okay embassytown by china miellville is coming to it's conclusion and reads like william burroughs in space, it's an extravagant fiction yet entirely believable, as the hordes of hosts are driven towards self destruction and violence from their eden like existence after human contact and the diplomatic attempts to communicate. i really hope this wins the booker prize or something, it will give science fiction a well deserved acknowledgement as a literary form, rather than a fringe one. it's a complex story and starts with an intricate look at language, communication, symbology and what it would mean in context of an alien civilization and the ramifications of when a well meaning mission can go terribly wrong. quite brilliant, although if i had one critism, it would be the editing of the book, something not quite scanning, but it's a minor commebt and does not take away anything from the story. i can't wait to find out what happens although i don't want it to end.

we sit at the sacre coeur basilica together, we were younger i'm in profile staring at you while you stare into the camera. i wear a suit and my sunglasses, you wear a skirt and a shirt, we both wear a big smile, and behind us a city spans, it's history sprawls out, it's romance and it's tragedy, a million love affairs and a million broken hearts, and i don't know where we were, maybe it feels like the border, is that where things started to go wrong, we looked so right in that photograph. were you okay?
under the surface i don't know what drove you, you had no substance, no fixed point, you didn't know yourself neither did you seem to care, maybe i was chasing a dream, that future that i could see, that potential which existed maybe a decade into the future, who knows....it's a lost country, like atlantis?
it's a good photograph we look good in it, i must have been very happy sitting next to you but then maybe you were to, for a moment you did allow yourself to feel happy?

that's how it is, everyone plugged into the matrix, even those who claim they are not, you can't live outside illusion only play in it fully conscious that it is just the matrix, there's no escape, no one gets out alive. the methodology for access into the mainframe lays in meta programming through several systems the best known is magick, however it is also the most dangerous.
once your brain is changed, which by the way is just side effect of magic, you can begin to engage in the programming of the matrix. symbolgy is the source code but can't be read or decoded with the intellect, in fact it has to be intuitive, which is why altered states help hack the matrix.
the dangers lay in subconscious desires that are put into the matrix's search engine, manifesting within your matrix, therefore hacking the universe is not recommended until you are in full control of your subconscious, which ironically would be conscious.
mind programs are available in many religious structures but offer no real freedom, the mystical ones offer transcendental awareness but no real power other than awareness. the successful meta programer has a considerable amount of power but is then humbled by it's apparent meaningless within light of the truth. this is what separates a white magician from a dark one, although those terms are arbitrary and have no inherent value in magic.
the best strategy within the matrix is to PLAY.

in the tan we feasted, danced and played music, in the tan we spoke of unspeakable things, in the tan we made love to a thousand lovers, in the tan we abused the laws of physics, in the tan we accomplished nothing in the name of progress, in the tan we evolved to the end point, in the tan we made all directions one, in the tan we evoked the goddess and had her kill god, in the tan we destroyed all creation, in the tan we made peace with the alien nations, declared war on upon the gentle soft folk from the clouds, ripped off their wings and burnt them, we made slaves of the free and made free the enslaved, in the tan we built our foundation, in the tan we drunk exotic wines and after feasting, intoxicated on the fumes of plants we tore away the very mind of the matter and replaced it with heart.
pantheistic noble and wise, the citizens assembly awaited a great speech from their captain but he made them wait, a lesson in humility and imperfection, his face was weary when he stood before them, his eyes heavy with post lusting, he wandered around disorientated and confused and his words came out disjointed. he rambled some say he raved, some even say he was channelling babylon, some journalists wrote in the newspaper the next day, 'captain mission is in league with the demon choronzon,' and they may not be so far from the truth, for his form had been battled with many years previous but speculation aside this was nothing to do with the great abyss, demons and devils and angelic forms, for captain mission had found a new current, the current of prophetic communication and if one looked closely he was in tune with the infinite and giving all due warning, 'something will come out from the ocean and engulf us all.'
the crowd wandered away confused and disappointed, they were remiss in dismissing the events, they do themselves no favour, in their perilous omission.
captain mission returned to his airship, it was time to leave.
but tan is a city located in all space and time, every universes has it's version of tan, every universe in the multiverse, has this city somewhere within it's boundaries, the same city manifesting in all variety of forms, except one place. where it had already occurred and never could for it is indeed unique in all ways, on the most beautiful planet in existence, earth. in a place called atlantis, heard about through his bloodline, atlantis, the city of crystals and the city of magic. the captains home.

in poppy fields, home made bombs beat the battle hardened, in the red flowers of narcosis we are all drowned, in the attack of recovery we all make simultaneous discovery, man of sorrows, man of tears, man of dust and man of years, extended that horizon unbounded by division, the palace of wisdom lies off the map, the place is in exile, it's overgrown, over run with weed and wild ferns, barely recognisable in the ruins of time. they gave this place a name, tanelorn but in ages it just became the tan, a city on the edge of time, a city on the verge of space, constantly moving through many dimensions, consequently existing in all dimensions. some sail towards t, some walk through desert, some arrive by blimp as we do 1000ft above, glistening cathedral spires, parks with pristine gardens and wild unicorn, the harmony of the spheres, the music of the orbs, angels fly below, in white gowns and purple robes, people wander through the central library carrying books and bags, laughing and a crick of students listen to a poet with a long grey beard recite from a book of blake, the tiger tiger burning bright. we are floating above the place of tears, our quest almost ended, i carry my sword and the head of my enemy, lord ashton who i duelled for these past 24 years, we fought across four continents, chasing the dragons, we rode tamed beasts into battle and jumped ships in strange ports we never thought we would ever see, we travelled the highways and byways, we traded our souls for some cash and we bedded with women for lust, we spend love like we had an infinite resource and we slayed life where it stood in our way, and i chased lord ashton across the multiverse, from incarnation to incarnation, we made lives over and over, had children we could never grow old with, we served only our quest and no woman or man, we served our greed and aggression, we knelt before our ego, we praised the lowest common denominator and the battle weary bodies we hauled from swamp through valley and hill, we climbed the mountains of topaz, gathered wealth and spent frivolously. and then on the outskirts of tanelorn in one universe i hunted him down, and dealt the killing blow with my haunted sward, and as his head rolled off, gravity laughed and i saw my enemy, was indeed me.

watching the waves, a few surfers catch some perfectly, everything is in it's place, you can feel those negative ions dancing around
i have breakfast in an old cafe i used to hang out with in my surfing days, whaleys, down on the ocean, healthy soya burgers and smoothies, good food, a nice place, northern beaches girls in bikinis with surfer type boyfriends driving around in jeeps in the sunshine, muscles bulging out from their topless bodies, yeah it was a strange culture, that surfy time, a good one but a closed one to me, i never fitted in with that scene although i wanted to, the surfy ethos works for me, catch waves, ride em.
anyway that was twenty years ago, now it's been taken over by chinese people who have turned it into a diner, it's okay, i guess they let me read the papers, they smiled and offered me good service, it was just different from how i remembered it. maybe everything is, maybe i'm different, i am. everything is different, that's what happens in the space of 20 years.
someone saw a picture of me with long dreadlocks and looked at me and then said, 'what happened to you?'
'life sister,' i said, 'yeah i surfed a few waves and rode them, some wiped out, some washed me up where i didn't wanna be, some were just great rides and zen others had a ulterior motive, some were just nasty and vicious but here i am, a different man, a very different one, but one i like, one i can live with.
so here i am saturday morning reading papers, when i see scientists have discovered einstein's theory of dark matter is correct, there is an opposing force to gravity, dark matter. you would imagine a discovery like this would be on page one, headlines but it's on page seven, in a tiny little box.
i look at all the other events, the usual stuff, and i think wow, here we are floating on this amazing blue orb in an infinity of nothingness and all we do is fight and squabble, when the odds of life itself are so slim we should celebrate every single second of our experience. that's what im gonna do, in-between ranting about politics and stuff and making strange music and writing weird passages, deep down, i'm gonna stay in the moment and celebrate every single beautiful moment of life.
i finish my breakfast and head home. it's a gorgeous day and it's getting better.

val and i meet in newtown for a sienfield day where although we do nothing extraordinary, events around us are. people manifest their eccentricities and we find ourselves pulled into the weird and whacky. from misunderstandings with chinese shop assistants, who won't let me finish my sentence, 'i'd like a coco...' and i wanted to say 'nut drink,' but assumed i was saying coke.'
then we met a poet that read us a poem for some cash.
i asked if it was going to be depressing and he assured me it was not, proceeding to read the most self anguished and depressing poem about his break up with the love of his live. val paid him in a small amount of weed and i gave him some cash, he then mentioned he was schizophrenic and seemed to follow us around. eventually we sat on a park bench and chatted about 'snuff music' and i came up with an idea for a new project. later eating pesto in a restaurant with vals wife olga i realise i am actually having a great day, being with people i love and that life is fucking fantastic.

awake early, miss cupcake turns up and we wander down the street looking for a breakfast with pan the wonder hound in tow and a new baby poppy looking at the elves and pixies dancing around her little head, wow! i do love babies, i always have found them really fun, those strange little noises and grunts, that sucking sound as they suck on the dummy, the way their little hands curl around my finger, the eyes all clear, portals into a blank slate, sometimes you get a baby with those old eyes, like jake, he had old mans eyes, like he knew more than me. and he did. now we are about equal.
anyway we sit down for a nice coffee, i flick through the paper, we talk about bin ladins pornography. i mean it could all be bullshit but i 'd imagine bin ladin actually quite liked watching girl on girl action, i mean underneath all that rage he was just a man, with a mans weakness. i dunno, i think they should tell us what porn he watched but there you go. we talk about coffee machines, i'm thinking of getting a nesspresso one although i have no idea where i will put it, my kitchen is cluttered enough. we talk about the only reason it sems men and women get together these days is economic, to buy homes and things, a relationship based on love seems rare, we chat a little about books. miss cupcake has decided to move to whale beach, we go to look at the house. i spent a few years at whale beach, it's the perfect place for a child to grow up, the house is amazing, it has a outdoor bathroom and a theatrical area where i imagine 'a midsummer's night dream' could be preformed. there's a big archway leading into the wild garden, i hear oberon calling me through the other side. large gardenia plants surround the house, i wander across the huge balcony and look at the veiw, whale beach sprawls across in the morning sun, a few surfers bobbing in the distance. yeah this is a good space, a great space, it has my approval.
it's the perfect place for a child to grow up in.

embassytown, china meiville's new book is exceptionally brilliant, well worth reading as an original science fiction book, he paints an incredibly evocative alien world, where the laws of physics are somewhat advanced enough for travel within a third universe, a sort of sub space dimension where 'immersers' assist space craft, and the action takes place on a frontier planet called 'arieka' where a young girl, 'avice' becomes a diplomat between humans and the native hosts. the hosts cannot lie and it appears communicate via a symbolic metaphoric imagery, into this backdrop comes a crisis in the form of a new ambassador.
the novel looks fundamentally at symbology, language and meaning, meivilles representation of aliens is truly alien and quite imaginative, plus it's a great story.
if you like your science fiction, literate, intelligent, and imaginative, you could do no better than this.

i was walking through some crowded place, with my friend the invisible girl and her girlfriend the impossible girl, we were in a mad rush to get some breakfast, we had been out all night filling ourselves with debauchery and vice, i was exhausted these girls were very demanding but they seemed happy at the moment and i was hoping to read the papers over a spice tea while they needed eggs and coffee. we found a small place on a street corner, i grabbed the only free table, in the corner, everyone stared at me, i could feel eyes like needles burning my aura, reading their thoughts, 'how come that freak is with those two beautiful women?' yeah the air was heavy with jealous vibes, but i only know this because i would have felt the same way if i was in their positions, stuck in their vanilla relationships, bored outta their skulls with their partners who hate them. the girls were being very affectionate towards me, i was being loved in a very public way, man that's all a man can really ask for, the demonstrative love of not just one but two very lovely women. i sipped my tea while flicking through the papers, reading the speech tony abbot made, flicking through the australian, the only paper that bothered to print it, i was actually quite impressed on one level. i'm probably the most unfashionable person in sydney, my trends don't follow the herd.
the girls kept interrupting me by licking the side of my face, or one anothers, it was distracting me from the newspaper but it was also quite endearing. it had been a while since i had received this kind of attention.
i could feel a weariness overwhelm me and went outside for a smoke, the girls wanted to come as well but their eggs arrived and i let them eat. i had half a spliff left so i slipped across the road and smoked it discretely in a bus shelter. when i returned the impossible girl was rubbing her stomach, 'i need to lie down, lets go back to yours.'
i nodded, 'sure, i could use a little rest myself. what about you invisible girl?'
'a splendid idea but let me finish my coffee.'
i stuck my head back in the paper and let the girls finish their breakfast. a few people came to say hello, people who would usually ignore me, but i could tell they wanted introductions to the girls, which i did but only because i am a gentleman. the girls can look after themselves, they are both highly intelligent and know how to extricate themselves from the attentions of men.
i put my sunglasses on, the morning sun is intensely bright. people peer towards me to read my badge, 'oh, so your a feminist, isn't that cute.' it says. it's ironic but they are to stupid to understand irony and they walk away puzzled. impossible girl starts feeding me her leftovers, 'you need the protein mission.'
i'm not hungry at all but i'm to tired to argue, my mouth opens on automatic pilot, the eggs slide down easy. 'well,' i say , i think i'm feeling sated.'
'oh but we aren't,' invisible whispers. her words carry a little saucy weight, the kind i normally flirt with but i'm jaded after a late night, i could fall asleep in nice soft warmth but the demands for anything else would just leave me empty and depleted.
i pay the bill and we wander out into the street, heading back to my place. the dog is happy to see us, the girls frolic around him, while i let them in. we crash on the sofas, invisible girl skins up, and impossible girl finds a suitable cd to play, fleet foxes, soft mellow sunday morning music, for dreamers.
when i open my eye's the girls have gone into the bedroom, i check on them, they are curled up asleep in one anthers arms, looking cute. they sleep in the main bedroom, the room i have not slept in for a while, they look content and i don't want to wake them, despite my weariness i take the dog for a walk.
it's still bright out there but with my glasses i'm safe, there's a razor chill in the air, winter attacked early, even the trees look frozen animated only by birds, the cockatoo, the lorikeet.
later i sit in the lounge thinking about the life i'm leading, why suddenly i've entered a political realm, a realm i normally avoid and distance myself from. why am i so frightened or terrorists right now, and i can only conclude i fear for my son jakob, the world he is growing into. is this a normal thing for a father to fear? i don't know, i'd have to ask my dad i guess?
i fear that in a world filled with fear i am just adding to it, conspiracy theories have their place but mostly they are all created by fear mongers and cynics, and i have been surrounded by them and slowly become one, i don't like this part of me, i never used to react but it's so hard not to. the information is everywhere, people join the dots and look for a pattern, it's apophenion or pareidolia, take your pick, the ultimate truth is beyond us if we subscribe to conspiracy, yet i can't help it, it only takes one madman with some sort of weird rage to damage innocents, and this is the political world upon which we are inhabiting, because of our own personal relationships with our governments one cannot ignore them.
detachment is not an option here, one has to stand by ones convictions be them political meme, or religious, because some meme's are better than others and in the meme wars we don't want the most violent aggressive or anti diversity ones dominating the others. also intelligent memes have been hijacked by the dumb ones so there is no way to determine the intent without investigation of the hosts.
life is diversity, i'm a pretty diverse guy, i'm still alive and mutable, ever changing, always following something greater than myself, adrift and captain of my own vessel, you may not agree, you may not like, you may think what you will but none the less, my star is still bright and i'm only just beginning.

sleepy, very tired, hunkered down, attempting to keep warm in a very cold house, the cold has been my enemy all my life, i really am solar powered, i spend my morning with the high priestess and we talk about a warp in the fabric of our consciousness but it's okay, i'm pretty much in her heart so it don't matter, we discuss our fork in the road, david ikce, who i just don't get as he spreads his fear, i don't know, i just know, and i trust that feeling. so that's a strange place to draw a line but it's not a real one, just a line in our difference, we can fix it, talking and communication, i'm really bad a talking, much prefer just writing, letting it flow from my heart and see where it falls and because she's cool it's all cool, fuck it's great david icke can say what he want's and anyone can believe him, there's no laws, but why doesn't he feel right, all that lizard stuff and hate, he just seems full of himself and full of hate. (PLEASE EXCUSE ANY STRANGE SPELLINGS IN MY BLOGS RECENTLY IT'S MY COMPUTER STUCK ON SOME KINDA AUTO SPELL PROGRAM THAT I CAN'T CHANGE) so we chat about this and we chat about that and i find out she's not been well, she's been really sick and i want her to know that i love her and she will be okay because we will always be friends and i'm so glad that we are friends, she's very humble and fucking magnificent.
we discussed fear, mine are terrorists at the moment, i have a strange fear about it and fucking how i'm blaming everything, all these stupid organisations and conspiracies, they are all a sham, part of the fear, the barrier that keeps me trapped and enslaved by something i seem to be creating, like a bad energy, banish bad energy. i banish you. begone.
i need to retreat into myself now.

i've set myself some huge reading targets for the next few months, starting with china mieville's new book, embassytown, which looks to be hard science fiction philosophical and someway dense in linguistics and semantics, i love chinas work, he's a pretty original writer and tells an elegant tale. next up is, the quantum thief by hannu rajaniemi which is a first novel and appears to have such a fantastic plot, again hard sic fi, i can't resist the challenge, apparently he's some sort of quantum mathematician so it may be hard going, although alister reynolds is an astro physicist and he's not as challenging as you may think, the simple idea is to write a good story, not a technical manual. anyway i'll give the quantum thief a go.
next it's the complete works of issac asimov, whom i read as a teenager and loved but omitted the foundation works, which i believe is considered the ultimate science fiction concept, so i am looking forwards to reading his work again and this time including the foundation series. he's a bit of a scientist to but old school, less theory more logic and reason, plus he's an interesting ethics man but there are 10 books in the series and i'm somewhat overwhelmed.
but in there somewhere i also want to read cormac mccarthy's blood meridian, which i have heard is the definitive american novel.
i scanned a few pages this morning and it's such incredibly layered and evocative writing, brutality made beautiful.
next up is thomas pynchons last book inherent vice which people say is quite assessable and more of a linear narrative than his previous works, so with the onslaught of winter upon us, the ice age will pass and i will be head down in another world.

Gavin Atkins wrote a brilliant piece in the australian today.
the mistake the left make is they accuse those who are critical of it of being right wing. they can't see beyond their own propaganda and distortion. i am neither right nor left, i judge current information from a merit point of view, i believe in the individual and the right for people to be self determining. i don't like hearing one side of an issue. that's not right wing at all, that's just sensible.
the only show on the abc that offers this is a radio program called 'counterpoint' which presents the other sides point of view and i have to say when the other side get their view heard it's actually very enlightening, because the difference between these wings is the left is comprised of a collective mind while the right is individual. diversity wins all the time. how can it not the other side leads towards fundamentalism be it religious, political or scientific.
anyway here's the article...

FOLLOWING the recent anti-carbon tax protests, the editor of The Drum, the ABC's opinion website, contacted me looking to commission an article.

Jonathan Green had first gone to Twitter to try to find someone to write a story from the perspective of the carbon tax protesters but come up empty.

He eventually tracked me down, but it's telling that none of his regular contributors or 7000 Twitter followers could help him accommodate the views held by 60 per cent of Australians. I suspect the reason he was so keen to get the story is once my article had appeared he was off the hook.

The ABC opinion website is not compelled by editorial policies to demonstrate any form of balance but merely to provide a "range of subjects from a diversity of perspectives".

At The Drum, one conservative opinion is all it requires to legitimise a dozen from the Left.

Take, for example, the death of Osama bin Laden. Since his death, Drum readers have been provided with pretty much the same opinion every day from a total of nine writers: it was an extrajudiciary killing; the US was working outside the rule of law; celebrations of his death were disgraceful.

One of these writers, Greg Barns, went so far as to appear on The Drum's television show to express doubt that bin Laden was responsible for 9/11.

Two contributors were eventually published wishing good riddance to bad rubbish, enough for the ABC to claim it has provided a diversity of perspectives, and publish another brace of tales from the hand-wringers.

But it is ridiculous to assert, as the ABC's chief executive Mark Scott did following the launch of the ABC's editorial policies in 2006, that this fulfils an expectation that "audiences must not be able to reasonably conclude that the ABC has taken an editorial stand on matters of contention and public debate".

The real measure of bias at The Drum is not the range of opinion, it's the frequency. Until the end of last month, 98 writers had been published eight or more times at The Drum, producing a total of 1880 articles. Only eight of these contributors (one in 12) would pass muster as being on the right of the political spectrum: Glenn Milne, David Barnett, Chris Berg, Kevin Donnelly, Tom Switzer, John Hewson, Niki Savva and Sinclair Davidson.

Of these, Milne is first and foremost a journalist rather than an opinion writer, Hewson rarely expresses any conservative viewpoint, and others are specialists in areas such as education or economics rather than political issues of the day.

This means, for example, that of all the writers who are given a regular platform on the ABC website, I could find only four articles that were in some way supportive of Israel and none in favour of the war in Afghanistan.

By comparison, there are dozens of anti-Israel and anti-Afghan war pieces on the taxpayer-funded website, most of them accusatory and damning. For example, there are at least nine anti-Israel articles by Antony Loewenstein alone, 12 anti-Afghanistan war rants by Kellie Tranter, and many more from Labor Party speechwriter Bob Ellis scattered among his 110 contributions

Similarly, among the regular contributors to The Drum, there have been more than 20 articles critical of farmers on the Murray-Darling Basin, and none that I can find in support.

A few people were unearthed to write from the point of view of the farmers, so the ABC may now claim to have shown a range of perspectives but, like me, the editor would have had to search for them, and there will be no plans for these people to contribute again to The Drum any time soon.

Compared with a tally of at least 50 stories sympathetic to the plight of asylum-seekers, there does not appear to be a single article from one of the top 98 contributors advocating the border protection policies of the Coalition.

When asylum-seekers drowned at Christmas Island, there were no conservatives available at The Drum to question the policies that lured them here in the first place, only the usual queue of regulars writing from their default setting of confected moral indignation.

Think of just about any other issue that divides the Right and Left - say, David Hicks, nuclear energy or the National Broadband Network - and you will find reams of left-leaning group-think at The Drum. Thanks to its regular writers, this bias is structural and predictable. But it doesn't stop there. The Drum has started up a Twitter round-up on ABC online while question time is on in the House of Representatives. These efforts by a clubby group of left-leaning journalists, have been dominated by Green's former workmates at the Crikey website, including Green himself and Crikey contributors.

While the ABC's internet sites attract more than 25 million hits a month, a big concern is all of this frivolous online activity appears to be distracting our public broadcaster from giving us the news. The ABC is coy about exactly how much we are paying contributors to The Drum, saying only that the innovations division of which it is a part cost taxpayers nearly $10 million last financial year.

In the meantime, significant problems with the ABC's news have been exposed. ABC News 24 missed most of the Japanese earthquake and tsunami on the day it occurred and ABC1 failed to cut into regular programming as the news broke about bin Laden.

Now here's a radical idea: if the ABC concentrated on giving us the news instead of this online puffery, it could help solve two problems at once.

so angry that i wrote a letter to the idiots who put this festival together

hi
i am writing to complain about the pathetic selection of writers at the sydney writers festival, most are left wing commentators who are speaking with their peers, even anthony lowenstien never ever speaks against a counter point, it's small-minded and narrow of you to select such a biased panel of people who represent the banal viewpoints of their ideologies to what i imagine will be a like minded audience. apart from david mitchell, howard jacobson, micheal connelly you have a very low standard of what a writers festival should be. perhaps next year you can make things somewhat more balanced and stimulating for the citizens who have an inquiring imaginative mind, instead of the brain dead zombie's who hold the abc and smh as the bastions of political correctness and ideologically.
kind regards
captain mission

sydney writers festival coming up soon and i was quite enthusiastic about the whole thing, i thought i may catch some interesting writers and attend some lectures but looking at the menu what do i see, a host of left wing authors, commentators, in fact i gave up after searching through the names, only one standing out as being a quality worth seeing, david mitchell who wrote the amazing books, ghostwritten, cloud atlas and several other brilliantly imaginative novels.
howard jacobson makes an appearance, and i would like to see that having read and really loved his latest book.
the abc manage to promote all their personalities, the chasers team are everywhere, each person having a different spot as well as a team, the sydney morning herald has most of the market with it's opinion people, i mean even their most interesting journalist paul sheen doesn't get a look in. anthony lowenstien the token spokesman for israel who although jewish seems to represent one side of the argument, the one that the majority get to hear. i've never seen him argue or debate anyone with an opposing opinion. what's the matter mr. lowenstien, a bit vulnerable in your position? what a load of shit this is. name after name after name of second rate writers and hacks, spreading their distorted views and propaganda, jesus, not even one challenging guest to present the counter, the sydney writers festival should be renamed the fucking stupid persons wanking on about how the western world sucks. fuck why don't they send these people to iran for a fucking week where they can bow down towards their idols. jesus it makes me angry.

it's true i get my political systems and economic ones mixed up in the last post, pay me no mind, i am but the vessel for my thoughts and perhaps they are not really mine, i am just the scribe. enough politics, i care little for it, although it does fascinate me i'm aware it's a limiting concept and we are way beyond politics now.
so time is speeding up, tension increases, constriction, as all things come to one, can you feel it? i can, i wake up with it, i fall asleep to it, i can tell the planets are aligning, i can feel the influence coming into being, i can taste the future and it's not pretty, not for me anyway, but me is just an idea anyway, nothing for you to worry about. the only thing that we can do is make our peace, i have come to an arrangement revealing something authentic. it may not be real but it's close. how does that work?
you gotta keep stripping away the persona's, exposing the ego until it's raw and dissolved, you gotta know death and you gotta know your own heart before knowing another. my black heart beat for the lust of living, it throbbed erotic heat, it pulsated with the desire but like all lovers it has been defeated and beaten, battered and bruised, it has taken hit after hit after hit and yet it still beats strong, not black anymore, radiant purple, aglow with atlantian energy. from innocence to experience, where does one go after?
experience must have an end. there must come a point where experience ends, it's when one discovers destinty i think. discover your will, and destiny opens the door. i don't mean to sound like crowley but he was on to something.

another great book that defines all political thought is animal farm, which specifically looks at the dangers of socialism in light of the cataclysm that was stalinism in russia, but it is a warning of human weakness, of ignorance and greed. when i read this at skool i was influenced greatly in questioning all political frameworks, i explored them all from anarchism through to zionism, and i formed my first ideas about memes (although at the time i had never heard of the word and dawkins had not conceived the idea. however animal farm is a warning of all political systems really, the name doesn't really matter, it's the human nature that does, people have to transcend their nature, this is a spiritual quest not a political one and any religious meme that pretends it is not political is a lie. all of them are. the point is one must journey the spiritual dimensions and encounter the fundamental truths and laws of the universe, they must know who they are and what their purpose is, they must know who they serve before serving and above all they must know they are fallible and their integrity will be tested at all times. that's why there have never been very good political leaders, perhaps kennedy was the last but since then it's been a down hill slide. political leaders should be self made, men and women who have already been successful in the system that spawned them, richard branson springs to mind. here is a successful man who started off in a shop selling records, now one of the worlds richest man, he has the spirit of adventure and the foresight to use his cash to make things better for people. that's a great aspiration for a wealthy man. it would never happen in a socialist system, socialist systems horde wealth and horde power. despite the capitalist faults, and the biggest being the way the socialist bail outs saved capitalism effectively killing it, capitalism is the way forwards. however most people mistake capitalism with some exploitative system, and yes it has been but there is no doubt it is the only system available to us at the moment which validates the individual.

had a lovely chat with an old friend, terry on Skype who shares a similar world view to mine, he lives in the south coast of england and comments about the decline of england and it's entrenchment in the un which has destroyed the country on many levels. recently the daily telegraph was delivered for free to every household in the uk, asking that a referendum be held on exiting the european community but the govt. refuses to do this as it knows everyone would say 'exit.'
in ireland they held the referendum 8 times changing the wording each time until people voted yes.
i am still convinced that george orwell wrote the most important book ever, 1984 which is exactly the state of humanity now, soon america will announce it's bankruptcy and emerge with a new currency, the amero, which will bind mexico, canada to the us as one economy in the way europe is, this leaves asia to form a union, something which we can see happening now if we are smart enough to read between the lines.
and what is it that binds all the information together in one brainwashing kill shot, the television screen, the information networks, the big brothers of eurasia, ocean and eastasia. eurabia of course will be euroarabia, eastasia the asia pacific and the americas will be ocean. the ministry of newspeak is political correctness, the ministry of plenty is globalism, ministry of truth is big brother and media control, and the ministry of love is fear.
wake up people.

okay i have just finished reading several books, mostly non mentionable disposable fiction and science which i won't go into here but i am still reading this years booker prize winner the hilarious and personably relevant 'the fickler question' which appears to tackle the question of being jewish in a contemporary age, it's an english woody allen with deeply philosophical and political questions that are as interesting as they are provocative. i read some of howard jacobsons books before and found him difficult and boring but here he has come of age, as a writer this novel is quite brilliant and although i have not finished it deserves the accolade bestowed upon it. it is however a challenging read, the reader is presented with various aspects of what it means to be jewish in england, and the diversity of thoughts around this very strange culture that seems to provoke everyones ire. i must admit i'd have written in a much more confronting style, certainly my experience has been some what more brutal than the one in the book, but it is very apt the messages are written in jocobsons style, as more people will read him and not be so reactionary. i don't know where the novel will end, but it is certainly a great novel and very relevant.

art is the priestess of nature
nature is the daughter of time
time is the kiss of possibility
possibility the son of mine
mine is the kingdom of light
light is the illumination of time

mothers day, i don't buy it, the commercialisation of the days, i don't buy any days, including xmas, easter or global harmony day, what the fuck world are we creating where every day is signified by something we need to do out of obligation, it's all a bit weird to me. i like the idea that we just honour the people we love because we want to 24/7 not one special day a year. however there's no industry in that stuff, no cards, flowers, presents etc, yeah i know it's nice and fluffy but that's what i think, but then i have a strange relationship with my mother so maybe i'm just being somewhat ungracious. however to all mothers out there, here's my message, you have a great job, the most important job on earth.

Al-Qaeda to detonate nuke bomb in Europe if Osama bin Laden captured: Wikileaks - What's On Tianjin

i recall reading this before the assassination, never saw or heard anything after in any mainstream media but it's pretty serious and i hope nothing comes from it.

big day, it's 3am and i just returned from a huge day, starting with my early morning wake up at 5am, i got out the house and wander down the street and grabbed a chai, read the papers, see something about an interesting movie, take pan home, watch movie, it's 'source code' come away feeling great, what a brilliant film, great story, well executed and with a fantastic message. i loved it. then home for shower and change of clothes, pick up gravy and drive to bondi to introduce gravy to my friend lilly whom i have known for a long time would really enjoy one another, so we smoke a little spilff and head off down the great north roads. lilly and i have a special friend in bondi, a guy i have known for many years, he's a fucking great human being whose mission in life is to feed people very good food, filled with nutrition and made from nature, i buy all his stuff, his medicines and his food, get the mint choccy if your in his store, right up oxford street at the junction, fuck peter is like a dr. to me, a guru of health and living clean. he's buys the best stuff to make his ingredients and potions and then tests them on himself, working out the best options, so attuned is his own body. anyway a few years ago he got busted for selling milk straight from a cow, no pasteurising just straight from udder to container, well apparently he started to sell a lot and people wanted it, demand was there and peter supplied until the milk board busted him, took him to court and left him a few hundred thousand dollars in debt for court costs and fines. so this evening in the pavilion was a special dinner in support of him with some dancers and musician types and various people who look beautiful, there was one lady a gorgeous exotic type who did some belly dancing and i was mesmerised by her, she was insanely wonderful and i felt like just walking up to her and telling her 'your dancing worked' buy i noticed her wedding ring and disappeared outside to pay homage to jah and contemplate my stomach which was digesting itself from hunger. peter organised some food and fed us his amazing stuff, i ate two chocolate mint things that were like soul food. and then they called out my name and i had to go on a stage and find out i'd won the lottery which was a lovely hand made glass, a goblet, and we went back to lilly's spacious and zen like apartment and smoked some weed while gravy and lilly swapped stories and found out they had all these mutual friends from their surfing days. and it was a joy to behold cos i felt a bit like cupid and i know that whatever happens they will be friends.it was a lovely night, we drove home but stopped at a pizza place as gravy was still hungry. i dropped him off and he played me his new song, called, thank you' which lasted about 15 minutes and it was brilliant, full of funny moments and great wisdom, plus it sent me into a trance, where i found myself in an alternative reality, much like the character in source code, but this one was less violent and there was no love interest, which is always disappointing and the reason why i returned to this reality i guess where i found myself tuning back into gravies song and then it happened again, the song seemed to send me on these journeys, which is always a good sign in a song. well lilly and gravy and a belly dancer that i would have followed anywhere. a big day and i'm just happy.

in sleep fell, i fall, sinking into it's depths like a man drowning in molasses filling my lungs with it's absorbing message of void, my eyes remain closed for eternity as i drift with the strange current over silhouetted landscapes and into dark empty abyss it offers like some strange opiate. i can't even struggle, my will is nulled by it's seductive subtlety. sleep claimed me for 48 hours, i was gone, emerged in the depth of something that clouded over me and worked upon my spirit like a ghostly surgeon, moving around the worn synapses, soothing the ache of muscles and joints that have pained me, there the healing sleep works away, talking me on journeys, re ordering my damaged psych.
deep sleep pulling me down, lifting me up, nurturing the fragments and gluing them together, i need this. we have all been through some strange event, trauma requires healing the collective unconscious whispers, it's time.
i like this sleep, it's addictive in the same way narcosis is, it's pulling me into it's anathestia, can't feel anything here, its relief, a sanctuary from the shell shock, from the horror, from mankind's folly, rage and stupidity, it's peace but it is impermanent, and when i wake it is morning, and the dawn brings with it the joy of being alive.

david icke, possibly one of the most misguided men on the planet is coming to sydney, the government is lifting his ban and letting him spread his nonsense about lizards invading the earth, what's amazing is the number of people who follow and believe his bullshit. yeah it's all dressed up in nice new aged fluff but really all he does is expose peoples lack of descernment in what they believe and how they process information. i'm always astounded at people who really follow this man, in fact a number of folks i know love prompting his crap and spreading his fear in the name of consciousness expansion. most of the people in this movement are zombies despite their educated view they are lost to sheep mentality following the herd. absolutely insanity of the folly of dumbed down new age movement. they may as well follow some second rate dictator. he's nuts folks, wake up!

while the world dances on one mans grave so to speak, i contemplate the nature of terrorism, one mans terrorist is anothers freedom fighter, they say, mmm, is it all perspective then, i think not, one can fight against oppression without resorting to blind hatred, although i don't judge the american public here, i to think that moronic individuals like has bin laden don't deserve to have the gift of life, or a trial for that matter, but whatever way you look at it he was just a creation of the west. and therefore we have a responsibility to decommission him responsibly and ponder the motives of those that created him.
terrorism has been around since day one, it's the human condition from which we default to, it's the old power and control issue that cruises through weak mens veins and minds, it's the meme that will win in the short term, it's the brutality brought upon us all by the few, and followed by the many, it's the anthisisis of love, and islamic terrorism is the blind fearless belief that islam will conquer the world and all humanity will serve it, just like christianity believed in its heyday. there is no room for tolerance in the fundamentalist mind, off any religion. so how do you fight terrorism?
you have to fight, there's no doubt, the same way you would any hostile invasion into a healthy body but the best way is holistically and using a strategy that is sympathetic, yet decisive and final. what is that strategy, well old obama just did it i guess. good luck to him, i think he deserves a lot of credit here. i never really liked him much, i never trusted him at all, i don't like the republicans but i despise what the democrats have become, a tool of the un. but here obama plays his hand, bringing some national pride and retribution into the spot light, healing a deep wound. but what is missing is this, terrorism begins at home. it begins with the abusive names people call one another, the power people inflict over others, the control they use and that awful default setting we all have that we all need to work on and evolve from, lest we become them. 'at home he's a tourist' gang of four sang, but maybe it should have been 'at home he's a terrorist.'
we are all guilty and therefore it's hard to judge but ultimately i guess we can know our intentions, control our impulses and direct our hate towards something better, can't we?

WHY DID THE CHICKEN
CROSS THE ROAD?

Plato: For the greater good.

Karl Marx: It was an historical inevitability.

Hamlet: Because 'tis better to suffer in the mind the slings and arrows of outrageous road maintenance than to take arms against a sea of oncoming vehicles.

Doug Hofstadter: To seek explication of the correspondence between appearance and essence through the mapping of the external road-object onto the internal road-concept.

Machiavelli: So that its subjects will view it with admiration, as a chicken which has the daring and courage to boldly cross the road, but also with fear, for whom among them has the strength to contend with such a paragon of avian virtue? In such a manner is the princely chicken's dominion maintained.

Hippocrates: Because of an excess of light pink gooey stuff in its pancreas.

H.P. Lovecraft: To futilely attempt escape from the dark powers which even then pursued it, hungering after the stuff of its soul!

Jacques Derrida: Any number of contending discourses may be discovered within the act of the chicken crossing the road, and each interpretation is equally valid as the authorial intent can never be discerned, because structuralism is DEAD, DAMMIT, DEAD!

Thomas de Torquemada: Give me ten minutes with the chicken and I'll find out.

Robert Anton Wilson: Because agents of the Ancient Illuminated Roosters of Cooperia were controlling it with their Orbital Mind-Control Lasers as part of their master plan to take over the world's egg production.

Timothy Leary: Because that's the only kind of trip the Establishment would let it take.

Douglas Adams: Forty-two.

Nietzsche: Because if you gaze too long across the Road, the Road gazes also across you.

Aleister Crowley: Because it was its True Will to do so.

Oliver North: National Security was at stake.

Sappho: For the touch of your skin, the sweetness of your lips...

J.R.R. Tolkein: The chicken, sunlight coruscating off its radiant yellow- white coat of feathers, approached the dark, sullen asphalt road and scrutinized it intently with its obsidian-black eyes. Every detail of the thoroughfare leapt into blinding focus: the rough texture of the surface, over which count- less tires had worked their relentless tread through the ages; the innumerable fragments of stone embedded within the lugubrious mass, perhaps quarried from the great pits where the Sons of Man labored not far from here; the dull black asphalt itself, exuding those waves of heat which distort the sight and bring weakness to the body; the other attributes of the great highway too numerous to give name. And then it crossed it.

Malcolm X: Because it would get across that road by any means necessary.

B.F. Skinner: Because the external influences which had pervaded its sensorium from birth had caused it to develop in such a fashion that it would tend to cross roads, even while believing these actions to be of its own free will.

Carl Jung: The confluence of events in the cultural gestalt necessitated that individual chickens cross roads at this historical juncture, and therefore synchronicitously brought such occurrences into being.

Gary Gygax: Because I rolled a 64 on the "Chicken Random Behaviors" chart on page 497 of the Dungeon Master's Guide.

Trent Reznor: Because the world is FUCKED UP and it HATES ITSELF for being such a PITIFUL WHINY USELESS SHIT!

Dorothy Parker: Travel, trouble, music, art / A kiss, a frock, a rhyme / The chicken never said they fed its heart / But still they pass its time.

T.S. Eliot: It's not that they cross, but that they cross like chickens.

Jean-Paul Sartre: In order to act in good faith and be true to itself, the chicken found it necessary to cross the road.

Jean-Luc Picard: To see what's out there.

Darth Vader: Because it could not resist the power of the Dark Side.

Ludwig Wittgenstein: The possibility of "crossing" was encoded into the objects "chicken" and "road", and circumstances came into being which caused the actualization of this potential occurrence.

John Constantine: Because it'd made a bollocks of things over on this side of the road and figured it'd better get out right quick.

Albert Einstein: Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road crossed the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.

Gandalf: O chicken, do not meddle in the affairs of roads, for you are tasty and good with barbecue sauce.

Baldrick: It had a cunning plan.

Aristotle: To actualize its potential.

Roseanne Barr: Urrrrrp. What chicken?

Candide: To cultivate its garden.

Buddha: If you ask this question, you deny your own chicken-nature.

Joseph Conrad: Mistah Chicken, he dead.

Salvador Dali: The Fish.

Darwin: It was the logical next step after coming down from the trees.

Rene Descartes: It had sufficient reason to believe it was dreaming anyway.

Emily Dickinson: Because it could not stop for death.

Bob Dylan: How many roads must one chicken cross?

Epicurus: For fun.

Paul Erdos: It was forced to do so by the chicken-hole principle.

Ralph Waldo Emerson: It didn't cross the road; it transcended it.

Basil Fawlty: Oh, don't mind that chicken. It's from Barcelona.

Gerald R. Ford: It probably fell from an airplane and couldn't stop its forward momentum.

Sigmund Freud: The chicken obviously was female and obviously interpreted the pole on which the crosswalk sign was mounted as a phallic symbol of which she was envious, selbstverständlich.

Robert Frost: To cross the road less traveled by.

Johann Friedrich von Goethe: The eternal hen-principle made it do it.

Ernest Hemingway: To die. In the rain.

Werner Heisenberg: We are not sure which side of the road the chicken was on, but it was moving very fast.

Adolf Hitler: It needed Lebensraum.

David Hume: Out of custom and habit.

Saddam Hussein: This was an unprovoked act of rebellion and we were quite justified in dropping 50 tons of nerve gas on it.

Lee Iacocca: It found a better car, which was on the other side of the road.

John Paul Jones: It has not yet begun to cross!

Martin Luther King: It had a dream.

James Tiberius Kirk: To boldly go where no chicken has gone before.

Jean-Luc Picard: To boldly go where no bird has gone before.

Stan Laurel: I'm sorry, Ollie. It escaped when I opened the run.

Leda: Are you sure it wasn't Zeus dressed up as a chicken? He's into that kind of thing, you know.

Gottfried Von Leibniz: In this best possible world, the road was made for it to cross.

Groucho Marx: Chicken? What's all this talk about chicken? Why, I had an uncle who thought he was a chicken. My aunt almost divorced him, but we needed the eggs.

Karl Marx: To escape the bourgeois middle-class struggle.

Gregor Mendel: To get various strains of roads.

John Milton: To justify the ways of God to men.

Sir Isaac Newton: Chickens at rest tend to stay at rest. Chickens in motion tend to cross the road.

Jack Nicholson: 'Cause it fuckin' wanted to. That's the fuckin' reason.

Thomas Paine: Out of common sense.

Michael Palin: Nobody expects the banished inky chicken!

Wolfgang Pauli: There already was a chicken on the other side of the road.

Pyrrho the Skeptic: What road?

Ronald Reagan: I can't recall why, uh, um. Did you say it was a chicken?

Georg Friedrich Riemann: The answer appears in Dirichlet's lectures.

John Sununu: The Air Force was only too happy to provide the transportation, so quite understandably the chicken availed himself of the opportunity.

Sisyphus: Was it pushing a rock, too?

Socrates: To pick up some hemlock at the corner druggist.

The Sphinx: You tell me.

Margaret Thatcher: There was no alternative.

Bill Clinton: Did someone say chicken? Why I think I'll just chase that chick across the road and snatch me a piece.

Beavis: Heh heh, he said "snatch." Heh heh, heh heh.

Butthead: Shut up, Bevis, or I'll smack you so hard you'll end up on the other side of the road.

Dylan Thomas: To not go (sic) gentle into that good night.

Henry David Thoreau: To live deliberately ... and suck all the marrow out of life.

Mark Twain: The news of its crossing has been greatly exaggerated.

Mae West: I invited it to come up and see me sometime.

Walt Whitman: To cluck the song of itself.

William Wordsworth: To have something to recollect in tranquility.

Molly Yard: It was a hen!

Henny Youngman: Take this chicken ... please.

Zeno of Elea: To prove it could never reach the other side.

Mr. Scott: 'Cos ma wee transporter beam was na functioning properly. Ah canna work miracles, Captain!

Howard Cosell: It may very well have been one of the most astonishing events to grace the annals of history. An historic, unprecedented avian biped with the temerity to attempt such an herculean achievement formerly relegated to homo sapien pedestrians is truly a remarkable occurrence.

Thomas Jefferson: All hens are endowed by Nature and Nature's God with certain unalienable rights, and among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of the other side.

James Joyce: An ova eggspressed! Mrs. Hahn, Cock's wife, flapped up a stormin drang (one louve, one fear) and, like any tennis son, charged like a lewd brigade, clucking and clacking like a horsenfifer, nobirdy avair soar anywing like that load allmarshey.

Bart Simpson: I will not use the school chicken as a frisbee. I will not use the school chicken as

Oscar Wilde: This chicken problem has many depths, but all of them are equally shallow.

Weekly World News: Nostradamus predicted chicken/UFO horror!

Charles Fort: Of course, I have heard of the "fourth dimension" but whatever is wrong with me has not advanced to the point where I will offer it as an explanation in a case like this. Maybe the damned chicken just wanted to see the other side. Maybe.

Hannibal Lecter: I ate her liver. With fava beans. And a fresh cranberry sauce.