eating salad with my friend sue, we discuss the calamities of man and woman, we look at the morality of nature, and we wonder about the next few months, how we focus now upon the things that matter, i decide today to give up coffee again, i decide that i will do the cycle class at the gym and i decide that i have the love i need to continue onwards without any detractors. such pity and sadness is wasted upon the zombie horde. we discuss the way women have trapped men and men have trapped women, the inevitable destructive nature of mindlessness imprinting and how difficult it is to undo the genetic imperative unless you have supreme will power and insight.
somehow i have slipped into the persona of local deliverer of plant magick, my clients are legion and diverse. i like them all, they like me, they love my product and they love my nature, even the hordes of bikers and ex cons seem to embrace my product, i am the carrier of peace and revelation, my substances will set you free. they all want more, they are all speaking highly about the plant medicine, they are all plugged in and when they look at me, they see only the eyes of tranquility and self realisation. they sigh in wonderment and ponderous envy as i release them from their suffering. i am just the messenger i say, i am the vessel.

depression is a terrible thing, i'm feeling so sad. fuck it! i really thought i had a friend, i really did, yet at the back of my mind it was always there, that intuition warning me there will not be a happy ending for you captain mission. well i knew that, so i only have myself to blame, nothing lasts forever and i do have lots of good memories this time around, better than before, at least i was never hit this time although sometimes being hit is actually better than being degraded by words, at least you can put a packet of peas on the wound and it fades away. but you know i am sensitive, i do feel deeply, i can't help that, i'm a hsp which makes my ability to have lots of friends impossible. is that a bad thing, i dunno, it's all i ever known. i don't like being attacked by people who are close to me. it's terrible, the only other person that does this is my mother and she's just like miss cupcake, so what choice do i have. narcissistic personality vs hsp.
so here we are after a long day, kicking back at mission control after a massive search for my usb stick, transferring stuff on my computers, watching the politicians shout at one another, waiting for some inspiration, looking at my guitar and thinking about the surf report for tomorrow.

coleridge, keats, shelly, byron and mission, oxford 1811, an anonymous pamphlet entitled 'the private revolution' distributed amongst the academics. 'the private revolution' was a post romantic manifesto advocating consciousness expansion via plant intellegence, however the academics and religious folk started prosecuting for blasphemy and our poets had to keep a low profile.
drs reduced the human form to machinery, such anatomy was the antithesis to the romantics who knew of the etheric realms, the belief of imagination. coleridge knew the unconscious before the unconscious was named.
keats cut through flesh at an early age, he was a medical examiner who once felt empathy when he was cutting into a temporal artery. keats chose art over science and became a poet because he can heal through words. a poet is a sage, a physician. these poets studied the soul the way drs study anatomy. what is mans purpose on earth he asked.
shelly hauled up to the committee and expelled for thinking one should be free to think for themselves. he was a lover, drifting from woman to woman, until he met mary who shared his ideal for free love.
but it was byron who was the hedonist, searching the lands for experience. he woke up famous, becoming the first celebrity, worshipped by fans, he loved extreme experience and excess. he sought ecstasy but the establishment chased him away to the much more liberated continent.
captain mission one of the last romantics holds the beacon of sensitivity high as he rows the boat with the shelly's, byron, coleridge, keats and two scarlet ladies he had picked up. they were in exile, living in a castle with count draco on the border of switzerland and france. one of the women had attacked him for being to sensitive.
he pondered this and says, 'yes we are sensitive souls and this is what makes us so unique, the very thing you attack in me is the very thing that has saved you. but you are free to return to the prison from which you come. i have no wish to hold you.'
she was silent, thinking she could out manoeuvre him with her manipulation and deceit, her wayward words and anti art, her shallow lust for creativity without the genius, without the karmic bond, without honour, without respect, without humility. captain mission continued rowing the boat. he knew deep down who he is, he knew himself well enough to chose the type of friends he keeps. he also knew her future and he felt very sorry that he was no longer part of it, he wanted to help her but she liked her chains to much.
the others looked on saddened by this ignorance, saddened that the tradition of poetry was snubbed like this, by this mind that often showed such promise but would then destroy every one in her proximity. 'you're to sensitive' is a comment that could only be made by the profoundly ignorant. and then mission remembered the past, how she had treated him ten years ago, and how it repeats itself now. and mission in the tradition of poets, let her go. the private revolution was the search for the god inside, ethogenic exploration. how could you be insensitive and attempt such a quest.
he loved her as a friend but she had failed him and therefore failed herself.

i feel sad
mourning a lost friend ship, miss cupcake who just could not be my friend. i wish her well on her journey as a mother and i hope she one day learns the secret of selflessness before her karmic bundle teaches it to her.

interview with william burroughs

PM: To what extent is the prologue to Junky autobiographical?

WB: Largely.

PM: Several people have mentioned a text of yours called Queer, which would be a continuation of your Mexican adventures and of Junky. What has become of these pages?

WB: It's in the archives. Now, the catalogue of the archives was published by the Covent Garden Bookshop. It took us five months to get all the manuscripts, letters, photographs, etc., from fifteen, twenty years. And the archives are in Vaduz, Liechtenstein. Whether they will let it be transferred to Columbia University in America, I don't know. But Roberto Altmann, who has the archives at the present time, has not made them available yet. He is setting up something called the International Center of Arts and Communication in Vaduz. But they had a landslide which destroyed part of the building, and they haven't opened it yet. The catalogue's a very long book; it's over three hundred pages. And I wrote about a hundred pages of introductory material to the different files, and where this was produced and so on and so forth. Literary periods, what I wrote, where, and all that, is in the catalogue, and the material itself, including this manuscript Queer, is in the archives.

PM: Did you use parts of the Queer material in other books?

WB: No, no. Frankly, I consider it a rather amateurish book and I did not want to republish it.

PM: In The Subterraneans, Kerouac spoke of "the accurate images I'd exchanged with Carmody in Mexico." Does this sentence refer to experiences in telepathy and non-verbal communication between you and him?

WB: Well, I think we did some elementary experiments, yes.

PM: Have you been influenced by Celine?

WB: Yes, very much so.

PM: Did you ever meet him?

WB: Yes, I did. Allen and I went out to meet him in Meudon shortly before his death. Well, it was not shortly before, but two or three years before.

PM: Would you agree to say that he was one of the very rare French novelists who wrote in association blocks?

WB: Only in part. I think that he is in a very old tradition, and I myself am in a very old tradition, namely, that of the picaresque novel. People complain that my novels have no plot. Well, a picaresque novel has no plot. It is simply a series of incidents. And that tradition dates back to the Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter, and to one of the very early novels, The Unfortunate Traveler by Thomas Nashe. And I think Celine belongs to this same tradition. But remember that what we call the "novel" is a highly artificial form, which came in the nineteenth century. It's quite as arbitrary as the sonnet. And that form had a beginning, a middle, and an end; it has a plot, and it has this chapter structure where you have one chapter, and then you try to leave the person in a state of suspense, and on to the next chapter, and people are wondering what happened to this person, and so forth. That nineteenth-century construction has become stylized as the novel, and anyone who writes anything different from that is accused of being unintelligible. That form has imposed itself to the present time.

PM: And it's not vanishing.

WB: Well, no, it's not vanishing. All the best-sellers are still old fashioned novels, written precisely in that nineteenth-century format. And films of course are following suit.

PM: Would you say that Kerouac also belonged to the picaresque novel?

WB: I would not place Jack Kerouac in the picaresque tradition since he is dealing often with factual events not sufficiently transformed and exaggerated to be classified as picaresque.

PM: Isn't it a bit striking that a major verbal innovator like you has expressed admiration for writers who are not mainly verbal innovators themselves: Conrad, Genet, Beckett, Eliot?

WB: Well, excuse me, Eliot was quite a verbal innovator. The Waste Land is, in effect, a cut-up, since it's using all these bits- and-pieces of other writers in an associational matrix. Beckett I would say is in some sense a verbal innovator. Of course Genet is classical. Many of the writers I admire are not verbal innovators at all, as you pointed out. Among these I would mention Genet and Conrad; I don't know if you can call Kafka a verbal innovator. I think Celine is, to some extent. Interesting about Celine, I find the same critical misconceptions put forth by critics with regard to his work are put forth to mine: they said it was a chronicle of despair, etc.; I thought it was very funny! I think he is primarily a humorous writer. And a picaresque novel should be very lively and very funny.

PM: What other writers have influenced you or what ones have you liked?

WB: Oh, lots of them: Fitzgerald, some of Hemingway; "The Snows of Kilimanjaro" was a great short story.

PM: Dashiell Hammett?

WB: Well ... yes, I mean it's of course minor, but Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler in that genre, which is a minor genre, and it's not realistic at all. I mean this idea that this is the hard boiled, realistic style is completely mythologic. Raymond Chandler is a writer of myths, of criminal myths, not of reality at all. Nothing to do with reality.

PM: You have developed a personal type of writing called the "routine." What exactly is a routine?

WB: That phrase was really produced by Allen Ginsberg; it simply means a usually humorous, sustained tour de force, never more than three or four pages.

PM: You read a lot of science fiction, and have expressed admiration for The Star Virus by Barrington Bayley and Three to Conquer by Eric Frank Russell. Any other science fiction books that you have particularly liked?

WB: Fury, by Henry Kuttner. I don't know, there are so many of them. There's something by Poul Anderson, I forget what it was called, Twilight World. There are a lot of science fiction books that I have read, but I have forgotten the names of the writers. Dune I like quite well.

PM: There is no particular science-fiction author that has notably influenced you?

WB: No, various books from here and there. Now, H. G. Wells, yes, The Time Machine, and I think he has written some very good science fiction.

PM: What about the other Burroughs, Edgar Rice?

WB: Well, no. That's for children.

PM: In The Ticket That Exploded you write: "There is no real thing-- all show business." Have Buddhism, Zen, and Oriental thinking in general exerted a strong influence on you?

WB: No. I am really not very well acquainted with the literature, still less with the practice of yoga and Zen. But on one point I am fully in agreement, that is, all is illusion.

PM: Has the use of apomorphine made any progress that you know of since you started recommending and advocating its use?

WB: No, on the contrary. Too bad, because it is effective.

PM: In a recent interview, you said that apomorphine combined with Lomotil and acupuncture was the remedy for withdrawal. What was wrong or insufficient with apomorphine to require the combination of two other elements?

WB: I found out about Lomotil in America some time ago, and then doctors have been using it here with pretty good results. The thing about apomorphine is that it requires pretty constant attendance. In other words, you've got to really have a day and a night nurse, and those injections have to be given every four hours. And it isn't everybody that's in a position to do that. But at least for the first four days, it requires rather intensive care. And it is quite unpleasant.

PM: And it's emetic...

WB: Well, no, there's no necessity; see, it's not an aversion therapy and there's no necessity for the person to be sick more than once or twice when they find the threshold dose. They find the maximum dose that can be administered without vomiting, and they stick with that dose. You'll get decreased tolerance; sometimes the threshold dose will go down. Usually, almost anyone will vomit on a tenth of a grain. So then they start reducing it, but as the treatment goes on, you may find that a twentieth of a grain or even less than a twentieth of a grain produces vomiting again. You may get decreased tolerance in the course of the treatment. So it's something that has to be done very precisely, and of course people must know exactly what they're doing. It's very elastic, because some people will take large doses without vomiting, and some people will vomit on very small doses. Continual adjustments have to be made.

PM: And acupuncture?

WB: Well, I thought immediately when I saw these accounts, as well as a television presentation of operations with acupuncture, that anything that relieves intense pain will necessarily relieve withdrawal symptoms. Then they started using it for withdrawal symptoms, apparently with very good results, and are using it here, I think.

PM: Most of your books definitely have a cinematographic touch. The Last Words of Dutch Schultz actually is a film script, and The Wild Boys and Exterminator! are full of cinematographic details and indications

WB: That's true, yes.

PM: Why haven't we seen any film made from one of your books?

WB: Well, we've tried to get financing on the Dutch Schultz script, but so far it hasn't developed. Very, very hard to get people to put up money for a film.

PM: What films have you liked recently?

WB: I like them when I go, when I see them, but it's rather hard to get myself out to see a film. I haven't seen many films lately. I saw A Clockwork Orange; I thought it was competent and fun, well done, though I don't think I could bear to see it again.

PM: Do you write every day?

WB: I used to. I haven't been doing anything lately because I gave a course in New York, and that took up all my time; then I was moving into a new flat there, so that during the last five months, I haven't really been doing much writing.

PM: When you write, how long is it each day?

WB: Well, I used to write... it depends ... up to three, four hours, sometimes more, depending on how it's going.

PM: What is the proportion of cut-up in your recent books, The Wild Boys and Exterminator!?

WB: Small. Small. Not more than five percent, if that.

PM: Parts of Exterminator! look like poems. How do you react to the words poem, poetry, poet?

WB: Well, as soon as you get away from actual poetic forms, rhyme, meter, etc., there is no line between prose and poetry. From my way of thinking, many poets are simply lazy prose writers. I can take a page of descriptive prose and break it into lines, as I've done in Exterminator!, and then you've got a poem. Call it a poem.

PM: Memory and remembrances of your youth tend to have a larger and larger place in your recent books.

WB: Yes, yes. True.

PM: How do you explain it?

WB: Well, after all, youthful memories I think are one of the main literary sources. And while in Junky, and to a lesser extent in Naked Lunch, I was dealing with more or less recent experiences, I've been going back more and more to experiences of childhood and adolescence.

PM: Parts of Exterminator! sound like The Wild Boys continued. We find again Audrey Carson, and other things. Did you conceive it that way, as a continuation of Wild Boys, or is it just a matter of recurrent themes?

WB: Any book that I write, there will be probably...say if I have a book of approximately two hundred pages...you can assume that there were six hundred. So, there's always an overflow into the next book. In other words, my selection of materials is often rather arbitrary. Sometimes things that should have gone in, didn't go in, and sometimes what was selected for publication is not as good as what was left out. In a sense, it's all one book. All my books are all one book. So that was overflow; some of it was overflow material from The Wild Boys, what didn't go into The Wild Boys for one reason or another. There are sections of course in The Wild Boys that should have gone into Exterminator!, like the first section, which doesn't belong with the rest of the book at all; it would have been much better in Exterminator!, the Tio Mate section. There's no relation really between that and the rest of the book.

PM: There was the Egyptian Book of the Dead, and the Tibetan Book of the Dead, and then The Wild Boys, subtitled "A Book of the Dead." Am I stupid in seeing a connection between them.

WB: Oh no, the connection I think is very clear: everyone in the book is dead. Remember that Audrey is killed in the beginning of the book, in an auto accident.

PM: Did you inspire yourself from the old books of the Dead?

WB: To some extent, yes. I've read them both; not all of the Egyptian one, my God, or all of the Tibetan one, but I looked through them. In other words, the same concepts are there between birth and death, or between death and birth.

PM: You have kept an unchanged point of view about the origins of humanity's troubles. In The Naked Lunch you wrote: "The Evil is waiting out there, in the land. Larval entities waiting for a live one," and in Exterminator!, "The white settlers contracted a virus," and this virus is the word. But who put the word there in the first place?

WB: Well, the whole white race, which has proved to be a perfect curse on the planet, have been largely conditioned by their cave experience, by their living in caves. And they may actually have contracted some form of virus there, which has made them what they've been, a real menace to life on the planet.

PM: So the Evil always comes from outside, from without?

WB: I don't think there's any distinction, within/without. A virus comes from the outside, but it can't harm anyone until it gets inside. It is extraneous in or??ìp

PM: Speaking of coming in and out, as you were arriving in London for a visit late in 1964, you were allowed only fourteen days by the authorities, without explanations. Have you had to suffer from a lot of harassment from authorities?

WB: Very little. That was straightened out by the Arts Council and was of course prompted by the American Narcotics Department. Allen Ginsberg had the same difficulties. The American Narcotics Department would pass the word along to other authorities. Well, I got that immediately straightened out through the Arts Council; I've never had any trouble since.

PM: May I ask the reasons for why you are moving to New York?

WB: Well, I like it better. New York is very much more lively than London, and actually cheaper now. I find it a much more satisfactory place to live. New York has changed; New York is better than it was; London is worse than it was.

PM: You have always described the System as matriarchal. Do you still have the same opinion?

WB: Well, the situation has changed radically, say from what it was in the 1920s when I was a child; you could describe that as a pretty hard-core matriarchal society. Now, the picture is much more complicated with the pill and the sexual revolution and Women's Lib, which allegedly is undermining the matriarchal system. That is, at least that's what they say they're doing, that they want women to be treated like everyone else and not have special prerogatives simply because they're women. So, I don't know exactly how you would describe the situation now. It's certainly not a patriarchal society--I am speaking of America now--but I don't think you could describe it as an archetypal or uniform matriarchal society either, except for the southern part of the United States. You see, the southern part of the United States was always the stronghold of matriarchy, the concept of the "Southern belle" and the Southern woman. And that is still in existence, but it's on the way out, undoubtedly.

PM: You call for a mutation as the only way out of the present mess. Right now, what positive signs, factors, or forces do you see working toward such a mutation?

WB: Well, there are all sorts of factors. Actually, if you read a book like The Biologic Time Bomb by Taylor, you'll see that such mutations are well within the range of modern biology, that these things can be done, right now. We don't have to wait three hundred years. But what he points out is that the discoveries of modern biology could not be absorbed by our creaky social systems. Even such a simple thing as prolonging life: whose life is going to be prolonged? Who is to decide whether certain people's lives are going to be prolonged and certain other people's are not? Certainly politicians are not competent to make these decisions.

PM: You hate politicians, right?

WB: No, I don't hate politicians at all, I'm not interested in politicians. I find the type of mind, the completely extraverted, image-oriented, power-oriented thinking of the politicians dull. In other words, I'm bored by politicians; I don't hate them. It's just not a type of person that interests me.

PM: What are your methods of writing at present?

WB: Methods? I don't know. I just sit down and write! I write in short sections; in other words, I write a section, maybe of narrative, and then I reach into that, but if it doesn't continue, I'll write something else, and then try to piece them together. The Wild Boys was written over a period of time; some of it was written in Marrakech, some of it was written in Tangiers, and a good deal was written in London. I always write on the typewriter, never in longhand.

PM: What is, in The Wild Boys, the meaning of sentences like "A pyramid coming in...two...three..four pyramids coming in..."?

WB: That is an exercise of visualizing geometric figures which I have run across in various psychic writings.

PM: Would you be interested in testing psychotronic generators too?

WB: Yes, the various devices described in Psychic Discoveries Behind the Iron Curtain. They have now come out with another book called A Handbook of PSI Discoveries, which is a how-to book telling just how to do Kirlian photography how to build all these machines and generators and so on. I'm very interested in experimenting with those if I have the opportunity, time, and money.

PM: In the mid-seventies, you write that you wanted to create a new myth for the Space Age. Is it what you are still trying to do, and do you use the word myth in a particular sense?

WB: I feel that I am still working along the line of a myth for the Space Age and that all my books are essentially one book. I use myth in the conventional meaning.

disappointment, sadness and i dunno, hurt maybe. your friend, the one you been helping for months, you been there when she's been bawling her eyes out, you been there when she's frightened and scared about her pregnancy, you always were there, driving to her home, making sure she's eating right, sleeping right, the person you just want to see healthy and happy, no agendas, no fucking agenda, yet she constantly takes from you, constantly criticises and attacks your personality. you hear her speak her garbled fragmented truth and it sickens you.

dinner with agent stone, agent atlanta, we discuss the past, our adventures. i see some photo's of us together having some good times. i eat some nice food with apricots in it, we talk about our stupid junkie friends and the twins who once seduced me with their feminine charms, we talked of weekends away and trips, we spoke about things that matter and things that don't.
i wander home followed by a woman who can't walk straight, an early exit from the pub, a casualty, she stumbles and falls and clambers up again, she's slurring her words.
'you okay?'
'yeah i had a few drinks, just going home.'
'well take it easy, you got far to go?'
she can't answer, she can't even think, she's a zombie.
the vodka entity has taken her soul.
lost.
i go home, get into bed and sleep fast and deep.

well i swam in the ocean, it was as my dream suggested, calm and tranquil with an even wave, later i wandered down the street for a coffee and there in the local paper was a front page article 'sharks spotted at the beach.'
apparently some bull sharks have been coasting along looking for me. but i outsmarted these beasts with my unpredictability and third eye.
well yesterday was a big day, hanging out with people in the city, left as in sinister is being swallowed up by some big company and although i'm uncertain what that means for me it sounds exciting and perhaps the deep fix will get some promotion. val olga and i all felt good about the move.
i was given some lovely gifts, thank you people.
big night, big day, dinner with special friends tonight.

so far away, i should be in new york city, my instincts were correct but yet again my brain sabotaged everything, with it's misplaced loyalty and kind nature. i take responsibility, it was my fault to trust a master manipulator and deceiver and this is the price i must pay. i should be there because you gave me so much, i can't even express what you gave me, it's magnitude is epic in scope, it's beyond words. i know you know that. i don't understand how the universe works but i feel it working, the connections, just like that film i gave you, where the writer feels his debt and from there all things unfold that lead to truth. that's how i feel about you, that's why i should be there. but then there's debt and debt and i had made a commitment to assist a baby into the world. i had to do this for myself as much as for the baby who had called me for help. i know you understand this and i know you will forgive me for not being there for you. the cluster fuck got me as we knew it would. there's no escape from it brother. we went down hard but we are still standing, a man can only meet destiny with a smile and good intention. and if destiny destroys him, who is the greater?
a man who knows fear is the enemy and love is the liberator.
i dreamt of a shark last night, i was swimming in a lovely ocean and a shark broke the surface, i floated upon my back, heading towards the shore slowly, drifting and the shark seemed to swim towards me slowly, i processed my fear and prepared to die fighting. i thought out how i would hit the beast in the eye simultaneously thinking how the shark would tear me limb from limb.
i woke up.
sharks are the survivors, trapped in that level of survival, where nothing really matters except them. they have no higher reason. there's nothing about them other than they survive. you can't deal with a shark if it's hungry. it can't self reflect its nature. it's almost a machine. sad and lonely creature trapped in gratification.

i have realised that there are two types of people, chemical driven ones and natural ones. i'm aligned with the natural ones, a much more intelligent species.

how strange, you hold some one tight, a hug, and you can't let them go. it's beyond your will, it's just your body won't listen, it feels so right to hold them close and just kiss them and tell them how glad you are that they are in your life, how grateful you are that they are there. it's strange, when you feel vulnerable your also got nothing to loose, you're that much more honest about things, she's beautiful and soft, smells good and has a kind heart. that's the fucking thing, you love that heart, it's a good heart underneath all that stuff. you can't let her go, but you do. because it's just what you have to do. it just feels so wrong. and as you jump in the car she says,' you look sad.'
yes. i'm sad. i 'm sad i had to detach from you and go home. i'm sad that you're where you are and i'm where i am. i'm sad that you had the cards you were dealt and me, i'm shuffling a pack of jokers and hearts. but i will always have you as a friend, you been a great friend nico, a great friend and for that you can always count on me.

political revolution is occurring in libya after tunisia and egypt has had major peaceful revolution thanks to a jewish guy who invented facebook, wow, this is good stuff, revolution occurs in may dimensions, this could be great as the arab people are saying we want to be more like israel. i don't know, i'm as much in the dark as anyone, but i like to think these thoughts, cos a positive thought like this is what we all fucking need once in a blue moon.
i watched a lybian guy being interviewed, where is the usa? where is england and the UN? where are they?
yeah that's the million dollar question?
here is a massacre, a fucking massacre and where is everyone?
i mean they are all there when there's any kind of trouble in israel.
why did gorden brown release the man who blew up 200 passengers over lockerbie in scotland.
gadaffi - the man who headed the un human rights watch.
gadaffi the man who was a terrorist in the 70's became the darling of the establishment and is now embarrassing them. exploit it media, this is captain mission speaking, get into the middle east and clean it up, give normal, balanced sane people a fucking break from the weird archaic anti diversity, corrupt and fucked up status quo.
but this won't happen yet because there are no good journalists out there, maybe hitch.

this blog is dedicated to the libyan young people who are out there, i'm with ya on this. i really am. im ashamed that the mighty governments of the world have done nothing. it indicates how implicated they all are. we live in interesting times. constructed reality is failing, and earthquakes.
yeah people of new zealand, it does pain me to see these images of people trapped or dead, effected by such a violent seismic shift. but like i said, the butterfly effect has no morality, it is just moving along on it's way. and it starts with some thing as simple as, a thought.




,

when i was dealing in synth tranquility i made a deal with a client, free pills for loan of a body. i needed a few undercover skins to do some research where a face like mine couldn't enter. the lizard club in helsinki. the lizard club was an elite establishment that the super wealthy and powerful met each month to dine on the flesh of humanity and indulge in hedonistic pursuits while plotting the next month. these cats were the conspiracy behind all conspiracies, in fact they perpetuated con stories to throw people like me off their scent but i had done a lot of groundwork, and my resources were reliable. i borrowed charlotte and dominique two of the most attractive women i knew, they had been satisfied customers for a few years and owed me a few favours, i'd kept them in tranquility for a while now and they knew i was a trust worthy agent.
i hive bind the bodies and direct them to the hotel room. outside it's minus 40 degrees, heavy snow falls and the girls are dressed in mink coats and big boots with high heels.
these chicks are drop dead stunning, even to an alien lizard they are perfect breeding material, i knew this would be their weakness and i also know i had a responsibility to extradite them when things got hot. human women don't survive alien lizard sex.
so we entered the lobby, wandered over to the elevator and ascended to the top.
the lizard club party would be in full swing and eventually the queen would make her appearance, that's what i needed to do. get a message to the queen. my research indicated that the queen would be indulging in some poor captured socialist they had kidnapped. she liked stupid flesh, it made her feel powerful.
she would eat while the king would impregnate any hapless earth girls who happened to be around, off course the girls would be given plenty of drink and drugs and quite happy to fuck alien lizards without being to interested in consequences.
the girls walked down the corridor and entered the security code, i could see everything as the door opened. the lizard club were there, their hideous reptilian bodies oozing with slime and those red mouths and white teeth flashing as their enormous tongues flicked the air and picked up the human pheromones as the girls entered.
the room was magnificent, decked out in some sort of eastern prussian colonial style, plush reds and golds, ornate furniture and luxurious sofa and chaise lounges and about twenty lizards involved in various nefarious activities.
charlotte and dom were taken into a small alcove by a couple of larger beasts, they were offered some high grade cocaine and some shots of helix 7 which would make them enter a narcoleptic state. however i was in the driving seat. i'd already switched drinks.
charlotte distracted while dom swapped the goblets around. the coke would be cancelled by the tranquility i had whizzing around the girls blood supply. they would be safe.
pretty soon the girls had the lizards eating out of their hands, it was a chemical seduction, all twenty lizards were under the influence and when the queen appeared she would be in no position to make demands. of course i would be happy for her to eat her socialist. one less idiot on planet earth as far as i was concerned.
however as usual things didn't go as planned.
the queen was an awful beast, sluggish and overweight, her mouth slavered and from her snout drooled some sort of lizard saliva.
she was bewildered and some what stunned at events but was focused on eating the body of a young university student. in-between mouthfuls she asked her subjects why they were so subdued only receiving back whispers and snores, snorts and some wheezing in return.
the girls preformed a binding spell upon the queen who was now trapped in a magick circle.
she was chewing on an arm when she realised she was trapped.
by then i'd begun to implant an hypnotic command inside her mind. she was deeply under my spell.
charlotte and dom searched the room and collected as much cocaine as possible and cash. they left the lizards sleeping, and the queen laying in a deep theta state. as they walked out they looked at her, ugly and corrupted body, face distorted with cruelty and manipulation. the door shut behind them. it would never be opened. and when the queen lizard awoke she would never be the same.

atomised in sub atomics i'm whizzing around some energetic pules of life, if stillness speaks sub atomic states whizz, yep it's all mush faster down here, but i guess even that is a relative thing, as above so below.
i'm a slow processor but i think outside the box, i know that now. i'm following my star, it makes me sensitive. you call me oversensitive. to sensitive. and you don't even glimpse it. that really makes me sad.
well onwards the flow carries me, to something i follow, something i believe in and trust.
i feel like dropping out now, getting in my groove and following my nose but i do have responsibilities and it's very hard to meet them sometimes but i try to maintain responsibility to myself. i'm tired and burnt out.
i have no or very little power at the moment, the last moon cycle did me in.
but with a month of sundays off i'm gonna just find myself again and follow my star.

sky scraper carnivore, phedrea, albido 3.9. soundtrack to a kung fu flick from japan, made on the 60's, spiritual in essence, through the science of primitive technology memes spread, in the days of the russian revolution it was the zerox press that made you radical, dangerous and the states enemy, now it's the net as memes are spread through the mind.
battlefield is your mind. your mind. krishna was correct.

on days when shadows melt, i awake late after midnight adventures with a friend who puts me in the picture, my night friend and i smoke a fresh batch of herbal medicine, we are in tune, he gives me some much needed wisdom and we talk about the movie we will make. i collect some light.
so i head down to the morning which has greeted me with lost friends from past lives, we chew the fat and i slide away into thoughts of a holiday in japan, i can feel the pull, my friend is there, getting married and i should be there with him. i feel pulls in other directions as well, america, bali, melbourne, perth, all have various allurement but i must focus my energies on finishing my music, holiday can come afterwards, march is upon me, my birthday is dawning, i don't know how old i am, ancient, under 50 still, but ancient.
i shuffle some things around in mission control, it's looking better, less cluttered, i do a little shopping, get some rice milk, get some apples, get some water. calm, cool, collected, ready for everything, bring it on.

checking in, nice place, infinite space, room to go back and learn from mistakes, room to repeat them, room to clear the air, room to let it go, room to breathe. there's room for so much, from the ridiculous to the profound. captain mission travels the dimensions. he returns to write reports, for you and for himself, these are mere illusions, within an illusion, until you get to the light of the matter.
duality, just splits itself like a network marketing scam, inside one there is another. it's not political, it's just energetic form, pure and simple, but we very rarely see past it, but when captain mission does he sees, all things existing as a singularity and then behind that, there will be an intelligent and sexy woman to play with. it's don't really matter what's beyond that does it?
that's the fucking truth, the world spins and it's not gravity, it's love, just holds everything in place. the rest of it is cosmetic surgery and women magazines and fucking dumb sporty meatheads drinking beer.

i have a pack of bats outside my window, they fly in at dusk, they look cool against the twilight then they make this god awful sound for about five hours, squabbling or just swapping stories, whatever they are doing it's not a pleasant sound when your trying to sleep or relax or review the day.
nice day, bad start but immediately into bliss, how fate intervenes, how i create vortexes when ever i need them, all will be revealed, but it happens,
i have some karma i need to pay back to the pool.the problem is i don't know how anymore. every action has a consequence, it's the intent that counts i guess, but how do you know your intent is serving the highest truth or not, because people lie to themselves all the time, everything is a distortion of something else. the world moves, reality vibrates and flows, thoughts shift and some stick around, it's all moving, even the atoms in a rock move very very fast, so how can one know oneself?

you need to have the structures of the brain blown away and not many people are willing to do that. magick does it for you, ethogens do it for you, shock and trauma and in some cases travel although extra terrestrial travel is really recommended if possible. plant medicine is expansive, it is mind blowing and it heals if you use it right. the industry of chemicals just take you further away.

i saw a great movie today, by default. we went to see sanctum but missed it so we saw, '127 hours' which is brilliant, based on a true story, the main character reminded me of my friend in tokyo the professor and it's really motivated me to see him. the story is quite well known, from the book 'between a rock and a hard place.'
made by danny boyle and staring james franco, who was brilliant, this is such a brilliant story everyone should watch it. a true story that happened to an amazing man. go and see it. force yourself.

hello people through the window, the readers and scanners out there reading this, it's strange when you get that flash of self consciousness, a little insecurity slips in. how did that happen, a reminder maybe, a reminder that i am a humble man not a smart or funky dude. i don't claim to know much, i'm just working it all out, but what i know seems like a big deal which is why i advocate getting your brain changed via intelligent plants, and maybe trees. i'm on trees now, soaking them up. they are healing me in a strange way, a way i could never imagine before but seems like i have been leading up to. i'm loving life, but i'm tired and need a break, i need process time and to just make some music, i want to complete 'snuff music'' and start writing, i just need inspiration and i'm to tired to receive inspiration right now, i feel drained. it's no big deal but i recognise it.
im working for the goddess i remembered. she's whispering, 'stillness speaks.'

in the not to distant future the bulk of culture is controlled by designer memes, because we now have the knowledge to design them, we will conquer the conceptual landscape as much as we have conquered the wilderness.
at first designer memes compete with cultural viruses for a share of the mind but the cultural viruses will loose due to natural selection, they are not as quick as designer viruses. although they won't be wiped out completely they will live in enclaves much the same way as the amish community does.
eventually designer virus will compete with one another, increasingly sophisticated technology will be used to create the winner, computer programs will fine tune memes with memetic modelling before they are launched.
the best way for these memes to succeed is to incorporate some evangelical component,thus cults always have this embedded in them. the most sucessful meme on planet earth is capitalism and islam, eventually the two will clash.

well ruby rose and me decided to cool things down, she's gone to nyc to see the church while i am left here to attend my support person duties with the birth of mniss cupcakes child. i'm not sure exactly what those duties are, make tea, say hello to people, feed animals, keep the father away from her,i don't really know.
what i do know is i need a break, a little time to kick back and enjoy life rather than work, some time to be creative.
i been listening to gb3 and steve kilbey's cd called 'damaged controlled.'
it's different from what i was expecting, there's the words and the music, two things that appear as if they exist in two separate dimensions, and it works but it's a demanding listen. i found my brain hemispheres needed top completely synch up. one listening to steves vocals and narratives the other this music, and sometimes the two would join and sometimes they would be on different trajectories, i don't know, it's hard to describe but i'm enjoying the journey it takes me on.
i been reading 'mind virus' a book i could have written, it's mostly stuff i have written about on here but written in a easy to digest way by a pop marketing guru, it's okay, i mean it's not mind blowing in the way lucifer principle is but it's okay. i finished the book in about three days and now i'm starting some hard english sci fi from iaian m banks called feersum endjinn, some of which is told from the point of veiw of a dyslexics ant.

the eye that see's all, must also hear all as well, let's face it it's not an eye, it's an intelligent consciousness that reflects our own right back. our role is just to expand consciousness as much as possibly and use our imaginations to transform things into something beautiful. creative and playful. it's an erotic thing, it's sexy and cool and not of the intellect but of the heart. don't try dominating it, don't control or manipulate it, just love it like a woman or a man you love and it's gonna love you right back. sounds crazy but that's the universe. it's intelligent.

strange black cloud appears outta nowhere, encompassing all sydney, shadowing the city, a deep gray shade, the wind howls through the firs, making a strange eire sound, the branches sway, the birds are going mental, their little brains intuitively know a massive event is underway and they are in danger. they signal one another, they spread the word.
you fall under the spell of the mantra, the repeated rhythm has taken your attention, you breath in rhythm, your heart in tandem. pulse.
the calm before the storm. all events focus on this change. temperature is plummeting, air pressure shifting faster than you can understand, only sentient nature knows, trees are prepared, animals prepare, humans?
we think the weather is caused by changes in earths climate, we assume the weather is a a side effect from a infinite number of random sequences that are akin to goldilocks perfect soup, we think in hubris there is no intelligence within nature, that it is not with purpose.
the same was a flea cannot perceive it is upon the body of a cat, and the cat cannot perceive it is within a land mass upon a planet,.
we are limited to put absolute trust in a mythological science.
may as well trust the entrails of a cow.
the only absolute is it change.

oh ah captain mission weary from night work, irritating bite upon his hand, brains slightly scrambled and mind slightly altered drives home in the morning, through grey rain he heads to trusty mystical hound pan, who waits patiently. we wander around, play and chat about the possibility of acquiring a cat cub.
i shower and jump in the car to meet nico for breakfast, we are both discombobulated. i warn her that my brain is not in harmony with my mouth and she should not take anything i say seriously. we are something of an strange pair but it works, her with her black spot nose and me with my strange skin. we hang out, we hang in, we cross the subjects around a circumference and then we
make a loose plan and go our separate ways. and i lost my car, and i find it there against the sea, a weary beast i named 'neptune.'
i drive home and walk pan again, we buy some supplies from the frontier town general store and then i return to mission control for siesta muncherios and coconut water.
i notice my hand infected, a large red mark has spread over it like a slow mo release spray paint, it hurts awfully but i am to tired to do anything about it.

ruby rose.

we are talking about one hell of a highly evolved cat here.
ruby rose. it was indeed love at first sight
second,
third,
fourth,
yeah to infinity and beyond.
ruby rose the rainbow shines right outta you.
charkras perfectly aligned.
mind loose and flexible
eyes vibrant with life.
brain vital
and in tune with the
holographic universe
and brilliantly playful
perfect ruby
rose

sad news came down the wire today, my uncle dan who i lived with in montreal died.
he was a big guy who loved laughter and was always happy, even when we were driving to quebec city and the car caught fire, he just kept on driving while the flames licked at our feet, he laughed and cracked jokes, eventually pulling over when we hit the city. yeah dan was a great personality, a laid back guy with a love for literature.
sometimes i get home and sit in the basement with him and his wife, my aunt joan who is a proffessor and we would read our books in silence until dan would suddenly jump up and suggest we get a pizza as it was gone midnight. we had sat in that room, the tree of us reading as time passed us by.
vale dan, with your brilliant smile and spirit, you were an uncle who was larger than life and you stuck with me for 40 years as a great and happy memory and i guess you will be there for the next forty.

driving through australian suburbs after the heatwave, the temperature is cooler, a refreshing respite as wind blows relief to the population of sydney. i'm a long way from where i need to be, making music, writing songs, i'm in a strange phase of life, rebirthing like some new butterfly man, i see it all with the eye of my heart. i see the strange duality that tears us apart, there's no way out, no one gets out alive.
i've taken a strange turn, embraced fortuna, dion fortune was an english magician, mystic, around the same period as crowley only her wisdom was selfless, devoid of ego whereas crowley was vain and a rock star dion was authentic and true. she really is a wonderful avitar, her humility is her strength whereas crowleys lack of it was his weakness. together they were pushing magick through an evolutionary leap.
the biggest impression she made upon me is the idea of the sacred marriage something i need to read further upon but intuitively know. dion fortune has entered my conciousness now. rebirthing me and sending me forwards.
i would never have read her if it was not for samantha who i thank with all my heart, for this could not have come at a more apt moment in my life. she said that dion would never leave me once i read her and she will be with me all through my life, and strangely now i know she has always been with me, i just didn't recognise it. thank you samantha.

unlike most people of sydney i miss the sunshine, those hot nights were kinda great, i'd be up really late covered in sweat, do some yoga and read, watch some dvds, drink two litres of water and generally fuck around in mission control naked. it was like a night holiday., although the rain that has come is honoured, deep down it is but i have had so many years of it in london that my childhood memories are the same colour. the rain reminds me of something past, long gone, it always does, possibly some past life issue but whatever it is and wherever it comes from, it's very deep. anyways i was missing the sunshine until i was reminded to 'love the rain.' and there you go, angelic advice coming from the strangest place. i call it cupcake wisdom. every little cupcake should come with words as profound.

anyways i had a big meeting at work, i was trying to be sensitive to the other parties paranoia because if you suffer from paranoia, these meetings can be very disturbing. so we are sitting on the balcony, he's eating his breakfast and i am asking him what he wants to do in the following year, he's stuck for ideas and to be honest i think he just wants to know why i'm asking him but i have to get something to write so i suggest having a holiday and perhaps catching a few shows. he thinks these are pretty non threatening and safe so he agrees. that's it. i leave him to finish his breakfast but i'm thinking, 'jesus i'm more paranoid than he is.'


i wander down to the steps of love, i'm feeling empty and in need of some care, when i came face to face with the enemy my enemy. she says to me, 'why do you hate me?'
'why do you hate me?' i reply.
'i don't.' she whispers.
'and i don't hate you.' i smile.

the mind is the perfect environment for meme warfare, the brain has evolved from a survival unit into something much more complex that enables consciousness. meme evolution is related to the complex mix of feelings, drives, fears and mating principles. how much of our lives are spent paying (an apt word) attention to events that push survive and reproduce buttons, relics from an animal past. danger, food and sex are priorities of the gene not our personal priorities. when attention is pulled away by domino's latest pizza what is occurring is consciousness is being stolen. ideas are infectious, we catch them from others, bits of culture, which is fine if ideas are good, but without consciousness how do we know what's good?
ideas spread because of how good the meme is at reproducing itself not due to the truth behind it. we are evolving into a world where memes are more efficient and replicate better, not a better world. memes do not reproduce to make our lives better or keep our genes alive they reproduce to make their existence a reality.this is proven by the cultures we assume are the most advanced have the smallest population growth but effective cultural imperialism.
memes find more and more ways to replicate, computers are a perfect environment. memes planted in these environments will shape the world more than memes in the mind, ie wikileaks.
meme evolution evolves fast, faster than gene evolution. it will devote more mental resources to effective mind virus than genetic evolution.

they are attempting to split me from the unified mind, they have not caught on to the sound cage but are using a jamming device that operates with strobe lighting. it's clumsy but does the job.
i can hear a voice, a woman, she says, 'you have caused considerable damage amongst the status quo. you must pay the price.'
'how did you find me?'
'you were betrayed by the one closest to you.'
'it's to late, you cannot stop the meme, it's virulent.'
'five of your twelve are in detention, the others escaped but we will track them down, after all you have only one mind.'
'nothing is true, everything is permitted.'
i watch her face as the words penetrate her subconscious. she shrugs them away but they are there lodged in like a splinter.
'you will be executed.'
i smile, 'nothing is true, everything is permitted.'
'we are familiar with the statement, it is an esoteric formula. it's obtuse captain mission, no one would really understand it unless they were under the influence of bliss, and you can't bliss bomb an entire planet.'
i receive a thought transmission, it's from fantasy, she is at a desk in an office somewhere, she is releasing the meme through the internet, then there's the two gay guys who are tv hosts for a popular game show, they are releasing the mind virus on live tv.
two remaining secretaries work for multi national companies, they spread the virus through the infrastructure, exponentially millions will be infected although it will take time without the bliss as a catalyst, these environments are perfect for meme replication.
the message is out there, it's just a matter of time.
'you can kill me. but my mind is free and roaming. no army can stop an idea whose time has come.'
hands move across my body, the bright white lights switch off, my captor stands before me in a white lab coat, she's smiling.
'i get it. nothing is true, everything is permitted.'
'spread the word.'

fantasy scans the room, slim pickings, a few secretaries on a voyeurs night out, some girls in latex fawning over a couple of gay record producers and some tall and pale vampires in the shadows. the music is retro electronica from another era. i picked up three coconut drinks, fantasy looked around depressed, 'there's no action in here.'
'yeah it's a quiet night in hades. wait for the bliss to kick in, things should start happening.'
roxy asks fantasy to forgive her complicity. they kiss and cuddle. i look at a painting on the wall, it's a woman standing at a mans feet, he appears to be upon a crucifix.
i'm contemplating his meme, 'love thy enemy.' when fantasy slips her hand around me and whispers in my ear, 'nothing is true, everything is permitted.'
i stare into her green eyes, wondering if letting fantasy's mind from her cage is a good idea, not realising she's released a meme upon me, it's already infected our mind. i can feel the erotic heat of the idea, it's growing inside our collective.
'what are you doing?' i say, grabbing her hair and threatening her.
'i'm setting our mind free, from everything.'
my lips meet hers and i realise she is correct.
roxy looks puzzled, she's resistant. i can see the fury in her eye but she deleted my loyalty meme, i feel no connection to her other than she and i inhabit the same mind space. she's looking around nervously, i nod towards fantasy who repeats the thought to roxy. it's starts to work almost immediately, roxy relaxes, she's smiling and joins us in an embrace,
the three of us are consolidated. we see the universe reveal itself now, the fundamental truth.
merlins ancient code has set us free, our mind expanded sweeps around the room, the bliss bomb is active, everyone has been intoxicated, we invade.
the secretaries have already started dancing, they are getting wild lost in electo ecstasy.
the three gay guys snort some azure and start laughing as fantasy deletes their programs and replaces it with the idea, nothing is true, everything is permitted, there is no resistance.
pretty soon our minds have joined, we are like an human bee hive, a collective. there's 12 off us in total.
while our bodies enjoy the realm of sensation our minds plot and scheme, we must replicate, we must grow. fantasy glimmers at the thought, all she wants is to spread the idea. perhaps it's us that are in the cage i think fleetingly, and roxy flashes me a knowing smile.
we have taken over the club, twelve people, eventually i take control, i'm wearing an effective ego today, it's a dominant one, alpha male, this is not a democracy but it's not a struggle, they all require leadership and direction and i'm the natural choice. although it's fantasy who is ultimately directing me.
i begin to send them all out, replicate, but i have a bad feeling, a strange intuitive sensation.
suddenly there's a explosion, tear gas streams inside the club, the music stops and the lights go down.
flashlights illuminate the room, they seek out our faces and within seconds we are all thrown against the wall.
''fuck it's the cia.' she kisses me on the lips. the next thing i know is im strapped to a table, white light everywhere.

i spent the first week kicking back with roxy while fantasy squirmed in the background, occasionally making her demands for either sex, drugs or some edge play. i wasn't in the mood, preferring to explore the melding mind environment. there were no limits to where we could take this, as long as we were on the same page, roxy agreed to behave and indulge me, but fantasy, she needed a little encouragement. i'd managed to subdue her by sheer will power alone, but also by mantra. my tibetian training had saved the day, creating a sound cage in which her personality was trapped. there was no telling how long i could keep her there but for the moment it was working.
roxy and i explored our memetics, running scans on one another, filtering the restrictive ones and keeping the ones that we thought were worth keeping. she had some serious memetics when it came to men, she liked the abusive ones. i deleted that for her, plus a few others but she had found a serious meme in my mind that was restrictive and inhibitory as far as evolution was concerned. it was my loyalty meme.
she requested deletion.
i argued that loyalty was a healthy meme, but she insisted that it had never served me very well, that i was like a dog where i should be like a tiger.
i couldn't argue with her. it was true i had always been far to loyal.
'are you certain we should delete this meme.'
'it's to late captain, i deleted it already.'
so this was the beginning of the end, i small part of me thought, or was that fantasy, a fleeting thought from the cage within.
she reformatted a belief in a sky fairy and deleted a guilt meme. i was free.
it felt good, we spent a few days in libraries and searching the internet and then decided we should seduce a few other similar minds. two bodies one mind, shouldn't be to difficult, plus fantasy could come out of her cage and play. we briefed her on what we wanted and what we expected from her but i could feel something amiss, like she was playing with us, complying but reluctantly.
the three of us glamed up and entered the hades fire klub down on union street. i walked in, a girl on each arm, two sexy minds sandwiched between my own.
we release a covert bliss bomb upon the unsuspecting patrons, it takes at least an hour to make it's way into the bloodstreams.

but that's the trouble with bliss, there's no knowing when it will wear off, if at all, i'd met a guy once who had been conjoined with six other people for several years, he was insane. it was worse than any schizophrenia, this was more like a possession by a team of demons, he ended up throwing himself from the mercury towers, over on east side. i'd been on the ledge with him, trying to talk him down, but it was like talking to a tv channel while switching between all the channels, filled with static and random anti logic. somewhere deep inside on little fragment of himself knew it had to end. i was never going to argue with him.
down below he left a splatter of strawberry jam as his internal organs shot outside his body on impact.
but that was a while back, in a different life, now i was reckless, living within a new ego, with different hedonistic impulses.
i've settled into a rhythm with the girls, they need some discipline, some one whipping them in shape, i set them limits, dominating their urges, this keeps them satisfied. for the moment. but fantasy is a wild one, and equally stronged willed, i can feel her need. roxy is content to enjoy the ride, we have a symbiotic relationship established but the redhead, we all know redheads are trouble.