he chose the book by his seat number, row 7, seat 3 which he translated to mean the 7th shelf the 3rd row. from here he looked at the spines and held his hand over them waiting for intuition to kick in, he was drawn towards two, but chose the one he thought he could also read, a sci fi novel by alister reynolds called 'bubble gun.'
he checked in, grabbed a bottle of water and went into the bathroom cubicle to shoot up. he had been using ephemeral for seven years now, it was his narcotic of choice after a stint with various opiates and psychedelics and extensive plant based spirits he had accessed the ephemeral via a massive dose of dmt that he had injected into himself. the dmt opened a gateway into the machine elf universe where he was given access to the machine elves drug of choice, made by their inter dimensional chemistry, never used by humans ever before. as he hit the vein ephemeral swept through his body. one of the amazing things about this substance was it allows the user to operate in many dimensional realms at the same time, while max was waiting for his flight, listening for departure details and starting to read bubble gun, he was also wandering through the enchanted forest looking for the witch that lived there. another max was also enjoying the pleasures of anteres 7 but that is another narrative completely.
following a natural trail he wandered through the trees and along the path, birds flew around him and sung their gentle song, butterflies flocked in the sunlight that filtered between the leaves and a squirrel ran up a tree. max could read the animals minds, he was able to telepathically ask where the witch lived. follow the freaking trail the squirrel replied.
eventually he came to a small shabby but cute cottage, there was a large herb garden outside the front, and a letter box with a package in it. he wandered past and knocked on the door.
the problem with witches is they are quite mad at the best of times and it's very difficult to get them to be direct, they like to be metaphorical and elusive, everything they say has a certain ambiguity about it, but there is no doubt they manufacture the best spells for hey type of work max had in mind.
'i need a binding spell, and a containment spell and possibly a matrix seal.'
seal seal seal, matrix containment to bind, why what an unusual request dear chap. unusual and obscure. who did you not say you are?'
'madame i am max, and i offer you some silver in return for your service.'
'oh max i care nothing for trinkets, i require other essential substances for my services. we witches are not so enamoured by the glamour of trinkets. anyways i will put a brew on the stove, you will drink?'
'yes i'd love to.'
we sipped the tea, magick mushroom tea, i felt the warmth invade my chest. my brain started to process the situation i was on ephemeral now mushrooms, the time shifts would start to become some what random, so i focused my attention of procuring the spells i had come for.
'i don't have much more time. i would be happy to trade anything for the spells that you require'
the witch spun around, she seemed to do a dance, and then strangely she smiled at me, 'mmmm, it has been a long long time since i have had any physical attention', she morphed before my eyes, then changed again, various feminine forms flickered until she found one that suited me, 'well i don't have much time.'
'ha it won't take long from what i recall.'
so now i come back from the enchanted forest with the spells and feeling somewhat jaded, it was simple in the old days. ephemeral takes me into the desert where i prepare for the trap i will use to contain the cactus spirit. i find a suitable san pedro and draw the circle, hoping that a wind won't arise.
my physical body starts to get stuck into 'bubble gun.'
the story starts with a scientist travelling on a space ship in an unknown part of the universe. he is inventing a weapon although it is not really a weapon but a simulacra of the universe. he calls the weapon the bubble gun based on the idea that the universe is made of foam and each bubble within each bit of foam is a whole universe, the scientist is a genius but he is also a firm atheist and he wants to prove that he can be a god to the universe he creates with his bubble gun. however he is old and life has jaded him, he is cynical and suffers from melancholia, he has lost everyone he loves trough the trials and tribulations of life, he has no faith in man or god.he is prone to bouts of envy, jealously and violent acts of destruction.
actually he is a bit like god.
the scientist prepares to fire his gun when his ship picks up a stowaway, a beautiful girl called roxanne, a space pirate who is wounded and needs some medical aid. he does the noble thing and takes her on board where they start a relationship and the scientist begins to fall in love, the bubble gun no longer the object of his attention. he knows he has found his peace and truth in roxy. they spend many years together, enjoying their company and exploring the gift of love when one evening there is a terrible accident in the lab, the zap gun activates and actually shoots it's intent through roxy whose body dissolves into a billion million trillion elemental atoms that are then embedded in the small bubble created by the gun. the bubble splits in half,
then again and again as the first foam of the alternative man made universe begins to form.
each bubble each part of each bubble is a universe containing a conscious part of roxy.
the scientist discovers this and despite his attempts to rescue her he cannot. so he is god to his creation, the only thing he can do is love it, and the only thing the creation can do is find the spark of roxy and love it so that maybe this love, this strange force can reconcile.
the plane touches down in santa fe, max catches a cab into the desert where his other self has prepared the magick circle. he makes a slight detour to grab the senator from the mental health facility. by all accounts and purposes they are pleased to get rid of him, he has begun to become sexually provocative to the female staff and he has refused his meds choosing to drink tequila and listen to mexican pop music rather than the nice general piped muzak they play all day. in fact he is quite a belligerent spirit and max has to administer some tranquillisers against his better judgement just to get him into the car. they drive out into the desert and wait for midnight.
under the full moon keeping his eye on the second hand max cast the banishing rituals and got reading for the binding. he could not begin until after midnight and as the second hand passed the twelve he began. banishing rituals come in all shapes and sizes but the two keys to a successful banishing are intent and vibration. max's voice rung through the night. the cactus god seemed to leave the body of joseph achilles, a cheerful trickster, tinged green and sparkling mischief, strange energy radiates from his skin, an electric field spilling out into the night.
max is woking now, chanting the incantation to over power the spirit and keep it locked inside the circle. it is all about will power, focus and concentration. fortunately max is adept at this. the cactus spirit starts to sing a song of surrender and max moves in for the kill, the containment spell quickly followed by the matrix field. but max is on mushrooms while under the influence of ephemeral, this has dangerous and unpredictable consequences.
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