i missed my breakfast date with hannah and her sisters, mmm, slept in, dreaming of coconut islands, big king parrots that speak like humans, i'm chatting to a beautiful bright red bird about something whimsical when i awaken suddenly by hannah calling me. 

we have to rearrange the meet.

outside a big bright old sun hits me, light explodes everywhere, it's splendid, the fish are looking happy and the birds chirping away in the canopy, all is well in the world captain mission, then i make a slight adjustment to that thought, all is well in my world.
yeah i'm broke but i'm healthy and happy and that's gotta count for something. count your blessings i say,  be grateful for them, beautiful people come into your life, beautiful animals, it's a beautiful day and everything is beautiful. take stock and breathe, yes keep it simple today, think i'm going to read stephen baxter new novel 'proxima' or aliester reynolds 'on a steel breeze.'
a decision like this can take all day such is my brains capacity for making these types of book decisions.

  

  

'naughty mummy' down in bondi beach road, host to a groovy little happening where solo balladeer steven kilbey plays some of his songs to some of his friends, recites his poems and tells us a wicked story about his most famous best selling and well recognised album, including that star of a song 'underneath the milky way'.
he's reading passionately from a new biography, impersonating all the voices of the american producers, and there's special guest stars that make an appearance from steve's history, he's got all bases covered on this one, it's feels honest as a biography as you could get and well written, because that's what i like about him, he's honest and its beautiful in these here dangerous days of human fakery. he has the audience laughing, he sings, dances, composes, raconteurs, jams and jokes and holds a small audience spellbound, plus there's a lot of love hanging in the air, a good good vibe, you could smell it, some great people in the audience, i didn't meet everyone but i felt it, it feels like walking into a close family, and warm friends and the set and setting amke a nice impression, its intimate and perfectly lit and unobtrusive, slightly kooky, diverse and interesting. it's steve kilbey.

a post birthday celebratory gig and although we arrived slightly late, due to a glitch in time at bondi junction (these things happen around big shopping -transport centres) the wonderful samantha mayfair had saved us a lovely sofa right down at the front, she always makes us feel so special but i guess she's just one of those special people you cross paths with in life, which is why i think she is so perfectly matched by my artistic hero, mr. kilbey, her man! 
steve introduces the 'latecomers' to everyone being the perfect gentleman, says, 'it's captain mission, and wilde childe' and as we sink into the deepest sofa i've ever sat in steve starts to sing 'keeper' from dabble.
now this is a brilliant song, and i was in all honesty secretly hoping he may stick it into his setlist tonight. 
so while i was waiting at the bus stop for wilde childe who was on her way over i even thought i should send sam a text, 'please ask him not to play keeper until i'm there,' but... who am i to make such a request, yet here it was, special delivery, first hand to the heart.

steve played some great cover songs, 'life's a gas' by marc bolan, 'is your love in vain' by dylan, remember that one from 'street legal' and a rich assortment of his own songs, yeah it wasn't perfect, some chaotic impulse at work crept in a joyous way but this is what we love about these shows, steve is an open book, you couldn't see a more authentic performance, not in this day and age, not anywhere i know, there's no showbiz here, it's all one guy playing his songs, telling stories and making you laugh and there's more soul in that, more genuine feeling and depth of emotion than any fucking stadium band, any pyrotechnics and more honesty than i've seen in any other musician or artist, please someone give steve his own tv show, try it, give him one hour a week and let him do what ever he wants. brilliant!
then i travel home on a sort of 'high' and i hadn't even had a spliff all day. 
i'm home at 3am watering the garden for my thirsty plants looking up at stars. when i get out of the shower i sleep and wake up almost immediately, do a few chores and set of to the beach. later i snooze when the wind picks up and suddenly i realise i'm in the bush surrounded by trees which are swaying and bending over, what a wind it was. massive branches started falling down cracking as they hit the deck, pan and i were running for cover, all these sticks falling out of the sky, like arrows in a castle battle, past life flashes through my minds eye, we dodged them and hid inside watching. 
the whole thing lasted about ten mins then the wind stopped. it was stinking hot for a spring day, not a sexy heat either, the kind of bushfire heat. 
i step outside, back into the surreal aftermath and feel the burning sun on my skin. 
picking up branches and bits of wood, fallen debris, clearing the area, removing tiny arrows that had been caught up in the fronds of the ferns, it takes about 30 minites and then i go back and lay down. i close my eyes and suddenly the wind howls up again, another bunch of branches fall.
later, i watch 'derek' a ricky gervis tv series that i think is one of the best shows ever. derek, a guy with an intellectual disability? or is it?
i love this show, its similar to an idea i wanted to suggest as a tv show based on my own experiences in the disability field. i had it planned, 9 episodes, each one alternating focus on client and a staff with the finale bringing them all together with the one thing i had learnt in years of work, 'everyone has a disability, it's just some people can cover it up better than others.' the show would be very funny, to start with and gradually become more and more tragic. derek is perfectly attuned to the idea but better, only it's harmonious equal balance of humour and tragedy, ricky gervis is master of pathos.
in the evening i catch a snippet of the news, did you know america runs out of currency on monday. what happens then?
i had to go and smoke a spliff after that.

in the early hours of the morning i woke up from a very deep sleep, i wandered down to the garden to check the light, the birds were just starting up, cacophony of rainforest type sounds, these birds are there, they come out one after another, revealing themselves from the thick forest of leaves and trees, but you hear before you see. some sound like monkeys, i imagine myself in my madagascan utopia, libertaria feeding the lemurs, bananas and slices of coconut meat, i see myself incrementally building a bridge to the lemur heartland, a frontier man making first contact, they come out at the edge of night, the ghost lemurs and their big eyes.
a unique australian sound snaps me from my dream, kookaburras are the punk rockers of the bird kingdom, i see one sitting on my gate, several parrots appear, a black cockatoo swoops down, suddenly the bushland is alive, sounds dart across my local atmosphere, unpredictable noise shift, colour flashes, the activity begins, pan wanders over to sit with me, as we watch the birds morning rituals, still the sun has not risen but it's coming, you can see the in between time, the time to feed in the first light, drink it down deep like those gurus who never eat food, but they live on light, like a plant. amazing. spoilt by a demanding dog who needs his breakfast and the idea of a bowl of porridge and some mashed up banana with cinnamon.  

cyclonopedia is perhaps a modern version of the infamous necromomicon, negarestani another mad arab, an insane iranian genuis and i'm really loving what he has done in complicity with anonymous materials, although very dense and somewhat phantasmagorial the book shifts and turns from grimorie to the art of desert warfare, a hybrid of renegade archaeology and philosophy of oil populated with jihadis, oil smugglers, delta force operatives, heresiarchs, corpses of ancient gods and various puppets of the underworld. 
there's an inscription on the inside cover from a graham harmen that sums it up nicely, 'reading negarestani is like being converted to islam by salvidor dali' and i can dig it.
although not a convert i have nothing but respect for the conceptual brilliance of this book and i believe negarestani is a kind of writer like william burroughs whom has revolutionised the word.    

planting trees, clearing land in preparation for the lemurs, my palm trees and huge ferns will offer some cool shade under their canopies. for these lemurs like to chill out drinking coconut drinks and playing banjoes, harmonicas and singing songs about lost lands and underwater civilisations. i like the way they live, just relaxed and natural, not quite philosophical but whimsical. my brain is tired and aching after reading iranian philosopher and contemplating hyperstition ideals and forms, i put down my book on ancient and modern warfare, the dust weaponry of the desert tribes was making me somewhat yearn for a frolic in the sunshine, so i grabbed my digging tools and planets some palms, removed a few weeds and picked up loads of wood from the garden.
later i smoked a spliff and watched the sunset, pondering a life in seclusion amongst my lemur friends.

the planets arteries form a network from the core to the surface, in between layers of strata lay vast amounts of shale gas. the subterranean landscape is indeed a vast network of intelligence impulses that emanate from within the core outwards through various dimensional pathways, on a planetary scale these impulses are transmitted to all living beings but in the last fifty years a corruption has occurred and the transmissions mutate via excavation, deforestation and as rapid industrial growth intersects with the function of this central nervous system the earth must align, correct the error, hence the adversity of dramatic weather and climate shifts which contrary to popular belief is orchestrated by the sun.
black sun however operates in the war machinery, petro-chemical peripheries of the middle east while the shale expunge their toxic assault from the west, through fracking technologies and the acutely cynically mis-named 'natural gas' industry. yeah the gas is natural but its extraction is based around hundreds of toxins that enter the water supply and kill any vegetation in proximity. between oil and shale there are no winners, neither is clean, neither is free, both leave a large karmic debt that the planet must consider.
the warmachine is an independent entity, evolved to exist as an autonomous machine spawning other warmachines in order to hunt them down, war uses it's own weapons against warmachines the same way warmachines employ their weapons against each other.
the cuneform lamassu, a winged bull with five legs and human head is an implement of desert warfare, in the xerodrome the warmachine takes on bizarre forms and employs unusual tactics, spore warfare, sand enigmas, djinn's they become stealth like in their ability to camouflage themselves, often within religious cults and occult groups, in the service to the state and insurgent forces, thus emanating into adaptation and adoption of different tribes.
the war hungry assyrian and phoenicans, created their own war machines to hunt war machines, evil against evil, often referred to as 'the fog of war' the iranian philosopher reza negarestani who has written the details in his book cylonopedia, which this material has been based upon.

in assyrian military doctrine, warmachines are always incinerated or consumed by war, the process is twisted but the return to life is abrupt and never recorded. war resurrects the disintegrated war machines and bring them back to life from the other side of the battlefield, in the form of a cimmerian haze - the fog of war.
the assyrians believed that these particles or necrospores of dead warmachines huanted every aspect of the middle east on behalf of war, they were generally understood to be a demonic dust, dry spirits capable of possessing military programs, political sytems, and people. assyrians called them relics, or diabolical things, more radically warlike than the warmachines themselves.

negarestani says, 'lamassu stand in pairs at the gates of assyrian temples and palaces, they watch what comes in but not what exits. from the front they look alert, firmly standing in place, from the side their winged bodies confidently stride forwards, the marching movement of a quadropedal beast, lamassu the desert hunter, it takes flight defending the skies, a weapon of diverse tactical responses, they attack, defend, hunt and scheme, standing at the gates they can be present everywhere.
the babylonian's called the assyrians' bizarre obsession with these creatures 'lamassu complex, in an allusion to the belief that war has a life of its own.'

a strange fog descended upon the city outskirts last night, an uncomfortable layer of invisible pollutant, aided by the shale another hidden organisation in the war for the planet. shale are in competition with the black sun, they share the same agenda but not the willingness to cooperage, for unification is weakness. the black sun have asked me to act as a double agent and infiltrate the shale. however unbeknown to them i have also been approached by the shale, a strange entity of no form, subterranean nothingness, with the agenda to return solid and liquid to it's harmonious yet nebulous state of gas. 
elementary geomancy allows me to read the patterns in this conflict, pattern recognition subverts information dissociation, i move through the barrage of white noise, black noise, sieving static. the war between forms, the ancient conflict that leaves a barren wilderness, all perpendicular structures must fall, both sides agree since the movement to land by the human organism and the subjugation of natural resources we are conduit through which the conflict resolves. 
the shale, like the black sun are energies of the earth against the sun, enhanced aided and abetted by occult groups, extremists, madmen, destructive impulse and a misanthropic philosophical bent. they have floundered for years in the shadows, plotting scheming and resisting exposure. the shale and the black sun originate prehistory, early traces are found in sumerian mythology and have seeped through in the collective unconscious until recently where the energy consumption of the human war machine has been given birth by efficiency of death, industrial killing, massacre and holocaust, the guilty act unconsciously, unquestionably following orders that appear banal and harmless, sometimes so obscured by altruistic surface drama the mission is carried out in complete dissonance from the perpetrator. the energy wars, have inflicted untold damage, as post industrial civilisation lurches forwards in it's unquenchable hunger, eating forest, digging the planet, exhuming remains and converting it to perpetual war machinery and darkness. 
agents of light are awakened now by the global consciousness shift, all data streams are abandoned, intuition is the pilot, for the way is filled with misinformation, data dressed as lies, fabricated  conspiracy within conspiracy, no one knows what the truth is, only it's variants manipulated like a cheap photoshopped image, reality so far removed from the real, yet heavily invested in.
armed with the dagger of intuition, the sharp edge must hack away at all ideologies that promote the war machine, even the peace movement is a product of the war machine, all driven by it's unquenchable thirst for more.
lubricated by gas and oil, against the sun.
all religion is based upon the sun, the sun is life, it affirms the impulse of growth and evolution, we are all star dust, i am of the sun, a star.
the oil and gas armies betray their purpose, they push to hard against the heart, they thrust forwards, upwards from the core, from the body of the planet bursting outwards in blood and decay, nothing good can come off oil and shale, even water which remains neutral, passive and a medium of life affirmation is under attack. 
the politics of shale and oil aspire total domination, the algebra of need results in addiction, and thus we have the almost every one addicted to unclean energy, with unclean motives. they know not what they do only that they can not change their behaviours, can't think outside the box, can't shift the trajectory, thus we are riding the wake. 
once oil seeps above the surface the war will enter a new phase, the hideous shale gases will struggle for dominion over oil, either way the fall out is an even bigger war machine, an even bigger threat to life.
we must embrace the sun, solar me, we can learn from the plant life, trees use a photosynthesis to convert light and water to a clean energy that vibrates at a high level, therefore the product of solar energies are harmonious with the will of the sun driven gods who sustain life. 

many people seem to believe that the illuminati are behind the global agenda, this is in fact an error. i can understand why people came to this conclusion, it's a simple product of misinformation, distraction and elementary stage magic, info wars are a front on the battle for the mind which is why, when sifting through the oceans of dada data you need a good intuitive radar, some kinda of occult knowledge, a cloud upon the sanctuary. 

the true enemy of mankind is the black sun, the occult  order behind the nazis, behind the wars and behind the united nations. no the black sun is not a zionist group either, you were duped if you think that.

how do i know this?

i have the cosmic eye vision, i see it all, it all comes apart in my mind, i pull everything apart until there is something my human mind grasps as truth, nature is truth, beauty is truth, love is truth the spirit is truth, there's much more to life than our history and science can comprehend, we just perceive the shadow play.

the black sun, pull all strings and they come to me frequently. this is how i know.

they come in the night, four anonymous members, they take me from my sleep. it's an abduction, against my will, for my will is powerless, they wave their hand and i am immobilised, they talk in an old dead language, plant info ware in my subconscious hoping i will succumb to their programming but there's something faulty with my brain, i'm not left brained at all, the programs they infect me with won't run, they don't even boot up, i am on my own, one of a kind. this is why they seek me out, if not to subvert me, to recruit me.
the black sun make several attempts to change my brain and thought processes, they know i am close to cracking them open.

they could just kill me. 
i think they have tried a few times, like 12, but i am protected. here i am.

the black sun as i have written before are behind everything, the left the right, the greens, the fucking middle. it's all black sun, the petro-chemical industry, the  banks, the fucking war machine, the pentagon, capitalism, socialism, the class wars, the gender wars the conflicts in the middle east, the conflicts in the west, the big arms deals, the pharmaceutical industry, the media, old and new. it's always been the black sun.

i have written the aim of the magickian is to become the sun, which mythologically is life affirming, a source of light and heat, and if we apply an esoteric value to it, spiritual intelligence who's main conduit is consciousness. once the magickian has become the sun he or she has metaphorically escaped duality, yet it is here where he or she will encounter the cosmic conflicts, between light and darkness, one an agent of light. these are not literal terms, light is not meant to be a literal example, it's an analogy, same with darkness, they are qualities. the black sun is an energy, it is what appears at the end of life, it's the result of death and decay, it's everything the political world has been about, manifested on earth the black sun is oil, made from life, that's what oil is, plankton, fish, animals, trees plants, insects an us one day, it's life at its end. 

the oil is the god of the black sun, it's everywhere, tendrils reaching out and in, in our homes, cars, work, it's running everything, even in our bodies, it comes in through our nostrils and microscopic plastics that break up in the ocean and dirt, they find their way into the body and influence our minds, oil is the mighty anti god, gog.
the antidote to god, is life, plant trees, nurture nature, avoid the contamination. oil is death, it lubricates the war industry, it fills the deep cracks on the earth, reservoirs of black dead life waiting to be converted through the energy exchange process of the old ones. they have the dead faces, dead hearts and dead eyes, vessels of oil, they are the people you know, the ones you love, they are everywhere, they are legion, unmasked by a simple test, take their oil away and watch them. just like worms in salt. 
the planet is alive, it pulses with vibrant diversity and colour we know as life, but in it's bowels, the cavernous depths, where h p lovecraft dared to gaze, is the ancient mass, blobulous, all reaching, protoplasmic, it's hideous slick compulsion, to reach into life and not just extinguish it but to assimilate.
what was once an esoteric order based around a master race, met with the islamist creed or crude, the negative extremists operate as cells, seditionists, terrorists, democracies, totalitarians, intelligence agents, obscure cults, to petrochemical industry, banks and religions, the worship and submission to the planets largest life force or death force, run by various cartels, it's a global black economy, a black sun, the enemy!

strange days not only find me they hunt me down and pin me to the wall like a specimen in some cosmic joke. i have given speeches before, managed teams of people and comfortable in most situations but there are two times in my life when i have had to give a talk to a bunch of older ladies, alone, in a room with about 8-10 of them. the first time ended badly, i was running a book / writers club in palm beach hoping to meet cool sylvia plath like girls, i'd advertised in the local paper and told all the guys the group was full. the females turn up and they are all old ladies. 
anyway we talk books for a while and talk about our own endeavours as aspiring poets and writers but for some strange feeling they all focus on me, and ask me to read my story. 
(as part of the group we would all bring a piece of our work and read it to the rest of the group) 
i was literally bullied into reading my piece first and it dawned on me that the short story i had printed out was highly inappropriate, it was entitled, 'the definitive head job' and as i started reading, one by one they began to walk out, leaving their digestives and ginger nuts, a slice of tea cake and half emptied tea cups.
this morning i was at the gnostic universe and found myself in a group of older women all expecting me to give a talk. i had nothing planned but the idea of ayahuscia sprung up to mind, yeah psychedelics and santana with a group of women to whom a ipod was an exotic and esoteric icon. i guess they were familiar with yoga, chanting and meditation but once again i found myself going into auto pilot and delivering a semi coherent transgressive narrative about my strange relationship with machine elves and south american goddesses. 
well knock me down with a feather, these women were really interested and asked some great questions, and i did hear someone walk out at the end saying that was the best talk they have ever been to. as i left i was given a lovely bouquet of flowers from the gnostic people. 
i like that place, great energy, great staff and quite lovely people. 
on the way home i picked up two plants and dug a big whole and planted them, then watered the garden, played frisbee with pan and smoked a spliff and listened to 'the escapist' then i had a nap, the wonder of it all baby. 

how does one become a better person, the thought crossed my mind, i'd like to be a better person but i'm paralysed by so many choices its better that i don't think about that and just do what i love, write, read and listen to the church and some variations, a little bit of gardening, feeding animals and looking at stars, that's pretty much all there is but to function in the world of man, well i guess i opt out as much as possible, you can all get hysterical about who runs your lives but i guess that's your problem, i left all that belief in politics in the same box as who the pope is, as far as i am concerned that feeds in to the game, the illusion, the maya, the fucking matrix even. 
if you really want to be political then find out who you are because you are not a political animal you are indeed a spiritual being and, be true to that, do no harm, smoke weed, be nice to plants and animals, try to love your enemy and then when you realise how ridiculous all that old bullshit is, create art to the universe and be joyous.  

late evening mission control, things getting freaky, in a good way but i'm slightly surprised when my karma broker whispers to me, 'wanna do a line of time?'
i say yeah cos i'd do anything she asked me to being shallow in that department so we head over to the table and i watch her as she daintily chops up a line of powder on the glass surface with a black card she pulled from her bag, the card is reflective and blank, just a rich black credit card sized card.
'is that a credit card?'
'yeah, nice huh?'
'what bank are you with?'
'the karma bank baby, you know that.'
she offers me a line.
it's been a long time since anything went up my nostrils, and i was never one for that sort of delivery method but i manage to watch with the corner of my eye the long white trail disappear as it shots up inside my nose, while the other eye focused on her as she says, 'back to skool mission.'
it happens instantly, we are standing on the streets, constable gardens, everything looks so squished together, homes, roads and front gardens, all grey and dismal, the wretched suburbs of london's past. i see a dark kid walking along from the shop back home, he's going against the grain of the other children and about to cross paths with his nemesis, the bully eldorado, eldo for short. eldo is a bulky bastard, pure unadulterated criminal potential, his future is written, dead or life in jail, fate was most certain about the fact, i could read it clearly as a child.
i'm standing next to my broker, both of us there yet not there. 
'thats me, totally awkward loner, wandering the streets in a dream about to clash with the skool thug.'
'yes, do you remember this?'
'i think so.'
'watch and see.'
so there is a eight year old version of me in stupid short pants and black shoes wandering towards my home about to be confronted with the evil child psychopath eldo.
he grabs me and punches me in the chest, 'where have you been mission?'
'the corner shop.'
'what you reading?'
'spiderman comic.'
he snatches it from me, 'got any money?'
i hand over my change, a few pence. this is the ritual, if i can get away without being seriously hurt i will be okay. i've seen this kid up close for years, he's put teachers in hospital, he's almost killed his peers, he's used knives and done major damage to the neighbourhood, he's been in and out of children's homes and he's in my class, which is basically composed of a generation of renegades, artists, criminals and the insane, many of which will die early deaths. he starts pushing me, calling me names, thumping my arm.
over the other side of the street i move to intervene but she stops me, 'we are here to witness this, it has to happen this way.'
i've missed a little of the conflict but memory kicks in and i recall how he pushed me onto the floor and found a rock. it was a jagged black stone, from down on the ground as he towered over me it looked huge, but i could see now it was medium sized. he stood over me and threatened to bash my head in with the rock. ironically in a few years i did get smashed with a rock and split my head open but not today. today he just teases me with inevitable humiliation and pain. 
as always i am outside my body, disassociated, in my head i am spiderman, i zap him in the face with my spiderweb and then punch him across the road, the other skool kids look on in astonishment, kate powers runs over to me and kisses me on the lips and i put my arm around her and swing away to a future happy ending, but that don't happen. nope i am about to be smashed when a bird flies down, a sort of white bird, really clean for london where most of the birds are malnourished and covered in soot and grime. we both look at the bird as it glides in an elegant arc down and lands on the pavement.
'do you think i can hit the bird mission?'
before i can do anything the rock leaves his hand and i watch it travel across the street spinning in it's flight, it's so fast you can almost see the air it has cut through and it hits the bird right on the side of its chest and i feel the pain. even worse is the sound it makes, a deep 'thump' as stone hits flesh, a sound that haunts.
i grab hold of my brokers arm, squeezing it tight, even now the memory hurts. i watch the bird fly away but i also watch myself crying like a baby. 
eldo laughs and lets me go, he wanders of happy that he's caused pain to life and i pick myself up while the other children wander by ignoring me, yet somehow complicit. i'm crying like a baby, tears all the way home, i lock myself in my room and think about that bird for the rest of my life. 
she hugs me and says, 'it's okay mission.'
the time wears off, i'm sitting down next to her, 'jesus, that was so vivid, i remember everything about that now.'
'yes, it's time.'
'i really felt that pain, it hurt me so much, i can never let it go, the sound the rock made, yet the bird was so far away, why on earth did he do that?'
'do you need to know?'
'some things i don't really want to know.'
'the bird lived, it was part of you, you felt what it felt and it felt what you felt.'
'i wish it had never of happened, i never really stopped thinking about that bird. it was like a point in my life, an event that must have shaped something.'
i was falling asleep, the emotional impact must be draining, i felt exhausted and as i closed my eyes i heard her whisper in her soft sultry voice,'it's my job to connect your dots.'








  

well i must confess i am one hell of a lucky guy, made the leap into the void, putting it all behind me now, i got my little peace and sanctuary, my life, is mine, i'm only in financial debt but my spiritual debts are paid up and spilling over in fullness.
my karma broker is a sexy looking lady who occasionally will pay me a visits and let me know how i am doing, she's always looking quite official in some sort of power dressing way, you would think she is the chairperson of some huge off shore banking corporation, italian heels, designer accessories, deep blood red nail polish and immaculate make up, her hair is always tightly swept back close to her scalp, and she has very kissable lips. it's the first thing i think about when she calls in or i visit her. 
i was in my swimming shorts and my torn old tee shirt, working in the garden when she drove up in some sort of black sporty car, rolling stones blaring out from harman kardon speakers, base pumping that funky line on emotional rescue, i join in on the 'you will be mine' part, mimicking jagger and strutting around the garden with my rake. she smiles teeth that are perfect.
'okay mission, thought i'd check in with you, touch base chakras.'
'all my chakras are at your disposal.'
we wander inside mission control, 'very nice mission, wow, love the rug, nice art to.'
'so you have time for a coffee or cold drink, i can make you a perfectly delicious healthy smoothie.'
she declines and both of us sit down to share a nice big fat spliff, the birds start chirping.
'so what's new?'
she informs me i'm all good, runs some diagnostics and tells me i have to spend more time with my friends, and that i really should be a little more open socially, apparently i have to let people love me.'
'fuck! you have my work cut out for me don't ya?
'yes that's why this is a personal visit mission.'
i'm puzzled for a moment and then a grin brakes out.
'let love in,' i whisper.

unnumbered the fool is outside the pack, the outsider, free from rules and convention and the laws that govern phenomena. he's the one we fear, he's the one we can't understand, the one we can't pin down, the trickster, the court jester with the ear of the king, who does he report to? 

consider this. he is really a bodhisattiva come to lead us towards liberation.

the cards value is zero, crowley says, 'this is the most important feature of this card.'

it's quite possible it represents the divinity of absence, in contrast to the divinity of presence which religion offers. the fool represents the place beyond language, a place where contradictions are united, a place of chaos (magickally speaking) something for nothing, and thus from the fool comes the universe.

the fool moves forwards, inexperience does not hold the fool back, innocence moves him forwards, pure folly leads to initiation, parsifal, hoor pa kraat, an aspect of pan, his head is empty, no thoughts of ideology or distractions of fame, success  or power for these will devour innocence, the lack of rational thought and the use of intuition will appear to most as, foolish. the fool travels through life with his dog dancing at his heels.

  

planted two palms today, a beautiful golden palm and a magnificent banana palm, both look pretty good so far, nestled in the corner in front of the tiger grass.
the people across the way were having a smoke on their balcony and i waved and said hi, they have just moved in with a noisy dog that comes to visit me occasionally. he steals pans biscuits and runs around the garden while pan and i watch him until he returns to his home. we aren't impressed by biscuit stealing barkers who intrude on our peace but i guess he's harmless.
the people across the way said they loved the neighbourhood, and i wanted to say it was great until you people moved in with your loud barking dog and your cars coming and going, but you know i didn't, i just said hello and carried on with the garden. 
know naught- is the idea that when you come to magick it's best proceeded with the idea that you know nothing at all, and are completely void of any preconceived ideas, including all beliefs and conditioning. it actually takes the magickian a few years training to get to this point, you have to undo yourself, let go of your identity. it's the mystical component of the spiritual journey. 
all ways are lawful to the innocent- means that when one is innocent the ways present. innocence being the state of child like wonder, not knowing, a sublimation and an attitude of openness. in some ways this is the rebirth that mystics talk about, death of ego.
pure folly - would be the attempting to align your will with the universe, and i guess this is represented by the fool card, because you literally leave the world behind and step over the edge of the cliff into the mystery indifferent that you may fall and crush your bones metaphorically speaking. one could say, you may loose your mind temporarily, but in  loss you can never know you have lost it. it is indeed pure folly, for who but the mad would even consider this journey.
is the key to initiation - everything realigns, from out off whack, the patterns are seen and the ceremony can commence. from here on in you are on your own, each initiate undergoes their own process, no two are alike, although the landscape is metaphorically the same, the experience is individual, a reflection of the mind, i recommend you keep an occult diary.
i recommend planting trees.

first day of spring, the fish are hopping, captain mission is high, yeah it's a perfect beginning to engage in the world, sitting down on my steps, listening to some music, sun filtering through the trees, a little gentle breeze, some strange wood pigeons rummaging around the lawn, pan sprawled out dreaming of a girl dog maybe. i drink my coconut drink, feel the dance of warmth on my naked skin, the smell of my experimental banana cake wafting through mission control.
yeah you gotta experiment when you bake, swap sugar for raw cane, white flour for wholemeal, chuck in some agave, some coconut bits, walnuts, cocoa and milk. oh what the hell, i add some organic chocolate to the mix, mush up a bunch of bananas. i chuck the skins into the big birds nest plant at the back of the garden. 
spring is here, the birds gather, the cakes are baking, i cleared up some leaves and watered some plants, i vacuum my floors and tidy up some books. 
i find a book on jungian tarot, start reading, come across this quote from crowley, 

Know Naught!
All ways are lawful to innocence.
Pure folly is the key to initiation

that's it really.

the church beside yourself (full album)

if you enjoy this half as much as i do i'd be happy, it's the compete cd of beside yourself, a classic church album

fathers day, what a strange idea that is, i mean why does everything have a day, why just leave it all alone. 
but fathers day is a pretty good day for me to tell you about my dad, a war child, living alone with a rat for a friend in a bombed out building in east london, the biggest slum in europe at the time. 
he still lives in london but upgraded to the posh suburbs, an aspirant of the good life, the middle classes motivated by the biggest influence upon him, my mother. 
dads a strange aquarian, very mechanical and practical, he always attempted to teach me these skills but i was useless, never interested in cars, hanging wallpaper, building and engineering, whereas there was different side to my father that came out when he was never with my mum, it was the side that i listened to.
he told me stories, about adventures, ghosts, magick, mysteries, mystics and the strange idea that our family origin is in atlantis, we are the lost tribe he would say.
those things stuck in my head, being a poetical child i guess they inspired my dreams and that's when i felt closest to my father. 
unfortunately my mother being the narcissistic overwhelming control freak drove that side of my dad further away from me, and i guess himself. yeah he achieved a lot in the material world, had good jobs, cars and homes, but as a family we are separated by time and geography, i was always running away. 
occasionally dad will ring up, never mum, and we will chat about politics and the state of humanity, he's trying to make sense of it all and it draws him closer to religion and god, away from society and people. 
dad's a righteous man, he reminds me of clint eastwood whom my father loves and i think in a way he is a bit of a clint character, quietly confident, perplexed, unreachable and somewhat remote, yet with the capacity to do the right thing when it's time to count. it's my mother that drove a wedge into my relationship with him, but now we are good, better really from a distance, out of her reach. i wish i could be there, making him his favourite dinner, chatting with him about the upcoming conflicts in the world, talking about kabbalah and god, watching 'million dollar baby' or walking through the small town he lives in as he points out various flowers and trees. 
i'm close to my dad through his family now, each one of them know me better than my own, and we are close, very close, nothing can take that away. 
my son lives in london and i know my father is close with him, despite his grumpy old attitude which he fakes to avoid my mothers ongoing quest to manipulate and control, i've seen his face light up when jake walks in, but that's how jake is, he's a brilliant human being, radiates intelligence and love, he always has from the day he was born. i'm glad he's there to visit my father today, he sent me a photo of them out in the sunshine, my dads stoic expression never changes. i'm glad jake is there getting a little glimpse into my father, seeing a little of his history and the difference a generation makes, he probably understands me a little better. i miss them both heaps.