we were like aztec royal's both adored and feared, with our bronze skin and purple feather collars, adorned in the sun gods blaze tattooed across our chests, at midnight, at sunrise, at sunset, the cosmic clocks, the great one appeased by our dancing.
they sacrificed many, many people delivered fresh blood, many bodies fell from the pyramid of our divine ones, the gods were pleased with us, bestowing favourable crops, favourable fortune, favourable children, we were rich in many ways. 
the beautiful jungle with it's treasures opened up for us, it shared its bounty, we drank its medicine, rich and quenching, we saw many things in visions and dreams. 
i became the jaguar god, i mated with the goddess, i danced the circle of fire, i ate vine flesh and drank it's blood. 
we gave it back, we returned everything to where it came. our cities are dust, our people dust, our memories dust, once we were mighty, now we are only dust.
this is the way of all, ashes or dust, some are born to shine, some are born to diminish, but all of us return.
when i died my first death i was unafraid, after the second i began to fear, and later as i incarnated i feared death so much it consumed my life, now the process is reversed and i don't fear, there is only the moment of becoming, what is born. 
give birth to something, nurture it until it is ready and let it go.

at a girlfriends house, my phone rings, it's a blocked number but i answer it anyway, immediately i know what's going down, it's some buffoon pretending he knows me, a miserable fake accent and some incomprehensible babble i can't understand what he's on about but i know who's behind it, at least in the shadows, it smells like 'her' all over. 
i hang up only to have the buffoon ring again, it's mindless drivel, on the verge of threatening. i know it's going to come, i know it's on the cusp because there's a certain predictability in these monkeys primal behaviour.
when it comes, it's the, 'i know where you live, i'm going to come around and get you' type. boring unoriginal and lacking in all creative qualities, this clown is under the thumb, pussy whipped flying monkey, following orders, 'go get captain mission, hurt him.'
yeah, that type of baboon.
anyway's there's a few more messages and threats and an impersonation of a drug squad officer, as if they would waste their time on me. as if they don't know what's going down either.  
i don't know, you lot are fucked up on money and time and alcohol, i've absolutely nothing in common with you people, nothing, all you do is try to intimidate and frighten me and it never works but i just feel sorry for you, wasting your time, wasting your lives on me when you could be playing mums and dads, i rather be a parent,than go around terrorising my ex but maybe that's just me, overburdened with a sense of responsibility.
let it go cupcake and baboon boy.

my new political meme is called 'reasonableness' and it will be the main policy of my party, 'the reasonable' party, we will look at all issues in terms of what's reasonable, not your descartes reduction and reasoning logic, just your, what's fair approach. we will have no other policy, no laws, no doctrines, if you behave and act reasonably you will be fine. if you practise some kind of destructive anti humanity type thing then i'll have to kill you, well punish you with some sort of community service, there's no point in putting you in jail as jail is unreasonable, actually punishment is unreasonable really, mmm maybe i'll just request you bake me a lumberjack cake as a penalty for being unreasonable. can't really get more reasonable than that can you?

geo-political hacker cells infiltrate a secret military experiment, its code name is 'disinfo' and it's designed to saturate the internet with hate. it's an old cia trick, perfected during the cold war, used in almost all operations where conflict ensures a controllable and desirable outcome for the agency. the cia stole the idea from the english, who in turn borrowed it from the romans, 'divide et imperera.'
the evolution of warfare begins with fists and ends with the mind, here the weapon is information but the battlefield is the brain. a combination of military, political and economic factors come into play, create an economy where an enemy is desirable, stimulate the political arena towards the extremes.
i spoke to 'heckle and hide' (via deep dreaming) a husband and wife team from southern england, i've known them for many years, they were part of the spearhead who had infiltrated the system, they said, 'most governments are in on the act, although by degrees, some more than others. the push towards a global order and the deconstruction of sovereign nations has already begun, it's being stage managed by controlling information and fear.'
of course the 'club of rome' came up with the idea, a bunch of powerful socialists, neo fascists and ultra capitalists, it's the backbone of the modern un, which is in my humble opinion evil incarnate, not in a supernatural way but in that human control and power way where a massive unelected government body has already mapped out the future of the world, (see agenda 21 and the codex alimentarius) and it's being implemented through a grass roots local council way more effectively than from the top down.
this is because the battle lines are drawn, some people are on to it, although a lot are very confused about who the enemy actually is. 
the enemy is simple, it's ourselves. every individual needs to stop the hate and cultivate love, just on a local level, love your tribes, your neighbour, the enemy but most important love yourself.
the weapon they use is hate, the one we need to use is love, else we are all lost.
ah, i hear you say what happens when they crash a plane into our tower, what happens when the banks make super profits, what happens when the military kick down the door and start shooting?
well as a friend of mine said, 'turn the other cheek.'
for the way of those who seek power, control and domination through hate will end in their demise.
this is histories lesson, it is the way the universe works. we all seek justice and justice comes through the karmic wheels of a process inconceivable to man.
if you think i am mistaken, then you are enslaved already. do not hate, don't fall under the divide and conquer strategy. do the opposite, love, (yoga teaches, union so unite, there is no enemy other than the self) and set free. liberate the self from hate.
these are the weapons that cannot be defeated they transcend time. 
i myself suffer from my pet-hates, i myself work hard everyday to practice a love that diminishes everytime i see a newspaper, but at the end of the day it is a battle in a war, no one said it would be easy.
the enemy is the self. the adversary is our own making, what exists inside us manifests outside. 
don't fall under the spell of hate, for then they have won. they have divided and conquered your soul.






  
  

half way through transcendent the third part of the stephan baxter trilogy that is actually a quartet, i have not read the second part as i am reading the series in timeline sequence not chronologically as published. 
baxter says you can read any of his books in any order, even as stand alone novels but i think this way appeals to me following the whole sequence from the big bang to the end, the fact that half way through the time line humans and their enemy the xeelee discover time travel and use it in their conflicts make the whole idea of reading them chronologically somewhat redundant as which is why i am following the timeline. 
i'll post a full review later but it's fantastic so far, i'm warming to baxter and his style, he encompasses a wide screen, ages and generations, the scale of things he describes is very similar to aliester reynolds and i think this may have something to do with the fact they are both scientists.

my attorney rings me late in the evening from some where exotic, he's overseas, drinking and fucking as is his want, obviously when your as wealthy as he is you have very few limits when it comes to the global play ground arena, i don't resent him this, i'd do exactly the same, at least he is creative with his wealth and he shares it with his friends, a very generous man larger than life, but he is my friend for many reasons, he tells me to pack a bag for a long road trip, four days driving north, trapped in a car with a man who is pursuing a death wish through each and every sin known, a man who also seeks undoubtably seeks redemption, it will be a holy journey, a modern pilgrimage and they will eventually film it, johnny depp can play me although choosing an actor suitable for my legal man will be difficult, for what is needed when it comes to this particular part is a type of gravity only found in the classical actors from a forgotten era, perhaps anthony hopkins could do it although he would need to spend a few months researching the limits of expensive and exotic appetites, while holding down a very important job working on big cases and such, dealing with court room dramas and the like. yes anthony hopkins could pull it off. 
often i assist trawling through the evidence, reports and camera footage, piecing together motives and cause, my autistic sherlock holmes like mind comes in handy, it thinks outside the box and my lawyer respects it's perspective on the more tricky cases. 

but four days driving north, plus seven days in the remotest parts of australia known to man, in the rainforest and swamps, 'we will have to carry guns' he says, 'the crocs come up to the front door at night time.' 

i tell him i'll think about it.

he says, 'prepare a list of conversation topics, one for each hour of the journey.' 
i consider this. later i even think about the list and make an attempt to start it but i stop at four, listed here for you:

1. is it the journey or the destination?
2. is there a true self?
3. what makes something beautiful and another ugly?
4. what is the most important film ever made?


i have other things to do and lists to write, pretty soon i am writing a list for the lists i have yet to do. i shred it when i see the futility.

we have travelled together for a long time, through life, he is an old friend, we met in strange circumstances that cannot be revealed here, certainly not now, although i can say it involved a cult, lots of papaya and various energy fields. yes we have a certain secret history that connects us but also we share a similar cosmic perspective on life, his more hedonistic than mine although i have been known to indulge myself in my favourite sin, i generally stay well away from the others.

out of all the people i know, this particular man has been a very very good friend, he has helped me when i needed it but also included me in experiences i would have never even known about. 

for example one evening he rings me, 'mission, put a suit on and meet me outside.'

i see his familiar car outside, from the outside it's a stately prestige type, once inside it's a teenagers bedroom, paperwork everywhere, bits of laundry, obscure cds that range from some strange south london dub to the rolling stones, dylan and iggy, some feathers and stones, crystals and incense adorn the instrument panel. 
we drive off, into the city, china town. we weave into a small narrow street and then find ourselves in an underground car park, it's unfamiliar subterranean archeology, a small doorway and a long flight of steps, i'm feeling slightly apprehensive but i know better to ask. i follow him up there, it takes twenty minites to get to another level, a long corridor with a swinging lightbulb that occasionally flickers and then we enter another doorway and i hear the sound of people from behind another doorway. we enter and i am in a chinese returant. it's packed with chinese people. loads of them, all gabbling away in their native tongue, all chowing down on dim sims and pork dumplings, the sound of chopsticks, the deep rich reds of lantern lamps, a little man escorts us through the crowded tables, it does smell pretty good in here, like black bean sauce, some kind of asian condiment. 

i don't know where we are going, he sticks out like a sore thumb as do i, but no one takes any notice. a woman comes to greet us, she is very beautiful in her elegance and i find myself admiring her in a romantic way, she wears a traditional asian dress but she is very western, talking perfect english and smiling in a way that puts me at ease. first she welcomes him and then me, bowing low, i attempt to bow to but i'm lacking the same grace that she possesses.

we wander through a kitchen, it's huge and hot, steam everywhere, chinese people, all men nod acknowledgement to the woman as she wanders past them, the smell in here is not so nice, it's overwhelming as a million different flavours plume into one heavy thick viscous fog, i imagine i will have to get my suit dry cleaned to get rid of the stench. however the walk itself is quite amazing, watching these people prepare food, chopping faster than my eye can actually see, hands blurring, my brain fills in the gaps, some of the biggest pots and pans i have ever seen, the hits of ginger that sears out as it's thrown into burning oil someone pours xo sauce over a big steaming dish. we stop before a red door. 

the woman looks at me, she checks the time, it's 2330.

she bows again and looks me in the eye unflinchingly as i stare back. 

my attorney holds the door open for me, he says, 'this will be an interesting experience for us mission.'
the three of us go downstairs, we are sat at a small table for two, the woman disappears. 
it's a very dark room, another restaurant but it's got a stage, or raised area in the centre, it revolves around 360 degrees. i immediately think a band will be playing here, maybe 'the church' a secret gig, but it's not for a band, it's for a single man, a small japanese man in a chefs suit is introduced by the woman. the woman speaks what i think is japanese, as i look around i see the dimly lit faces of japanese people not a chinaman in sight.
my attorney translates, 'she is saying, here is aryosho, master of sun fish cuisine, we have flown him here to be with you tonight for the preparation is an exact art, any deviance will result in instant death. we will bid first, then aryosho will prepare the three stages, first stage, moon fish bidding will start at $10000.'
aryosho bows low and bows again at the woman, then the bidding starts. 
'what the fuck is this,' i whisper, 'some sort of fish auction.'
'watch, but careful not to move to much, i don't want to bid on this part of the fish, we have a bigger fish to fry.'
from what i can make out this fish is such a rare delicacy that japanese value it enough to pay ridiculous prices. the bidding goes on until there are two individuals locked in and eventually one person wins the auction. the chef asks him to stand up, he must walk up on the stage with his entourage who share his table. four businessmen walk up to loud applause.
a waitress comes and takes our drink order, me water, my attorney gets a bottle of white wine.
the chef sizes them up, he walks around them, looks at them from all angles. then he takes two knives and starts slicing the fish, i attempt to look at the fish but i'm gestured to stay seated. the businessmen are given a plate each with what seems to be a sliver of fish and they return to their table. 
then the next bid begins, and i see that we are bidding on the same fish but a different organ, this part is called sun fish. bidding is high, it started at $500000 and has already reached a hundred thousand.
there's an atmosphere of great seriousness now, this is not just recreational, it's quite maniacal. the faces are single minded determination. i've never seen any fuss like this before made over a fish but this is no ordinary fish.
'the organs are very hallucinogenic, they are toxic and if the wrong mass is eaten results in a very quick and painful death, but aryosho will cut the exact amount and later the winners will eat the fish and enter their ecstatic state's. there are three types, moon, which is akin to walking on the moon, people report feeling very light and floaty, they talk about things becoming very spongey to touch and visualise strange desolate landscapes with craters. sun fish which they are bidding on now is meant to be wonderful, almost as though you become a sun, drenching everything in a bright light but the star part, well that's what we want mission.'
i don't know how much they paid for the sun part but a single man went up, he again was surveyed by the chef and then given a piece of the fish.
the room burst into a raucous applause again, this time it was like a sports stadium.
'why are the chinese upstairs and the japanese down here?'
my attorney had already finished half the wine, he was perking up, getting into the spirit of the whole thing, 'the chinese don't like japanese, there's a lot of bad blood between the two races but the japanese come here once every few years to this same place for this occasion, the chinese mafia sub let the room out, keep it safe, it's lucrative for both sides but there's not much interaction, business is business, actually i help with the contracts, which is how we managed to get here.'
'what you're in the yakuza now?'
'nothing like that, i just make sure the legal stuff is okay, contracts need to be written by someone.'
nothing surprises me about this man, in all the years i've known him he can still surprise me, however like all masterminds he has a code, i like that in people, although it's not quite my code, it's his code and that is what he is true to.
'i did aryosho's contract as well, he gets a million dollars for each gig plus expenses, he will look after us when it comes to slicing up the fish.'
'a million bucks, jesus that's some fishmonger.'
'this is a fine art, a wrong cut can kill. there's not many people who are trained in this stuff, it's passed on from generations within aryosho's family.'
'so are we going to eat fish organs?'
'raw.'
'and it's hallucinogenic?'
'very, it's known as ichycoallyeinotoxism, hallucinogenic fish poisoning in other words. there's a species of bream that can induce visions, it was huge in roman times, those guys loved it so much it became a craze at dinner parties. even in parts off arabia they call it 'fish that makes dreams' there's reports that the dreams can last days but i don't think aryosho will cut us that type of dose.'
'so we are going to be tripping on fish guts.'
'mission, you have no finesse sometimes.'
'it's my working class background, we never had fish on the council estate.'
'hold tight, here we go.'
i looked up and could see aryosho was now bowing to rapturous applause, apparently someone had just spent 2 million dollars on the final part of the fish, known as the star fish. the man jumped up on the podium and waved at everyone as though he had won a race. the small crowd were going nuts.
there was a subdued moment when most people began to leave, but aryosho came to our table and asked me to stand up, he walked around me as he had done to each winner, he looked at my hands and teeth and eyes, then he bowed low, i noticed we were left in an almost empty room with the winners of the bidding and aryosho who brought them their fish pieces and the young woman who went from table to table checking if everyone was ready.
aryosho returned to us with two plates and offered them to us. my attorney spoke some japanese and aryosho offered his hand to me, i shook it.
'enjoy star fish, piece good, many magic things in star fish.'
i looked at the black looking gizzard that lay stretched across my plate, it smelt horrible and looked worse.
here i am in some sort of raw lsd fish eating cult being given a raw star fish gut by the jamie oliver of the ichycoallyeinotoxism world with my gracious and very weird friend. i am not in a position to refuse.
'should i swallow it or chew it?'
'place it under your tongue and it will dissolve, it's very delicate, the rest you spit out.'
we exchange a look, it's a look we have exchanged many times, its a look that we have both spent our lifetimes developing, it's the acknowledgement of fear look, it's the the acceptance of death look, it's the look two blokes share on a journey into the unknown. how do you describe that look, i'm not sure, it's just a look i guess.
i lift my head up high and open my mouth, picking up the strange slimy object i place it in my mouth, it's immediately awful, alien gunk, bad voodoo shit that makes my stomach churn and i fight the instinct to get it out from my mouth as i feel the liquid slide down into my throat, thick molasses texture, bitter and sour, not like fish, not like anything except bad ass raw fish gut. limits have been reached, i feel myself beginning to feel queasy, i eject the contents of my mouth onto the plate, and stare down at the skin that's left, it looks like an over used condom. 
i try to talk but the words are not there, my mouth feels like its been stretched open. 
i glance around, the other people are there all in their own experience but i can't quite see them, even the huge frame of my attorney is almost not quite there but i hear his voice, slow and slurred, it's saying something but it's warped and discordant and it's gone into the ether. 
i begin to feel very warm, my head feels like it's expanding rapidly. the rooms flickers in red strobe for a while, it's not unpleasant, and there's a nice sensation as my whole body begins to dissolve which is quickly overtaken by the not so pleasant feeling of vertigo, in fact it's very sudden and feels like i am travelling upwards very fast, i control my breathing, deeps intense breaths as the shapes seem to flash before me, fish mouths, contorted and aggressive, the array of neon coloured lights shimmer, i have no relation to my body now, where am i?
slow time, decay, i'm a bubble, part of a large mass of foam, each bubble is a universe, each had different laws, my mind is melting, bending, stretching out, it's like an elastic band, reaching it's limits, all references come to an elasticated end. im in wonderland, a long way from kansas, neverwhere, a lost boy, floating out in the watery foam, i touch the surface of the skin, my hands feel like they are pushing through a dark mirror, stepping into another world, a world of aquatic pastels and coral shapes that form like purple fractals and i feel quite scared, and alone, and i wonder if i will find my way home. i am drowning now, falling into deep waters, floating, maybe i am rising, there's some movement around me, a blast of heat, i'm sweating, i think or wet, drenched in water, i'm uncertain if i need to drink some water, i have a body somewhere, i should look after it, the thought flickers across my mind but out, it goes. these colours are lovely, underwater moonlight, gets you when your down, i see a shape flickering, something fleeting, a tremor of recognition, it's leaping out of a book or submerged memory, but i can't quite see through the murky swirl.
big flash, i'm suspended in the void, akin to an isolation tank, there's an eternal peace and then a flicker of fairy lights, there are thousands of them, swirling around me, on and off, like binary, they are quite beautiful and i find myself in serenity, each light reveals itself, one by one, jellyfish, those moon type ones with that elegant dome fluctuating, it's almost erotic the way these things pulse and move, they drift on invisible currents, a variety of sizes but uniform in shape, these are indeed moon like, aptly named. they trail those strange tendrils, some sweep over my, although i can't feel them, i do notice a visible energetic sensation as my hair stands on end, i remember i have a body.
the swarm passes over me and then as if a curtain is lifted an intense white light bathes me, it's warming and healing as i start to feel quite good, ecstatic almost, well i am outside my body at least but through the white light it flashes, a black long shape, a long dark thing, and behind it a huge eye. fear now, my eyes are wide open, i am shaking, inside my body, at least i am breathing, what the fuck is this, i start panicking and an voice says, 'easy captain, come on back to me, you're okay now, back in the seventh dimension', i look up expecting to see a beast but it's a beast of a man, the great beast who has his arm on my shoulder, a big ugly grin plastered across his face, 'welcome home captain.'
aryosho offers me a glass of water,'drink slowly, enjoy taste.'
i follow his advice, i feel very dry despite the aquatic experience, the water hits my mouth and it tastes amazing, it really does, it's the most delicious thing i have very put between my lips almost, it's vitality intoxicates, 'what is this stuff?'
'water.'
my attorney and i laugh, it's one of those moments when there's nothing much to do other than laugh at it all. we say our goodbyes to our hosts, there's a lot of bowing and asian ritual but we are all satisfied. my body feels strangely relaxed for such a strange and frightening journey, and i notice the other people sitting at their tables all looking somewhat in a similar state, recovering from some sort of new experience. the woman opens the door for us and we ascend the staircase, up through the kitchen which is empty and lit only by a small lamp. the restaurant itself is empty, seats sit on tablecloths and there's that artificial smell of detergent or bleach hanging in the air. we leave through the same doorway and corridor we entered, down the staircase into the car park, somewhere along the way the lady must have disappeared back into the restaurant.
we jump in the car and weave along the strange underground cavern, i'm super relaxed, my muscles feel jelly like and my mind is numbed by it all.
it's not until we hit the parkway that we start the debrief, my attorney is describing his experience with mermaids. his visions seem much more erotic than mine, he said there was not one point in which he felt frightened although he felt somewhat alarmed when he came around and saw me in my state, apparently i looked very apprehensive. we swapped stories, it was indeed a very bizarre night, not sure i would want to experience it again.
anyway that's the man, a strange wide perspective look of reality, he belongs on boston legal, he's got a very sharp mind and a cosmic outlook, he's very wealthy yet unless he's dressed in his zoot suits you would think he was just a bum. we often go out together and he'll drop wads of cash on the floor without even knowing, he cares little for money yet he makes loads of it, his home is like a museum, filled with art and sculpture and he has very good tastes, he indulges in pleasures and yet is a terrible drunk, but he has never harmed or attempted to hurt my character.
once i dragged him along to see a thomas dolby performance, he'd just flown back from singapore and was jet lagged and hung over, he ordered a few bottles of white wine and then drank them, at one point during  'hyperactive' he fell off his chair onto his back like a giant tortoise, people rushed to help him, and he said to them all, 'it's okay i'm a doctor, i'm a doctor, dr. cracks my name, i'm running a controlled experiment, lab rats, you're all lab rats.'
i laughed as i am used to this but then he said to a woman sitting near us, 'madam, may i interest you in some gorgonzola, top quality stuff.'
yeah he's a strange one, a beast indeed, but good hearted, super intelligent and nothing like you would expect from someone in his status.
i could fill this blog with our adventures, write pages but you get the idea, i'm just describing my friend to you, a multidimensional man, you gotta work hard to keep up with him, he never slows down, its always action stations, he's also very well travelled, lived with gorillas in africa, penguins in antarctica, extreme landscapes and extreme adventures, he's eaten everything, even insects, i imagine he's pretty good in a fight to but i have seen him panic when we planned a trip to the amazon, he started to look worried the more we spoke about visiting the cat people, one day he confessed to me he was anxious about the jaguars and i teased him saying if it were between him and myself the jaguar would choose him for i am alkaline, eating seaweed, vegetables and salads opposed to his carnivorous diet. no jaguar would pass by such a rich satisfying meal, it would be like fine dining for those jungle cats. we never did get to the amazon but maybe one day he will shake of the fear and we will.
anyway's enough about my attorney, aka dr. crack, i have a list to finish.

  

travel down to the ego repair shop this morning, it's in erskineville a suburb i used to live in many moons ago. erko was a rough kinda place, filled with punks and goths, lesbian bikers and alternative types looking for rebellion, i made of point of wearing brightly coloured hawaiian shirts in those days, i looked like a californian tripped out surfer dude in my strange psychedelic glasses walking into crowded dark bars and drinking sparkling water. today erko is a little heaven nested away from newtowns main road, kings street, it's got that aura of respectability with it's trendy coffee shops, gourmet food, nice little boutique clothing places and a couple of pubs that have been refurbished, very different from how i recall them. but i step through erko's main street on a mission, i seek the not well known 'ego repair shop' which sometimes presents itself as a florist but today it is a second hand trinket shop filled with various obscure wonders from the steampunk novel i never wrote. 
i wander in and immediately the old chap behind the counter puts down his tools, 'mission, it's been a long time.'
'yes yes indeed, you look very well sir.'
'ah well it's my new diet of nocotine.'
'nocotine, what's that?'
'i gave up smoking.'
i laugh, he laughs then he asks all seriously peering out through his john lennon glasses, 'well i know you wouldn't be here unless it was important, what can we do for you today?'
'well it's my ego sir. as you know it's been destroyed a fair few times, and each time it comes back it's slightly different and i've done a lot of work to obliterate it but the one that's here now is really depressing me.'
'depressing you hey mission.'
'yeah it's all wise and all knowing, it's aloof and lacks compassion, it's out of space and time, it's just floating through life, detached and making stupid little notes and observations which it forgets a few minites later, it sits in long quiet silences and don't seem to really even care that it will die one day. but the worst thing about it is it's alienating people, everyone seems to think i'm something i am not.'
'well, what do you think?'
'i'd like a new one, this one is faulty, i have had some really good ones in my time but this feels very awkward, i don't know it's uncomfortable.'
'you can leave it here if you want, pick it up in about an hour.'
i hand it over, 'thanks i appreciate it.'
i grab the ticket from him and wander back into the erko high street, wow, it's so nice out here, i stop and smell the flowers. i grab a latte, read the papers, smile at some people walking past with dogs. an hour passes. i go back to the ego repair shop and find it's not there, instead there is a post office. i wander in but there's no sign of the ego repair man, and it appears to be a regular post office.
later when i walk up the high street towards the train station i pull out the ticket, i unfold it as i walk and read the small print, 'no method, no guru, no ego.'
i start to wonder what that means and then i let it go. 

down in sydney i find myself in the mass of bodies heading down to the quay, it's a city pulsing with vitality tonight, traffic stops for hordes, people filling the roads, the buildings pour out, overflowing with people, everyone moving down to the water where darkness rules supreme, and there indeed the spectacular exhibits illuminate the little areas they inhabit, wow, it's the best festival that's for sure. light and sound, it's a brian eno playground, it's how the future will be, it's a smart city, something for everyone, stimulating the brain, activities, interaction, immersive and beautiful, buildings come alive, they are art themselves, the animations across the mca are fucking brilliant, it's a new way to design a building and energy efficient as well. 

children are in ecstasy, packs of them run around, we can hear the shrieking of pleasure and surprise, everywhere light sculpture, messages spilling out from windows, architecture is alive and it's communicating. i love this festival. 

i pop into the main attraction, it's not surprising steven kilbey from the church has an exhibit in this festival, along with a guy called david kenworthy they  have produced an installation peice, called 'let me play so i can loose my way' although the night i was there the sound was not running, however i enjoyed the visuals immensely. you expect nothing but quality from steve and that's delivered in spades, excellent who needs eno anyway when australia has a kilbey. i will return for a second helping next weekend. 

 

the day began as it ended, one thing leads to another, i followed the old path and found myself following a path. by then i lived a little like myself, in a house surrounded by old books, a handful of friends called around for coffee and conversation, all quite diverse and very interesting people, i liked hanging out with his friends talking about art, clocks and stars and sometimes just him and i would listen to a cd, he seemed okay, an eccentric old man who liked his own company as much as his friends. they were tired of it all, drama and noise, the jabbering of crowds and zombie hordes.
i watched him sometimes, this version of myself, he was different than i thought he would be, i guess when you walk that path you may end up exactly where you started but everything changes or you have changed internally through some alchemical process and everything else is the same, in the end it makes no difference. i watched him at his moment of death, for a moment it crossed my mind i was watching a stranger but then as i held his hand and said the incantations he looked right at me, into my eyes and said, 'thank you for being there, all these years.' 
his final breath turned into a laugh, a sort of giggle, a private joke and i smiled as his spirit transcended this dimension. when he died i looked at his earthly vessel, a mass of flesh and bone bundled together no longer animated by life, those eyes had been extinguished. 
i never went to the funeral, but i saw the grave stone in a vision, it was a big black '2001' type monolith with the words, 'came into the world crying, went out laughing,' inscribed upon it later in my life when i met the goddess, she taught me many things but most of all she showed me how to die and therefore how to live. 

i'm with my lawyer, he's the guy i write about occasionally because there are strange parallels to  hunter thompson in that he wrote most of fear and loathing with his lawyer while off their heads on exotic drugs and booze, and although my tastes are very different from hunter i do share his connoisseur like approval of some fine things in life provided by our nature spirits. so we are trawling the bowels of balmain, not my favourite suburb, i've always preferred sleepy little rozelle but my man is on a mission and i am captain mission, so we travel down strange winding roads and dark cul de sacs, we weave in and out of traffic with him cursing and fuming, while i am taking in the sights, big old industrial warehouses, dark walls from another age, huge great big bridge structures curving in the distance, and those cheeky angles that balmain has, often the eye follows their trail nowhere.
we pull up in a car park, it's derelict, no one has been here for many years, the sun attempts to penetrate but casts long shadows instead. where has he taken me, it's the perfect place for a hit, a quick shot to the head and the body can fall into the harbour swept away by currents, washed up a week later as a passing party on a hens night discover it, 'bouys ahoy' 'bodies to die for' you can see the headlines.
i'm sucked out into the light, wishing i had brought my sunglasses, for the contrasts and my eyes are far to open for saturday morning.
i follow him, he's making tracks for the darkest areas, the doorway into murder inc, this is going to be bad, i get a bad bad feeling.
there it is a strange secret room hidden away, a huge freezer door, and a chopping area where they are cutting into dead animals. fuck this is heavy for me, i only started going into butchers when i first had pan, i have acclimatised to butcher shops but when you see them working it's a different story. 
these chaps are the happiest people i have ever met, it's true what they say about butchers, they are lovely smiling happy people, always laughing, telling you a story, a joke, a strange tribe indeed as they hack into a poor lamb or cow. my man goes off to buy some products while i nervously look at some cheese. in a room full of meat there's a small block of cheese being carved up. now i happen to enjoy cheese, i quite like a little nibble, and when one of the happy butchering butchers offers me a slice i accept. 
this is incredible cheese, it's melting in my mouth like some sort of rare wild llama cream. i end up buying some. the friendly murderers then open the vaulted freezer door and there i see the horror within, the bodies, carnivore city. my lawyer buys up some of this stuff, he's a gourmet chef, a man of all seasons, except the witch whereas i am not comfortable with this strange stench and sound of bones being chopped, although i grab one for pan. the whole thing is quite disturbing yet these chaps are lovely, really friendly. i sniff around, it's a little vile but i think they are high on death, they are constantly putting their hands into flesh, chopping, sawing, grinding, it's in the air thick like fog, it gets under the nails, in through the pores, it wanders up into the brain where some primal circuit is switched on. i need to get out of there, to much joy can't be healthy, not when it's narcotic snorted into the nostrils from dead beings. is it blood lust, mortality crisis, what the hell goes on in butchers brains? 
why are they so happy, they are the opposite of clowns, think about that!
i get out, breathing fresh air, my legal escort, my friend is high on the good vibes of dead meat. while he's in the area i suggest popping into see some friends of mine over at rozelle, the common ground coffee shop, nice peaceful people who live and eat in ye olde style, they make good stuff, all grown on a farm, they practice yoga and smile without the stench of death, i want to sit there and feel nurtured but the common ground has been and gone, it closed down two years ago, relocated to the blue mountains, so i drive home disappointed nibbling on cheese while the legal man tells me about the way to prepare some dish i will never make.

what manner of trickery is this?

thelonious monk and charlie parker, the riddler unmasking peter parker, the dandelion memory spinning through summer, an acme product to catch the road runner. 
the eggshell yolk and the white separated, bus stop blues in the apartheid nation, creatures of habit, beasts of routines, dealers in jazz, traders of dreams, and every other schemer in between. 
the neo- cortex, subliminal layer, the dogon tribes woman, dragon tamer, filtered aperture through mechanical eyes, kapel robot international clause, under the spell of old asimov laws. 
political scandal, corporation collapse more or less, to err is human, but i must confess.


what manner of trickery is this?

the biggest hive society on earth at the moment is the face book community, off which i am one, reluctantly i confess, i see some merit but at the end of the day but staying in touch is a strange excuse to be a drone, checking in your status every so often, posting your thoughts, photographs and video's. the blog is not part of a hive as it is not connected to any thing else, it's read by a few readers and mostly ignored. face book on the other hand, lays a pathway, you connect with like minded people and generally start networking your various feeds. the hive is not in any physical space but in a way it's just as much a hive as any ants nest, we are all becoming drones. 
i am sick of the blue and white face book page layout, it's hardly individual, in fact for all the various enlightened posts one thing is strangely never mentioned, the fact everyone is in uniform. 
other hive minds occur in large crowds, sporty people at big events, rock concerts. jim morrison played around with this idea, attempting to get a crowd rioting, as did some off our favourite dictators, working with masses is easier than working with individuals, it's mass production methods of controls, tv works well in this way as does print media. and here we are back to the internet, where we can see a holographic representation of human conciousness, mostly obsessed with pornography and conspiracy theory. the hive mind. a classic example is the way conspiracy theory's spread like fire especially if they have the words,'jew or israel' in them, for this is one hive that appears to instil pathological hate, then watch the hive minds turn into shark frenzy as the perceived enemy enters.
hives can be efficient if they have well thought out small goals and they operate with little external interference but often these are considered the most threatening and once one hive appears to infiltrate another efficiency ceases and conflict ensues. in order for humans to function as a hive successfully they would have to retreat from the rest of society for a few thousand years as baxter suggests in his book, then there's a chance evolution will assist develop the biological imperatives to succeed over other hives. off course if two hives successfully interconnect it would be a bit like an ant colony intermingling with a cassiopeia swarm of jelly fish. it's improbable but not impossible. 
countries manifest within clearly defined borders, if they are run by dictators, or run by an anti democratic authority they are effective hives, look at chevez controlling all media in venezuela, north korea and china are good examples, but democracies to can have hive mentality, religions and most ideologies and once you get a hive mentality the individual is weakened. 
the strength in the hive mind lies in warfare, and again baxter seems to encapsulate this, an army can be sacrificed for the right outcome. these soldiers have no connection to anything except the protection and defence of the hive, that's why they join up and are then brainwashed. it's a process, and lets face it in a just war against a brutal adversary that's what you want.
hives are also about genetics, passing on the gene successfully, the queen can mate only once and receive thousands of sperm all pass on her dna, the male is potentially a breeding unit or a fighting one. the prime directive of the colony is to genetically reproduce itself. families do this and the larger the family the bigger the hive potential, thus early clan like societies.
hive minds can be said to be a collective consciousness, often i think the mind separated from the actual organic unit, in the same way electricity is made from a generator, it is not the generator.

i do think it's important for the individual to check in with the hive occasionally, certainly in my own case, i like to check in with the hives i feel are healthy and reasonably sound, others i avoid or occasionally i infiltrate and play trickster.

the hive society already exists in the insect world, it exists in asian societies to a certain extent but it also exists in crowds, i've felt it, a weak force but that's because it's primitive. like baxter's idea at some point in time it may be a necessary evolutionary leap, although i am dead against it and can't think of anything worse. 
the drone lifestyle is something i have always found utterly disgusting and referred to in my older posts as 'zombie' there is a total shut down of consciousness, and separation of identity, the workers follow their impulse for the good of the tribe, the queens lay eggs, each element has no idea about the other, there is no king, just the hive. hive society war with other hive society, and the climax of baxters book we can see the bigger picture, he's achieved something here, i really found it quite original and true to the ethos of science fiction, challenging and shocking, yet utterly relevant.
i ascribe to groucho's maxim, 'any club that would have me as a member is not worth joining.'
the idea of this type of society is becoming more and more real, it is of course the socialist system, and although i don't like the alternatives this by far is one of the worst. there can be no society that succeeds unless it offers diversity, humanity cannot survive anything without this quality, which explains why diversity in society works over mono culture. diversity cannot be said to be the same as multi culturalism, multi culturalism is a very weak concept in comparisin and negates diversity, for under multi culturalism we assume all cultures are equal, and that is a misconception. cultures are not equal. this is where our political leaders have failed, because they have subscribed to the political correctness, they have swallowed the lie because it's flavoured with sugar coated idealism, yet it fails time and time again.
hive societies are for people who don't have a vision of the self, it's for the selfless, those who are prepared to do their task without knowing or asking why. and while this suits a lot of people and they will find happiness within it as a worker ant or a social engineer, it's not something i would want to subjugate to.

things getting a little hot in the global kitchen, spinning faster into oblivion, somethings gonna give, can't you feel it in the atmosphere, don't matter where you are, what you do, it's happening, the centre cannot hold, it's all falling apart, it is isn't it?
it has to, it's been held together with a piece of string and sticky paper for to long, sooner or later it has to and that's a good thing really although it may be a rough little ride. 
what can ya do about it, not much people, take a cosmic approach, love your people, find your place, follow your intuition, get in touch with your heart, make your peace, watch the stars. that's basically it.
over in mission control i'm frittering my time away, going to have to get stuck into a few projects soon, probably work on some new music and a writing project.
i finished reading stephen baxters, 'coalescent' which was really good, a very considered look at the branching of the human species through evolution into a hive society. i'm looking forwards to the next few novels in the series.

okay please don't get any ideas of assassinating julia gillard or tony abbot, that wasn't the point of my previous post, it was just a point i was making about how the administrative arm of governments have divorced themselves from the public. 
we pay our tax, their wages, therefore they should treat us with a certain respect and not attempt to extort us at every turn.
i don't care if an mp plays with hookers, i don't care if they are gay, i don't care if they like to dress in frocks and bake cakes, all i want is for the government to stop ripping us off every chance they get.
is that to much to ask for?

i wake up, it seems like just yesterday but it was a long time ago, nothing changed except everything has changed. the skies are electric blue, the birds dart around hidden by their colours and markings, yet you can see their shadows, they make sounds that cover the world in a blanket.
i've been asleep, dreaming, i had some terrible dreams, nightmares, i dreamt my son had been murdered, i woke up and wandered around, wondered if i should call him up and eventually fell asleep only to dream my dog had died. after that i stayed awake, went for a walk at 5am, we walked down to the beach, grabbed a coffee and read the newspapers, but then i seemed okay. returned to mission control where i fired up my alethiometer, took a reading, it gave me some information.
but the business of the day unfortunately is this dear reader, and it is a sad day when i have to write such words.
something has gone terribly wrong, our governments no longer serve us, the people. in the western worlds we have not had an uprising, assassination or revolution for a long time and although i don't subscribe to these things, there is one obvious advantage. they let the powers that govern us know they are are our servants, not the cash crop that we have become.
the relationship is vampric, they suck us dry charging us for whatever they can squeeze from out blood, for what, where does that money go, into funding ridiculous inefficent schemes, wars and bureaucracy, it's one huge rort at the publics expense and it's time to let the governments of the world know about it. we are not sheep, or are we, we are not all brain dead zombies, we are not your cattle for you to milk or slaughter. the only way now for things to turn around towards some decent government, left or right, green or blue, is to let these fuckers know they represent us and are there to submit to our will. it's not the other way around.
vote for me.
i'm going to do three things
legalise ganja, put a huge tax on cigarettes and alcohol. 
turn australia into a self sufficient nation.
keep it real. that is nature wins every time, what ever we do must be in harmony with nature.
simple isn't it?

sometimes you gotta cut your losses, know when enough is enough and when to let it go, i'm getting very good at this although it hurts really hard each time as all those bits of me are lost, and i find myself getting angry, however non attachment, right?
anyways, onwards we go, into the future which is the past only different. the merry go round of times spiral, impossible to escape, ask any heroine, ask the myth makers and poets. 
okay, i picked a battle with a bureaucracy, my own fault, they are an archaic machine, sluggish and ridiculous emphasised by the fact they all know it but are trapped within the machine they depend upon. the line of management ended when he said,'look at it from our point of view, we want you to just go away so we can just carry on as normal.'
'but it's not normal to work like this, your part of the government sucking the life of the citizens it's theoretically supposed to work for.'
'we know this which is why we want you to go away.'
'is there a complaints procedure?'
'no.'
what can you say to this kind of logic?
anyways being a good citizen i wrote to the ombudsman, not because it will change anything but it makes me feel slightly empowered.

obscured by clouds

clouds roll by, it's all moving rapidly, ocean and skies, we watch from the hill, the clouds are coming in fast, they are reaching, spreading, exploring space on their migration across blue skies. i love watching clouds and waves, everyone should do it, get out there and look at the clouds, look at the waves, see the movement of the earth, feel it speak to you, it carries information, everything has it's place, put the puzzle together and what is there but a beautiful planet, our home.

more drama from waynes world who seems to be lost in some sort of weird passive aggressive control freak nasty behavioural loop. he's done all these awful new age type courses and diets, joined weird trendy cults, preaches on about them to random strangers, attempting some sort of wise man persona but it's hopeless, may as well just dose up on tranquillisers and anti depressives and accept that you're part of a greater problem.
some one once said to me, there's two types of people in the world, those that get cancer and those that give you cancer. i'm not saying waynes world will give you cancer, he will most defiantly gve you a headache with his chronic whining. jesus i never met anyone so controlling and aggressive, he wants to talk with me all the time but won't listen, every conversation revolves around his twin obsessions, work and russian girls dot com, he's the ultimate victim, a man who is in total conflict of himself, twin opposing natures are at war with one another, trapped in the spin cycle of banality and hypocrisy, not content with friendship, he wants domination, the man is a baby who needs a giant breast to suck on, and that's what i am for him. begone waynes world, for i am no tit.
(no comments please) 

went to see dark shadows with johnny depp last night, johnny likes dressing up incognito smoking a big spliff and going to watch his films, he and i looked like a pair of beatnik undertakers, both dressed in black and wearing strange sunglasses. apparently he had not seen the full movie yet although he'd been promoting it across the globe. he said, in his strange croaky voice, 'i've seen snippits of the film, but want to sit through a full screening,' i figured those comfy chairs that recline and you sink into may be the go but when we get to the cinema they have sold out, johnny suggests we just sit at the back somewhere indiscreet.
the movie starts of really well and i find myself laughing out loud at parts especially the lines barnabus gets to say as a response to the 1970's with depp absolutely stealing the whole screen from his co stars, he really is a brilliant actor, the style is very gothic soap opera, and johnny tells me 'dark shadows' was a early american soap that both he and tim watched as children and tim wanted to maintain some sort of relationship to the original, hence the waves breaking every scene change and the sudden dramatic bursts in the storyline, which actually work well in terms of style and narrative. however half way through the film, when a warehouse catches fire, the whole story takes a real dive and degenerates into something quite silly and uncomfortable to watch. i ask johnny why didn't some one tell tim about the fact his very good film suddenly becomes a car wreck and in his barnabus voice he says, 'the dear fellow was on rather a large amount of mind distorting flower extracts at the time.'
yes well the film is a 'car crash' descending into teeth grinding farce, chaos and debacle so on the way home i tell johnny that its best we part company as friends lest my credibility go to ruin even though he is was the star of my fave film, dead man. he's visibly upset but this is the way captain mission rolls these days, sorry johnny.

dramas pouring out from everyone around me, my day started early from disappointment from england to the fantasy of a perfect ukrainian bride, to the passive aggressive behaviour of a friend and me realising that he is sucking the life out from my veins, i can't stand it and have to leave, he's not happy, churning up inside like a bag of boiling blood. i guess all those new age courses, juicing it up, raw food and forum cult courses only get you so far.
the rest of the day is delightful, i make a big lentil, chickpea soup, with garlic, fennel and leek, various herbs and spices. i take pan for a long walk and then i sit in the sun and read stephen baxters book, 'coalescent'

which is three narratives, one set in the roman era where a young lady watches the fall of an empire and forges a new society based on 'hive' qualities, meanwhile the other thread is set in contemporary times and follows a middle aged man looking for his lost sister under the backdrop of an alien object appearing in the kuiper belt, the third where the two timelines coalesce, this series is part of a trilogy but is also part of a wider story known as the 'zeelee' sequence.

im not a huge baxter fan, i read two of his early books but i'm determined to give him another chance and i plan to read the whole of his 'zeelee' series in chronological order, i had set myself asimov as my science fiction indulgence but i think i'm going to stick with baxter and see where he takes me.
there's some very fine stuff coming out of the uk at the moment. baxter is extremely dry, filling his books with the most mundane details but his writing portrays  three dimensional flawed people and i must admit he spins a good yarn. 

in the emerald city, trawling bookshops, i stumble upon the galaxy hidden away, each book an inquiry, the pages imagined by a million me's labouring in seclusion within their own space, it's a random place, crossed by coincidence and the sisters of secrets and mysteries, you can wander this place for days but sooner or later chance intercepts, ejects you back into the mainframe. 
across the busy streets, the hungry shoppers, weighed down with bargain buys, emotional gravity, financial blues biting as they move underneath the monorail, underneath the skies of blue and business man towers. i notice the beggars and they notice me, we are connected by unspoken things, some kind of pain and love i guess. 
some thing pulls me along connecting invisible realms of dots, nondescript zones, i can't know exactly what it is, just have to trust it's there, like a sign or symbol hiding away between spaces and places, in the darkest of matter. i can feel it as i walk through the people, my eyes follow the path, scanning, peering, i stare at the spaces i can't see, i don't look anywhere specific, redundant eyes, empty mind, zen place and there it is in the strangest of places, the coordinates flow into one direction, behind big double glass thick doors, in a city without clocks, i find one clock under the banner that discretely proclaims, 'time conquers all.'


there are people who have fallen on their knees weeping like children, broken hearted defeated and splashing helplessly like fish out from water, rich men, poor men, a few women too, all have stood here at this spot, crushed by fortune, chopped up by fate, toasted by temporal paradox, delivered by providence. you can taste the burden's of grief, the joys of relief, the heavy weight grinding you down, and the lightness of being found. all those lives lived, suffering through history you can see the loss ravage its way like a beautiful nothing in a void eating reality that one day will seek you. like a black hole of emotional pain, the high born and low all fall equally, the lost the lonely, the successful and the fortunate eventually find knowledge in the truth of times great power. all stories converge here and all our paths end. 
one by one they come through the doors, healthy and sick, healed and broken, asleep and awake, they cracked the code, in true democracy everyone is equal, they place a hand on my shoulder, they kneel with me, they are all ages, all manner of dress, the beggars of sydney, this is their place, their knowledge, their church. one by one the beggars come filling the hallway, the brotherhood of inevitability, the truth will set you free. 
we all sit there in silence and i understand this place the beggars congregate, the secret place, in sydney's depths, hidden way in plain sight. the beggars code. 

TV( C15) ON THE RADIO -PROVINCE

yesterday morning i watched the sun rise up from the ocean, apparently it lives somewhere yonder...
those rays, as i wandered along towards the beach, they came bursting  over the streets and houses, setting the bushland ablaze in a red, orange umber of incredibly vibrant light. i was strolling along with pan, on the road between this display, almost operatic, without music save for the birds, parrots seemed to be singing out like some weird bird hymn, they were chirping and cheeping, squawking and squealing, and the trees lit up in reds that i can only describe as a blood coloured hue. i stopped in my tracks and watched it all, morning, dawning, i felt so small, and very privileged. when the rays hit my face the glare made me move away, and i found shelter in the shade while around me day broke out of darkness and everything changed tone. it was a transition that stunned me, left me in awe, the natural world people, sure it's frightening and dangerous, sure it's unpredictable and without mercy but it is beautiful. maybe mahler was getting at this when he started writing all those majestic romantic symphonies, i could almost hear his music in the background, some of those classical dudes reached for the skies. 

the eagleman stag

dr. crack frightens me slightly, his hyper talk leads nowhere, his extremity seems to meet in a strange collision of neo nihilistic philosophies, his friends are fringe dwellers, oddities, freaks and quite possibly criminally insane and on the other hand he mixes with the upper establishment, a cabal of international high financiers, surgeons, technologists, artists and glamourous women who look like they belong in james bond movies, he whispers conspiracy theories and spins fabrications that often are seeded with truth, his eyes burn with some divine holy chaos yet his edward lear logic makes perfect sense. how have i become entangled in his spider web of characters i am yet to fathom, he says it's autobiography but it's more horror fiction. 
today he pulls up in a new car, it's a black sporty thing with two seats, probably some italian type of design, it does look impressive although i am not impressed by these trinkets. it attracts a lot of attention from my neighbours, who are already nervous of the strange dark skinned guy in black who walks his dog at midnight and looks at the space between the stars. 
dr.crack smiles and waves for me to jump in, i do, the seat is sunken low, it's like we are hovering on the road as we spin around corners at a velocity that i know are illegal and dangerous. the car is noiseless and elegant, it plays opera and i close my eyes until we stop. there's something peaceful about this movement, otherworldly almost, like an isolation tank i float in a void, aware of only motion and the expanse of some dramatic love affair going wrong as a voice carries me on a wave of italian madness towards zen detachment. 
we stop and a door opens automatically, dr. crack jumps out, 'come on mission, i want you to meet someone.'
inside i step walking along a long dark corridor i turn a hidden corner and wander into a strange looking room where a very short man, a dwarf or midget stands on a crate and waves a pair of scissors around, as though conducting a secret orchestra.
i try to hide my irrational fear of disproportioned people, i look around nervously trying not to look nervous, scanning for a newspaper of something to hide behind. it's one of those rare moments where i am not carrying a book.
crack shakes hands with the small man, 'lou i want you to meet a dear friend of mine, captain mission, mission this is lou the blade.'
'nice to meet you captain, sit sit, make yourself comfortable, i can cut your hair after i finish with the dr.'
'no no, it's fine thank you, i have a friend who does mine, she shaves it once a fortnight,' i lie. i actually go to a guy in babylon, he's been doing it for years.
lou and crack assume their positions, crack puts the scissors down and picks up a blade, it glints every now and then as tough pulsing with some sort of inner light.
a radio tuned into talkback blurts out angry post budget blues, a man phones in and is complaining demanding an election although it's about john howard and a war, i flick through a newspaper, the headline is about an economic meltdown in america and europe, some riots in southern europe, something about russian scientists developing a cure for ageing by discovering a super antioxidant SKQ1, there's a photograph of a celebrity who has come out of the closet and an advertisement for jetstar, i notice the date of the paper is four years old. i scan through it, it may as well be four days old. 
it's hard to read the print as the whole room is illuminated by a single light bulb which is swinging, throwing out a pulsating radius of light, when it swings near i can read for a few seconds, as it moves away it becomes impossible.
lou and the doctor are discussing some kind of medical procedure, occasionally they slip into a kind of russian or eastern european language, it's hard for me to distinguish and i don't want to draw attention to myself by asking. the radio starts playing frank sinatra and lou begins singing the words, 'fly me to the moon, let me swing among the stars, let me see what spring is like, on jupiter and mars.' 
his voice is incredibly deep, much deeper than i would assume given his height, he dances around on the box, singing and shaving crack's head.
i'm about to return to the old newspaper but i notice this big mark on the top of dr. cracks head. i try to look a little more without being obvious, lou is working around it, a dark shadowy patch, what is that, i strain to look. 
it hits me in the chest, like being punched on the solar plexus. am i in some sort of shock i think.
i wonder how i didn't notice it before, i'd never seen it despite it's obvious location. it was a freaking hole, right in the centre of cracks head.
lou twirls and jumps off his box,'finished' he holds up a mirror at the shaved head although there's no way the dr. can see it, still, dr. crack nods his approval. i'm dazzled by the gleam, did they polish it with some kind of bald mans wax, it's so bright. the hole is there though right in the middle, just like the black hole at the centre of the universe. i can't take my eyes off it, i wonder if it possesses the power of a black hole sucking my sight into its centre because i can't shift my gaze.
dr.crack hands over some cash and we all say goodbye. to be honest i'm glad to get out of there.
we head over to the post office, dr. crack has seven different po box numbers, he gets me to carry a bundle of mail and packages. 
i can't help myself, i have to know what the hell is going on with this hole in his head.
'crack, did you know you have a hole in the centre of your head?'
he looks at me as though i have asked the most ridiculous question, 'off course i do, i put it there myself.'
to say i was stunned would be an understatement. 'what the hell did you do that for?'
'i'm dr. crack, that's my name, dr. of trepanation, what did you think, i was a heart surgeon, maybe a dr of philosophy?'
on the way back dr. crack explains the history of trepanation, i listen and don't say a word.