you're on your own, the lights go down slow, a kind of darkness to fall for, some kind of ghost to know, clinging to the familiar just to let it go. 
a warm wind blows in, like a cool breeze you blow out, streets filled with consumers and angry girls spending daddy's cash on frivolous trinkets and jamboree bags. they wear designer labels, and high heels, lip gloss and shimmering dresses, they look like hollywood idolatry, fallen swingers and la cabaret stars.   
it's 13 o clock, the bells are ringing out across town traffic, you flow with the tide head in a book, trying to be all indiscreet, attracting no attention, blending in with the background and standing out like a sore thumb. up above mercury, venus and jupiter align, you think what does it mean, a good time to write love letter to people you do business with. some flickering thing at the back of your mind, you take out a little hit of holy mushroom and swallow it down a shot of basil seed drink, the heat spreads along like a cloud of glitter and here comes the razors edge, slicing through the veils, hitting you up with some revelation... 
...we see in cross sections, everything is frozen in the moment of time and space, you can't escape, evolution is the development of desires, a righteous man feels the force behind the event, our thoughts are a contrast between intentions, the intention of the universe and the intention that we have as a response, which brings suffering. the law of the universe is bestowal, this is the law of life.
the bells stop, you slip into another secret state, they have to hate you for the truth, the mushroom wears off, your trembling and covered in sweat, it's morning, you forgot your sunglasses. 

create the chaos, divide and conquer, it's crisis management, take a side, your enemy is the other side, techno paradox (thanks tez) which means the more technology there is the more people get stupider, they wanna put lithium in water now, they want to call pizza a vegetable, the language is diminishing, the words are being sliced and chopped up, snorted with cocaine and strychnine, hate and war between the enlightened, fall out zones everywhere, the animals are spooked by the magnetic shift, people are going spontaneously crazy, murder, it's just a shot away. whales swim by laughing and crying, octopi think we are stupid pests and only dogs love us, the beasts await our demise hoping we don't spoil whats left, greed is god, greed dominates, nasty impulses and accursed hunger fuels desires, you cannot leave your head but you leave your heart, how sad for the tears, how happy for the fears how insanity takes us to places that are mundane and normal, how freedom is just your gilded cage, how much how soon how ever!


nautilus floating in space, neither up nor down, just balanced in harmony, neither here nor there, not being just doing, like all creation. stillness is impossible, the buddha's fate is sealed, he laughs at nautilus. he knows he is stupid in comparison, what are words, sound waves, with significance attached. a portrait in flesh can start a war, and peace is an elusive beast. who's hands are clean, every action has consequence, what are going to do? 
nautilus knows the fat man who laughs is in on the secret. it's no big deal, everyone gets washed away by the punch line.

everything has changed, i see with such clarity now, people fall away from me like tiny flecks of dust, my vibration has shifted, i no longer attract stagnation, chaotic energies disperse as my leaks are filled and deep healing is the result by proxy, only it is sharper than blades, it cuts away and slices, i can not control it, it happens around me like a side effect it wounds and it kills but it is not my doing, it is the shift itself. i do nothing, people react violently, change occurs like a wavelength tuning in, i understand this now. i understand how fragile your world is, your strange manipulations of it, your desires to tweak and control via your convoluted means. i am sorry that all of you feel that way, i wish i could preform for you, dance your tunes, respond when you pull strings but i am a free agent and not under the spell of the glamours you wish to cast. i am lost to you now, three of you but i speak my truth, your hearts are hateful and bitter, twisted and warped, your minds unclear and polluted and your reality is distorted, you wear the mask of deception and fear the truth. there's nothing liberating in that no matter what you use to hide it, i know this for i was once like you. 

tantalised at the opera house -the church and george ellis orchestra

i've taken the night bus, it travels faster than you care to imagine breaking all the limits, it bends and curves, it twists and turns, it is a driven by an old asgardian, with his face dark and haunted eye.
a loss he cannot remember, he is earthbound, just like thor, ejected from the heavens, sentenced to human life, he works the graveyard shifts, driving the night bus through the pummelling rains and wild wind, getting every one home safe and sound, his lips tremble with words never spoken, his eye sad and watery like the night, he is fixed on his relentless journey with the grim determination of the dammed. 
there are characters on the bus, strange collection of souls, some have stories to share.
an old man and his wife who have been to the theatre. they sit next to one another and hold hands like young lovers, they sometimes look into one another s eyes and smile. they indicate something, something they share, a deep love, we all watch them with respect and wonder. i'm reminded of my parents, how wonderful to have that love, either from your friend or from your partner, that love is sacred stuff, it spills into the hearts of those that notice.
further up there's some guy trying to pick up a girl, he works for channel 7 and he's spent the evening trying to get this young girl to sleep with him but she refuses, he's a good sport but he's drunk and she's drunk and there's something really sad about that as they flirt across the sexual innuendoes and games of desire in mask. this is how people fuck in the 20th century, it's how they break cross social phobias. sobriety brings a new kind of pain, honesty.
there's a guy with his laptop plugged in to face book, he's listening to you tube music at the same time. i like the look of this guy, he's geeky and cool and he don't give a fuck. 
then there's some more drunk people, they all have a sad and tragic feel about them, one guy sitting nearby looks like he's about to throw up, he's falling into micro sleep and making grunting noises, unpleasant chap, there's a few zombies on board, with vacant stares. 
a lot of people are using their iphones and some have ipads a girl in white sits at the back like an angel who got to trashed to find her way home. one by one people leave the bus, jumping of at various points until it is just myself and the driver. it's almost a dream, as we pierce the thin veil of speed and light, the echos from the future head towards me as i look out the window. i see the past behind me, derelict and abandoned, i see the  future in front, its unknown and blacker than the void that once existed in my solar plexus. the driver and i look ahead. 
it's incredible, in the darkness flashes of vibrant possibility, i see her face, it makes it's presence known.

ORGONE ACCUMULATOR - HAWKWIND

don't you wish you had one?
i do love this song.

the notting hillbillies 'go your own sweet way'

this song is for my friend tez in brighton, i love ya mate. 

many days of rain, i bunkered down with my book isolated and in solitude, i was content and feeling relaxed but the phone never stopped ringing, people popped around, there were places to go, people had dramas, events swung from one extreme to the other, my down time became my up time, my hyper sleep became a dream and i fell upwards into the stars. where my head exploded with revelation.
a mighty flaming sword the precondition of war, the hunger game, the long nights of burning dollars, economies collapsing, the euro zone built on a house of cards, the american revolution returns, food wars, water wars, starvation of intelligence and wisdom, academia fascism, neurological warfare as memetic bomb fallout creates toxic fields of neutrons, a new scapegoat same as the old one, land mass plunges into the sea, truth filters like radioactive sound bytes, tomorrow never knows, the corporeal moment, the sex imperative, the hidden mythologies are born again, the lost city of atlantis will rise again somewhere in time. an oracle is written in stardust, calamity jane meets cataclysmic john and they have a child named chaos.
soon we will build a new temple, it will comprise of the whole planet, it will be filled with love and harmony with all natural intelligence, the lamb will lay down with the lion, the man will lay down with the woman in peace and respect. the time for war will end, the heart will rule the brain and the sun will beckon us to light, science will confess its magickal origin, the alien will love us, there will be purpose and reason, meaning and consciousness to action, for this is the age of humanity, this is the age of aquarian aspects, we will put down the sword and pick up thy pen, we will compose song and make love not war, for it has come to pass and will come again, it is written in the dna strand, the eyes of the dolphin, the patterns in fractals the space between notes is where music is. celestial lights, plant goddess, the fish people rise from the depths, all will find a way home, all will be basking in truth and beauty all will know their place, the old gods will be reborn anew, the sacred geometry of the spiral be known, nautilus, pyramid, pentangle and circle squared all is known to those that know. 
but to get here / there the war within must be fought, every man is a star, every woman is a star and every child is a star, but unless the war within is won, there is danger of becoming a black hole.

'the four fingers of death' by rick moody is perhaps one of the best contemporary science fiction novels i have read in a long time, although it's unlike any science fiction novel i have read. i have nothing but admiration for the writer, a man who has taken a pulp movie 'the crawling hand' from the fifties and transformed it via a novelization narrative that is itself part labyrinthine, part kaleidoscopic vision, rick moody captures the details of a trip to mars like you have never imagined, taking us on tangents that are shocking and bizarre, tragic and very funny. 

this is an emotional read, with the theme of longing present as we watch humanity fail in every way possible. the book is dedicated to kurt vonnegut,and i can feel his spirit in the pages. he would have loved this book as much as i do. 

anyway i hope people rush out and read it, there's some great writing here.

i recall when i saw the film 'armageddon' years ago i said that it should have had a homosexual sub plot and the ben afflick character should have fallen in love with bruce willis, as the film was really missing this yet it was obvious the narrative required it. here in the four fingers, moody totally gets it right. there's the most transgressive sex in space scene i've read yet it's such a joy to read, very funny. there's plenty of moments in this novel that will challenge you, plenty of moments where you will feel the same longing as the characters, especially the encounter with the mars rover which stands out for me as very touching. 

drive, a movie that is advertised as being on everywhere yet no cinemas near me are showing it, i see it in the city where it screens to a small handful on a small screen. this is a beautifully filmed movie, fabulous acting meditative in parts and excellent script that must have been about three pages long as most of the communication is non verbal, exquisitely invoking steve mcqueen and the car films of the seventies, a lesson in noir yet it has a violence that is unnecessary and shockingly brutal. 
i liked the film but thought it had been vastly over rated, there were some real good moments but the ending was just crazy and could have been so much better.

a baby is taken from me, one comes in, this is the mechanics of karma undoubtedly, my two lovely friends are expecting a child and i am thrilled for them, really happy for they are such fine people and i know they will be just fine. 
i have dinner with my friend yesterday, we eat japanese food watching the streets as a procession of sirens flow by,kids barely teenagers wander around drunk out of their skulls on vodka and udl cans that are packaged as fizzy drinks, the girls all wear short dresses and amplify their naked flesh, toxic pheromones whirl through the air as their boys refer to them as bitches and slags, this is the battle zone the war that has raged for eternity, the separation of femininity from nature. male rage. male fear and now  the remnants of the feminine principle imprinted on a generation looks ravaged and conquered. if there is such a thing as apocalyptic this is its mirror. 
we discuss the idea of technology, man has enmeshed within it to the point it is no longer a tool, it has become part of the maya, systems are impossible to define, organic life is technologically enhanced but at the same time diminished. this paradox is the nature of mans reality but not reality as facebook determines reality more than reality does. facebook is not real, it's constructed like all of mans illusions, it is completely unreal. 
'but it's just a tool,' i hear you cry.
no, it was a tool, now we are the tools of facebook.

it's true the days and nights converge, they meet at that hypnogogic point, they blur like tomorrows yesterdays and you travel in comfortable passage on the overland train, the fast one, the one that takes you to where you want to be in three stops. you order a water with lemon and specify you require cubed ice not anything with curves. the waitress looks at you momentarily absorbing your request and nods her head when she knows you are serious. yes this train reminds you of the days you travelled in your airship, how you year for their return, such sophistication and elegance. when you had money to burn and friends to burn it with. 
my drink arrives, i check the ice, 'perfect,' i say. the train moves quietly and speed takes me there by the time i have finished my drink. i am undisturbed and feel rested. 
central station is the usual hub of activity, even at this early hour, the guards wave you through the gate and you find a bus that takes you down to the quay. you stop off midway to purchase some books, you find some excellent ones in the japanese bookshop and then in galaxy where you are greeted by your book dealer who hands you a novel, the third and last in a science fiction trilogy, you exchange some words, money and pleasantries and then continue your journey. 
down on the waterfront you jump onto your vessel, a beaten up old wreck, carrying hordes of tourists, mostly wandering around looking at the view, a city drenched in sun, they shout in several languages and take photographs. you sit down thinking if you can't enjoy the peace and quiet you may as well enjoy the view, but as you sit back the boat is engulfed by fog, dense thick pea soup fog swallows you up and slowly you see it coming through the windows and the open parts of the boat, down the staircase, swallowing up everyone and everything, sound begins to diminish and then light seems to fade. you clutch your bag close to you as the cold fog penetrates everything and you know you are alone. when the fog recedes the vessel is empty, you can see the crews cabin where a hooded tall man beckons you towards him. you climb those steps, nervous but certain that there is no alternative. a skeletal hand, boney fingers reach to you handing you an envelope. you dare not look up, into the hood but you know you will, part of you knows what it will see. you open the envelope and in it is the contract. all your tomorrows for a pact with death.

strange things happen on trains and buses, sydney public transport is a labyrinth of coincidences and chance encounters, faces look strange when your the stranger, eyes look out of the dark penetrating the thin facade of persona. i set off on my journey, some what dishevelled, make no illusions i travel incognito, i have no desire to attract attention, my face unshaven, my eyes half closed, i sit near the back, head in my book, or leaning against the glass gazing out the window at the rain drenched night. jumping buses, making connections, heading into the network of trains. the secretary's, the office people, the commuters all following their patterns like ants in a system, hive mind, electrical sparks reach into magnetic flow. this is the current of movement, the human tide, the motion of crowds, side effects happen here. i clamber onto a crowded train, jump up the steps to the upper deck, find a seat and open my book, my logic circuits shut down, my peripherals close, my internal instruments power down, now it's just me and my book, no space, i am no longer aware i am on a train, i care little for destinations or stops, i care nothing for anything and in that void time itself folds and a voice next to me says, 'mission, captain mission, are you captain mission.'
the speaker is a young man, about mid thirties, he's a bit dishevelled like me, and he has crazy eyes, i carefully start reflecting back on my data, but retrieval brings me nothing, a familiar face i can't trace.
'it's alex man, alex.'
i don't know who alex is but he knows me.
he smiles at my disadvantage, 'from the youth refuge,' he says.


okay now this does happen a lot, a kid i worked with in my years as a social worker will stop me, could be anywhere in sydney or nearby, manly, kings cross, some obscure shopping mall, a beach, it happens when i don't expect it, they usually are kids that remember me with great clarity and affection, they are always very thankful and grateful and show me their children, boyfriends, wives, tell me about their jobs, try to sell me drugs or just shake my hand. yeah they are mostly successful and stable, turned their life around and moved on. 
alex is still on the streets, he's had addiction problems, he's had relationship issues and quite frankly he's a bit of a mess. he's on his way to the doctors to get some anxiety drugs, it's quite late in the night and i feel despite my terrible memory, the fact so many kids came through i feel sorry for him, i wish i could help him, he seems like such a decent guy, telling me how much he enjoyed his time with me, telling me how his family fucked him over but he was trying real hard to come to terms with the events that put him on his trajectory. he tells me about how he writes lyrics for rap songs and he says he has a genre called educational rap, songs of experience and wisdom, i tell him william blake would appreciate this. we talk for a while about gill scott heron whom i suggest he listen to and then he jumps off the train but i have taken his number and will call him just to check up and make sure he's okay. 


it is really strange how these kids all come back, they all return with their stories but above all with gratitude. my job was never rewarding, it was just a hard job dealing with tragic people and circumstances, people just assumed it was rewarding, in fact it was unrewarding as often we never got successful outcomes, no one cared about youth, they didn't vote. but twenty years later the rewards come along. 


i exit the station at the end of the line, into the cold wet night, wrapped up in my west berlin overcoat and hat, i merge into the night, wind hits my face, the ground shimmers in reflected neon and cars hiss by like rattle snakes. 
alex i hope your warm and safe, i'm grateful that you came and said hello, means a lot to me, it means everything. 
   

public transport makes me feel like a citizen, all those faces buried in somewhere else, moving along like blood vessels in an artery or vein, i have a golden pass that gets me a ride on the bus ferry and train but i rather  be on anteries 7 exploring the pleasure domes and experiencing the soft flesh of some earth girl who smells good, but here i am amongst the peoples, i don't mind it so much, i take a good book and i'm happy, occasionally some one starts a conversation. i met a few travellers, a dutch lady, she was quite cute, i met a couple of girls from london yesterday, they had amazing tattoo's, dragons and fairies, they showed me their backs simultaneously, and the tattoo's formed a big picture, imagine that!
it's a strange culture that uses the transport system, glamourous girls in summer dresses look out of place on the trains, there's a whole bunch of people out here, asians playing computers and mobile phones games, i gaze out the window and watch the stations fly by, my thoughts are really elsewhere.

i read a few books, lincon prescot's 'wheel of darkness' is pretty good if you like transit literature. i read 'discovery of witches' and thought it was awful, harry potter type romance, halfway through i felt sick and traded it for something else at the book exchange. i resented spending my time reading it, apparently it's by some academic, i felt like writing her a letter saying she has taken back the vampyre ethos decades with her drivel. anyways gotta let that go, there's also a new cd from ms. kate bush called 50 words for snow, and here is the very bowie like single. enjoy, it's fucking brilliant!

the police sirens fade, a cross hair aligns the night, all the significance of a cat flying through the freeze frame in a dali sequence, just like dreams. i was walking inner suburban places, small shops closed down due to violence, graffiti lined streets can be ugly at midnight when the violence and tension burns your tongue like an acid french kiss. no one else on the streets but i could feel a million eyes burning into me, hungry blood thirty gangs in stealth mode, no one in their right mind would be out at this time. just me, out of my mind on vital k and them, the hunters.
i'd taken the vk about thirty minites ago, it was coming on slow, like a tingle first, the usual symptoms but then time was beginning to alter and i could feel my vision become totally precise, every movement registered, the nocturnal cultures became revealed and i could sense more than anything the danger that lay concealed, i could smell humanity and it was the same rotten stink as depravity, lingering on to long. a burnt out car on one side and what looked like a smashed up truck on the other, glass lay all over the street and some awful smell hung in the air. i moved my head to the left and the knife missed, flying by slowly, i reached out and grabbed it, my hands wrapping around the handle, i smiled, perfect catch. i threw it back in one elegant sweep. it hit the target, a wild boy, he fell from his rooftop hiding place with a thud. ducking behind the truck i thought i better keep out the line of fire, a few shots ran out but missed me. 
i could feel them moving away, they would leave me alone. i clambered inside the truck, it had fallen on its side, it's cargo in small wooden boxes had fallen out onto the floor, mostly emptied. there was one larger crate that sat upright, i could smell something inside it alive. i called out and pulled the lid off it with my hands.
inside was a baby. it was alive but barely, it was naked, a girl. i wrapped it in my jacket and held it close, instinct took over and i moved carefully out of the shell of the truck back onto the streets. i wandered towards what looked like a chemists, it was burnt and wrecked but i could make out some untouched stock, i grabbed the tins of formula and made my way back to the campsite stopping only to check the baby.
once there i handed it over to the medics and katria whose face lit up like an xmas tree, she cooed and clucked and made several strange noises and her face seemed softer, a crowd of people gathered around and demonstrated the same response. i was amazed at the way a small lump of meat could effect our morale, everyone lightened up, for the first time in many years we had a little hope. i suggested the name, hope, and everyone agreed it was good for a little girl.  

chungg tzu finished his tea, the cloud temple master sat in contemplative silence after their conversation and tzu completed his ritual duty. the chrysanthemum flowers had been infused with fresh wolfberries and as tzu added the water to their forth brew the master opened his eyes and smiled. the ritual was to keep adding boiling water to the brew until it was exhausted. 
they had sat there in the roof garden meditation pavilion since sunrise and now the sun was sinking behind the savage mountain. the monastery was accessible only in the summer months, chungg looked out across the mountain tops, he only had two weeks to descend lest he remain in the monastery until next spring when the ice caps melt. he offered the temple master his bowl and bowed his head in the traditional way. they finished the tea in silence and then the temple master smiled.
'chungg you will have to leave tomorrow morning at dawn.'
'yes master, i will leave at sunrise but have you considered my request?'
'yes, i have considered the request, it is unusual.'
chungg knew better to interrupt, he felt the chrysanthemum tea flooding his body, his head began to feel very hot and beads of sweat formed around his brow.
'come chungg tzu, i will show you the inner temple.'
chungg allowed himself a moments pride, the temple master was going to admit him into the inner sanctums, the secret school, the mystery school. he had spent two thirds of his life looking for it. and now finally he was here, in the mountain tops of cloud city. 
chungg followed the temple master from the pavilion, they walked through the gardens where the snow flowers were in bloom, immaculate patterns of white flowers in the shape of the swastika, the original sanskrit one. they passed through the passage ways chungg had become familiar with, the tibetan prayer wheels rotated with the wind that echoed along the corridors, some mantra flags hung from the door ways flapping in the breeze that also carried a chant of some of the monks in mantra. they walked towards the end of a winding corridor lit only by a small candle until the light just seemed to run out. they walked further into darkness and then stopped. the temple master knocked on the door three times, a panel slid open and some words were exchanged. then a stone doorway slid open and chungg found himself in the presence of an old man, he had long white hair and long fingernails but his skin was pale like the moon. the door keeper had been inside this room for most of his life, never seeing sunlight, never talking, eating only the small bowl of soup he was brought each day. his was a great responsibility, keeper of the inner sanctum. he offered us passage into the sanctum, the temple within the temple. chungg knew none of the monks would have any idea about this architecture nor the existence of the hidden temple, for this was for the masters. he saw shadows flickering and gradually candles illuminated a library, books and scrolls, a few monks sitting at desks, some seemed to be sitting cross legged slightly off the ground, some were in yogic poses and others appeared to be in deep meditation. no one spoke. he walked past these people, and then into a small room where he was asked to sit down. the temple master whispered, 'are you sure you wish to continue?'
'yes, i have come a long way.'
'the temple monk lifted a curtain, a mirror was revealed, it's surface was black, a deep black.
'this is the mirror of revealing chungg, if you gaze into it it will reflect your fear.'
chungg stood in front of it and braced myself, he looked into the mirror and saw himself in a black pool of endless night. his reflection was faint and seemed to flicker, and then suddenly it was gone and in its place was the most beautiful face he had ever seen, a young woman laughing, her eyes ablaze and her teeth glinting at me, perfectly. she had rich deep eyes that looked into mine and she had red hair. then she faded and was replaced by chungg. 
he turned to the temple master,'who is that?'
'the face of fear and love,' he said.

up the central coast to the paradise recording studio, the heat burning up all the oxygen in the car, i got the windows rolled down, the air con don't work but we travel along listening to some cool jazz beats from oslo, seductive and soft sophisticating sounds. gosford is a tiny place, i was expecting something slightly bigger but it's very small, we have the wrong address but it's an easy place to find. i meet some cool jazz cats and a australian legend i have never heard off but his name is billy field, he's okay, anyways his studio is kinda like some ones lounge and the jazz cats are very cool professionals, who get straight into recording my friend justine bradly the jazz singer. i take some photographs for them, fall asleep on a bed and start snoring. 
on the way back justine buys me some sushi at a sushi train restaurant. i watch food going around and around, the place is packed, the food is good but all i wanna do is fall asleep, my dreams are spilling out from my head, justine invites me to a wedding, she says it gonna be funky, it sounds like a nice way to chill out, a bunch of jazz people, maybe i'll smoke a jazz cigarette with them and go for a swim. i like these hot days, hope we have a few more before the next rain instalment.

don't give me your time displacement theory, religion and science are the same sides of the coin, spinning along human understanding, like a flip switch upon on which we wait.
i lived that movie thrice, once when i was younger, a sparkle in some one's eye, then i lived it now in the blink of an eye and tomorrow never dies, i lived all my possible futures, when six becomes nine, zeros and ones, eleven eleven, seven by seven.
the ending never comes, just seems like one endless sequence, a loop of suffering with intermittent joy if your lucky it may last a while.
anything less is no surprise, you don't have to count your blessings, 1 2 and 3 but they are precious and worth knowing especially when the heroine surrenders her beauty to some lesser concept and the the hero sacrifices truth for compromise, it's the safe option but it's not for me, yet that's the reality sandwich, that's the come down, that's the freaking bottom line.
the audience suspends disbelief. why would they invest in something they care so little about, truth, beauty, the unknown when they can plug into the shopping channel or e bay or some soap operatics. you're cursed because you followed all the clues
and in your edits and your juxtapositions relationships that never quite met or reached potential, dissipated, they return to source only to return again in that endless cycle of mundane stagnation.
i hesitate to see the sequel, lived it, imagined it, i played the main protagonist and she played me, it's not that unique. eve ate the apple, adam followed, we been unravelling our dna ever since. 

SNUFF MUSIC

11:11:11 11:11pm
snuff music is released today, available from red eye records or from
THE DEEP FIX
PO BOX 554
AVALON BEACH
2107
NSW
send $25 or $30 to receive a copy, there's a limited pressing so put your order in.

11:11:11 11:11am
er by guilt trip playing and all i wanna say is i love everyone right now, it's a good space to be in, the cosmos knows and understands this, it's a feedback loop and sometimes it throws weird shit at you, but that's just reflection of your own weirdness, only possibilities left are embracing it, working out your own stuff, understanding it and letting it go with the love you can give it, for this universe is a strange mysterious woman that you have to love unconditionally and embrace, she don't care about the details.
anyway what's to say, guilt trip says it for me, this is the soundtrack for my lives, all of them. it hits me like being drenched in sunlight for the very first time, and then bathed moonlight to cool off. it moves me to something i can't quite capture, there are no words on this album, there's no need for them, the sounds speak for themselves and they say more than any word. it's a beautiful elegant piece of music but it contains so much more than beauty.

eventually a friend rings me, i have lost a few over the latest episode in my life, i understand this but they can't even begin to understand me i guess which is sad but a fact, of course i am living in an illusion, that is not a delusion sister, the issue is i don't fear it the same way you do. to live in fear of people is to be a slave. i find it irritating and disappointing but there is no free will to choose, only the illusion of it, the fall of man is written in the old testament and we still are falling, we think intellect is the answer yet look where we are, filled with fear hate and control and power, nothing has changed just the illusion of it changes and by default our delusion that we are advanced. as i have said before the only way to live is to create art and find the true self, everything else is just a distraction, your spiritual frame work is a form of fascism if you think it's better than mine, mine don't need to play those games and it don't care if it is judged by yours. it is strong enough to withstand all of the nonsense it contains, in fact it readily confesses to being completely false, and encourages disbelief, such is it's indifference to criticism. baby it has a sense of humour and it's sexy enough to laugh at itself. 


so hail the 11:11:11 may all your syncronicities set you free.
my friend is a wise man, we make an unlikely alliance but we are similar in our understanding of everything. we have reached the same conclusions, we are free, as far as one can be from the human condition, yet we are sad to watch events transpire and mankind repeat it's endless cycle of mistakes and hubris. myself included. 11:11:11 only has significance to those that know, yet the secret of knowing is not attaching significance to it, for like all things in that realm it is a paradoxical equation, not for the brain or the mind. my intuition is finely honed, it knows stuff and i trust it, that's good enough for me.

oxford street where the junk is cheap, morning sun baking the tar, sticky ambient chaos and residual heat closing in, i'm wandering past the sex emporium, drinking coffee on the run, my moon powered zap gun is depleted, gazing at the people who pass me by indifferent to my purpose, a silent knight on a quest, in a kingdom of tears, a man with a mission, depleted of magicks, lost for words, world weary and heavy wearing a fashionable hat looking for his maiden but only finding chimeras, taming the dragons, redistributing karma and healing old wounds. he took a hit, a big one, it damaged his aura and fucked up his code, he's in need of repair and there's only one witch in the kingdom who can fix him. 
she waves her crystal wand, opens a portal, rips out the fucking glitches and messy configurations that infect and corrupt, ah it feels good but any feeling good is short lived for there's no gain without pain, every knight without a day knows that. truth hurts, illusion and delusion have me on hold, i have to crack open my own head and let it leak away. thank you wendy for at least being a lighthouse in a game of storms.

red phase shift, tranquillity hit, bounce back status, instruments are of the dial, warning lights indicate everything is safe, i am back with no beast, i am forward within and backwards without, i am everywhere and nowhere, the surface is under the current, i'm the zoo keepers daughters son, i am the wildest tame one, i am hip to your lip, i am hip you your cosmic gun, i am hip to the atomic eye flux of beauty, i am hip to the word virus of mind, i surf the cosmic wave, i love my enemy though verily they will kill me, i can forgive them because they know not what they do. i get it now and that makes me happy, i am ready for fate and destinies kiss.

a few days ago i noticed a glitch in the space time continuum, specifically for you heretics a vital piece of music was missing from my collection this sent shockwaves through this sector of the universe, as you can imagine.


the cd is 'egyptian register' which steve kilbey made with his brother russell kilbey. verily it was ordered with haste and promptly arrived with a very lovely piece of additional artwork which i have on my desk and will frame asap.


now, i am playing said music, it booms out across the suburb from mission control where i have turned the volume up loud and smoked a spliff to praise jah and the people responsible for this gift, the music is regal, it is indeed majestic and transmigratory and i really do recommend this is acquired for your own collection for herein lies many sounds from cross cultural antiquity and possible futures, this is the sound of trans-dimensional music, it's 
inspired me and will you.


you will be pleased to know the rift has been repaired, the gods rejoice and tranquility and equilibrium restored. 

new look for mission control, hope you enjoy it, i was having trouble loading older posts but the problem is fixed thanks to a nifty piece of source code i hacked, it's taken a lot longer than i hoped but i plan to continue with the 'novel' i started a while ago, called, 'rites of passage.'

touchdown, another sun drenched beach, brown skins against fluro skimp bikini, the fruit cocktails clash with the pastel ocean waves, convertible laughter, all pretty young things, hooked up to the sunshine states, white flash of teeth, perfection in form, someone throws a frisbee and a brazilian boy dives in slow motion across the blue cloudless skies almost landing at your feet in a perfect arc, sand thrown up as you pull the plug from your white skinned ipod, and that chill out sound of easy lounge thrills ceases and all you hear is the shrieking of the beach culture. 
the boy stands and brushes sand from his legs, he has a good body and shaved head, you like his smile as he stares at you drinking you in in the most obvious way. he stands there while you rearrange a little space for him, knowing he will be defenceless. 
he says something but it's portuguese, the sun catches behind his shoulder and you gesture for him to sit with you but he gets shy and runs away, he throws that frisbee hard and you watch it swerve as it glides towards his friends. he looks back at lost opportunity. 
you stick that music back in your ears and cut of the frenetic beach noise, you take a sip of the iced watermelon drink and lay back, enjoying the last few rays of the evening sun. your skin feels alive and your body aches with hunger for touch of the most sensual pleasures, you don't like being denied, it's against your nature and you feel a hard edged anger shard in your heart, a bitter pang towards the stupid boy. you close your eyes and sigh to yourself, life is to short for regrets you think, there will be others, why the beach is filled with youth and vitality in male form, the hunger of desire aches deep inside you, yearning it begins to spoil your mood, you want what you cannot have. 

the beggars code

there are insights into arcane mysteries i have been granted through my experience, mostly dismissed as unbelievable fantasy from those that don't know me well, and there are many, but those that have seen through my personas and know my soul know i speak the truth, the strangest of which i will share with you now, so sit back and breath deeply, in and out for letting go is the lesson and it begins with ones breath.

by chance i was walking through the back streets of china town, it was a hot spring night and on the main street a feast of entertainment. market stalls, food vendors, trinkets and glitter from the manufacturing empire of the yellow emperor. i preferred the side streets away from the crowds who jostled their way along the sideshows and restaurants. i could feel the energy of the night upon my tongue, it seemed to tingle upon my fingertips like a invisible current dancing down my spine. 
i had just eaten, a pear salad across town and was walking, looking for the chinese cake shop i liked to indulge in, they made the most glorious lotus seed cake but the crowds and bright lights had forced me away from the main street and i was looking for the side entrance when i chanced upon a beggar. 

normally i don't take any notice of people who beg, it's something that occurs and is blocked, i have no response, i have no compassion, i have no anger, i feel absolutely nothing but an indifference. i never give anything to beggars and i never engage them in conversation. i can't even tell you why, maybe it's to confronting, maybe i just don't care, maybe it would break my heart and send me into despair if i found myself seeing the human face of these people, besides most western beggars where just alcoholics looking for a way to continue their addictions and i didn't want to encourage that.

but on this night, at around midnight i had an encounter that changed everything. 

i noticed him because he was kneeling down praying. he had his hands gripped together in a mantis gesture and looks to be mumbling his words and his eyes shone with what i can only say is utter conviction, they were wide open staring not at any passers by but at space itself, he was praying with such powerful intent it nearly knocked me of my feet.

reaching into my pocket i found myself giving him all my cash, save for the $5 i needed to get me home. it was not a great amount,, maybe $15 or $20. i placed it in his hands, near a small bowl with a few loose change inside but he never seemed to notice anything at first, just kept mumbling and looking up to the heavens, it was all very incoherent yet he looked so fixated upon the stars and i could feel something about him, intuitively as he slowly turned his face and for the first time acknowledged my presence. a strange look passed between us and then i found myself looking into his eyes, locked in a gaze. 
i broke it in a swift single movement, almost like a ballet move, i twirled away and continued walking. it was quite strange and unsettling, as now my thoughts seemed to focus on this stranger and my uncharacteristically generous donation. i knew he would not spend that money on alcohol, i was certain of it, and somewhere deep down i began to look at my life in a perspective which i probably lacked before, i was lucky, i was really lucky because fate had never placed me in a situation where i was reduced to begging, although i had some pretty rough times, i'd found the resources to pull myself out. 
devouring my lotus seed cake i now turned onto george street and wandered up into the main throng of sydney at night, masses of people wandering around, many drunk and shouting recklessly at one another, traffic gridlocked and the chaos of friday night hedonism as people moved from one escape looking for another. i was heading towards the night bus service when to my left outside a church i glimpsed another beggar. this one was not praying but he did look at me as i wandered passed him. 
i reached into my bag and found some coin, which i tossed his way without stopping, i didn't want to engage him in any way, he said 'thanks brother' and i hurried along, again beset by thoughts about beggars and begging. why would someone beg, what kind of person does it?
perhaps they had been dealt a hard blow, a blow which had made them relinquish everything, god knows i have come close, i really have, maybe they were just mad people in need of medication or perhaps they were just working the system, milking compassion for all they could due to an extremely lazy disposition. they may even return home to plush inner city apartments and drink expensive wine with their dips for all i know. the thoughts circled my head until i realised i needed to get an answer.
i doubled back.
when i came to the second beggar i noticed he was wrapped in blankets, he was smoking a cigarette someone had given him and he seemed to be smiling when i came towards him.
'hi' i said, 'do you remember me?'
'yes you gave me $3 and some change, you didn't stop to hear my words of thanks but i understand, you're in a hurry, the night is late.'
for a beggar he seemed to have quite a good command of english, i mean why wouldn't you. he was educated, spoke very well, i was surprised. 'i'm curious as to how you came to be a beggar, i know it's a strange question but i was wondering if you could tell me. i'd be happy to buy you a coffee while we talk.'
'ah it's very kind of you to offer but i don't partake in hot beverages, i'm more than happy to tell you my tale though, although it may surprise you, a man of your sensitive disposition and status.'
so he began his story and i listened and it was surprising, for he started life as a very wealthy man, heir to a family fortune in the scottish highlands. he had studied with the university and gained three degrees, classical history, philosophy and comparative religion. after his education came to a close he travelled the globe, explored politics and quickly grew tired of it, reverting to religion he went seeking enlightenment in india where he encountered the sadhu or as he translated for me, the good man. he explained it is the path of renunciation, a very holy path associated with hinduism. the sadhu assists burn away mankind's karma and are sometimes valued as powerful and respected individuals who contribute to a community. he confessed a slight discrepancy between the western perception of the sadhu and went on a little tangent concerning his trials and tribulations in sydney but he never lingered on this, returning to his belief that he was on a spiritual path. he said that he had studied in his youth, then married his childhood sweetheart and started a family but left to travel the world, he said he was on the fourth stage of his hindu incarnation. this is a tricky path for the individual must first acquire viragya, which means desire to achieve something by leaving the attachments with family and society and finally the world. 
when he realised this was what he needed to do he sought a guru, which he found the very next day. i watched his face light up at the mention of his guru, as if some inner light had been flicked on and shone out. he studied for many many years with his guru finally achieving liberation, he was given a new name and his own mantra and cast into the world as sadhu.
i asked him about the lifestyle and he looked at me quizzically, 'it's not a lifestyle, it's my blessing.'
we spoke for a long time, i had missed my bus but found the conversation so interesting i remained. when it was over i shook his hand, and immediately regretted it, some strange neurotic pathology reacted and i was certain the beggar knew, he said nothing but took his hand away slowly and nodded smiling, he muttered some words, a mantra i guess and i left him wrapped in his blanket, smoking what i thought was a cigarette but was in actual fact a joint.
i was amazed, what an incredible thing to do, become a beggar for spiritual reasons, it was mind blowing. i followed the streets back towards china town, hoping that the first beggar would still be there in his spot, i'd got this idea in my head that i should ask him about his history and more importantly, in reference to his prayer, what kind of god he believed in.
he was there, in his mantis position, staring into space. as i approached i realised he may not take to kindly to me asking him questions, perhaps even react violently, i proceeded with caution.
as i stood near his eyes opened and he gestured to me to sit down with him.
'i'm sorry to interrupt sir, i was here earlier, i gave you some cash.'
'yes i remember you, thank you.'
'i was hoping i could ask you some questions, you seem so, unusual.'
'feel free to ask whatever you wish but i cannot guarantee you will like the answer.'
'well i wondered if you can tell me your story, why you are a beggar, what events led you to this point?'
'ah i understand, you want to know. but have you asked yourself  why?'
'no i can't say i have really, just curiosity i think.'
'curiosity.....? no, it's not that,' he said answering his own question. then he said, 'i will tell you.'
and he began to tell me.


'you may look at me and think i am like you, part of this, part of the ocean of humanity but i am not really, i am something different. you may look at me and think my internal mind architecture is similar to yours but it is very different. you may look at me from your perspective and assimilate information based on your observation and experience and it would create a picture about me but it would be vastly misinformed for i am not like you at all. i am an avatar of the thing you call the cosmos, my domain is not here, it is there.' 
he looked up into the night skies.
'are you saying your an alien.'
'i am indeed an alien, not human at all.'
i thought that he was a psychiatric patient, that was my first thought, i mean it has to be doesn't it?
'i know you doubt me but this is the truth. i have been here for twelve earth years, living amongst you and watching how you live. you are humanity and i am not. i watch how you struggle and attempt to deal with your place as dominant prime species on your world. it makes me very sad. so i decided to stay here amongst you and help you by restoring your humanity. every act of compassion i receive is restoration. every act of restoration is a victory to consciousness and every victory of consciousness will take me home.'
'how does that work' i interrupted? 
he smiled.
'for each little act humans demonstrate by donation or kindness i am able to adjust their karma, eventually i will transmigrate and my spirit join my own race but i have many years left here.'
'so you're saving humanity?'
'i'm saving myself but as a side effect i am saving humanity yes, it's a kinda feedback loop.'
'some would say that you are an angel.'
'yes, i've been called many things.'
'are you here alone, is there others like you.'
'yes, there are many here, all over the world.'
i offered to buy the beggar some food, i said i would withdraw some cash from the atm, he could have hundreds of dollars, i offered him a room at mission control but he declined all, saying he did not want to take anything from me. he bundled up his papers and a jumper and a hat and walked away. 
it was the strangest encounter, two individual beggars with two different philosophies but they had the same process to achieve their goals. 
i caught the late night bus home, all the way i thought about the beggars and like a strange caterpillar in my head the chrysalis began to form and by the time i returned home it was emerged as a butterfly. i would join the beggars, renounce everything and test humanity to the limit, for i to would be liberated, i to will be freed.  

in darling harbour, at the edge of the world, in big complex labyrinth i found myself walking solo into hell wind and aggressive rain, a reckless wanderer, dressed in black with red om shield for protection, he came seeking refuge and shelter from the storm of swords and world wind of elemental fury. drenched and waterlogged i moved along following my nose, entry through the plush gates of the city corporate into the exhibition halls, past vacant chambers where nothing but space lurks, all this wasted volume i thought, just waiting for content. i shambled like a wounded solider, weaponless and defenceless save for universal vibration, shell shocked and shaken, behind enemy lines and then i find a trickle of people entering a doorway and i wander in drawn by the flow, attempting to blend, a doorman looks at me kindly and lets me pass, payment reduced to gratitude elevated by default. 

and verily captain mission walks amongst the mind, the body and the spirit. greeted by strangers who recognise him he is offered a feast as vegan delights are brought out by elegant women, berries and vitamin drinks, elaborate chocolates and health supplements, yoga, aura cleansing, crystals and angels, physics and psychics, channelled intelligences and animal right activists, it's all here, friendly faces, things i understand, people i know.

my archangel raphael channelling friend asks me to mind her stall, she has had no customers all morning, i sell some books, candles and a few packs of incense, i dry out in this little cubicle watching the shadow people pass me by, an endless parade of quick fix people with the occasional bright star.

i see wendy the witch, i'm so happy to see her, a beacon of light in my otherwise strangely darkened world, she is indeed a bright star. she knows the score, she's been filled in on my circumstances by the aether net, she says in her wise old mischievous way that i have to listen. she tells me to forgive myself for allowing this to happen to me and she's right. i do have to forgive myself, i made a mistake, everyone warned me and i trusted that things would be different. there's nothing wrong in that. i didn't do anything wrong. i forgive myself for getting into this mess. it feels good to be lighter. 

i move onwards and meet mishka, she's admiring a ouija board made from marble. she looks soft and smells good, she and i engage in a long conversation while coveting that which we cannot have. these ouija boards are fantastically made but very expensive, way beyond my price range, besides i have a radio i made that can tune in to the dead, a ouija board is for groups of teenagers and neophytes, i wander off finding myself chatting to a yogananda man. he's a rocker with a philosophical bent and offers me a gift. a book he seems to think is better than 'autobiography of a yogi' so i humbly accept and verily trade a cd with him. moving onwards i come to happy highs where i engage straight away with mr. happy high a wonderfully sincere man whom i instantly connect with and his most beautiful assistant whom my base charkra wants to connect with while simultaneously my crown smacks me across the face hard for thinking such thoughts in a spiritual context but what the hell i think, it's a sexy universe. so we cat about vine medicines, and we exchange south american herbal hearts i'm told will rock my world for a snuff music cde which i hope rocks their world and would be fair to say has a large amount of south american vine spirit in it. a most equilibrium bringing experience. i honour both these souls and move along to my next point of call the infamous vibrating machine. 
a few years ago i considered buying one, they have very good healthy beneficial properties and can be fun when used creatively but i have no room for it, so this time i jump on and set the controls for the heart of the sun, the vibration rattles my bones, my organs and internal structure begins to dissolve and after ten minutes i come apart. every atom strewn across the room, most of me ends up in someones acia berry drink and i'm sucked through a straw into a very nice man from india who claims to have been a descendant of prince arjuna. 

the deviant moon

by

the deep fix

night brings a face

out from the stars

looking mysteriously

at venus and mars

planets alignment 

gravitational pull

invisible smile from 

the deviant moon

jokers are wild

aces and spades

here comes the fool

with the idiot in trail

we cast our wishes

intricate spells

for every heaven we reach

surely a hell

no light can reach

the distant dark

save for the love

that starts as a spark

infinite cosmos

aura attuned

blessings reign down from

the deviant moon

the if you like your science fiction old skool golden age adventure with an awesomely inventive  adversary you can't go wrong with 'leviathan wakes' by james corey the first in a trilogy called the expanse.

it's characters focus upon the detective miller who is investigating the disappearance of a young heiress to an industrialist millionaire, and the captain of the ice hauler 'the canterbury' who investigates a derelict space ship responding to a signal. 

it's a pretty action packed chunky novel but the last third is when it gets interesting as the enemy is revealed against a backdrop of politics and mad scientists.

this is american science fiction, and i can see it's heritage, very different from the contemporary english science fiction, but it's good and worth reading if you need an easy escape route.

high frequency low frequency, the message comes through on all bandwith loud and clear, it's halloween time, streets are a dead zone, see movement and it's just the wind blowing remnants, no signs of life, no animals making noise, just that cold wind, some kind of tempest. not even an insect left, a few scattered corpses, a frozen dog, some birds dropped out the skies, half skeletal remains. you do a quick scan, get a fix on some kind of transmitter. 
your pressure suit is state of the art, technology from anteries 7, semi organic, grown designed and compatible for you specifically. it's homed in on the transmitter, the display lights up, some information hits your neural net and you head towards it, lock in, the camera starts recording automatically fixed to your vision. you scan the area, just like they trained you, you report back, feedback to the mission control, all data will be significant, your body is argumented with some serious software, electron proton and quark drive power your suit. the organic skin has chameleon like camouflage, nothing looking at you would see you, it's anti spectrum field makes you invisible in most of the spectrum, unless the observer used the extra visionary blue, then it would pick up on your emotional energy. you crave a cigarette, but the suit releases some anxiety reduction chemical into your blood, it takes effect immediately. 
as you head towards the transmitter you can make out the black cube, it's on a mound of rubble, a visual scan indicates the electro magnetic pulse. it's an sos, standard warning code. you consider all options, move forwards carefully. 
each step takes you closer, you find it hard to concentrate, because your frightened that it could be a trap, something you have not picked up on, waiting for you, lurking in the shadows, your eyes scan everything.
the box itself is small enough to pick up in one hand, it's chinese, not the indian ones you're familiar with. you slip it into a pouch and walk back to the pod where you can investigate further, your team await. they power down your suit and get the lab prepared, they access the main computer network and run a technological autopsy program that's suited to decoding the transmitters memory.
an hour later after you have showered, you sit with a coffee amongst your team awaiting a result. the medic checks you over, the navigator is smoking a joint, she looks grimly at you.
'come o, lighten up, it's going to be okay, just some kind of warning that's all.'
'i gotta bad feeling about this whole thing captain.'
'it's nothing, it's just a warning signal that's it. nothing to get suspicious about.'
'it's the only fucking piece of technology on the planet captain. it's not nothing.'
she was right, i reached out and took the joint from her, inhaling deeply. 
the mainframe interrupted whatever peace we had, 'final analysis ready, all personal return to command centre for briefing.'
we stood there looking at the screen, the five of us in dim light as we watched the information roll down through, static, a mass of millions of random noise, the computer focused on eliminating the layers of noise, until it reduced the sound to one layer, a single entity, downloaded from the dead. we trawled through each layer of information, the whole planet was here, in this box, whatever had befallen this world the humans had managed to download their consciousness into this cube. they had survived but not in human form. 
i asked the mainframe what the cube would be worth on the market, the team seemed to think we could at least make some credits from this salvage mission. the mainframe said the cube was worthless although it may be of value to a collector. 
'okay, prep it for storage, we can keep it onboard until we need it.'
it had been a long day, i needed a bath and a drink.

damm that ghost, it's see's everything, follows me around every night, won't leave me alone, all my secrets are exposed, it haunts my files as it trawls through my computers deleting word documents and writing strange cryptic messages searching google for music videos and pornography and it trespasses through my library. in the morning i can see the books it has been reading, they lay open abandoned on the floor, sometimes pages torn out and stuck on the wall. 
the spook has a prevalence for gothic romance and poetry, it's ripped up my hp lovecraft volumes and poe, it's torn pages from blake and byron creating hybrid stories and strange musings. some just seem random but mostly the narratives read of bleak romance, unrequited love in scandinavian castles and still crystal lakes, mystery and death and some opium flavoured words. 
the ghost hovers, it shimmers and shines, it floats through walls and through me, many evenings it passes through my flesh, momentarily our hearts connect, it's not a pleasant experience for the heart of this ghost does not beat, it is long dead.
when i light my candles it blows them out with its cold breeze and creeping wind, it pushes me into things and makes irritating noises, whispers and pleas, i sometimes feel my skin  involuntary crawl when it's near. 
as i clean my teeth i see it's reflection in the mirror, this is the only time it communicates i have discovered, through mirrors. i only have one in mission control, in the bathroom where a single scented candle burns, flickers and eventually extinguishes as the ghost is revealed, strange luminosity, unnatural glow, the bathroom temperature drops and my skin shudders.
standing in the cold room, darkness engulfs and in ambient light i can make out her shape and form, almost human, she's trying to tell me something, her lips are attempting to form words but instead some weird unnatural and pained sound escapes, like enochian, the words are shrieks and wails sometimes drone, short stutters and staccato bursts, with the occasional random coherent word. i piece it all together, 'is end uncertain future near always.' she repeated the words often out of pattern but these six words were the message, repeated in some anti symmetric loop for half an hour until i cracked it. she fades with a trace of a smile.
i rearranged the words and made the jim morrison line, 'the future is uncertain the end is always near.'
she had long departed never to return leaving me with this line to muse upon.