all my life i attempted to understand something from the old testament.
why did god ask abraham to kill his son issac?
what kind of god is that!
the story haunted me, and put me at odds with the idea of judaism and it's god, it wasn't until i understood the tantric path i realised the connection.
the violation of social conventions is an ancient initiation. in all magickal orders, as in the left hand path of tantra, one is asked to do something 'shocking' and transgressive, yet it is not ever carried through even though the initiate is unaware this is the case. 
most esoteric orders ask the initiate to cross their own code or program and at the last second are stopped. unless it's a black magic cult who can't distinguish between metaphorical death and a real one. (quite a few crowley followers have this problem)
one sees this metaphorical sacrifice at the roots of all disciplines, even christianity inverted this and god sacrifices his son although there was no death upon a cross in reality.
religious institutions will never allow people to access the truth of the matter, transformation, spiritual connection and revelation is not dependant upon churches, mosques and synagogues, these are social applications not spiritual ones. 
as i explore tantra i can see how the left hand path is born from the age of kali yuga, which we have been in for at least two and a half thousand years.

some of the attributes of this age are:

rulers become unreasonable and levy taxes unfairly.
rulers will no longer see it as their duty to promote spiritual growth.
lust and sex become a central requirement of life.
values shift, intoxication with unnatural substances increase, true spiritual teachers become devalued and mocked. 
yes my friends, this is indeed the kali yuga and the left hand path is the way to navigate through it as a sacred event in this cycle of mankind. 
okay, i'm certainly not an expert but i will attempt to explain what the left hand path is in the next few posts, and how it has been misunderstood and negated with uninformed morality in the meantime 'don't panic.'

the political realm is filled with vile sociopathic egomaniacs and self serving liars and thieves. i watch them all, listen to them on the radio and hear their hypocrisy fall from their tongues like the tears of agony they inflict on the poor population who have to tolerate their charade.
there is only one party worth voting for now, the australian sex party.
yeah it's a crazy name, but what the hell, read the policy, it's fucking reasonable, which is the most honest and realistic concept a government can govern with.

big lunar force pulls us all along, the global events of the last month show the fall off certain things and as we transit through we see other things rise.
the universe ebbs and flows, adds and subtracts or if you're a religious reader the lord giveth and the lord taketh away. who can fathom its nature, only look in wonder in awe of this process.
i always take a cosmic approach, humanity will eventually reach the stars, the forces of love will prevail, we will again know ourselves as gods and goddesses, walking through forests abundant with papaya and coconuts, playing with the unicorn in the verdant meadows and looking at the octopus eye in the deep seas and oceans, yes we will sing, dance, write poems and make love because, love will win.
in the meantime we have to pay tax, eat, drink, shit and fuck, maybe if we are really lucky we meet that girl or boy or whatever and we find some peace.

with existence people get to shine while others try to extinguish but mostly we fluctuate between the two. that kind of inertia is part of the process, you have to accept it, love it and forgive yourself, healing is loving.
energy does not ever cease unless you enter a black hole, although there's no evidence of this, matter can't be destroyed only change its state, our bodies may be worm food and nutrients for trees, broken down into the great devourer and assimilated into something else, a wonderful living thing, with its own consciousness, its own state of being and as spirit we are reborn.
how i wish i could be a vegan. i really want to make the commitment but i'm to far away from sustaining myself correctly, i like honey and cheese and err wearing leather boots but i do respect life, like a mad old holy fool, dressed in purple robes and pointy hat, i honour life, its part of my identity, from a past life, american indian, the great spirit. we honoured all life, and we were defeated by an enemy who could never know spirit. it is shifting and i know humanity will win the spiritual war. those that don't believe me have already lost their humanity so for me there is no human stain, only the inhuman one, it's to late to save you from your own hate, you just hold on to that brother. i say, love is letting go.

  

just when you relax and think it's all smooth sailing the weather can change and a shit storm come pummelling down accompanied by the cruel laughter of some twisted sadistic god. well fortunately that's not my god.
here i am driving again, satisfying my need for velocity, you know i love the fact i have a highway to rocket down, it's where i can legally speed and when i'm off the highway i revert to a healthy safe regime following all the rules like a really good citizen. 
its worked out quite well. all i needed was a highway.
however in weather like this morning driving becomes something else, focusing concentration, breathing exercises, mental agility, pattern recognition, adaptability and some heightened psychic ability.
and lady luck because in conditions like fog and heavy rain, patches of sun and the occasional wash of water as a truck shoots by, luck is what gets you home. 

i have some time off, i'm going to get my bicycle on the road and give the car a break. 

next!

my on/off girlfriend has cancer. 

i just found out.

i don't know what to say, the universe seems to add and subtract and there's that crazy bit where you just don't know what the result will be. 

i want her to be okay, i want her to just be okay.

we have a loose relationship, it's really simple and it works, we get together sometimes when i have a weekend off and we play, its like two wild animals playing free and hanging out...simple easy and real!

there's nothing i can do except light a candle and pray for her health.

at 5am this morning i find myself looking for a coffee before i hit the highway. i'd been up till late smoking johnny cash and now i was suffering the early morning blues but i noticed the stars and then i found the moon. it's a big moon this weekend, i always get very hyperactive around this period, and i confess excited. those winter days are behind us, the evenings can only get lighter. there's something reassuring in that, i mean there is not much that is certain. you can depend on the astral ballet more than you can depend on your government these days.

i find a 24 hour place and grab my latte for the road, i flick through the newspaper, the return of rudd is imminent. 

i think i read that, 'game of thrones' is julia gillards favourite series but she's actually in one, a game of thrones. i close the paper wondering where all the news is, it's not in here.

i drive out to the highway, searching for a cd to stick into the player, i sift through a pile of stuff and stick 'atoms for peace' in, crank it up. 

out on the highway i hit that zen space, nothing really acts as a point of reference, auto pilot i guess, me and the road, stars twinkle and the moon looking down on me as it sinks, i could be anywhere in the universe but here i am like a little corpuscle travelling down a vein. there's no cars on the road, just me, and as i get towards brooklyn the sun is coming up, the waterways all come alive, glimmering like ancient energy does, i pull over and take it all in. moon sun and water, earth, fixed point brooklyn bridge, i don't know, i feel like i'm in some cosmic alignment but i am now running late for work, the cosmos will have to wait, i feel all energised now, running on coffee and moon power. look out world here i come.

 

here i am on the central coast of nsw, how did i get here, thrown from the northern beaches, blown adrift after tims death. the central coast where there is car culture, some gypsy folk across the way, smoking cults and winery restaurants, i could be anywhere really, i'm always just lost. 
here i am alone, day in day out with only friends who border autistic spectrums, they can't fathom me but they trust me, and that feels good.
it's okay i whisper in their ears, it's okay. i see their fear, what is this madness outside of them, why it's the world of man, hard to navigate my friends, i don't know how i do it, just barely. that's the resonation, that's why they trust me, they know i am one of them, freaked out by religions, politics, banks ad tax, freaked out by haircuts and cars and money, shoelaces and cake tins. i'm lost in civilisation but somehow i surf it. 
it's okay man, it will pass, all things pass. i don't know what it is, just some ones idea. it's alright sister, it won't hurt you if you don't believe in it.
what do you believe in, you can see them pleading.
i believe in you.
but we are lost causes.
thats technically out of context, your found effects.
that's a good name for a song or book.
yeah, i make a note to myself.
a found effect, i found you and you found me, and the effect is just a kinda good feeling right.
are we friends
yes
i loose all my friends.
me to eventually.
i'm scared.
me to. it just means your alive.
here i am not quite alone.
today the girl from fbi radio rang me up, asked me how i was.
it had been so long since i had spoken to anyone i just rambled on. when she hung up i was standing there wondering why she called.
i don't really understand anything sometimes, even what i think, it just passes in and leaves me. if i'm lucky i may get to write it down.

this is evening, travelling fast, it's late and i've sat in the darkness listening to an old church cd, parallel universe, disc two.
i have a small lamp sending out a red soft light across the floor, while the volume pumps out these incredible songs. my joint is burnt out, my skin cold and i'm wrapped in blankets like some north american indian in a teepee. 
have you heard this cd? play it, loud and in the darkness, let it wash over you, my god, it's full off stars as dave said as he flew through the black oblix and became a star child.

okay finally 'snuff' is available at cd baby, please have a listen to some tunes, see what you think, buy one if you wish, i'd recommend the whole cd as it's a conceptual piece but what the hell, it's a diverse collection. just click this link:

http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/thedeepfix

enjoy

austerity has hit mission control, times are tough, no fucking room to move, pan, the birds, the lizard and i are on rations, yes porridge for breakfast, salad for lunch and some sort of spinach pie for tea. 
stupid credit cards, saved my life but now we have to pay it all back before the bank comes and gets my blood. i have always hated being in debt, it's like a huge weighty thing that pulls me down dragging my body into the ground. ive managed to avoid it for so long and now i'm stuffed so out go all the non essential luxuries.
i'm lucky really, things could be worse.

now here's why i don't believe science can help us determine anything better than spirituality but in order for me to explain this i have to talk about something unrelated.
every year sydney hosts a 'festival of dangerous ideas' it's actually a festival of weak and feeble ideas from the usual suspects, but recently i read a book which was a compilation of dangerous ideas, and most of them were actually very dangerous.
however in one section, they spoke about science and in particularly a test used in psychology called the 'carriage test' where by they test peoples morality by putting them in a situation where they are witness to a runaway carriage. now this is about to hit a group of ten people but the observer can intervene and redirect the carriage so that it only hits one. most people chose to intervene because the utilitarian creed is deeply wired into us.
here's my take on it.
that one person you just killed may have in their future discovered a cure for cancer but now won't.
you just killed him because you attempted to save 10.
don't get me wrong, i would do the same thing, it's instinctive and natural but really in terms of the experiment it means nothing. 
what i am saying is science has not got all the parameters covered, it is one diminutional unless it is quantum. science can't be absolute, it's a metaphor for something else.
how about that for a dangerous idea?

i was asked to stand for the australian sex party but i'm not a citizen, very upsetting, they sent me a nice tee shirt but i am heartbroken, i want to enter the political world, i like the asp policies  i agree with them, libertarian ideals. that's what the liberals are supposed to be but fail. i want to kick up a stink about everything, education, for fucks sake, lets get back to educating kids about the classics, how to think about thinking, how to use logic and reason, the classics! let's get them using their imagination, learning music and how to care. give them real experiences with aboriginal culture, assist and educate the connection with landscape and feel part of something larger than a class room.
religion. mmm, i guess there are some sacred cows but the extremists can get fucked, for every stupid arrogant and hateful thing they say, the fine is banishment.
the refugee crisis, look i say open the door, two years compulsory working in the remote areas, building up infrastructure, paid a good wage after which they get a citizenship and their wage which after two years they can chose to spend how they wish. but they get more than that, no one can say they did not contribute.
international relationships - fuck you, we don't wanna know about your conflicts and wars and united nations, work it out yourself.
we gotta sort our own shit out, food and water. making sure people have shelter, work and community.
the laws can be scrapped, one law, be reasonable.
if your not reasonable i'm afraid you can go live in england.

anyway, i can't be prime minister so you can all breath a sigh of relief.

birds going nuts, dogs barking, some glitch in tranquility, nature's all of a sudden burst forth with noise and discord, what's going down? pan and i wader down to the river, but things start to settle down, some sort of incident in the animal kingdom.
nature detective mission on the case, i can see no ripples on the surface of the river, but i can hear a boat and it's getting louder, a tiny electric motor rips up harmony in my kingdom. i contemplate setting a trap, a string spanning across the width of the river, but the images of heads being flung overboard assists my tolerance levels.
i watch a small boat with two guys manoeuvre it's way down the waterway, fishing people, making a racket. no wonder the animals are spooked, humans interfering with the natural order, upsetting the balance of things, that's the problem on planet earth, we need to restore some balance. 
   

collision course, two great bodies, opposing forces, second law of thermodynamics, everything according to plan. 
what's the plan baby?
the plan is the two forces are not separated, they are not opposed, only by the mind. 

stillness ceases the mind,
wind echoes from some where else
leaves rustle an orchestral manoeuvre
the bird secret knowledge 
the insects industry
the dogs dream
the garden of eden is alive and well
the garden of eden is pulsing with life
the garden of eden is knowledge itself
the garden of eden is in your heart
the apple tree blues was a trick of the mind
the snake itself was the inner all seeing eye
the angels whispered in a language not heard
the woman and man played indifferently.

but now we know, both male and female
now we have knowledge and are separated
ironically we know nothing
ironically we have words to name things
ironically we think we know
ironically we have fallen 

only to rise.

sydney, the city, the emerald city is aptly named, it's stunning, watch the beautiful people adorn the beaches, the shopping is all glamorous marble malls and opulent window displays, everything here has a high price tag, even the $2 shop's are really $5 shops, the restaurants and bars packed with the eternally young wealthy sating an appetite that can never be met, a city that is good looking on the surface, sexy and expensive, glimmering with personalities and media grabs, everyone get's more than their fair share of 15 minites.
it wasn't always like this but the powers that be have turned sydney into the playground for the global rich. in sydney if your a banker, solicitor or real estate agent you are made, keys to the city, probably have good teeth and own at least two properties, one with a water view. 
well these young millionaires swarm the emerald city, and if they are not fabulously wealthy they are massively in debt, credit card eyeballs roll back with every chop it makes because cocaine is the urban poison of choice at this level, alcohol the one below.
every girl will whisper their secret desires when they are half naked, on their hands and knees, sucking a weekend line from their pocket mirror. they all want the sydney dream, to stay young and glam, to find a loaded cashed up uber rich man. to have the sex and the shoes that go with it, to star in their own soap opera, to drive the personalised number plate chic hybrid sporty 4 wheel drive, to be popular, desired and under the thin façade of some authentic sense of boredom they follow some spiritual wave but never disciplined enough for humility, the days spent sun baking on boats, the nights are champagne explosions, forging the memory with a movie like experience so far removed from any thing real, love becomes the cynics sword. 
yeah the emerald city of oz, superficial and over priced, spiritually bankrupt and corrupt to its shallow core. 
but like an inverse diamond the flawed city has some pockets of genuine beauty, it has light shining through the glamour, it's in the geography, and those in tune with it, you just gotta scratch away the surface sheen and get your fingernails dirty, you have to not look, you have to see.
i see you.
practice some detachment, avoid the cool and trendy fuckers, exhaust the hedonistic impulse unless it kills you, explore inner space, stay true to what you discover in your heart, acts of loving kindness open doors, it has currency you won't find on a stock market floor or in jimmy choo, it's all over sydney as the spirit fights back and it's guardians are the lovers, poets, the writers and musicians, the unholy, burning madmen, the jokers and the fools. and like every city that teems with people one has to find ones own tribe, and although mine is small it comprises of people whom have transcended the blind impulse of being something they are not. yeah i have some kooky friends, scattered throughout the place. down in south sydney val works deep in his laboratory, half evil genius, surrounded by chemistry sets and bass guitars, on the northern beaches are evan and gravy bones, completely unique and glorious individuals, true angelic beings. 
yeah a city is a city but when you have friends it's something else, a playground, medium, conduit, whenever i go out into sydney things happen, i meet someone, have an extraordinary experience, small interaction, a seed grows, chance encounters, serendipitous events, the dots connect, and after so many years a pattern forms, a picture reveals itself, sydney and i developed a relationship, i can access it, tap in to its information network just by walking the street, glebe point road, kings street, york street and the botanical gardens.
i'll often spend time in the bookshops of sydney, certain coffee shops, there's no uncertainty in sydney for me, i can travel through it's geography alone yet connected, people connect with me, strangers on a train, random encounters in the street, a throw away smile, a gaze across the road. sometimes i will loose myself in the gardens, down past the opera house, this is my favourite spot in sydney, summer time i will go with a book and just walk around looking at the trees and plants, watching bats, boats and people, caught up in the beauty of it all. sometimes i'll find a bench and sit and read until some one comes and joins me.
inside the emerald city, far removed from the world, a smug cocoon, amniotic fluid with beach and waves, yes sydney i am a child of the universe but on earth i inhabit sydney.

the bush, if you never saw the bush you would think it's just a bush, but the australian's tend to underplay everything in language, and the bush is basically forest. it can range from deep green old growth in tasmania to the red desert desolation on the centre but the bush out where i live is lush sub tropical and vibrating with the energy of life. it can also kill you, swallow you up and eat you alive, suck the flesh from your bones and send every atom of your body into the cosmic recycling process. 

the aboriginal people off australia understand the bush, they know how to survive it, and they have a relationship with the land that is beyond any civilisation western man can comprehend, it's an ancient relationship that certain indigenous people seem to have developed as their culture, caretakers of the planet.

the dmt tradition in aboriginal and south and north american indian is obvious to anyone who has explored these brain changing plants. the idea that the earth and therefore the land encompasses one dimensional space can be left behind in the same way a snake may shed its skin, the bush is alive, the earth is alive and sustaining everything upon it, it's an intelligent being, and we are basically just neurones firing away, connecting electrical impulses, some driven by a desire to become more conscious, become more aware, evolve oneself, others driven to the opposite impulse. 

theres no value in this, a scientist type mind will reject the idea of consciousness and attempt to reduce the relationship into its components. perhaps he may feel constructing a guidance missile has more value. ultimately the relationship one has with the planet and by extension the universe is the relationship one has with ones self. 

people mock the aboriginals because they have no technology, no culture that the west can relate to. 

but they have something, spend anytime out here and you will have to face up to the truth of it, these people have suffered at the hands of the western man.

on my arrival to australia i was most upset by the fact i never saw any aboriginal people, where were they?

they were living in the inner cities, in run down council areas, or the red centre, stung out on petrol fumes, drinking white mans poison, trapped in a cycle of self destruction, self loathing and abuse. the year i arrived the government launched an enquiry, it was called, 'black deaths in custody' and investigated the reasons why so many aboriginal people seemed to suicide while in jail. 

to me, a new arrival, the answer was obvious and it lay within the collective unconscious. here was a race of people that had never in 40000 years known enclosure, let alone four walls, the bars of a cell in the basement of a small outback police station.

the commission led to nothing, no real change, the aboriginal people's misery is turned into an industry of suffering, money thrown their way. that's the west for you, money or war, the answers to every malaise.

the situation of a disenfranchised community is still very relevant, things have not changed that much but there is a larger understanding occurring, where the bush is being understood, where the western man is glimpsing elements of the aboriginal consciousness and its relationship with the bush and by extension, the earth.

in the last few months i've started to manage a little plot of land, in the bush, i get it now, i really get it, the bush needs a caretaker, a caretaker needs the bush, just like a neurone needs a brain and a brain needs a neurone, start pulling weeds out, start clearing old fallen debris, start shaping and caring for the bush, and the bush will speak to you, it will reveal it's secrets and you will be amazed.

known predominately for it's beaches australia does have the best i've ever seen anywhere on earth, and i believe that like everything in life, you have to find the beach that suits you. everyone has a relationship with a specific beach, just like say a man would with a woman, get to know it's moods, ebbs and flows, find it's passivity, recognise it's gentleness and anger, respect and revere it, the beach ain't just a bunch of sand and water.
i fell in love with avalon, particularly north avalon where i surfed almost three times a day for about five years. to be honest i was never a board surfer, i didn't see the point of being perpendicular to the water choosing the body surfing concept and then once i got hold of a had fin i was obsessed with the idea of surfing just like all the board surfers out there.
i'd wake up early skip breakfast and head down to north avalon with my friend, we would start early while there were no people, summer days you wouldn't need no wetsuit, we would spend about two hours in there, crystal clear water, perfect statuesque waves, i'd learn how to negotiate them, build up my confidence, it was exactly like dating a beautiful woman, you needed to understand the flow, the nature of the wave, the energy that it contains, all that potential under the surface, you read it like a book, sometimes the science of it would baffle me, north east west, i mean okay i get it but to me these were just points on a map, angles. i was interested in the angels in the wave form, i was interested in the mental state a surfer has, the effect the wave has over a surfer, the attitudes the significance. let me tell you the first thing you learn is fear. yeah the ocean can kill, it don't mean to, it don't mean to swallow up your flesh and smash your bones on rocks, it has no intention, it just does what it does, it's a harsh mistress right, you gotta have some respect for it, and yourself, know your limits, don't push them to far, don't think you can outsmart the ocean that stuff has been around a lot longer than you. so respect the ocean is the first law of surfing. this can be broken down into a simple ritual.
stand where the ocean meets the sand, let the water gently wash over your toes, stay at that depth, a few inches while you focus on the horizon. now it's best you do this in your spot, i always chose north avalon as it had the best surf for body surfing, a nice little sand bank made the area just the right conditions. however one needed a ritual for focusing and gratitude, for you are about to change your element. so i'd breath in the air and let it go a few times, focusing on my breathing like a meditational class, all the time watching the horizon. obviously between here that the horizon the waves would break, you would choose a place that offered smaller waves with force over bigger waves with no force, this takes a little time to work out, but eventually you do. then in the exhale of one of those breaths you would see the pathway, it would be there, and you would step forwards, getting under the water as fast as possible, kicking out with your flippers until you where just where they break. 
the second law is to tune in to the feel, this requires some kind of zen obliteration. i've always said, a surfer is both a particle and a wave, therefore in the true nature of reality but you have to let that condition be inside you else it's resistant or resistance, and that inhibits the ride.
kick of before the wave, it's instinctive, comes with practice, and when you feel it you remember it, it's part muscle memory and part some sort of psychic ability, you just feel it, just like when your learning to drive and between manual gears you get that biting point, that's what you do, feel it and kick off.
there's nothing on earth that beats that feeling, riding waves, being the wave, it's joyful. surfing makes me think about three things, fundamentals, breathing, which was is up and are my board shorts still on. 
i loved the times i spend in the ocean at avalon, i loved that beach, and i have never found another like it. i had some near death experiences in the water, especially whale beach and once at palm beach but never avalon, avalon always loved me back.
later as i became more experienced i learnt meditations in the surf, charkra rituals, energy manipulation, magick baby, yeah i used the ocean as a medium, healing, inspirational and consciousness unbounded. the water fed me, nourished my soul and gave me life.

in complete contrast to newtown is my adopted home of avalon, on the northern beaches of the peninsula that sticks out from the mainland, surrounded by ocean on one side with their magnificent beaches and pristine landscapes, while on the other is pittwater, gentle little bay where all manner of sailing vessels traverse on their journeys but most just bob up and down moored permanently as playthings of the rich and glamorous. 
now avalon has changed dramatically over the years, it used to be a magickal place, like real magick, i'm pretty sure aboriginal people would classify it as a sacred space, the energy there is incredible, it's a sort of healthy version of what byron bay aspires to be, without the pretensions. it's powerfully healing the further north you travel from avalon, through to whale beach, and then palm beach where you come to the lighthouse. 
i used to clamber up that lighthouse everyday, having lived everywhere in that little area, my son and i spend a lot of time wandering along that coastal area, rock hopping, swimming and lighthouse adventuring, it was a magnificent backdrop for playing. 
i'd even spend hours in a float tank at palm beach, very intense sessions, being consumed by some friendly void but let's face it palm beach is defined by the people who live there and in them old days the people were amazing, yeah they were either very wealthy or struggling passengers like me, the thing is, you could never tell one from the other, there was no distinctions, the class war didn't exist. i was friends with some of the wealthiest people in australia, successful artists, their children, film directors, writers and a host of creative folk whom had opened up their lives and homes to folks like me.  
madame lash was one that springs to mind, a misunderstood person if ever there was one, she was so far ahead of her time, a brilliant mind, a talented artist and a very lovely lady. she hosted some pretty wild parties up at her place and always made me feel very welcome, once when i was homeless she let me stay, although i had to sleep in a dungeon, she even invited me for xmas dinner on many occasions and i assisted her form a new political party, the extra dimensionalists party, which stood against fred nile.
lash is a very well read woman, germanic lineage and capable of holding incredible conversations on any subject especially herself.
there were other personalities 'francis firebrace' the aboriginal artist and story teller whom also adopted me as a brother and gave me great insight into aboriginal australia, he was a great malcontent but always positive.
the beaches had its share of personalities, cults like the 'pod people' filtering trough the thin veneer of respectability, there was a something very californian about this stretch of geography, everyone open to new ideas of consciousness, and mind expansion, no wonder i felt so at peace here.
the one thing about the beaches that always filled me with wonder and replenished me each morning was the light. this place had its own light, bouncing from the waters across the villages, cafes, the small bakeries and bowling greens, the light was alive. i'd often surf in the mornings and be amazed at the water, so fresh and clean, waves breaking like perfect sculptures as a handful of us would be there, out with the dolphins as the rising sun came over the horizon.
night times to, a big old moon over the ocean, that chronoglide skyway across the water, stars filling the heavens, yeah avalon, whale beach and palmy have a special place in my heart.
but like all things change came, fast and unrelenting, real estate vampyres exploiting the area, the inner city cashed up idiots with to much money and no imagination moved in, no longer was it a place you would go out to get some milk, return home four days later, no it was now a place where if you have bare feet in the supermarket they pour scorn at you. if you didn't drive a black lexus you were excluded from the table. i began to loathe what was happening to this area, a lot of people just moved away, eventually i did, as i watched shops going under as the greedy landlords upped the rent. sydney suffers from a kind of soul eating ego disease these days, that cannot be denied, but none the less it has a natural beauty and grace and it is represented no less, than in the beaches.
i always said, 'no matter where you go, if you are a child of avalon, you will always carry avalon in your heart.' 
yeah there's a little van morrison in everyone.

every city has it's new town, and sydney has two, the newtown of my memories, and the one that exists now.
in the old days i frequented newtown, hanging out in lesbian bars and clubs with my friends who seemed to have adopted me for some reason. every night we would eat a huge meal at the singapore gourmet for 4 or 6 bucks. 
the sing gourmet was a strange place, tiny, no decor, very plain, plastic tables, printed menu on a4 paper stained with god knows what, it sat about 20 people maximum, all squished up together.
we would walk down, summer, winter spring and autumn with our ravenous appetites, walk through the front door where if we were lucky there was an empty table.
the steam from the kitchen was incredible, often filling out the whole room, making your eyes tear up and the chilli burning the back of your throat, the smell was so exotic and strange i would feel transported to some sort of asian dante's divine comedy, never really sure if i was in heaven, purgatory or hell as my sensory system adjusted to the environment of steam, noise, aromatic assaults and claustrophobic intensity. 
in the corner sat the old man, he must have been about 100 years old, always there on his table watching us through clear grey eyes.
one night i went over, said hello.
it turned out he was the owner, his wife the chief, they owned several big upmarket restaurants in sydney in the 70's all very successful and they closed them all and opened this one because they wanted to down size. he told the story with a sort of deserved pride and grace, and eventually as he knew i frequented the joint we became friends.
his wife knowing our tastes would just bring us out special dishes, stuff not on the menu, sometimes we would get a big steamed fish or some weird looking soup that tasted like an alien stew. they loved that we came every evening and appreciated their food. the girls would have this expectant joy on their faces, it was a real treat.
even when i moved away i'd sometimes drive in just to eat there and then one night i walked in and the wife told me her husband had died.
she kept going, cooking up a storm for about four years after but then broke the news she was closing up shop, the rates and rent were getting to high and she didn't want to put her prices up. 
that's the thing, newtown used to be alternative in the real sense, not an ideological thing, just a free thinking exciting place where people could express themselves without being fucking labelled or thrown in some sort of category. it was a bohemian epicentre, where the dandies could sit and share a pot of tea with the punks, where everyone who never fitted in could just be accepted, there were no politics, no methods or gurus, it was a real community. 
newtown changed just before the olympics, they cleaned it up, raised all the rents and moved the yuppie scum in, so like all underground parts of cities newtown eventually became a different culture. don't get me wrong, it's still funky and cool but it's lost it's authenticity, that moved over to petersham and annadale. 
another great spot was the bank hotel where i used to hang out in the cocktail bar on wednesday nights with some very cool ladies, what a special spot that was until they refurbished it and tore its spirit out.
newtown has some great shops, a few second hand bookshops i frequent but down the st. peters end is the fijian shop where i get my coconut fix. the fiji shop is wonderful for the spices and herbs it stocks, and right across the road is the indian shop where i can stock up on my ayurvedic gear and illegal indian herbs. 
i like this end of newtown as no one ever goes down it, none of the trendy sheep bother with this end, it's just the one spot we lone wolves can hang out.
these days whenever i am passing through king street i stop into the italian place opposite the new theatre. i've never really been a big lover of italian food, but these guys do some great pastas and on a summer night you can sit outside on the street and watch the people pass by. i've always met interesting strangers there, and had some amazing encounters with random civilians walking the kings street.
if your a visitor to sydney i'd say visit kings street, see the inner city pulse and the mix of diverse people who inhabit it. there's bound to be something there you would fall in love with.

when i first arrived in sydney my in-laws drove me over the harbour bridge from the airport, i was underwhelmed. it's a big metal bridge, next to a strange spiky opera house over some water. it was a few months later that i began travelling across on my own, down the cahill expressway. now the thing about the bridge is to catch it when there is no traffic, it's just a very smooth drive under a criss cross of architecture that begins to grow on you the more it's traversed. it has a strange history, a man called francis de groot rode up on horseback the day the ribbon was to be cut and he beat the prime minister in slashing the ribbon with a long silver sword. he said he opened the bridge on behalf of the people of new south wales and was promptly arrested, fined five pounds, given a psychiatric assessment declared sane which was later reversed. he then went on to sue the police for wrongful arrest and was awarded an out of court settlement, having won his case. 
now as i drive across the bridge i always think of this chap, slightly eccentric spirit, on horseback charging into authority against the odds and winning. this to me sums up australia and everytime i drive over the bridge i give a salute to old de groot, the guy was one of the many personalities that inhabit australian history's underbelly. he don't get no tv show made after him, he won't get the girls, he probably won't even get a look in at skools, but to me he's an example of why i love this city.
the bridge itself has it's own moods and changes depending on the time of day and weather conditions. i've driven over at midnight on new years under an exploding sky as fire works rain down and colour lights up the whole vista, sometimes in the rain it's eerie and in fog i'm transported to some victorian nether world, but mostly in late afternoon sunlight its spectacular.
i always choose the bridge over the tunnel, unless i'm heading to the airport, it links sydney's north to the city, and bridges the incredible waterways of the harbour.
these days people climb over the bridge, in some sort of tourist trap, not something i'd consider, to me it's a structure of resounding beauty despite it's overwhelming metallic energy, from underneath in the luxury of a nice sea fairing vessel the bridge towering above, and you can't help but be impressed by human engineering. this is a bridge that trolls can't live under, it's a bridge that don't belong in fairy tales and children's stories, it's real worldly and reeks of human achievement and toil. 
then there's the toll.
now the toll puts a kibosh on the bridge because even though it's  cash free and electronically deducted from your account it's the sinister invisible hand of government reminding you of your civic duty, from which there is no escape, they have satellites looking into your soul. 
once you leave the bridge into the city, there's a few multiple choice exits, you can head over the glebe island bridge driving past the offices watching people slaving away at their desks and cubicles and then catch a glimpse of darling harbour or you can take the exit that goes straight into the city centre but i usually head down the exit that slips past the opera house and circular quay, here you get a sprawl of ferries all lined up waiting to fill up and depart, sometimes one eases in from manly and you can see the hordes of people leaving. i like that flow of transit, the waterways conducting traffic, access all areas, trains buses ferries and foot. sydney welcomes people with beauty, sure it can throw you out with the trash to but the trash is glamourous and kinda sexy to. yeah superficial city until you pierce it's fabric and get over all that surface gleam. 
the city is divided up into tribes, the rocks is the oldest part, some sort of english historical area where i never really go, although there is a modern art gallery there. at night it's filled with drunk people, and the pubs all pump out pub rock songs. i can't say i'm attuned with the rocks, possibly it's a bit to artificial for me, except one night the church played a free concert there, outdoors and whenever i go there these days i am cast back to that performance where they played, 'you took' for the first time in ages. 

recently i drove along the back streets of an outer sydney suburb looking at the trees ablaze in autumn light, sparkling leaves bursting through with some sort of divine fire. i stopped the car and looked around at the nature on both sides of this street and it was truly beautiful.
it's not until you go outside of australia and return to gain a perspective on how incredible this place is, i know, we don't have the european history etched into every statue and building but we have something here, it's ancient and it's represented by the dreamtime.
i've fallen in love with australia again, my little patch, sydney and the central coast. who could ask for a better city, vibrant and exciting, pulsing with a vivacious sexy energy. in the next few posts i'm going to try to write about sydney, i may repeat stories i have told and ideas i have written years ago in this here blog, but i want to write a homage to a place that i will now call home.

city of tiny demons, city where money dwells, histories a weeping for the city that never tells. streets of ancient secrets, the roads may lead to rome, but one thing is certain my darling, i'm heading home, back to the sun and the blue skies, back to the bush and the cane, over poseidon sleeping and not to return again.
ah it's good to be here, back home in australia doing my thing, pottering around playing in the gardens and sandy expanses, watching crashing waves as surfers wipe out. 
it's the edge of the world here in no man's land, it's remote and isolated but it's unspoilt and beautiful, wild and unconquerable.
i'm at peace here, on the edge of the treelines, the ocean crash, amongst the reptilian agendas, laying in the sun, smoking my spliff, being still.
there's no chaos here, there's a vast difference between being hacked to death and having your head cut off by an angry idiot in broad daylight than being eaten by a shark or bitten by a snake. give me the fabric of nature, the mesmerising cloud display as light fractures itself through water, the strange stormy veils that cruise in as the pressure changes each evening. home is where the heart is, and mine is here, in australia, in nature and the frontier territory, speaking to the shaman within me, yeah all that city interference fucks you up, clogs the brains neural pathways with junk. yeah you can keep all that city vibe for the perplexed, the distracted. the generation of detached. 
me i'm plugged into something real and it's plugged into me.