who is that beautiful woman?
the one who makes your date and banana drink some mornings after your surf, she with the numinous skin, the eyes of a goddess burning bright, the horoscope glimmer, the neptune hair, the vivid image of an atlantian beauty, who is she who stands with dignity and grace running through her spine, a woman of substance and means she feeds the hunger nourishment with some sort of love and grace, a yogic woman leaking some sexual energy that's got you like a rabbit in a spotlight mission, what are you going to do now?
imagine her as a muse, fuck mission,  there's lifetimes of inspiration that pours out of her smile and it's so bright i almost have to run away. what's her story? 
all the waves i surf, all the roads i walk, all the days i've done and all my nights lead straight to you.
  

open door to my head, what's there this morning but the peaceful wave on a bright morning day, the beautiful light, the fragile air, those delicate figures walking along the beach, the crystallised moments of a beach town waking up, the temptation of coffee and the lure of a date and banana smoothie made by a beautiful maiden with elegant tattoo's and horoscope eyes.
the ocean pulls me towards it, my body engulfed, fin cuts through and neptune whispers, 'i give you my daughters captain mission, they are all yours.'
the waves are good, they carry me here they carry me there, my fin is an elegantly crafted technological accessory, it is part of me, an adaptive element extension of body, designer wear for captain mission and his deep fix.

dreary day, bureaucracy blues, yet another attempt to tell front line staff what to do while ignoring the issue of incompetent managers. if you train your managers everything would improve in australia, it's a refined skill, the techniques in managing people effectively are very well documented by millions of boring fucking books in dymocks and websites that specialise in this type of thing, they are simple skills yet not everyone can have them, or learn them, not everyone can manage. 
bad management is the biggest problem in australia. it's everywhere. most managers are just people who have bullied their way up to the top by fucking their bosses or licking their ass. that's the truth, very rarely do you get a manager whom actually really brings out the best in their team. 
the problem is epidemic and in govt beurocracies it thrives, nepotism, corruption, abuse, i've seen it first hand over 30 years which is why i stick to front line work, and challenge bad managers everywhere, especially bullies.
the course was well overdue.
five years ago i rang an outside agency to complain about a co worker whom had turned up drunk, on e's and whacked out of his head. he was bathing some one and left her in the bath, with the tap running, then he took the other clients out in a van. i'd spent a few weeks talking to my managers about him, and even taken him aside to talk to him face to face. he was self destructive, but he was putting friends of mine at risk, yeah they may have autism but they are my mates.
anyway i notified and immediately got in trouble from my bosses who put me on speakerphone while she yelled down the phone at me, 'how dare you go to outside the dept.'
i stood my ground, i know my shit.
'it's not me you should be shouting at, i'm the notifier, i did nothing wrong, and if this is how you treat people like me no wonder no one reports abuse and neglect. you should be thanking me...etc.'
later some one else, another manager from her office rang and congratulated me for being brave enough to notify and i suggested, the service should have a notification procedure in place.'
five years later i'm being trained by the ombudsman as part of the training the dept have put in place. 
it's good, thorough and detailed and i think everyone is learning heaps, paying attension. the staff are generally good, but the managers, fuck where are they, not even there, sitting behind desks making our job as hard as they can, chopping hours, yeah that was labour, cutting budgets, yeah labour again, while creating a massive strata of middle management wankers who had no abilities to manage. 
anyway at the end of the course i suggested that they train managers and let us get on with our jobs.  

  

gothic day, over cast grey ambience of a new portal energising, wind howls through the trees branches falling ob the streets, as they bend to its great force, energy building up like that, it has to go somewhere. through the remote ares, the peripheral, i explain magick to a friend, we are smoking a spliff in the back of my car looking at the darkening clouds,  suddenly lightening flashes across the moon deep and intense. i glimpse in, it's oening above me, lighting and thunder, classical shift, good day for magick, and off course playing with energy.
the portal opens, energy flows through, your in one world and another, it's different, darker but interesting, you pass through, exploring, thinking what is there for me here, later realising everything could be there, but you know it requires commitment and energy to explore it and to let it manifest, then there's responsibility, i don't want responsibility but i do want to play frivolously in the universe and spread the light of liberation where it's needed. the wave will pass soon, you need to decide, let it pass above or catch it down below, the portal gapes open, you can taste it now, feeling the two dimensional energies exploring one another like curious fish and there the energy flow is connected, we jump into the wave, and we ride.

travelling through cultural zone 7 i noticed a distinct lack of energy, a uniform parlour hung in the air like a rotten wet blanket stink that slightly burnt my nostrils every time i took a breath.
the people looked busy, walking around the strange insect markets, buying large sacks of grasshoppers, cockroaches and moths. i noticed a small child handing over a wad of cash for a kilo of centipede meat, and i felt this compulsion to jump of the bus and investigate.
the driver refused to stop unless i paid him, however i flashed my diplomatic pass at him and he nodded, slammed his foot on the brake and with an excruciating hiss, the door flew open.
outside the heat whacked me in the face, my clothes immediately dampened and the wave of bizarre smells sent my nervous system into meltdown, i defaulted to controlled breathing, as my mind attempted to gain control.
i looked around me, there could be no doubt i was in a swarm, a hive race moving in an indeterminate buzz around the food stalls, colours blasted out from everywhere like noise, sounds were like the arms of octopi or smoke trails lingering wrapping themselves in a knot, there were no obvious sources, a cacophony of alien heat got straight under my skin and attacked me internally as i struggled to find equilibrium.
it was after several minites that i began to move, walking into the throng, regaining a sense of balance i felt a protective aura grow around me, i mumbled a protective chant and pulled myself together, head down, avoiding eye contact, chameleon like i attempted to blend as much as i could, disappearing further away from the main street into the depths of the narrow alleyways where the more exotic products lurked. 
a man with a strange helmet waved me towards him, from the helmet an arm was attached which he pulled down and revealed a highly complex lens he could look through at his specimens, 'come, sir come, look, only the best quality for you sir,' i imagined him saying although he could just as well be speaking a number of variations, the language was guttural and harsh, complex in tone and pitch, almost aggressive.
i found myself drawn over to his little stall illuminated only by a single lamp.
i wracked my brain for the language skills but my knowledge of zone 7 was very limited, i was out of my depth a long way from home, i should never have alighted from the bus, impulsive's like that get agents killed. the man seemed to speak a variety of zone speak, he spoke a number of phrases until he returned to his own, i conceded we would have to rely on gesture and non verbal communication, so i pointed at him, hoping he would understand. he beckoned me closer and took out a small black cube from his stall.
with an awestruck look he opened the box and leaned in with the eyepiece.
a small sigh escaped his lips, his other eye seemed to expand as his pupil dilated, then he said one single word that sounded like, 'zaththrusasta.'
he held the box to me, and offered me the helmet, which my hands almost independently took from him, affixing it upon my head, pulling down the strange lens device against my eye, with the other hand holding the box, i gazed inside.
i staggered backwards, the shock threw me completely, fear seized my whole body and i began to shake uncontrollably, i couldn't stop, i'd lost complete control, no amount of breathing or meditative visualisations would help me, i was lost in terror.
i must have passed out as when i came around i was sitting down and being given a warm tea drink by what could have been the stall holders wife, she was dressed in the robes, face shawl and ceremonial tattoo indicating ownership embedded on her forehead, she was singing me a song, almost a lullaby type tune but the words were very harsh in places, softer in others and it sounded like a heavy metal band played slow. the tea was bitter and smelt of iron but i sipped at it, taking in my circumstances. i was still in the market, in the lane way, around me stalls and vendors sold their goods, only they were specialists, trading in more suspicious wares, possibly illegal, but most definitely dangerous. 
what had i stumbled upon. 
cultural zone 7 was not my domain, it would be another agents, and i was in his or her turf, however there were protocols for this. i would have to file a report.
i made to stand, but a feeling of vertigo seemed to overwhelm me, and the woman came waddling over to steady me and help me return to my seat.
her husband gave me a glance, he was wearing his helmet and looking at some other boxes, he muttered something incomprehensible and continued his tasks.
it took me about thirty minites to stand up again without falling, i checked my wallet, all the paperwork was there, my credit cards remained, at least i had not been robbed. i checked the time, i still had a few hours before the next transit bus, i'd gather some more intel and file a report when i got back to zone 888.
i thanked the woman as best i could, she lingered not wanting to let go of my hand, but i nodded and pulled it away, i walked up to the stall, the man was deep in concentration, through his lens apparatus, this time he was looking into a yellow cube, his other eye raised slightly he acknowledged me by raising his brow and then returned to his cube, he wasn't offering me a glimpse into yellow, but i was not disappointed to be honest. 
i slipped away, walking of further into the markets bowels, the dank stink took a strange turn, slightly more moisture in the air, wetter, dampness. the vendors were all smaller figures, darker, they were wrapped in shawls and cloaks and had warts and strange skin inflictions, blotches and hideous welts under their eyes and on their hands, some were so bad they looked like strange amphibian creatures. 
the shoppers were not as many as the outer perimeter of the markets, here they wandered slower and almost trudged along, i was tempted to inspect some of their wares but intuition pulled me deeper into the darkness, deeper down, right into the heart of the place.
i had travelled most of the zones, certainly the higher ones, but these lower zones were alien to me, it was a strange place and i found myself disliking it immensely, i'd hate to have to stay here overnight, imagine the god awful shit you would have to tolerate, the food was repulsive, the rotten stink, the language was a bitch, the fucking streets were incomprehensible to navigate, i felt the oppressive nature of it making me angry and considered returning when i saw the alley way. it was a narrow little slit really, half concealed, it was only that a couple of figures slipped into it that made me notice it and as i approached i saw that the two walls were staggered, thus giving the appearance of a single wall but offering a passage to another area. 
i stepped through, immediately i wanted to vomit, the physical sensation grabbed my chest and throat, my eyes started to adjust, a small crowd hovered around a courtyard of stall holders, there were about four of them, each occupying one corner, i adjusted myself, breathing deeply and adjusting my focus of concentration on completing the circuit.
the first corner stand was selling snail slime, he had cleverly collected it in small transparent jars. his language was different, he spoke an old derivative tongue, somewhat archaic but i was familiar with it, i tuned in.
'...the quantitative escalation of temporal distortion has made slow-time dangerous and filled with the side effects of mutation and transfiguration through genetic imprint toxification, however the recent addition of hormonic residual polyps inhibits this irregularity and slow-time is now accessible to users, and to make things interesting we have decided to offer buyers today a very special deal, two for the price of one.'
i watched people wave notes around and he passed out the jars to hungry hands, it was a crazy scene, the buyers were whooping and hollowing  making yelps and strange noises, excited i guess, as they went into a consumer frenzy buying this mysterious slow-time product. 
soon the crowd had moved away and i approached the seller who seemed to be out of stock, he looked at me and smiled, brought his two hands up in the air and said, 'i will return next month with more stock, the supply is limited but my farmers assure me there will be more.' he began to disassemble his stand.
'i'm a stranger in this zone, i don't really know anyone here i can communicate with but you speak an old language i know very well. do you mind if i ask you some questions?'
'a stranger, how peculiar, you do seem unusually dressed, we don't get strangers here in this zone, why are you here?'
the last part sounded accusingly, the tone slightly malevolent, he moved closer to me, i noticed he was holding a steel support and made ready to defend myself.
'i left the transit bus prematurely, it was a...er mix up.'
'mmm, i've never heard of that happening, it's very unusual,' he seemed to relax, 'as i said, we don't get many strangers in zone 7.'
'i noticed your wares, seemed very popular, does it really slow down time.'
'yes of course it does, what do you think i am sir, i can't make a claim that's not true. stranger or no stranger, you better watch yourself, you wouldn't be the first stranger to go missing in this zone.'
'i meant no disrespect, i was just curious.'
i should have taken out my card, shown him he was dealing with an agent but that would have blown my cover, a certain death sentence, better play it casual and ham the innocent tourist up to maximum effect.
'well i do have one sample i keep here, you can have that but i want that time piece you're wearing.'
the watch was a gift from my grandfather, it was not a normal time piece but a spectrum chronometer, a gauge for measuring colour. it did have a normal watch function but that was secondary, i slipped it off and reluctantly handed it to him. he wrapped it around his bony wrist and it hung loosely there as he fiddled with the dials and fucked it up.
after a few minute he got bored with it, i didn't want to tell him how it worked as i resented him acquiring it. he handed me a small jar, it was surprisingly warm.
'have you used this before?'
'no, no i have never heard of it, how do i take it?'
'eat it, the more you eat the slower time.'
'okay.'
as i turned to walk away he called me back, 'stranger, if anyone asks, you never met me right?'
'right.'
i walk to the second vendor, she's selling some sort of prong, which i soon discover are porcupine spikes only she calls them 'faranga sticks'.
i've encountered these before. in another dimension i was actually addicted to them for many years, only quit when my dealer turned blue on me. i was slightly ashamed of that life, that version of me was purely hedonistic and slightly dangerous. 
i hurried towards the other stall, this one resembled an old victorian circus tent, quite elaborate although the colour scheme was drab, beige and brown and a curious shade off black that lacked imagination.
a man and what i assumed was his son were in mid pitch, i couldn't understand anything, but he could have been saying any classic pitch from any classic charlatan, ranting about bile and secretions habitual costivness so i wandered towards the last salesman, who seemed to be closing up shop. his stall was bare, and there was nothing on offer that i could significantly notice.
he said something to me, i looked blank so he said something else. this performance repeated until he said something in urbane slang, which unfortunately is very complex to say as well as spell but i will translate.
'as you witness, business finished,' or more accurately, 'end day sold out.'
'me transient, sell specific?
'i sell the future transient stranger.'
now my curiosity got the better of me and i said, 'i want future.'
'expensive.'
'what you want?'
'shining time.'
i had no idea what that was, what the hell could that be, i wracked my memory but could find no obvious connections or reference, 'no shining time. some else?'
he made a strange noise, like a disgusted snort, his head shook and he said, 'shining time transient stranger or no deals down.'
i started to walk away, it was getting dark and this area was emptying out, i needed to find my way back to the bus areas anyway and it looked like i wasn't getting anywhere with this but i'd walked less than five steps when he called me back.
he said, 'blood give.'
'blood, are you nimrod!'
he offered me a container, the size of a small pack of cigarettes and then passed me a razor attached to a sliding device. 
i confess being very hesitant, i've never liked blades and i certainly don't like pain self inflicted or otherwise. he assisted me strap the sliding thing to my arm, and then pressed down, there was a moment of sharp pain and then he slid the device along and blood seeped out into the container. the pain was negligible, but none the less it was uncomfortable. 
within seconds he was wrapping my arm in some sort of soft plant like material and the bleeding stopped. he weighed the packet of blood and seemed quite satisfied, then he gave me the future. 
it certainly wasn't what i expected. he took out a large jar that contained what appeared to be a huge south american wasp, i could see the sting attached to its metasoma, the vivid yellow stripes upon a red body. he opened the jar and with skilful dexterity held a pair of pincers inside catching the wasps wing. he pulled the wasp out and then manoeuvred it so he could transfer it into a much smaller jar which he placed down and put a seal over it in the form of a thin piece of wood. 
he sat me down, placed the small jar with the wasp to my neck and removed the wood by sliding it from between my skin and the jar, i could hear the terrible buzzing of the insect and sweat started to drip from me, it was dark now, we were alone in this area, i was tired and shaken from the whole experience, culture shock i guess, the last thing i should be doing is fucking around with this wasp. 
the buzzing got incredibly loud, it felt as though there were aircraft taking off, i thought i would just pass out, i closed my eyes tightly in anticipation. 
the sting came but it was not like i'd expected, it was quite different, painless almost sensual. the area of my neck just felt warm and tingled and then i could feel the sensation spread over my hole body like, like stepping into a warm bath.
i opened my eyes, i was in an embryonic fluid, for a moment i wondered if i was in utero. around me i could see it was some sort of translucent light and there were other beings, jellyfish, a kind of moon jellyfish and a chorus of thoughts, which i tuned in to. these were elegant equations, pure information in mathematical form, they flowed through my mind in patterns and intricate geometries, there were some that represented beautiful philosophies about abstract theories, others were rapturous conceptual images of the universe and it's laws, one was a meditation on biological imperatives but each was an art form, strikingly stunning and filled with emotional depth, i let them pass through my mind with a magnified awe and joy. they were simply beautiful. there was no me in this process, such identity constructs had no place, i was one neutron in a mass of some sort of highly evolved mass consciousness. i was not even in my body, neither was i outside it, both, i was everywhere.
the sensation was bliss, it lasted for what felt like an eternity and i experienced such pleasure and ecstasy that my emotional state was unlike anything i could have possibly experienced in my current life time. the future was perfection, and then it ended suddenly as i found myself back in captain missions body.
the area had been emptied, no one was about, it was dark.
i made my way back, the streets were deserted and i found myself running up the hill towards the main street where the bus would pass. 
ahead i could see a light, it was a tavern and as i approached i could make out the sign outside, 'the inn of the out' i heard some strange honky tonk piano music play but as i got nearer three figures jumped out from nowhere and blocked my way.'
they spoke some gibberish and made some veiled threatening motions, i managed to fell two but the third had pushed me up against the wall and was about to punch me, he was small and stocky but strong and my options were slim. one hard kick saw him wheezing for air, his face looking shocked as i moved in for another blow.
i ran, my body was a spent force, each step was sending searing pains through my ribs. as i made the main road i could see the bus stop and there pulling up was the last bus of the night. 
the driver let me on after i waved my diplomatic pass at him, i staggered to the back, faces gawking at me, i collapsed into the vacant seat. the bus was already pulling away. i was panting, i think my ribs were broken, and my arm had started bleeding again. i was loosing to much blood, loosing all feeling in my arm. my eyes were heavy and i could feel my life slipping away. i sunk my hands into my pocket and my fingers curled around the snail slime. i flicked the lid open and swallowed the thick mucus like sludge. maybe this would keep me alive long enough to get back to a more familiar zone, but i never really got anywhere for despite the bus travelling at a consistent speed, i was taking an eternity to die. 
the medics said they had never seen a toxic material like it, they had run various bio tests and given a sample of my blood to some boffins, a whole team working on my pathology. they did manage to save me, after isolating some of the compound they sent in an inhibitor but it only partially worked, my life was lived in a slow time pace, thousands of times slower than normal, slow enough to outlive everyone i know, slow enough to grow bored and explore all the unfamiliar zones and watch them all decay, slow enough to start a revolution, to destroy the borders, slow enough to start a libertarian religion and to lead an army of followers through all the zones uniting them, slow enough to elude death, slow enough to change everything.




  
  


     


  
   

black odin enters neptune's domain for his morning invigoration, 'ahhh,' neptune says to his old friend, 'welcome, welcome have a few waves, take my daughters,  i offer you the light off the sun, the throne upon which i rule, my trident, the dolphins and whales, my octopi, the very keys to the kingdom my dear old friend.'
'ah sweet neptune, all i require this morning is a few nice waves and your healing energies and as my gift to you, i bring gratitude.'
neptune appears insulted, i think he wanted me to hook up with one of his sexy mermaid daughters but i've no time for women today, just a good wave will meet all my requirements.
a grin breaks the serious look, i see his teeth, the depths of his mouth and all that lives within it, his nostrils flare with a laugh, 'black odin, is this all you ask from me.'
'it is all i ask.'
i hear him laugh as he submerges and i wait for the waves.
yeah i don't need big waves, fat waves that have no power, i don't want waves that break early, waves that dump, waves that leave you mixed up and confused about everything, waves that bring fear, board riding waves or extreme waves, the waves i require are small but strong ones, the ones that roll in with that perfect lip that travels in a strange linear time, and here they come in lovely even sets, terrigal beach, deserted at dawn hosting the waves neptune sends my fin, stretched out aligned, travelling at the speed of zen.

morning, early just post dawn and i'm at the beach surfing the perfect waves once more finding my confidence, i've been procrastinating for months but the sudden hot weather and the empty coast has motivated me to act. my house guest lilly gets up very early and does her yoga and by the time she's ready to do her walk i'm ready for a surf so of to the beach we go. as the car turns into the terrigal coastline you get that vista of wave, you can make a quick assessment, i like to process it based around line, form, beauty and light, there's another indefinable quality, intuitive knowledge of the wave, and unless i can feel comfortable about conditions i don't go in. 
you must know your limits, the ocean is a cruel teacher, it takes no prisoners and unless you can read it you are at a disavantage. i respect the water, only countless mistakes teach me this, and several near death experiences, these days i am cautious.
it's not even 0730 yet and i'm running across pristine sand into the expanse with my fin attached to my hand, that shock of cold is enough to freeze me in my tracks, but i know that the frozen wall must be broken through fast, so i plough myself forwards and leap into the water diving through the first wall of wave.
once your in, the body adjusts fast, we are adaptors after all.
there's no one about, i scan for fins, dolphin or shark i like to know who's out there, no surfers out at all, not like avalon where the surfers live for surf.
out there the conditions are perfect, waves come at me are not to big, but every 20th wave is a monster, and i'm confident enough to dive under once again or if i time it correctly i can ride it, ride it back to the shore.
i catch a few waves, it's very cold outside the water, so i surf for another thirty mins and then get myself into the shower and cleaned up. an old guy looks at my fin, he's never seen anything like it and asks me about it, 'it's what technology should be about instead of mobile phones and bloody tanks,' i say. 
he laughs amazed by it's sexy shape and sleep design, he shows his mates and they all gawk at it.
there's no better way to start the day than surf it, once you catch that first wave and it takes you fast and true, you ride waves all day, sure they may not be wet but they keep coming on land, in experiences everything comes down to waves, you just ride them, let them take you where they will, know when to leave, know when to let them pass over you, know the good waves from the dangerous ones. i'm a surfer, i surf the cosmic skyways, i'm all things to all people but the part that surfs is never going to change. there's nowhere to grow, there's no space to evolve, there's nothing to get hung about, surfing is where its at, the 'fin' is the 'end'.

finally finish the first edit of my book, 'adventures of captain mission' it's taken a while but i'm a crap editor, and i have such weak powers when it comes to details, especially as the stories are conceptual but my friends tez and jean in the uk have done a great job, not only going through the work with a fine tooth comb, changing fonts and correcting spellings and  all the punctuation mistakes, they have motivated me and encouraged me from the start, they believed in me, sometimes more than i do myself and that counts, so when i say thank you, from the depths of me old heart, it really feels insufficient considering the time and energy they put in to making the thing happen. 
i'm going for the kindle first and see how that goes, them perhaps in some hard copy. there's 50 short stories in there, each one true, so i hope in a matter of weeks the thing will be online and available, i guess for a few dollars. 

the church - the sexual act

amongst the zanthorrea, lines in the sand drawn with a branch by a dark hand, he shows creation myths and stories from the dream time, and the children look and dance around in their animal totems, emu and the rainbow serpent, earth music plays, didge and sticks beating out a clickity clack in the moonlight, music for the bones, penetrated flesh, penetrated time, penetrated thought.

something's in the air.
an old woman with a road mapped face, white eyes glaring out from black weathered face, through the flame, the woman is in trance, she has a bag of bones and feathers from several birds.
when the music stops she pulls out the feathers from the bag one after another and places them in sand upright, all within some sort of circle she has drawn, she takes the bones and throws them into the night skies, up up up they fly, with the big moon and stars, until gravity calls them back and some land within the boundaries of the circle others without. the music stops, the chanting stops, a suddenly silence, like a dagger rips through the night, drawing down the moon, all eyes watch the woman and wait for her to speak.
she blesses the land, the four corners as far as the oceans, the mountain tops, the dead lands, and the land of the machines, she blows over her fists and reveals the truth stones. everyone gasps, wowed by their mysterious blackness, the way they suck in all available light, drawing everything to their centre, so dark and void, darkness visible.
the chanting starts but no one knows how, lips don't move, the old woman sings with the voice of a chorus, she says the power words and then they fade away and she speaks,
'truth stones, tell no lies, truth bones reveal the way, ancestors, spirits whom inhabit the void, bless us and keep us and show us the way forwards, anoint us with love and the radiance of lights understanding, we ask guidance in this age of doubt, we seek the signal of wisdom from the white noise of the times. we have been blessed by the sages who represent each epoch but the epoch is ended and a starts a new, and we ask for your blessing.'
she scans the patterns and reads the signs, chanting and mumbling waving her hands, strange secret incantations, her face concentrating hard on something indeterminate. a slight breeze blows her hair back, everyone holds their breath as she slowly gazes out into the darkness, eyes penetrating deeply.
she takes the stick and points it out into the night, 'it comes.'
there is something there, walking towards them, the shape of the large man, before they see his outlined against the darkness and flame, against the stars, the moon and the ghosts of ancients, from the dreamtimes, from valhalla and atlantis, from the anteries seven system beyond, it's black odin, a god for all seasons, the truth stones never lie. 

   
   

there's a nordic artist who assembles machines that have only one function, to destroy themselves, he builds a sawing machine that saws through it's own motor, he builds sanding machines that sands itself until it can no longer function, then the video is displayed in galleries and the audience feels some sort of empathy, although i would imagine that the empathy is actually with their own helpless situation, living in a civilisation that is a suicide machine. one step forwards two steps back. poison the food supply and water, poison the mind with hate and fear, poison the past and future. suicide or genocide, it's the same old cycle unless we wake up and spread the love, liberate ourselves from ourselves and expand our auric fields so that they embrace light and wisdom of the ages. the old gods are angry the new ones are sad, but black odin says, ' whatever way the cards fall, the dice rolls and the wheel spins, you are already free, it's just a state of mind.'

black wodanaz is my name, commonly refereed to as black odin the wanderer, for i have sojourned eternity with my ravens, we have seen everything and more, all possibilities, the results of desire, acts of mercy and its twin cruelty, acts of charity and faith, desperation and the inflictions of power and control, the multi headed demon choronzon, we see the constructions fall away as soft nature raises an eyebrow, all endeavours based upon these idle moments return to ashes or dust. we see the noble questers, we see the hungry ghosts of multitudes, the innocent, the guilty, the chosen and the left behind, the wonderer  dreamer, schemer and their counterparts, the architects of pain, suffering and misery.
black odin is my name, sowing my seed, raising my goblet, supping from the cup where i may drink my fill until i fall asleep and dream many lifetimes in the rapid eye, where my horse awaits, my sword, the mighty black soul thief, eternal blade for an eternal champion, forged in moonlight by the women of waters, my sword is a killer of man, it's mightier than the black sun, and well may they fear it.
black odin paints his world with majestic colours from night, a star crossed pathway will lead you to his door, a milky way window, a vortex a cosmic trick and you may end up where you started, at black odins side in asgardian nights.
be you a judge of gladsheim who's numbers make up 12, from my mighty throne i see everything, but in valhalla i anoint the fallen and the cherished valkyrie, in golden halls, filled with light we will await the battle at ragnarok and conjure fate and i will be swallowed whole by the fire wolf.
they call me the unknowable odin, a mask of a thousand faces, the full major arcana, the walker of worlds, here i am born anew, risen from the underworlds where death could not hold me, unknowable force, immovable me, the cycle begins as it must end. 
ragnarok, white moses and me, we know the inevitable, ancient worlds of promised lands and buried cites, fables myths and tales for children, sunken kingdoms, battle and defeat, war and victory, old stories from ye olde days, it's only smoke, ashes and dust, and all that matters is duty, for even black odin knows the fire wolf will do its duty to, it's not my enemy any more than i am its, in ragnarok.

suspended by a single thread, in the grip of fate, there is no power one can wield to control destiny, one surrenders to an external force that pulls the physical form from the physical earth, gravity has no place here, the laws of science undone. 

above the world of illusion one can perceive the unreality. wisdom not death awaits. 

                   

by my calculations, an estimated time of 12 days since i had been left upside down, tied by one leg to the rope that had ultimately suspended me for this period, and then snapped, or that's how it felt but it was indeed a metaphorical death, the gaining of new wisdom, the letting go of old, i unlearnt everything in the 12 days, and gained new insight and gifts for the tree i was dangling upon was the tree of the world and each day that passed i glimpsed a runic symbol that would offer me transcendence over finality.
i looked at the dead bird that lay within my own skeleton, dead from eating my own flesh. i picked it up in my dirt caked hands and cradled it close to my breath, and gave it life. for this is the secret of 12 days, my claim to second life, it lay upon the letting go of the idea of life itself, at the peak of ones life, a paradox indeed, symbolically speaking. cured or blessed one can never say, i walked out into the world with the bird upon my shoulder, a raven i named after myself.    

i wake up in a desert, in a white shirt, black jeans and some sort of bracelet, my hairs a lot longer, i have a huge beard and my skin feels cold from a long desert night.

i brush the sand from me, dust and some debris, it falls off in some kind of fairy like time, sparkling like glitter, silver and gold.

it's hot already, the suns low on the horizon, there's some big black bird flying in circles in the distance.  i'm standing with my back to a huge tree, joshua tree, a yuccu. it's massive, towering over me, casting a long shadow on the red dirt.

on the first branch i notice a rope hanging down, as i look closer i see it is a noose that has snapped. instinctively my hands feel along my throat, there's something not quite right, the abrasions i can feel are raw, scared tissue and traces of blood where the skin has broken. i start walking towards the bird. the glare of the sun ahead makes me look down at the dirt and i can occasionally make out a single pair of footprints.

what the hell is this, a dream, a nightmare? 

i can only hear my breathing, like a steam train travelling at a slow consistent speed, puffing out, breathing in. meditative, i intuitively move to 4: :4 :4 :4 breathing cycle. i feel my body stretching out and move some energy through it, straightening the spine, stretching muscles, getting a sense of space within my body, my steps become stronger, determined. the bird is doing it's circuits but starting to descend now. from about 150 yards away i see theres something there, a body and my walking gains momentum.

i have to get to it before the bird, i start running.

i'm shoo-ing the bird away, it's a big raven or crow or something ominous and after hoping on the bodies chest it seems to sweep itself to the side and watch me as i pass, and look upon the body that lays still and silent upon the ground.
that's me, no point in denying the inevitable obvious, i'm laying there neck all broken, limbs awkwardly sprawled out, i must have made it this far from the noose, stumbled out in my dying last breath's. 
the bird looks at me, its head cocked to one side as it pecks into the broken skin of the neck and pulls up a chunk of bloody pulp. it's repulsive and horrific but the graphic image as it pulls upon some reluctant tendon stretching this bright red stringy flesh has an attractive beauty, there's somethings strangely liberating about watching yourself being eaten. to some inner part of my nature this seems fair and reasonable. the bird hacks away at some more bloody flesh, and opens his wings spreading them wide, magnificent creature, caws once and shoves his beak down into the feast.
soon i'm watching other birds fly down, ravens, crows,  carrion, all deathly black, they feat upon me occasionally stopping and watching me, as if they know something i can't quite fathom, as if to reassure me. i feel myself expanding, growing larger as my corporeal body is disseminated, i feel my blood in the earth being absorbed, draining down into the substrata, being fed into root systems of trees and flowing through trunks, upwards into leaves and flowers, i feel my essence in flight, a million pairs of eyes are mine, i see everything, i feel myself within worms and bugs, gaining insect awareness, sound, smell, time, taste, movement, my energy is larger as i feel myself diminish in body. 
i'm everywhere, in the air looking at the earth, moving though the currents in wind, gliding over plains and deserts and forests, i am expansive, unbounded in death, i'm more alive than ever.

there's a lot of talk about feminism / sexism out there in the political / media world, here's my take on it.

i'm not a feminist. 
the 'ist' at the end of the word turns it into some political meme and although political memes have a place they also have a time and unless you live in a stone age society feminism had it's time. women who are academic feminists should practice their agendas in countries where women are really treated badly, that would be interesting but they don't, they never do, because they know the consequences. 
i don't believe in equality, nature is sexist, we are not equal, our brains are inherently different. it's amazing how many women chose not to believe the science on this yet accept the science on global warming, yet it's not science that informs me this, it's experience. 
we can share equal values and aspire to be treated with respect and dignity as individuals but let's face it there are just as many disrespectful women as there are men, so the whole idea becomes a joke especially when a disrespectful woman calls out a disrespectful man! 
i'm a devotee of the goddess, i expect women to be better than men and i've worked with women i respect highly and women who have been my teachers, i've also worked with women whom i can't relate to or understand, same goes for men. 
i don't have to build up a political construct around these types, they are just arrogant or stupid individuals. 
the idea that women are of lesser value is ridiculous and as an intelligent human, people should be judged on who they are as spiritual beings not their sexual organs, although i am the first to confess i do appreciate women's sexual organs and curves, and i am guilty of objectification, what can i say, i'm far from perfect. i'm very masculine in that department but i know many women who objectify men and other women come to think of it, so i guess it all equals out somewhere and it's a crime against nature to judge it morally. who the fuck are you? 
the whole divide and conquer thing between the sexes is a red herring, a smokescreen obscuring the real issues of the day and women and men need to wake up to the fact they should not only avoid using sexism as a defence, they should devote their energy's towards establishing some sort of zone where the influence of the power and control we all react to is filtered into the spiritual battle within. 
oh no, where's he going with this i hear you whisper, hang in there dear reader, captain mission will deliver you to a promised land, yes there won't be any virgins but there may be some sexy girls in robes and everyone will be happy.
the real battle of sex exists within men who consciously and unconsciously wield power in society, they genuinely fear women and have created a society that suppresses women with pharmaceuticals, soap operas, shoes, conflicting roles and body imagery, alcohol as an inhibitory and paradoxically a social lubricant which by the way, is extremely damaging to females brains, (see i told you natures sexist) religion, make up and fashion, actually the list is very long but it's kept women from accessing any spiritual truth they have within themselves because women like men all have to eventually ask who they really are underneath their desires and conditioning. in fact even the women's spirituality movement is now a consumer product marketed at women by emasculation. 

so what's the answer captain mission?

men and women need to detach themselves from the illusion of these abstract ideas it's all just some weird collective agreement we invest in. the list of divisions growing and driving us apart, fashion make up etc, it's all bullshit, and we need to get back to it's primal function which would be ritual.
make up and fashion belong in the world of ritual, we like to dress up in costumes and identify with a group we connect with, our tribe. we wear make up as a mask, to conceal, not reveal. in the old days make up was used to invoke or evoke, used by men and women, these days it's used by the glamour industry to make us feel compete or more confident or more desirable. women put on a mask, taking them further away from themselves, there's no connection to sacred ritual.
anyway, back to sexism and feminism, these are political constructs designed to embed themselves in our minds before you know who you are, which of course is the ultimate empowerment. that's what makes a woman sexy, that's what the goddess teaches and that's why a small group of men suppress it and a large group of men unconsciously act out a war on their behalf and it's women that fall under the spell and replicate it.
women do need to wield their power with the inverse proportional type of care men wield theirs.  
this will not only transform males but women as well.

there are a group of men who hate women, i recognise these as misogynists  rapists and violent murdering zombies but these people have already lost their humanity, so they are not included in my ideas. my solution to these people is to put them out of their misery, yeah really, i say this from experience having worked with sex offenders. there is no type of rehabilitation that will work and most of these people can't reform as it's far to hard to confront the hatred driving them, than move forward with love. so a compassionate death is a practical but distasteful solution. 

women must learn how to fight in the war against them and the first lesson is to not treat men like their enemies. it's to see men as weaker, vulnerable and frightened creatures who need healing and love and some guidance in understanding their feminine nature. and likewise for men, to assist women reach their full potential. balance the elements within, masculine energy with feminine and there will be harmony between the sexes and ideas like sexism will have no meaning and no relevance because as long as people are reasonable and true to themselves, it won't matter.

the burning, you can smell it, feel it enter you, like a thick fog, dense without moisture, it makes it's way into your nostrils and enters your lungs, just like slow strangulation, you don't really notice it until it's to late.

there's the fires out of sight, some poor community terrorised by this elemental fury, i seen it up close, a god awful situation to be in, as the flames move with unpredictable fury and enslaved to the wind, carried on embers and finding dry material to exhaust in its death radiance.

the sky is heavy with smoke, it's blotting out almost everything, you can see the strange outlines of trees, silvery shapes that stand still in anticipation. fire is the elemental force of passion, energy if you are a greek god, if you subscribe to the indian then it's agni, fire connects with the sun and lightning. fire also represents the wand in the golden dawn system of magic and associated with the archangel michael, whereas i like to think of fire as alchemical, the agent of change, often beyond recognition, transformation dangerous when uncontrolled, useful when directed wilfully.

i'm outside in the thick of it, hosing down the perimeters, creating a magick circle, protection from the fierce nature of this rogue element. the smoke is heavy and leaves my lungs dry and ravaged, i don't know where the fire is but it's smoke is everywhere, i shut down mission control, lock the doors and windows, watch the perimeters and remain vigilant.

when i write my blog i never know what i am going to write, nothing is changed, it just flows out and becomes whatever it is.
i never go back or edit, sometimes i'll get a strange feeling that i need to save it as a draft and return to it later, but that very rarely happens, but here's one i found saved as a draft so it's a few months old. i'm not sure why i didn't post it...

i had a day, a strange day, it lasted all day. firstly i didn't wake up, nope i was already up, so i guess the day starts with a dinner date, not a romantic one but a very nice one with my friend wilde childe whom actually bought me dinner. yeah after deciding cheap and cheerful, and given a choice of three, i chose the most bewildering one i'm sure.
its good to see wilde childe she's my friend, helped me move home, often drives me to church gigs, fellow actor in an infamous david neil video (no, it's not porn), next door neighbour at the best live concert ever down the front row, witness to steve kilbey's solo gig in a secret room in a fancy restaurant and also co-guest at steve's induction to the greatest songwriter in multiverse by some official organisation, we sat with mr kilbey and his lovely family, i was stupidly overwhelmed by everything, a complete fish outta water but so happy to see him get some recognition from people much more important than me. 
and wilde childe and i both felt like we could die now, i mean it was special but it's not a romance. so sorry to disappoint my readers. i'm a romantic guy, after all i'm in love with the universe. but, wilde one is a very very good friend. so we meet, i been reading my gothic canadian novel in a coca shop and the restaurant is next door, we experience the cold wind for a few seconds and then in the large restaurant we chat to the waitress, well i'm ordering bok choy and fried rice and vermicelli rice rolls, wilde one orders tofu and vegetables and boiled rice.
i can't recall what we spoke about, something about her having to deal with offshore call centres and how our words were being distorted and how long the conversation takes, etc.
anyways the waitress serves me up my broccoli and garlic and i'm genuinely confused because i was talking to her about how much i love bok choy when i ordered it, i was telling her how it's incredible china kept it hidden from the world for so long, it's my fave vegetable and she was replying saying how nutrition and healthy it is. so i was confused but in my true nature of toaist monk i embraced it and it was fantastic. 
so we had a lovely evening and then i went to work, where i had to write a huge report that took all night, on the way home i stop to see mohammed, not that one but my hair guy who gave me an excellent hair cut, uses a cut throat. when i first met him i looked like a terrorist, he asked me straight up, are you a terrorist? you gotta respect that i guess, anyway he does a good shave and he's cheap and i like him. 
so at home i feed my fish and exhaust my dog pan, who wisely lays in the sun for the rest of the day. i'd like to but i have an appointment with a air con man whom arrives and starts checking for mould. 
now i don't like mould, i always freak out when i think about it, the alien nature. there's something creepy about it, it's strange as it's also quite beautiful, the way those spoors leave the body, it's science fiction right? 
anyways the guys freaking me out as he wanders around testing the environment, yeah it's true mission control needs more ventilation. he puts his device upon my skin, it indicates i'm 87% water, what's the other stuff i think. why only 87% i should be at least 99%.
well, here i am, captain h2o in my home being told i need to do something about the fucking lung eating alien that may appear in walls. so i sign up for the special instillation under a nifty repayment plan, then the guy sees my guitar and asks to play it, he plays some love song, its good, not my cup of tea but he's got a great voice and knows chords and stuff and he's somehow related to peter knoppes and then we start chatting about travelling and fear and stuff. anyway he says he has to check the loft so up we go, a place i have yet to even look at, i must admit in my head it's filled with dead rats and spiderwebs and spiders that killed and ate the rats, but it's not so bad, although noticeably set up for some sort of nefarious activity, it's a freaking weed factory, or at least it was, the air con mould man says. 
i'm worried about this air mould man, i mean he's an air con mould man and gets me to sign up for an interest free payment plan that's actually quite reasonable. so then he leaves reluctantly, i think he just wanted to stay here, hang out but i had things to do, like the garden which i was internally committed to yet some other greater force was working against me full whack...
by now it was dusk, and 'the drum' started and i watched it with my critical political eye and it was the best episode ever, really intelligent discussion. the host annabel crabb was brilliant, usually i write in to critique the dumbness of the discussion and the panel but i have to say tonight was really good, it was more balanced in approach and reasonable yet highly intelligent debate between the guests, no dumbing down politically correct bullshit ideology,  like usual, today they were really just flowing naturally being fairly accurate in their critiques and deconstruction of the political reality. it was almost like they had awoken, saw it for what it was and enjoyed the whole unrestrained truth, krudd, was like the naked emperor in that children's fable. tony robot was exposed as having no personality yet highly committed to struggling australians, (he's a globalist though...)
anyway's i wrote in to congratulate them, it's about time they aired a decent episode.
er that's my long day.
oh yeah, steve wrote on my face book page about his cockles being warm, see what i mean? it's a strange but wonderful day. 
i didn't do any gardening, which was the plan. 

body language, speaking tongues, the canine barbarian on the run

tooth and nail, claw and hand, the spectrum implodes and the colours run. 

there's something in the wind, something in the night

something penetrates the fabrics and punctures into light.

installation blues, contemporary malaise, the artist and the art confused by division, that what separates the processes joins together in the vision.

there's nothing in the void, turns to something in the hands, 

the clockwork elegance of creation, the opposing force of man, deliverance from unseen dispensers, everyone wants something for nothing, but there's always a price, cash, gold, karma, your good looks, best invest in something internal, spiritual models, although these days the spiritual models all speak with forked tongues.
what's the day promise?
starts with a surf.

old magneto in his plastic prison playing chess with dr. x
batman in a retirement village, fighting alzheimer's and arthritis
mr fantastic old and grey, not so elastic now
and the human torch all burnt out, can't even flame on at all even to light his spliff.
superman with a zimmer frame, pushing himself down the hall, staring through the nurses quarters with x ray vision.
the incredible hulk obese and frail married to a nagging wonder woman, whose teeth have fallen out.
theres old spiderman, bitter and twisted after his defeat at the hands of dr. octopus, who lost three of his tentacles and an eye.
then there's old thor, a fallen god who likes his junk, drinks far to much and falls asleep mid conversation.
the silver surfer, why he left the earth years ago with the invisible girl, poor old mr. fantastic never really recovered.
the joker became a tv personality hosting his own chat show.
iron man melted when he flew to close to the sun.
captain america defected, wanted for terrorism now, on the cia list.
daredevil has agoraphobia, hasn't been seen for years.
the flash had to slow down.
the green lantern swallowed his ring by accident and ended up choking.

ah the citadel, the spired cathedral, floating above the clouds, with some anti gravitational technology. silver jewelled  mirrored surfaces reflected blue skies and fluffy white clouds, the citadel city where everyone comes looking for beauty, looking for truth, looking for something in their final lifetime. azure marble, obsidian suit, i wandered the halls like a parallel ghost, being haunted by architecture, lines and angles, looking upwards at the curved crystal ceiling, no angels or signs, just majestic beauty.
at terminal seven i see a corridor, flanked by weeping statues of dead gods and a host of gargoyles that line the ceiling, each one unique, each changing in some strange weird trick of the light. i look at the one above, a small creature covering it's eyes, but when i look back it's poking it's long forked tongue out and it's eyes uncovered, and so it is with all of these structures. the walls shift and move, the corridor could crush but it expands into a huge hall, and i wander into it's centre. 
my footsteps ring, my breathing slows, each second slows time down, until it even feels like a thick soup and just as it comes to a stop i see the steps that lead downwards.
descent is fast time, i fathom that each direction has it's own time, forwards slows, downwards speeds, backwards makes time leap randomly but if i move upwards time streams backwards.
down down downwards we go, plunging into stygian depths where light has no place, they say light is fast but this darkness got here first, it's ancient darkness, it stinks of prehistory and light won't come here. the citadel contains its own contradiction, beauty and light leads to love and truth, yet down here, there's nothing worth seeking.
i feel the soft heat, it's on my face, hands, tiny sweat beads forming, each step downwards until the heat is uncomfortable, and i take my jacket off, i slip out of my shoes and socks.
i'm covered in sweat, it's unbearable but before me i see the radiating heat, the gleaming eyes of a fierce and intelligent beast. it's so very hot, my skin starts to blister as the huge face comes out of the darkness, the eyes large and filled with secrets, the snout long and crocodilian, strange creature stands majestically opening it's huge webbed wings, the dragon stretches it's neck upwards and snorts out flames into the black void. 
the dragon seems to constrict to a smaller size, i make out it's pointy tail floating above its head, a sharp arrow like ending points at me.
'are you prepared for fire to burn your flesh away?'
dragons don't talk, but they are astute and operate on psychic levels the thought enters my head.
i think i manage a smile, 'yeah dragon, i'm prepared as i will ever be.'
for there is no way out, no way back, like the invisible leap, no warning, no second thought for one must stand naked before the flame in the now that is eternal.
the fire engulfs, a cold fire, chilling my skin, it tears away in chunks and reveals the new flesh, a purple shimmering form, glistens and pulses with the liberation. my hair falls away, the heat penetrates into my body, my heart and bodily organs burn away, and something new pulses inside, the one heart, the dragons heart, we are kin now. i bow down and thank the beast and the voice speaks silently, deep and ancient, 'you will henceforth be known as captain mission and your duty will be to the water dragons, to the fire dragons, to the earth dragons and to the air dragons but i have chosen you for another task, the service of the ether dragons, they are part of you, they will guide and protect you, they will assist you where ever you roam.'
'i will honour the dragons and be loyal to them.'
i find my way back retracing my steps with enhanced vision, my eyes see everything now. 

  

in the flash light skies, phedrea smiles, dark horizon, darker dawn. on the road to nowhere, driving north, heading home. had a chance with never, a call with now, she says, 'hey baby, been a long time no see,' and i reply in a wry sarcastic way, 'that's because you married a possessive man with a brutal streak.' 
she needs to see me, i don't see myself but i agree, so we meet in an old cafe where they light candles, very europian atmosphere, a waitress takes our orders, she wants coffee, i want cake. 
she takes my hand and trades my future for her past, it's a tempting deal if your the heroic kind but i'm slightly washed out from being a knight, my armour is covered in dents. she's using all her ways and charms and it's working, those eyes penetrate what ever is left of my defences. 
the cake lays on the table uneaten, i have no appetite, she wants to check in to a hotel. i shake my head.
the alarm bells ring, go home go home go home go go go...
i can feel the keys in my pocket with one hand sliding through them, the other pushes cake towards her, eat it up girl.
in the window i see the reflection, a sad lonely man, an elegant beautiful woman, i look at the clock on the wall, five to one, one in five, no one here gets out alive, tick tock tick. 
if i smoked cigarettes i would light one but i don't.
what am i going to do?
i don't really know, i want to go home and get to sleep. this is going to end in tears no matter what action i take and she's all cried out, i glance at the bruise on her chin, 'you want me to talk with him.'
she gives me that look, i seen it before, when i spoke with him last time, the look of compassion wasted.
'last time he beat you to a pulp.'
'didn't stop you going back to him,' not just a hint of bitterness in my voice.
she's sticking the fork into the cake, breaking of a tiny microscopic piece and eating it, she seems to perk up. 'let's get out of here mission, we can go downtown, check into a motel.'
i bite my lip, 'i can't do that.'
i get the look, it's pulling me towards her like a rope attached to my head, 'come on, i'll drive you home.'
outside her house i walk up the drive while she waits in the car, she's not looking very happy, i don't feel happy and my confidence has left the building, i'm running on fear and duty, not a good combination.
he's already opened the door, and i'm stopping in my tracks, halfway up the path. hands search deep in pockets, fiddle with my keys, maybe i should at least get the first punch in, he's dressed in boxer shorts and a white stained tee shirt, smoking a cigar and holding a bottle of what could be vodka.
i stay put, assessing the violence to come, he's slow, sluggishly enslaved to his spirit, he's puffed up and walks towards me, each uncoordinated step brings him closer and closer until his filthy hot stinking breath is upon me like a repulsive wind. he looks me in the eye, then he falls to his knees, sobbing and blubbering like a wounded buffalo.
i'm prepared for the worst, for sharp pain, blunt pain, the hammering of his big ham fist into my chest, the kicks the names, the humiliation but this takes me by surprise.
he's a mess, drunk emotional wreck. i haul him up and drag him inside, he falls into a sofa and i search the room for some tissues. i grab some towelling from the kitchen, 'here.'
'i love her, she just breaks my heart mission, i love her but i know she don't love me. do you understand mission, she don't even care about me.'
'yeah i understand.'
he blows his nose, wipes the tears falling down his face and starts to breath, 'she left me a long time ago mission, there's nothing i can do.'
'yeah there is, you can let her go man.'
when his face looks at mine it's the worst look, a sort of resigned defeated oblivion. 
i sit down in a sofa chair, opposite, i'm tired and my bones ache. he's just sitting there now, quite and breathing like he's in some sort of trance, he's looking directly at me but it's past me, beyond me, i'm not even there now, i'm somewhere else.
i don't know what just happened but it was akin to some sort of fugue state, he seems to return to me, and his voice is frail, 'i have to end it.'
he stands up, his massive body towers over me, like a monument of hell, a warning to all men, your power is useless against beauty, he wanders away and returns later carrying a gun. 
'hey man, that's unnecessary,' my fingers attempt to prize it from his hand but we are locked in some stalemate, 'come on, let it go, this is not the answer.'
'you can't know what the answer is?'
'i know that it's not this.'
'i was a good husband.'
'yeah, i know you was but you beat her man, you can't do that, that's not a good husband.'
he swallows hard, for a moment i thought he would hit me, it seemed like the thought flashed in his mind.
'yeah i lost control, i hit her but she was pushing me and pushing me, you don't know what that's like.'
'yes, yes i do, she's a femme fatale man, i know her. man she could twist any man around her finger, pull their strings, get them to dance for her, even get them to kill for her, that's her power, she's a siren and we are all lost in her spell while getting crushed by rocks.'
'i gotta end it.'
he grits his teeth and opens his face up revealing, a graveyard of a mouth, ugly bastard, how did he end up with her i think, an ugly thought.
'you can't hurt her, i won't let you hurt her.'
'hurt her, hurt her. ha! i don't want to hurt her, ha! ha! ha! ha! he starts laughing, deep bellows, and tiny intermittent snorts.
when he regains himself he tells me, 'i don't want to hurt her anymore, i get it, that just makes it worse.' 
there is a loud crack, and the shot fires through his chest spraying blood cross the wall. his body just falls and blood pumps from the hole in his chest.
'stupid dumb bastard,' i mutter.
she comes running in, straight into the room she stands over the scene, it's a mess, gore and blood splatter everywhere.
she grabs my arm, 'let's go someplace mission, i don't wanna stay here.'
i unlink her from me, 'you have to call the police, report this, it's what you have to do.'
'oh, it can wait, let's go dancing, i feel like dancing.'
'no, this is serious, you have to call,' i say, adding a commanding, 'do it!'
'i don't feel like speaking to police, why don't you call them. you're so good with words and i'm just a little...disturbed by it all.'
already my body is moving to the phone, but i can feel the influence she has over me, over all men, it's soft and warm, seductive but there's something else, another quality, it's not threatening. that's the key, it's a voice that has no threat, a tone with only round corners. i've cracked her secret and picking up the hand set i throw the phone at her, she catches it and stares at me blankly, and in a forceful way i say, 'make the fucking call.'