you took your steps over the edge, verified by many, rumours and lies only travel so far whereas truth always rises. exposed in your glory, i saw the truth, right into your heartless cruelty and absurd birth. i must have been the only one to nail you to your cross and force you to gaze at the force that rules you, it's ugly and brutal and it just got worse, i am so glad i was not around to see it take you over completely, and the stories don't surprise me although they must embarrass you and put you to shame. wedding reception nightmare, the social workers blues, your dangerous friends can't save you, your truth exposed and raw, your pet monkey does your bidding, i should have thrown him a banana, and you...
in a one horse town called redemption, desert wind blows, the cactus gods abandoned this place and never returned, it's a simple equation, your on your own, smoking cigarettes and drinking vodka with ghosts, you sometimes feel lonely, where did the past go, you burnt it down long ago. 

comedown weekend, chilled out with my friend 'next' who comes a visiting from newcastle, we sink into incubation zones and deep relaxation, staying up at strange hours, watching the moon hang in its black blanket, watching waves cross the horizon, lounging around on sofas, watching dvds, eating bananas and sipping aloe vera drinks, i start to wind down, start to feel my cells regeneration, my heart beats with a little more certainty. it's amazing what sex and herbs offer the body, in its infinite glory the universe has given us it's beautiful plant spirit marijuana for healing and insight, and sex for a little bliss interval and sharing and caring warm fuzzy stuff.
i am in healing mode, the wounded healer, chiron shell shocked from his friends death, from work crisis, from the fall of man, from the media streams, from the internet chitter chatter, from paranoia and madness, from sanity and divinity, from  the zombie horde, from the enlightenment, from the fall out, from the burden from the ego, from my selfishness, from my generosity, from hubris, from event management people, from banks and insurance, superannuation funds and newspaper polls, from dumb tv, opium sports and the general wear of age. it's healing time and my rewards are sex and some peace. both of which i advocate as good things, necessary, a man needs sex, sex is good, it heals and is nurturing and feels oh so very good, i don't know why people got so hung up on sex, it's the natural drive, the base charkra instinct that reminds us we connect with one another, it's good for the body and brain and can be very unselfish if done correctly. tantra flows through my body, energy increases, no depletion as aura fields glow bright, slow dazzle.
so in my strange way, i feel lighter than before, unburdened by responsibility for a change, it's good to feel free and uncomplicated, in the moment and without future weighing down like a bag of bricks and some greek sword hanging over my head waiting for its moment.
the day is hot the nights cold, my body enjoys the sensation of sunlight, solar powered but quickly depleted as the sun sets... lookout i'm a heat seeking vampire, i'm a thermal sucking fiend, i'm thermodynamically legal, a biological anomaly, squeezing the heat from 'next' like some stephen king beast, wandering the alaskan plains, a drifter in a check shirt, a strange beard and dark eyes, a man on the run from the ice demons, hot upon his heels, slipping into lives for a moment, a bowl of soup with strangers, extracting warmth from the kindness of friendly women, yeah will do anything for heat. it get's like that until i begin to radiate, then i just generate my own heat, like a sun, but in these cold nights i really do begin to burn out and take my recharge where i can find it. next and i watch some movies smoke a little haze, find a cocoon to inhabit. 
next wears a punk tee shirt and shorts, she looks like a punk rocker anarchist but she's living the good life, juicing it up, a midshipman by trade, she's a nautical creature a captains mate, i guess, although i know nothing great about seamanship, next knows her knots from her maybe's and her starboard from her bow, whereas me i'm just old captain mission, sailor on the seas of fate.

okay, david brins book 'existence' does a complete number on me, a man who put me off reading his work after seeing the awful movie version of 'postman' with kevin costner. i just put him on the ever increasing pile of terrible science fiction writers and i think i made a mistake.
approaching 'existence' with this type of mindset was unhealthy, i slugged away through the various narratives until about a third of the way through, i liked some of the ideas and scenarios imagined, there were some brilliant ideas in there. slowly i cracked the mindset and broke through, discovering a rich tapestry of ideas and creativity. each page reveals some new future, on an earth post apocalypse, where things were nowhere near as bad as we imagined an apocalypse could be, brin throws in a fist contact idea. 
i like the imaginary books excerpts brin uses as a thread, the way an autistic plague has effected millions of individuals, the way dolphins teach humans to speak dolphin by rewarding them with fish, the way events are hinted at but never revealed, the science fiction genre is all about ideas and 'existence' is jam packed loaded with ideas.
at it's core is the discovery of space junk and debris collector gerald who discovers the object, an orb like crystal containing the uploaded consciousness of extra terrestrial intelligence, and it communicates the words, 'JOIN US.'
while at the same time in the submerged and flooded environments of shanghi a young man peng xiang bin finds a second orb that claims the first orb inhabitants are 'LIARS'
in between the narratives are the many diverse characters and threads that may or may not come together, it really is a collection of ideas, some of which cancel others out, it's a highly intelligent and literate book and i have to confess has me curious about his other novels. the novel converges about two thirds of the way through but like all great things it is the journy not the destination, and despite the bumpy start, it's smooth running all the way to the end. a great novel indeed.

stupid politics, it's a distraction, a complete fabricated lie held together with bits and bytes, string and sticky tape. i don't care about it, just vote sex party, they seem to have nice policies and wear cool tee shirts.


i'm reading 'existance' david brin, mmm, it's my first david brin, it's wearing me down, although every now and then there's a narrative i really like, but there are just to many strands, it's confusing for me as my brain feels sluggish, i will keep pursuing this big chunky brick of a book and keep you posted.


i sent my father some stuff today, costs a fortune to post and customs will probably burn it. lots of herbal tea i made up, some oils and creams and some plant nutrients. i had to send it sea mail as air mail would have cost $60, more than the parcel is really worth. 


olympics starts soon, i'm bored already, such a waste of time and resources, they should build a hospital or school, put the money into arts, i think it's very sad that sports are now the opium of the masses, oh well, people need their fix but i rather see the cash build a massive new library in every city or some sort of medical research centre. 

from the australian, a very good piece from political cartoonist bill leak who really comes to the conclusion i think most sensible and reasonable australians should arrive at given the last few years of government. he's brave as it goes against all trends and fashions but none the less one can appreciate and respect his convictions. note: he mentions patrick cook who i have to acknowledge as being the best australian political satirist, unfortunately unrecognised by 
most mainstream  especially the abc and the smh.

MY FALL FROM GRACE BUT I'M FREE TO OFFEND BY BILL LEAK


WHILE trawling through a number of popular left-wing blogs recently, I realised I had to accept a painful reality: I have become a rabid right-winger and a Murdoch toady.

It seems widely accepted that this terrible turn of events is attributable to the fact that I recently had an accident, after which I had to undergo brain surgery.

Apparently this has also been the fate of Patrick Cook who also, after surviving brain surgery, suddenly took to poking fun at "greenies living in yurts". One contributor helpfully explained by saying, "It's sad, but if you lose a quarter of your brain you'll emerge a conservative." Another went so far as to call for "an inquiry into the quality of the nation's cartoonists".

Naturally, I was very worried. Were they right?

Remember we're talking nice, compassionate left-wingers here, not insensitive types who'd make politically incorrect remarks about a poor old brain-damaged man with special needs, like me. So, was it really my brain injury that had turned me into a Hitlerian monster, or was there a more sinister explanation? Perhaps the diabolical Rupert Murdoch, on hearing I was in an operating theatre with the top of my head lying next to me like a fruit bowl, had summoned one of his operatives at Holt Street and dispatched him to the hospital. There he'd bribed the surgeon to allow him to slip a microchip into my brain that would enable Murdoch to control my thoughts, thereby making me just another one of his servile minions working towards the realisation of his ultimate aim of world domination which, of course, would culminate in the eradication of left-wing activism.

I started by looking back through my cartoons for the first signs of the dead hand of conservatism, expecting to see it manifesting itself soon after I'd lost "a quarter of my brain".

It seemed as plausible a conspiracy theory as any of the others I'd read about the inner workings of Murdoch's Evil Empire, so I did a bit of detective work myself.

No, it hadn't happened then. My fall from that balcony had not been responsible for my fall from left-wing grace.

After searching through another year's worth of cartoons I was finally able to pin it down to the exact moment: it was in the last week of November 2007.

Now, what on earth had caused this momentous change? I checked with my doctor who assured me that, no, I hadn't suffered an earlier serious brain injury that I'd forgotten about.

So what was it that had turned me into a right-wing shill?

Thanks to the miracle that is Google, I was eventually able to find the answer: Kevin Bloody Rudd had won the election by defeating John Howard and becoming our first Labor prime minister for 11 years.

And me? I'd turned into a fascist overnight.

There I was, a darling of the Left, a man who'd fought the good fight against Howard's oppressive regime for all those years, suddenly having the gall to draw cartoons critical of the hero who'd deposed him. Worse still, here I am, more than four years later, still at it, banging away at Julia Gillard's government and her merry band of social engineers who, to be fair, only want to make the world a better place by telling us what to think, what to read and what to write, what to eat, what to drink, not to smoke, to respect Aboriginal culture and to ensure that by enshrining racism in our Constitution we will eliminate the scourge of racism.

No wonder the self-appointed moral guardians of our society have dropped me like third period French!

Oh well, salvation might be only an election away.

If, as is widely anticipated, we soon see the advent of an Abbott government, it won't be long before I'm accused of having switched sides again. The moment I start knocking out cartoons that display an acceptable level of hostility towards the Mad Monk, the luvvies on the Left will welcome me back into the fold like some sort of prodigal son.

But for now, such a Murdoch arse-licker have I become that I even saw fit to have a go at Robert Manne when he wrote that splendid Quarterly Essay about how The Australian is destroying public debate in the country.

In hindsight, I see now that I really should have just dropped to my knees in awe of the comic genius Australia's Leading Public Intellectual had shown when he'd flicked the switch to parody, writing an impassioned plea for the suppression of free speech mocked up to look like a defence of it.

The Weekend Australian's editor Nick Cater asked him at the Byron Bay Writers Festival why he'd never accepted any of Cater's requests to have his views published in The Australian, and Manne responded by saying he didn't want to give that squalid rag "legitimacy" by writing for it.

I witnessed that little exchange and, fascist that am, misinterpreted his answer as pompous and sanctimonious, when I really should have considered myself lucky to be there, able to gaze on admiringly while the great Manne put that Murdoch lickspittle in his place.

Only a couple of weeks after my nasty cartoon about Manne appeared I was at it again, this time apparently taking sides with that enemy of all virtuous, decent people everywhere, Andrew Bolt.

Now, I don't always agree with Andrew, but I do agree with Voltaire, who said back in the 18th century, "I don't agree with what you say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it." And I, for one, would defend to the death Andrew's right to say whatever he likes, even if it does occasionally constitute what Justice Bromberg decried as "irresponsible journalism". When I read Bromberg's decision, I naively expected to hear howls of outrage emanating from the anti-censorship brigade on the Left. You'd think they'd be the first to jump up and down and scream, "Irresponsible? And just who's going to decide what's irresponsible and what's not?"

But no, barely a voice was raised in anger. Presumably, given this was a judgment that went against that loathsome right-winger Bolt, it must also have been, by definition, a bloody good thing.

Freedom of speech is the freedom to offend, and that means the freedom to offend anyone.

Neither cartoonists nor journalists should be required to exempt certain groups within society from this general rule when expressing their views. I don't want to be protected from anybody's views, especially not from those I find personally repugnant, because it's often when finding yourself in violent disagreement with certain ideas that you're best able to clarify your own.

It seems ironic that those who are the first to rail against perceived social injustice are, these days, the ones most vehemently determined to silence those with whom they disagree.

Their dictum appears to be a slightly modified version of Voltaire's: I do not agree with what you say, and I'll fight to the death to stop you from saying it.

Then again, perhaps this shouldn't strike me as ironic at all. When, in 1994, I left my job at Fairfax to take up a position at News Limited, a lot of my colleagues were offended and dismayed.

It was as though I'd made a conscious decision to reject the company of angels and go over to the Dark Side, a seething cesspit of amorality ruled over by the devil incarnate himself, Rupert Murdoch.

"How could you possibly go and work for an organisation controlled by him?" one indignant friend howled in the pub after my last day of work at The Sydney Morning Herald.

"It's no wonder you feel morally superior," I conceded, "working as you do for an organisation run by Conrad Black."

Now, how long has that bastard been in jail? Seems like an awfully long time. Don't tell me he did something unethical!

machines came out from the orb, they appeared as a cloud, a swarm of flies or wasps, but they were not born of nature. the black cloud moved silently, it was indeed eerie. i ran down the steps with the camera, it was counter intuitive to the rest of the crowd who were running away, but i was a photographer, a photojournalist and my instincts kicked in. i had to push my way through the panic, getting jostled around by the motion of panic, the look of terror on peoples faces, as mothers grabbed children dragging them to safety.
a blind woman had fallen down, i helped her stand and she asked me what was happening, she said the screaming was deafening, i could only agree, i escorted her to the railing and told her to walk down, that everything would be fine once she reached the bottom, i told her the police would keep her safe and not to panic like those around her, she nodded relief and then descended, i lost sight of her almost immediately as the entropy set in.
chaos, i took a few frames and continued up the steps, trying to block out the screaming and the sight of faces, twisted, gritted teeth, lips salivating, eyes spilling over with the brute will of survival, the ground seemed to move but it was an illusion, the kind that happens on trains. i was nearly there, as i too the last section the crowd passed me, i dared no longer look down, i needed the picture, it was hardwired into my dna, war does that, i'd seen action in the middle east, the jungles of south america, the sudan,, southern africa, in the glasgow riots, in the la revolution and in the mexican drug wars, taking the photograph was more than just a job, it was my work, my duty. 
when i came over the final step i stopped in my tracks, this is certain death in a war zone, you always keep moving unless your in safe zones like shelters bunkers or foxholes, but here faced with what lay before me i stopped and caught my breath. sydney sprawled out in the summer sunshine, the magnificent waterways, the landmarks all gleaming in the languid sun, and there next to the harbour bridge hovered the egg, a black opaque shaped structure and out from it's undercarriage bled the swarm. the craft had not arrived from deep space, it had not landed or made an announcement, it had just appeared, four years ago, we were only just becoming used to it, the mysterious egg science and research had given up with, decades of research and we had not learnt a thing about it, it was not of earth, that's all we knew. humans had no technology to even guess, that's where the psychics came in, and then the millions of theories. i thought it was a government trick, some sort of surveillance device, but the governments of the world didn't have a clue what it was, no one did, no one knew why it had appeared or what was inside, it was a mystery in plain sight, so we carried on as normal. and then this, twenty minites ago the thing starts leaking a gas some one had said, but it wasn't a gas, it was a swarm of tiny black cubes, billions of them. they were just pouring out and swarming around the egg itself, a mass of silent black objects ever moving, almost like black thick smoke but it was contained, they seemed to be flying formation, growing as more and more emerged. i took a few pictures and then something changed, it was a sound, aircraft. two fighter planes ripped through the skyline, they were F1-11s or 12's, doing a recon sweep, they were fast but the swarm was faster. a tiny black dot, maybe a few hundred cubes maybe just one seemed to detach itself from the main bloom and shoot after the planes, looking through the telephoto lenses i saw that the smaller cloud of cubes split into two each one targeting a plane. they began to overtake the plane and then seemed to attach itself to the wing. the planes started flying out past the southern suburbs, i watched them disappear over the horizon. 
by now the skies were blackened with these things, i took some more pictures and ran to see if i could get a better position, maybe up the harbour bridge would be a turret i could get as close to the egg as possible. 
the cloud mass stopped emerging, that was it they were hovering there momentarily, must have been a few billion of them. even the egg was difficult to distinguish from the mass if it's cubes. 
another plane flew over, slower, some sort of fat chubby aircraft, military colours, it was a dash eight.
the cubes suddenly, almost instantaneously shifted into a wall, a huge wall and then they rotated and changed colour from black to silver mirrored, catching the sunlight a wall of light reflected across them. 
i couldn't look at it, as if a huge magnifying glass had been burning a fly the beam of sunlight just frazzled the dash, it just fried up and fell into the water. then the wall moved again, this time it seemed to be organising itself into a tentacled mass as it began ripping into the cities power supply, it tore up the road near george street and drilled down into the earth.
a jeep pulled up, 'are you a civilian?'
i pulled out a press card, 'hey i'm captain mission photojournalist.' 
i offered a hand.
'i'm group commander jones, the aliens have started a war mission, you should get of the streets.'
'i'll stay, how do you know they want a war?'
'because they attacked us.'
'are you certain they want war with the humans?'
we watched the swarm churning up the city as buildings crumbled and fell, cars were thrown up into the air and fell where they may. we could see people in buildings, offices and homes all looking from the windows. 
the skies were filled with them now, just like being in a sandstorm, jones and i ducked for cover, i noticed he grabbed his rifle and then as we headed towards a service door i saw the revolver on his hip, i almost laughed, these weapons won't do anything but jones was holding the door for me, a gentleman solider, i spared him humiliation. 
safe inside i asked him, what the army planed to do, i was surprised by his answer.
'i think they will surrender, i mean what are we going to do up against this technology, really it's far to advanced.'
suddenly the door just crumpled into a small ball of metal and disappeared into nothing. a single tiny cube sat hovering before us, it then attached itself to jones and i watched as jones body started to enter some sort of bond, i started taking slight quiet steps backwards, i needed to get out, but i did take the picture. as i cued the image in the view finder jones head just seemed to flop, the light in his eyes blazed and then went out, he fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, dead.
the cube came for me.


i don't know, i don't know what happened next, it just attached itself to my head and suddenly i became aware of the vast void of space, the size of it, the space of space itself. this was a hive mind, from a far place, the furthest and oldest in the universe, actually it was not really the universe, not this one anyway, it's what we would call a different dimension. so far away it sits on top of this dimension yet it is completely different. 
it's a vast universe in all directions, a hall of mirrors reflecting infinity.
these are machines, made by watchers of worlds, gods. it's an inhibiting machine, travelling the multiverse, one of billions.
the download starts flowing.
void gods, void god creates us to inspect the qualities of life in all probables. quality determined by growth, individuality sustainable, human society hive cannot sustain, mono think equates to finality and stagnation. earth minds stagnating, decay, watchers jump start the collective...
there were terrible scenes, i see this in my minds eye, planets, cities, vast hexagon hives, uniforms, mind control, group think, these are the decaying elements. i watched the cultures shrink, and destroy themselves, some were very expansive spanning solar systems others planet bound, capitalists, socialists, democracy, dictatorships, all were restricting an ultimate purpose at some point as they grew, i can't fathom what it is, it's like deciphering a tarot deck knowing there's a central message there, a warning but not knowing the detail, my mind strains as i force it to continue, the cube is drilling deeper inside my consciousness, giving me the detail, filling the gaps. 
it's diversity, all prime species must promote diversity in life forms, in culture, in all mental, spiritual, political memes the dominant life force must enhance diversity upon the planet, not restriction. if the point is reached where diversity is at odds with the planet the inhibiting mechanism of the gods manifest to correct the imbalance. 
'who created you' i ask, although it's not in words, just a question formed in my mind. i see images of shadows, disembodied intelligence, the movement of tentacles, the eye, i see the eye, it's surrounded by bright yellow flames and red, leaping high arching around the curve, it's the eye of intelligence, looking right into my heart, into my mind, it reads me, knows me, i feel myself opening up and the barriers of space and time fragment and loose themselves, i feel the information enter me like soft liquid and then when i open my eyes the cube removes itself and flies away. on the floor jones lay immobile. i look out at the city, its quiet, the cloud of black cubes has left, they pour back into the egg, the sea looks different, the air feels clear and fresh, there's slight traces of ruin, a few upturned cars, some road ripped up, a little damage to buildings and the monorail. i can see the people wandering around and on the harbour a few sail boats, there's a lot of dead people laying all over though. there's an unnatural silence, no sirens, no aircraft, i scan the bridge, it's looking magnificent, the egg hangs next to it as it has for many years and then right as i stare at its black surface it just pops right out of existance. gone. i almost step backwards.


the answers are there, all civilisations need adjustments, its like a divine intervention only it's not god, he or she just sends a repair kit, millions of cubes in an egg. i don't know why it just waited there for so many years before doing its job, maybe it gave us a chance, a chance to do it alone. we were on a downwards spiral, decline of man, it was obvious, everyone was in denial. how could we ever figure it out. the whole universe requires diversity, life in all it's forms must thrive and variations on the theme must be allowed to flourish but humanity had begun to control this in life, wiping out species, destroying environments, the seas, the skies, the jungles even the icecaps diversity. we destroyed the mind, ideas became scarce, philosophies all seemed to be reduced, we dumbed down everything, even our political memes were now just two, spiritual frameworks dumbed down by controlling authorities, any original thought needed approval from a council of experts, globalisation of everything reduced diversity and then the egg came. that was it, the puzzle complete, i walked out into the bright day, it was good to be alive. 

pushing my way through the crowds, what's all the commotion, why's everyone lining up, i check the time, hours to kill, outside it's starting to change, clouds hurl over like massive blimps, i stick my hand in my pocket and pull out a twenty, swap it for a ticket, what am i doing, following people into a dark door way, don't eat that popcorn buddy, don't poison your mind with cola drinks and candy baby, candy i'm glad you're outta my life. well here comes the little man, wearing a bow tie, he's got some smart jazz shoes and a sensible shirt and look out little girl, we can wander through together, with those glamourous boots and your luscious smile, i wish you would fall in love with me, way back in the back seat, but you're with that ivy league jock dude, the one who has his arm wrapped around your hip. i sit at the back, finding some comfort in darkness, the screen lights up with previews, i close my eyes, what am i doing here, i should have left with my book but somehow it got left behind, instead i followed a whim and here i am, in cinematic landscapes of anonymous movies, what is this called, christ, you know it aint easy, do you really know how hard it can be, keeping hold of the details, the hundreds and thousands, the millions of bytes, i don't know what fugue state i'm in, the pull of that crowd, it just felt right and here i am, watching batman rising. i love the movies, i remember, i loved batman, the dark knight, i really love christopher nolan as a director and his brother is a brilliant writer, they took batman where it needed to go, they made it work, dragged it from children's things into something a shakespearean epic and as i watch the beauty in this film, the landscapes, the pace, the colour, the narrative, the arc, the way it all comes swinging around like a pendulum swing, man these guys have taken dickens 'tale of two cities' and made it into gotham city, the villain is just a single voice and the characters are no longer comic strip but real, as heroic deeds are done, as anarchy comes of age, occupy people occupy, and do what?
this is a superb film, but it's nothing without the other two, as a trilogy there is no better, it's just perfect. the final movement, the editing is magnificent, he's hypnotised you, you are in deep, under the spell, he's got you on a fish hook and then wham! bam! thank you man! 
the music is perfect which is always something they get wrong in film but hans zimmer nails it. this is not a film about a man in a bat suit, it's a film about a symbol. it's brilliant, in the darkness as time dissolves, i loose myself, escape for a moment, the power of story telling, new myths replacing old, new gods arise, old ones fall. but it's always just symbolic.
i wander out into light, sunbursts through huge massive dark rainclouds, the skies are fractured into rain and ominous tomorrows, the traffic is crazy, chaotic living again, follow the roads home, back home.

work place bullying, it's rife in australia and i am the antidote, slashing away at the middle management with my silver sword, hacking of limbs and heads from the department of fucking useless idiots, the department who dared send me a memo claiming they are spending $640 million in my area yet refuse to give two hours overtime to someone in an emergency situation. i sent it back suggesting they stop insulting me. the stupid department of ever changing names as a strategy to regain public trust, the department of morons and psychopaths where nepotism and envy reign supreme, the department that has just unveiled it's new 'stronger together' initiative while   really the only thing that changed is the letterhead. i will devote my life to exposing bullies wherever i find them. i hate bullies, especially adult ones. i don't fear them at all, i expose them one after another. that's all i seem to be doing in the department when i am not working with the four mental illness clients i have. imagine having a mental illness and being bullied, imagine having paranoia and in the care of a bully. bullies always are attracted to areas where they have power over others, they never pick on people stronger, only the mild and meek. i always let people underestimate me, i play mild and meek very well, it's my default setting but i can be strong when it comes to the infinite bullies the dept. mass produces endlessly and throws in my direction, no mercy bully. i'm your fucking karmic nightmare all at once in one huge great big confrontation where all the humiliation and degradation you have inflicted upon others comes right back at you, straight into your reality. bullies are insecure, cowards and weak willed little power trippers, they belong in the military, it should be compulsory punishment, if you're a bully join the army.
  

christ i am looking forwards to the new steve kilbey cd, it's called garage sutras and was recorded on garage band, which is a brilliant software program for musicians. i've heard a few songs from it, and it does sound excellent. this is one of australias most incredible and productive artistes, a real contemporary genius. not much to look forwards to these days but this is special.

back in the war zone, conflict and chaos, this time in my work environment where the strange elemental forces of repressed anger and envy are re-emerging, power plays, control issues and the clash of egos cut me in psychological warfare and weird mind games. no wonder my clients are paranoid.
i have to fight this battle head on, i've been skirting around, laying low, trying not to attract attention, i've been supportive, nurturing and as professional as possible but now i'm under attack from the same form of madness that infects this service, some weird human power game, envy, jealousy, maybe a little fear that i know my stuff, that i have a background that is unquestionably more advanced than my co workers and managers yet it is rarely used or considered an asset, it all is reduced to fear.
it's a boring game, a dance i am forced into every now and then, a dance i don't want to do but every now and then someone arises with a strange need to provoke me.
i will have to sharpen my blades, for battle is the name of the game today. i will invoke achilles, it seems apt. 

dream - i'm with a stranger, a man unidentified, he's australian, larger than me, he speaks in an bogon type australian accent, we are in a police station attached to an airport, we have been busted for drugs. he's the one who is carrying them, i'm unfortunately unlucky enough to be travelling in his company, how the hell did that happen.

we have to fill in a form, it's a massive sheet of poster size paper, he's whispering to me, 'it's okay, no problem, i know what to do, just fill it in like this,' he draws a line across, codes, he ticks some letters already written on the sheet, he draws a symbol and smiles. i follow, i just fill in my details, no codes or signs, i feel confidently that this is not my problem. 

the police send him away in handcuffs, 'it's okay, i'll be out in no time,' he calls.

'no time' i think aloud, 'no time.'

i wake up.

mad rush like a dark version of hugh grant, hugh the eccentric i race around five minites before a presentation is due, my memory stick contains everything i need to make my impression upon my unsuspecting colleagues and workers, this is captain mission the professional, loosing his marbles as i saved an apple document that can't be printed on the pc so here i am racing through the town square to the apple shop where nerds in white shirts and looking immaculate in their pristine temple will assist transfer my document. i am cast adrift, my career about to implode, i am thinking outside the box as i stumble in all washed up and cast myself at the head high priest behind his genius bar temple, i am ready to be saved.
the man, boy, nerdotype, he smiles and blesses me by sticking the usb in and saving the report i have worked on all morning in the correct file extension.
stupid pcs, i'll always be an apple man.
i have two minites, 'i race to the printers, jumping over prams, push chairs, racing past women laden down with groceries, pushing through the skool holiday children, the old people, the spectators turn their heads, who is that black figure, with the om sign on his chest, he is some sort of weird superhero, not quite a superman, not quite a spiderman, om man, on a mission, i run, sprinting outside the huge complex down the street towards the chemist clutching my usb stick, turning a corner like the flash at a right angle i am faster than light, carefully trying not to fall over myself i burst through into office works, and hand the man my usb, 'print this, high quality paper white.' i say between gasps of breaths. i'm feeling the effects of endorphins hitting my brain, christ it's amazing, is this what it feels like to be a superhero, om man.
im a few seconds i am racing back to the car, i drive along at the speed of time, i have to get there in minus ten minites, i can do this, the phone rings, 'mission where are you?'
'i'm there, right next to you,' i pull up and race through the front door, barging in upon the crowded table where they all sit staring at me.
i throw the report down on the paper and they pass it around.
'very impressive' someone said.
nods of approval. it's just a piece of paper with writing on, it will just sit in a file somewhere and no one will ever look at it again. i sit down, breath out, om man's identity safe. 
'you could have printed it out here' someone mentions.
it's true, om man got carried away on endorphin high.
'yeah but my entrance would not have been as impressive.'
and thus started the big meeting, words are swapped, stories told, information given and time passes away never to return. i rather be in new mexico. 

a sixteen year old boy out with his girlfriend in kings cross, the seedy part of sydney some say, where the nightclubs are, where the sex shops sit between pizza joints and strip clubs, it's the backpacker nexus, scantly clad girls roam the streets looking for action, drunken males revel in neon shadows and nights out with their friends, it's a strange place, not a beautiful place, after dark.
about ten o clock, way before the madness sets in, way before the deranged alcohol effected are prowling for the next level in banality something happens, not even a street hassle, not a conflict just an act of mindless violence and absolute horror. a man just punched the kid in the face and runs away. 
the boy is rushed to hospital, he's just left kings school, he's in kings cross and he's king hit, in a coma, his parents turn the machine off the next day on doctors advice. the perpetrator gets away, slips into the crowd and disappears. 
i'm watching this unfold on the news, the parents are just devastated but they make an appeal, the mother is pale and obviously in shock, the father just breaks your heart. i cried my eyes out. couldn't stop, how elegantly the man spoke, how poised and compassionate he appeared, acknowledging he was still in the denial phase, he pleaded for the attacker to come forth and confess, he said, 'i know deep down in your soul you need to do this,' just so quietly pleading humanity, like a whisper to the man that murdered his son.
i felt ashamed, inadequate and selfish. part of me just wanted to hug these poor people, this family, strangers, his sister spoke a few words and then broke down, and i looked at the picture of the young kid, just a babe, his room had a drum kit and a guitar, and his last words to both his mum and dad, 'i love you.'
broke my heart, just really got to me.

don't waste time, go out an buy this book now, it is brilliant and madeline miller is a lady i'd love to meet, a real writer's writer and it's her first novel.
the beauty in her words is electrifying, the Iliad through patroclus and his love for achillies, told over time, it's simply a magnificent book and that's all that needs to be said.

a man watched a chrysalis, it was beautiful, hanging there attached to a branch on a small tree, glimmering like a neptune sunset. he was supposed to be working hard, he loved his work, he was a master and he had responsibilities but the cocoon was mesmerising and as he gazed at it he could see something rippling inside, something was stirring. it wasn't that the man had nothing to do but sometimes you get distracted, something simple can capture your attention for hours, time just slips away as you watch it before you.

he watched the creature pierce the chrysalis, it was a butterfly in there, he'd caught a glimpse through what appeared to be a translucent skin, the colours looked vibrant and vital, it was stunning but it was struggling to break out. 

the man was a good man, at heart he was a great man and he could not bear the idea of suffering, a creature suffering was his suffering and so he thought he should assist, he looked around and found a stick which he used to pry the skin of the cocoon a little, thus helping the creature break free from inside. it literally fell out before him, crawling along upon his hand. 

the most magnificent wings began to open, they were orange and red with a vivid black boundary and what appeared to be an array of golden light as the sun caught them. how magnificent he thought, it really is beautiful, but then he realised something was wrong, the wings were perfect but the creature couldn't walk correctly, it had no strength in its muscles.

oh my, what have i done the man thought, i really thought i was helping but the poor butterfly needed to break open that cocoon itself, for that must be how it develops its muscle strength. the man put the butterfly down, he returned to his work, and he knew that he must let go of all responsibility, guilt, blame and thoughts he attached to the butterfly for it had only existed to teach him this and he loved it for that, and the butterfly knows this. 

and that is the end.

well thanks to a remarkable piece of investigative journalism by canadian writer donna la framboise who exposes the united nations intergovernmental panel of climate change we can now put the scandal to rest. history repeats itself and we are currently in the cycle of spanish inquisition, skeptics replace heretics, deniers are hung drawn and quartered, science becomes the catholic church and the united nations the inquisitor general. 
in media, skeptical people are vilified, abc journalists declare deniers should have the word stamped upon their foreheads so that their children can know who betrayed them, debate is stifled, children brainwashed at skool, and the labour green alliance of australia hijack the democratic right of the australian public and instigate a completely useless new tax while giving themselves a pay rise. 
all because a handful of 'scientists' have engineered an idea taken up by the united nations in a desperate attempt to install a world government. 
let me just spell it out for you skeptics do not deny pollution is bad, we do not deny that human beings should not pollute the waters and atmosphere, we do not advocate the continuing use of finite resources. what we deny is that the united nations have not been honest with us, your governments have not been honest and your media has lied. this is a controlled agenda, not a conspiracy, it's factual, it's actually scientific. 
let's listen to the other side for a change, that never happened, the other side were vilified and humiliated and bullied by the experts, did you ever actually hear a denier get a fair chance to actually explain why they disbelieve the agenda. the skeptics just want a fair hearing, so here is a link i suggest you listen. it's a podcast, and it's very enlightening.


http://www.corbettreport.com/interview-434-donna-laframboise/


okay, have a listen and make your mind up. did we know this stuff, when these fucking political people go to conferences do they even ask questions on our behalf or do they just lord it up and come back with brand new extortion methods?
it's a scam folks, a fucking scam.
i'm very glad there's one journalist out there doing their job, she should be given a medal. believe it or not she is in australia promoting her book, however i can tell you right now, you won't see her on the abc or read about her in the sydney morning herald. 
now tell me about a media inquiry?
no body expects an inquisition, once upon a time i would be burnt at the stake along with the others who dare question the trend of the new left wing. let me just say, the left wing are the right wing now, their methods are exactly the same, any party that is globalist shares the same ultimate agenda, the best thing australia can do is distance itself from the un and become a manufacturing nation, innovative and sustainable, it should focus on self sufficiency and it's own identity as a beautiful country filled with wonderful diversity. the idea of a globalised government is a step towards the mcdonalds of governments, lets keep australia a good clean healthy organic salad.

transformation - kilbey and kennedy

just finished 'the man from primrose lane' a first novel by a true crime writer who merges factual narrative with fiction and then midway through takes you into a completely different genre that i can't talk about without spoiling the story. this is a great first novel but it's hard going once you get to the twist midway through. 
it begins as a love story, then segues into a mystery with a protagonist who sounds a lot like the author around the murder of the man from primrose lane. 
the novel is well constructed, it's very adult and somewhat violent and graphic, there's scenes in there that are quite disturbing but it's a good read and worthwhile. it does need a sequel to explain the mystery surrounding the cat, but i think that's another genre.
i noticed a number of people on amazon reviewing the book did not get what the cat was, i got it straight away but it's not really well explained, just like the movie prometheus its given away in a random line.
the philosophical idea works well and if you want a page turner that will also surprise you this is the one. but just like prometheus if your not in the right frame of mind it can disappoint. 

it started as quite a wonderful day, the cold bites through the bone, birds flash their colours and the skies are radiant blue with a few odd shaped clouds hanging there like white chaos art, pan ready for our beach walk spinning around skipping like a lamb, i'm wearing my new pants and my captains hat, dressed for a day of lunacy and piracy, we wander down greeting the good people of newport as i anticipate my coffee and a flick through the daily news. the new coffee shop is called 'the garden cafe' it's rather wonderful in a strange way as it's actually some ones office, an architect called pheobe who makes the best soup (try the zucchini) i have ever had, but morning i need my latte and news fix.
i'm flicking through the usual stuff, reading between the lines, cross reading, tension here, stresses there, trouble turmoil, carbon blues and suddenly there on page five a small little column. 'politicians pay rise.'
the day seems to swirl and fall down the plug hole,
how the hell can these idiots tax us one day and the very next give themselves a pay rise. 
i later read senator nick zenophon who actually sounds like a character from the simpsons is one of two politicians who oppose the new increase which is around $5500 remember they already gave themselves a $45000 pay rise a few months ago. jesus, i don't mind people earning cash, i don't really mind if people clean up for doing their job, but these clowns should be paying us for fucking up the whole country, dragging our children into unbelievable debt that they and their children will be paying for. debt is slavery man, debt is fucking the very thing that keeps us enslaved,i rage to whoever is unfortunatly within earshot, how can australians allow this to happen, there should be rioting on the streets, what happened to the clever country?
there's no real answer to this, i think sometimes as we spin towards a new phase in evolution and consciousness, one that liberates us from the illusions, the illusionary world gets stronger and more absurd, it's a death throw. 
i look up, it's cold, the suns out, clouds darker, a storm front on the rise. pan and i wander down to the beach, we watch the wild waves breaking, there's no surfers this morning, to messy, lot of chop, the crash of surf roars through the morning and the morning roars through me. pans just wants to go home, so we do.  

when the peace bomb exploded i was at a friends house having dinner, she was serving caramelised babylonian pears with neptune honey with fig ice cream on the side. we were just getting ready to eat it when her phone let of a beep. 
i don't usually carry a phone with me, and i could see her cogs working, turning away as she attempted some inner dialogue to work out if she should check the message and interrupt our meal, 'excuse me, i better check and see, it could be the hospital.'
i understood, i'm not given to offence by people and technology, there's much more to worry about that messages and phones interrupting meals, so i nodded, 'no problem, i can wait.'
she hunted through her handbag and pulled out a white iphone, then with that elegant swipe she must have retrieved her message and read it. as her eyes followed the text her expression changed, from casual and relaxed to petrified.
'hey, what's up?'
'there's been a terrorist attack, a bombs just been detonated in the city.'
i jumped up and ran to the television, she had spent months without a tv but recently bought a digital screen which activated as soon as i found the remote, i punched in the news channel.
a reporter was in the middle of a live interview, she looked very nervous. alice and i watched together our faces almost touching, i tried to look at the background but it was just smoke or dust. the presenter was in mid sentence, '...not sure who's responsible  or why they should do anything, it's not as if our troops have much longer in afghanistan, they are due to fly back tomorrow. the taliban have signed a peace deal, there's peace in the middle east, europian politics seems settled, asia has just seen a massive movement towards growth and prosperity, even africa is a continent at total peace.'
a disembodied voice asks a question, 'tracy, can you tell us anything about the target, is there much damage?'
'yeah, well to be honest the detonation was just outside town hall, the haze of what appears to be a low hovering fog has made it difficult to see what damage has been caused to the structure but i have heard the firemen and state emergency rescue workers will be coming out in a few moments and i will be talking to their commander of operations. he will be able to update us.'
'thank you. if you have just joined us we are coming live from sydney's town hall, where there has been some form of terrorist attack, our reporter tracy shaw is there on the spot and will be talking to the commander of operations in a few moments. tracy, how are you holding up? you have been on the scene from the beginning, covering a demonstration close to town hall that was turning violent, then this happened.'
tracy looks at the camera and does something sexy with her hair, then she launches into an earnest reply, 'yes tom, the crew and i had been covering the union protest, it was supposed to be a peaceful demonstration and about 2 thousand people turned up and were walking through the cbd, by the time they reached george street some sort of scuffle erupted between a group of anarchists and the police, a police man was hit in the face with a brick and a few molotov cocktails set alight some parked cars. by the time reinforcements had arrived it had turned into a full scale riot and then right across the street we heard this explosion, i brought the crew over and we are gradually piecing out what has occurred.'
'okay thanks for that tracy, and perhaps if you have just joined us at home you can run through what we know so far, for the viewers.'
'yes, at approximately 3 pm an explosion ripped through town hall leaving a huge cloud of gas and smoke, it's dispersing actually now, being blown away, there's commander falcon, he is the head of state emergency, let's just have a quick update.'
in the background alice and i see the town hall building begin to appear, it looks okay.
'commander falcon, can you tell us if there have been any casualties?'
'no beautiful, nothing, no one was hurt, it's just a gas baby, life's a gas.'
'errr, do you know who planted the bomb?'
'some peace loving dudes must have planted it i guess,' he waves at the camera and makes a peace sign.
'commander are you alright?'
'yeah baby, i'm freaking fantastic.'
some firemen start to walk out of the building, they are laughing and hugging, some passer by starts to kiss a girl he is standing next to, and suddenly the camera falls over but we can now see people on the steps of town hall, they are all smiling and happy, they hug one another. some one rushes over and stands the camera upwards, this time it faces down the street where the remnants of the riot are all shaking hands and hugging, cars are stopping and people jumping from the buses, they all look deliriously happy. 
alice and i try another channel, we turn it to sbs where there are similar scenes in london, paris, new york and tokyo, then we see the west bank where israelis and arabs are dancing together, we see hindus and muslims embracing in deli and we see chinese and tibetans bowing to one another. the voice over is in italian and neither of us understand what she is saying but when they show an shot of london an english voice takes over, 'yes the outbreak of peace seemed to be generated from these various explosive non lethal devices that have been planted all over the world, the effects are amazing as you can see, enemies are now friends, war has stopped almost everywhere, we are still uncertain who exactly is responsible for this but it's really quite beautiful, i mean life is beautiful, it's just so fucking beautiful.'
alice holds the remote and turns the tv off, she throws it across the room onto the sofa, then she leans in and looks at me with her big green eyes sparkling like friendly radioactivity, she giggles and brushes me with her lips gently upon mine, 'kiss me' she whispers.
'what about the ice cream?'

when i had nothing i had everything, now i'm empty i am full, when i was at my worst i was my best and when i was best i was worse, now i am nothing i am everything, once i was everything i became nothing, i stole the night and i offer the light.
once i was lost only to be discovered, obscured by complexity simplicity becomes recovered, bereft of meaning it became known, with suffering i may have grown,  in the heat of a fight i offer the light.
now i am complete i will diminish, once i begin only to finish, halfway through life, we celebrate the end, we love our enemy more as we loose our friend, i flicker, extinguished only reborn bright, you gave me life and i offer the light.

celebration in velvet, crashing complex, the unseen weaves into shadow, between without, within. narcissistic beasts stay still long enough to watch their reflections in water pools, admiration of form and surface beauty, what is reflected is elemental.

imagine the woods, moss carpets the floor, ferns at a slightly raised level spread out across the filtered lights, lichen symbiotic, you can feel the solid vertical trunks of ancient trees, their wide based and roots that sprawl under the floor sinking deeper into the nature, yet above a mirror of synaptic sparks connects information exchange, the earth intelligence, the cosmic divine. 

whisper in bird song, was it a call or a cry? rustle and bustle trees live in slow time, they know everything.

celebration in velvet, night had come down like the curtain, stars sparkle above, some nocturnal image of myth flickers in darkness, the beast of bad dreams and history. shadows have angles, they appear within shades of judgements, the very same forest, applied difference in light, in shadow, in eye. 

the difference between good and bad, the perspective is shifting all the time, the framework evolves, the complex rift between thought and action, the road to hell is lined with good intention.

the protector of trees has only one purpose, it does not defy logic, reason or love. we are all stardust made, ashes and dust, and ashes again so careful with those hacks eugenics, dna activation is sequential designed beyond time and space by methods unknown.