transmigration by isadore

my body worn out from surfing out my attitude and aggressive persona, it seems to have done the trick, i feel calm and peaceful again, although i guess it takes time to really know who's driving my ego. i get home after hitting some mighty waves, one kept me airborne, i was lifted out of neptune's reach and them floated down into his soft embrace. between air and ocean i felt something shift, maybe in a moment of fear as i lost control, maybe it was just the unreality of finding myself surfing in air, i can't say for sure but when i emerged from the ocean i was a different being. i flicked through the media sipping my coffee, nothing to report, it's all the same old stuff hardly worth reading, i read a sizeable chunk of joyce carol oates remarkable gothic novel, the accursed as the characters all face their demise one by one i'm shocked by the fate of the youngest. what an incredible book this is, almost a meditation on karmic consequences but also a novel of race and sexism, quite exquisite but terrifying. it's a book that requires commitment, it demands intelligence.
returning to mission control i wash the great dog pan, he's enjoying himself immensely as i tickle and scratch him in his favourite areas, massage his legs and hips, whisper kind words into his ears. 
what a friend a dog is, pan is so exceptional, he loves everything, he is loyal and kind natured and i agree with william james who said, 'if you want to know what love is look into your dogs eyes.'
pan makes me feel ashamed of my failings, he is one of the best teachers, always there for me, no judging or conditions. 
i do some gardening, i confess i have committed ferncide, my beautiful fern looks like it is dead, i will know for sure in spring, lets hope i can revive it. 
i lay down and read some more of the accursed, soon i will complete it, what will i read next? i have a pile of novels to get through. 
as i write i watch the sunlight filter through trees and leaves, the sounds of birds fill the pocket of bushland and down on the river wind causes ripples across the water surface, it's beautiful, the light feels alive.

for some reason i have developed an attitude, it's some sort of defence mechanism, it will pass soon and i will return to my centre, if it hangs around much longer i may just have to surf it out. i don't like when i have an attitude but often other people like attitude, in public life they gravitate towards people with attitude. i have attitudes, they are ever shifting, ever changing but they always dance around some sort of spiritual attainment or liberation, this one is just defending part of my ego that got punched and worked up the other day when i felt wildly out of control and unsafe, it will recede as i come back to safety. 
i am a libertarian in essence. 
everyone is on their own trip and should be free to follow their vision providing it does not intercede with anyone else's in a destructive way. 



   

big messy surf this morning, whitewash everywhere, i'm out with some tattooed dude who's staying close to the shore. i feel like going out further, the pull of the rip seems to have me and my resistance is diminished by indifference, out i travel, sucked like a amoeba through a straw, waves crashing, exploding, i tumble and twirl, until i'm out there. 
yeah out there. 
the waves are neither good nor bad, they are just not suited for me, crashing indiscriminately, breaking everywhere but where i need them, i finally find one that takes me to the shore, rocketing past the tattooed man who looks at me, 'not very friendly surf,' i say as i glide by.
out on the streets of terrible hardly anyone else is up and about but i manage to get a coffee and read a few chapters of my book, carol joyce oates can write. i'm impressed, her novel of vampyric hysteria takes a very gothic turn, and i'm intrigued to see how she concludes, can she bring everything together in a satisfying way? that will be the test of her mastery, she is excelled so far.

one night after midnight on the streets of dee why a suburb of northern sydney where they have built apartments populated mostly by australian white trash and islanders covered in tattoos over their bulk, big smiling faces and born again sentimentality. expensive real estate lays vacant, shops selling second hand electronics and model trains wait dormant for dawn, far to late for traffic in either direction.
i stand there and a woman walks passed me with a casual indifference dressed in a short white dress, very high heels, euro asian looking, almost an exaggeration of something, leaving a sexual trail like a snails, only obscure pheromones and ambiguity, i turn my head as if trapped in some sort of magnetic force, my body and mind in some conflict as to intent, hers and mine. 
on one hand my body is attracted, reacting naturally with its primitive male impulse yet my head is screaming out in warning. 
what on earth would a woman be doing out on the streets alone this late, why dressed like that?
who is she and what is her story?
yet my mind processing concludes she's almost everything i find unattractive in a woman. make up caked on, hair product, perfumed to the max, blatant in your face sexuality without any subtlety, perhaps i was just fearful of her, perhaps i was under her spell, perhaps i just wanted to spend the night with her, i wouldn't know. 
its a mystery, but she left an impression.

yesterday in town hall i find myself between two groups of people, on my left is a born again group pouring out fire and brimstone and sermons about hellfire and on the other side of the street a young group of mohammedans handing out korans, at least they are not making a loud noise and go about their business quietly, but suddenly i find myself getting both sides attention as individuals, a young bearded muslim waves me over to him offering me a book, i hold up my copy of 'the accursed' by carol joyce oates which i am reading, it has a young womans face with a drop of blood dribbling out from her soft lips, 'i have a book thank you,' i say politely while another young bearded man on the other side of the road says into his microphone which manifests as a booming voice, 'you sir, come over hear and bear witness to the word of god.'
i'd been having a really bad day, one of those unbelievable days and i ran away, completely freaked out by the whole experience. i've had enough of all gods today, i just want to be left alone but they are relentless when it comes to punishing, let's face it the old gods are very human and slightly sadistic. fuck you old gods, i think, pulling stings, playing with people like they are chess pieces, i'm not interested in you today, i've no interest in being tested or manipulated, you're representatives on earth can petition me all they wish but today i just want peace and quiet. ha! famous last words, man can't outwit the gods, there is no escape. 

explosive night, stars descend, heaven help us now. some bit player watches from the sidelines as the city seems to move to a grinding halt, industry is on it's knees, a banker runs out of his glass office, he's looking somewhat bewildered and confused, his secretary hot on his heels, in her heels, follows him out from the huge corporate towering skyscraper. she hands him a mobile phone, he's shaking his head and grabs the phone from her, 'it's useless now, useless, don't you get it?'

she looks slightly shocked as the phone makes an elegant arc across the road and shatters into fragments as it hits concrete.

cars have been left abandoned in streets, sirens fill the skies, a helicopter zips across the sky but suddenly it splutters and stalls, gravity does the rest as onlookers watch. hollywood explosions fill the sky.

'i don't get it, what's going on?'

confusion spreads like ebola, dismay and discord, churches burn, people wander around crying, a few laugh.

'how can you laugh at this mission?'

i smile and offer her a coconut.

the absurdity of civilization exposed for all to see, we are all naked now, working out our response. some one starts burning cash while another is busy gathering a group of lost children and organising them into a line.
a camera crew are conducting an interview. the journalist seems to be filing a new report, she's pushing an earpiece into her ear with one hand, while the other adjusts her skirt.

'well, as you can see it's chaos, people are just wandering around now completely disorientated and confused. it's like a disaster movie.'

in her earpiece a voice says, 'you may as well go home, there's no point in continuing.'

'yes, there is no point, except i don't know what else to do, i've been filing reports for seven years but never came across anything like this.'

'well we are packing up here, i'll leave the tape rolling, do whatever you want...'

'okay paul, thanks.'

and to the camera she says, 'well it's been twenty minites since the announcement and everything, everything is coming apart, the city has literally stopped, people have just given up doing what they do, it's all pointless. even this report is...'

a truck swerves just missing the camera and the reporter, 'jesus, that was close,' once more earnestly to the camera, 'all around me people are responding to the announcement that the global science initiative into ultimate truth has just gone public with. after five years since their formation. the g siut as it's been come to be called, comprising of scientists from many nations, were looking for a theory of everything have just changed the face of civilization on planet earth. the report is not even a page long, it's was just one line that was read at the united nations emergency assembly and broadcast live everywhere. a simple statement, "nothing is real" read by professor helena blavatsky to a shocked global population.'

she stops for a moment as her team wander away abandoning her, 'this is maxime mcqueen, signing off for abc news 24.'

'what you going to do now maxime?' someone eating an ice cream yells out as maxime pulls something from her bag.

'i'm going to smoke this and look at the clouds.'  

  

a little rainfall after a glorious week, i wake up with a migraine, am i tired, need to close my eyes like a vampire reacts to light an intense boring in my skull. there's already enough sun within my system, i need to absorb that and the surf, it swirls around my body like a wild energy that requires harnessing, sleep will align my body bringing equilibrium. later in the evening i am eaten by mosquitoes, they are everywhere feeding upon my blood, i can't swat them away fast enough. i read somewhere crowley beat them by love, i think it was in confessions, but i find them hard to love when they suck my vitality. 
i lay down exhausted from them, lock them out with screens, finish my book, 'may we be forgiven' by a.m. holmes, a fantastic novel, the new great american novel, i loved it. 

i start, and within 24 hours finish 'the demonologist' by andrew pyper, another brilliant novel, a horror novel with a difference, it's intelligent. i liked it, it was frightening and smart, it had a great protagonist, a milton scholar whom does not believe, yet faced with inconclusive proof faces his fear and does his duty. it's really good and will become a film as soon as some hollywood person reads it.

i finish the book, and find it hard to launch into another, i feel tired, end up sleeping from 7pm until 6am. i wake twice through the night but fall asleep quickly again. in the morning i find 'bellman and black', a ghost story, i pick it up and start reading, it's filled with rook lore, i like those bits but find the story predictable and dull.

i finish it quickly and pick up yet another gothic novel, this is the massive novel by joyce carol oates, 'the accursed' which i launch into admiring her strange story telling techniques, her multiple narratives, the gothic southern states come alive and i feel although i vaguely know where this is going the journey there will be quite magnificent.

its hard to feel anything significant other than a drive to read, i know these states, they are infrequent and i must sate the appetite, my lust for words and a good story.
the days are passing, i am strapped for cash so when i find $100 in my sock drawer i'm surprised and enthralled by the fact i can actually fill my car up with petrol, not that i have anywhere to go but it's always a good option. 
when the migraine passes i bake some cakes, strange fruit and nut cakes, an experiment, following a recipe kate gave me, of course i never follow recipes, i always create mutations, nothing is ever made the same way twice. my cakes are improving, i'm slowly getting the hang of it, although these are heavy with nutrition over taste. i figure i need some sustenance other than green smoothies, coconuts, kin wah  spelt quinoa, and maggie beers fig ice cream. the cakes are good, i'm only able to eat one piece a day, they are packed with energy, like a new battery. hopefully with the sun i can convert this into some creative force or at least get stuck into my garden again, which looks worse shabby and sad.


  

i've overdosed on sun and surf, my skin burnt black like a native, my body keeps feeling the sensation of being engulfed by waves and i can't really walk on firm surfaces without feeling unsteady. i was born for water but i have to work the land as well, my garden is looking unkept and wild, the big fern needs some attention and care, i may have killed some of its leaves with to much water, i don't really know how to love these plants, i either abandon them, which is when they all thrive or kill em with love whereas the water has no complex demands only that you stay breathing, know where up is and keep those shorts on captain mission, lest we have another embarrassing moment like whale beach 1989 where you made that bee line for the towel, these days i never use towels so the fear of a repeat is ever present. ha, i'm not ashamed of my body, it's looking better than last year, leaner, still carrying a few extra pounds it can loose but generally i don't look so bad, besides its nature, the beasts don't wear clothes or suffer shame, why the fuck should i, social conventions are for social people, i'm not anti social but i wear a contarian badge with honour. 
fuck you if don't approve.
it's been incredibly hot, lovely, i like it, it makes me slow down to a different time flow, i drive slow, i eat slow, i move slow and i talk slow, i like it slower, the pace is natural to my bio rhythm. i was born for the tropical life, coconuts and surfing, wandering around in a sarong, my desire is sated with a groovy wave form, just like an attractive girl, there's an inherent beauty i appreciate about these things and elegant simplicity is in the approach, why make everything complex, intellectualise it all, wrap it with theory, it is what it is, i am what i am, you are what you is. 
people always say, 'let it be' or things like, 'just be' but i don't like to be, i like to do, everything we think is just being, is in fact doing, even the rocks are made up from billions of atoms that are doing, it's not the universal condition to just be, that would be stagnation and death, the universe is doing, so what could be better than surfing in the sun and then creating something beautiful to thank the universe with. 
  

didn't know where i was - jack frost

on my way to the beach early morning and on my way back i been playing this 'blasting' out from my car speakers, as i cruise around terrible beach faces all turn and look in my direction, i glimpse dogs wagging their tails, women tap their feet and men who's heads are buried in the bad news all tap their fingers to the beat, babies in their prams stop crying and start smiling. i drive slowly along the waterfront singing the 'do do' bits and wondering what the surf will bring on this perfect morning in terrible beach.
on the way home after a satisfying surf marathon, feeling all washed up i hit that road, windows down, hot sun beating down and wonder if life could get any better, hitting replay and waiting for those brilliant opening lines, knowing, yeah, life gets better.

placid surface, the ocean is still as i drive past terrible beach, see the peoples out and about in dawns pre morning rituals, walking dogs, power walking women one hand holding coffee the other a dumb bell, see the delivery vans unloading supplies, a small town by the ocean. 
i park up on the hill and look down upon the scene, it's all on land today, nothing in the water, flat as a pancake, not one wave. 
i head towards mission control, the great dog pan waits for me out the front, he's blended into the frangipani trees, one with pink flowers, one with white one with none, he's a good dog, happy to see my blue car coming down the hill slowly.
i want a coffee but i'm broke, no cash, so i drink some weird coconut drink mixed with a few blueberries instead, the taste is strange but i know its good, i shove a date into my mouth and remember it's tuesday which means i have to go swimming in the pool this afternoon with one of my clients. it's going to be a long day, they all are now my body is conditioned to starting at 6am and sleeping around 1am, i don't need much sleep just a deep one. 
it's jakes birthday today, over in london, i sent him a tee shirt and on pay day i'll wire over some cash. i'm hoping we can skype soon. 
i type up some book reviews for the paper, i write them for australia's biggest book chain, they publish them weekly, i never read the finished thing or keep any copies but sometimes when i'm in a bookshop i see my words underneath a novel. 
i usually submit one a week, must be in the hundreds now. sometimes the books are to inappropriate for them to publish, no one wants a review on sex magick or tantra, or even greek magick, no one wants a review on extreme phycology or novels that involve subjects like iranian esoteric beliefs, no one wants reviews on subversion or experimental fiction but i write them and submit them anyway, mostly the reviews they publish are science fiction ones i write, or occasionally the mainstream novel such as 'the orphan masters son' it's not my job to decide what gets published, i just write. 

the sea inside me, ocean tides, currents and waves, the swell of mood, the invocation of life, the body has its own music and down on terrible beach i am tuned in, turned on and dropping out, dropping into  saltwater gardens, the strange buoyancy, the instinctive breath, the internal navigation, the way i know where light is, the way i take my air where i find it, the way my body with all its wild mechanisms and obtuse requirements drills into a functional, need only, its hierarchy run by a council of aquatically aligned elders, the way my mind looses it's fleeting attachments, debris it detaches from. i am a blank slate, the uncarved block, the waves may wash over me, but something passes through the flesh, some unseen energy, the hands of neptune, energy of inspiration, youthful and intuitive, neptune is the realm of poets and dreamers, it is home for me.
neptune blesses us with waves, each unique, each part of something else, connected by an ocean and it's hidden currents, the body knows which ones to ride, how to adjust itself, the shudder and force of the mighty liquid chiropractor. we gain an insiders knowledge of waves,  which ones are for us, when to get off before the crash before the earthed shock, how to focus the mind, how to let the body go, how to banish thought chaos, how to align the energy centres, how to radiate, how to surf.
these things all happen outside time and space, they are what an old god offers us in exchange for our respect. 
the ocean, any captain will tell you demands respect, if you are a sailor, fishing man, a swimmer or surfer, all understand the nature of the ocean and how it will command your respect. 
i always offer my tokens of appreciation before i step into the water, i chant my prayer, offer some words, a thought for my ancient friend neptune whom has grown to love me as his own son in law, and when i feel the moment is right, usually as the surf pulls back i step into the waters and swim towards the back where the waves are forming. i follow my rules, never swim out of my depth, always trust my instincts and intuition, always listen to neptune's whispers, he says, 'what you take you must return, what you return you can borrow from, what you create belongs to the universe.'
the surf has been good, terrible beach early morning, my own special place. 



     

i have to say that the josephine mccarthy book 'magical knowledge' is excellent, i really like her style and her information is spot on.
it's direct, honest and straightforward. possibly one of the best books i have read on the subject, although completely different from carrolls, jm takes a mystical approach which seems to embrace my own ethos as well. 
i think in my own evolution, mysticism led me to magick and the two are inextricably linked whereas carrol won't have a bar of mysticism. i do believe in an intelligence within the universe, i don't claim to understand it but i personally feel duty bound to intuit it's will and act as a vessel for it and i think jm comes from the same idea which is why her book resonates with me. 
the magician is pretty much embarking on a process of evolution and communion, he or she is not a god or goddess but an aspect of these intelligences, evoking or invoking. 
carroll adopts a scientific principle to his work, i respect this but sooner or later one has to accept the science can only take us so far, faith is the engine, belief the fuel and if you get this far, the phrase, 'i want to believe' can shift to, 'i believe.'
what you believe is of course subjective and one can argue it is no more truer than anything else anyone believes, in fact magick allows for this possibility, which is why the lone practitioner requires certain parameters to navigate through. these parameters are often found in religion, especially the eastern ones but the western traditions have them behind the dogma encoded in their mystic agendas, gnosticism, kabbala, sufism all have rich frameworks contained within but they are somewhat inaccessible for most but buddhism has a very practical foundation on which to navigate the magickal world. 
the most important is 'no attachments' which can be extended even to the idea of magick, this is a paradox. 
how can one be a magickian and not attached to the idea of magick?
peter carrol spells it out in the idea of 'desire of results.'
this desire is the very thing that makes a practitioner impotent. it's usually the individuals who think they are powerful and dress in the regalia and have the paraphernalia that are the most ineffective. i have always thought the most powerful magick comes from the magickian whom never uses magick. that's the secret of magick, don't use it but understand it is a process that happens and unfolds once a connection is made. 
this is mysticism now i guess but that's just a word and the map is not the territory.
when the magickian uses magick it should be for purposes aligned with the universal will, love, health, protection, life, creativity, these are the natural laws a magickian should aspire to align with.
when one is aligned, these things are beautiful as they are filled with energy that could be collectively termed magick.
i'm impressed with jm's book because she calls a spade a spade, no bullshit, no frills, i may not agree with everything she writes, i've only just started reading it but i respect her immensely for her approach. 

just finished alastair reynolds take on the third dr. who, john pertwee in his novel 'the harvest of time' and as i have come to expect from alastair the narrative is excellent, he not only captures the time, he captures the energy of the john pertwee years, you can almost feel the cheesy bbc sets and the authentic dialogue between the characters, above all he writes a great story and i must confess i enjoyed reading it.
however the front cover is questionable, whoever approved the phallic looking space ship needs a good talking to, it really is distracting and ridiculous.
i'm about to start joesaphine maccarthy's trilogy of books she wrote on magic, and i must say the idea of a christian writing an introduction was puzzling as he certainly didn't seem to hold magic in high regard at all, but he was very generous towards josephine and as i began to read her book i can see she is actually quite likeable and writes with a certain accurate authenticity which i like.
she starts by writing off all magical skools which i thought was excellent but at the same time suggests getting a basic understanding from them which is also practical and useful.
i like she describes magic as a hybrid between spirituality and science.

jack frost - didn't know where i was

jack frost was brilliant, it was an exceptionally brilliant documentary and i have yet to even see the second half but apart from some fantastic songs played live, there's some interviews that are hilarious as steve and grant are like two aliens travelling through america, negotiating all sorts of weirdness, laughing and engaging with everyone they meet including the woman who is filming. she does a great job by the way, it's excellent, as is the editing, which i think is perfect, its sort of random yet feels right. 
i was blown away by grant. i guess because i never was into his band or his music in general, whereas i knew steve although i'd never met him i had spent many many years listening to his music. 
grant, quiet, kind of shy but when he speaks he's really passionate and the thing i love best about this film is it is about friendship and two gentlemen travelling together. 
some great conversations in this footage, sk and gm have such a unique chemistry, it's lovely to watch, so different yet so connected by something you can also feel, as a viewer. 
i could feel that friendship, it reminded me of my friend tim and i and i became very emotional thinking about it.
while watching the movie i find myself feeling a sort of loss, for a loss. 
yeah you did read that right. 
i could feel a loss for steve's loss, and a loss for mine. 
a weird twice removed sensation but i could really get a strong emotional response watching this and it perplexed me slightly.  
listening to their music was incredible, i'm digging out those cds now, i've been playing 'kilbey kennedy' non stop for forty days and nights now, time for some jf.
anyway, it's a long film, i wanna watch it in 2 or 3 parts but there was one section that i really was amazed to hear and it's steve's narrative in a car when he starts a science fiction type monologue that i have read before, but can't remember where it comes from, it really struck a chord with me. 
also steve narrates this without missing a beat, i mean the delivery is perfect. 
its also quite amazing to watch a younger sk, he's always been consistently brilliant, interesting and creative, some of those songs are masterpieces, belong in art galleries. this is the kinda film d.a. pennebaker would have made in an alternative universe if he had followed jf around, i really like this style, its atmosphere is authentic, and additionally  instead of one bob dylan you get two jack frosts.
i wish i had seen jack frost live, i really was late in discovering them but with this download film i feel like i'm on the road with them, cities blending into cities, it's always raining, in the backs of cars, in offices, backstage and onstage, the strange cats they meet on the way, lot's of joking around, i really felt like a fly on the wall, the film created an intimate atmosphere that i surprisingly found emotional. 
and sometimes even i need a reminder i'm human and have emotions. 
  

about a week ago i had coffee with wilde one and we planned to go see steve play in sydney, so i get hold of kate who say's she can't do it as she's moving to...avalon!
so i get to work, all i had to do was swap my shift, but as usual it was impossible as everyone is still away, we have no support for situations like this so part of me is already feeling desperate. i'm thinking up all sorts of ideas but as i look at the monthly roster i'm beginning to see every avenue close into a tight knot ending in my stomach. i can't do it, i let wilde one know, it turns out she can't make it and we cry into our coffee cups bitching about work, what's it all for if you can't fucking go see sk play when he plays. i'm getting really worked up, i'm tired and it's been a long laborious disappointing day, there's some stress in my system and i can't shake it. although i did buy a nice 1984 t- shirt which i fell in love with as soon as i saw it.
so on monday night i'm at work and around 8pm i stop and imagine steve playing and doing his thing, i imagine the audience and the atmosphere, the other figures in the band, the energy and funny comments he makes and stories he tells.
anyway, it was just a moment but at the same time kate texted me, 'where are you, i'm here, made it, sitting in middle.'
i'm happy one of us made it, kate reckons it was the bees knees. 
everyone who was there is raving about it in fatebook, i should feel really depressed i missed out but i feel glad everyone else can see what i see. the guys an australian legend, a true artist and we should celebrate the man while he's here, australians don't get many people like this as cultural heroes, they have sporting heroes and hollywood folk but what you have in sk is the real deal. 
so, i have now got two days to myself, i'd swap em for monday night if i could but the cards don't fall that way. 
i got the pond man coming tomorrow, pond man is a real superhero, he sort of is very practical and earthy, and knows how ponds and pumps work, he has an ecological perspective and a passion for his work that you just never see in tradespeople. i don't really understand anything he says, or does. he try's to explain it to me but i don't follow all the technical stuff, i get the big picture and try to maintain the order in the landscape with my naive skills and elementary understanding. 
i also have to visit the vet whom i promised to lend a book on ayahuscia to, he's a lovely man, gentle soul, and i think ayahuscia will come to him, he's just that type of druid. 
then its home for watching jack frost, i'll see if i can rig my speakers up to the computer and get a big sound...

eternity, it's in the curve of the wave. yes for two mornings i've been surfing and the rebalance is complete, nourished and vital i have neptune flooding my veins again with his certainty and guidance, with his paredrae, salacia and venilia also known as venus i engage with these waves, they come like trusted expectations, delivering me a kingdom as for a short moment eternity rides itself on the curve of each wave. aquatic offering, blissful null, the desire quenched, the absence of everything, the ultimate floatation tank. only the beach, with its landline, the crystal sand, the elegant motions of planetary dance, you cannot apprehend the cosmic dance of vishnu, you cannot understand its event horizon, but if you surf you can feel it, you can be it and anything is possible in these moments, an act of creation, the primordial chaos energy, particle, the ordered will of creation, wave. inspiration.    

i am vague and incorporeal, a shadow of a former self, some whimsical idea that has no form, i am tired of my own gravity as i drift through time and space. i have no interests other than waves, they haunt my days and my nights. 
i've learnt how to disguise my thoughts while undercover, at work, in the company of those i know and those i don't, i am distant and almost invisible...
...my mind is in the ocean, my body in its elements, salt, water, earth, air and some other lovely atoms. 
here is where i want to be, in the ocean but the day has it's way with me and i'm wandering through the powerhouse museum looking at stuff that don't really hold me, although i did enjoy seeing that robot, he's popped up in 'forbidden planet' and 'lost in space'. 
i loved watching lost in space when i was a very young boy, i used to remember it was on friday and i just loved it so much i'd get very excited, each week the episodes ended with a real cliffhanger, the poor robinson family searching for earth but always getting in strife with some monster or alien or that kooky dr. smith. 
i remember lost in space as being part of my childhood but when i was about thirteen or fourteen i saw that forbidden planet and i knew i would always be a space traveller. journeying through the universe, the silver surfer stuck on a strange unfamiliar planet, trying to penetrate the barrier galactus, a devourer of worlds had trapped him in with an invisible impenetrable force field. norrin radd, hated by mankind, shunned and misunderstood, finding solace in the animals and natural life, trees and the himalayans, the indian beggars, the wise fools, the blind and the sick whom he sometimes helped, he found he came to love the place and he surfed it, and surfed and surfed.
thats all i think about today, the sensation of that fin, the waves, the blissful union when my intellect is obliterated along with my sense of self, when there is nothing but the riding of the wave, and then not even the riding, and then not even the wave.

  

the church - hounds of love

when i was listening to the book show on the abc radio i was surprised to hear the international guests discuss the book in great detail and miss out the single most poignant element, was gatsby great and if so, why?

by the end of the discussion they all agreed he was a fool, who had frittered away his wealth to impress a girl who rejected him. i was impressed by the sound byte of a young boy reviewing the book, really blown away by his observations and insight.

but why does the panel reject the idea gastby was great?

the answer is because they are materialists themselves, invested heavily in the idea that reality is material and therefore all intelligent people function in the material world. this is not and never been the case, in sciences history, but the age of scientific rationalism is omitting this from their own narrative and now we have this super fascist scientific community that refuse to let people imagine there's other ways to perceive what reality is than material. 

thank god the quantum universe is strong in theory, it really does offer a more liberated science, opening up into imagination.

gatsby was great, he remained true to some ideal, he was a poet, never cared for his materialistic impulses, he knew he was a star and he shone out across the water, to daisy. is daisy deserving of his love, it's not the great daisy, nick and i see the same person, a man who just hoped, and that's enough to make him great, as great as don quixote who was also misunderstood as a fool and a dreamer. 

gatsby was great, those reviewers were intelligent and offered a lot to the subject but never once did they acknowledge this fact about gatsby, and i mention this because hope is powerful, weather deluded or not, it's an extreme sport and very dangerous and anyone offering it is obviously not great in the eyes of the mass zombie, unless you're a poet, fool or artist, the most subversive of all professions.

  

terrible beach packed early with holiday makers and touristy types, kids going bananas, dads looking disenchanted, mums looking tired and flustered, cafes spill over with glamourous girls in bikinis, butched up guys in tattoo's and muscle bursting out from tanned skin. i'm in the surf trying to find some space but there's not that much around today so i head back to the spaceship.
i'm thinking about what a man can do in the cosmic war, what can he do but change his own self, alchemical process or transpersonal and psychological, everyman has a road they must walk down eventually, the scenery is usually a desert but it begins to bloom once your on the right track. i think that's why the sages go into wilderness, it's a place where there's nothing external to distract. 
does that journey ever end, probably not, because ultimately even the sages were tested and had to apply what they knew. that's the catch, isn't it, application of true will in the field of deed, gotta be true to yourself right?
gotta know who you are, and as bob dylan said, 'it may be the devil, it may be the lord, but you gonna have to serve someone.'
that's the cosmic war on a personal level, the gita nails it, the internal struggle. most wise texts come to exactly the same conclusion, yet only a few people seem to take the road into the wilderness. even in this current life, it's a hard road to travel, it keeps you separated and alien from people, you make mistakes and they appear magnified, you do the wrong thing and it appears significant, you clamber up to light you have further to fall, yet all these things are dismissed in spiritual quests, because once you get invited to take that journey the invitation remains open.
we do need to acknowledge a spiritual kingdom on earth exists, unencumbered by borders, passport controls, laws of men, money, power and control.

new years i manage to get home at 2330, collapse on my rug and chill, within seconds my phone rings and it's a friend on the coast who asks me over, she's got a persuasive voice so i drive over and watch a dvd with her. 
when i wake up it's about 0630, i head down to terrible beach but as i'm cruising down some misty road in avoca i get stopped by the police and tested for alcohol, there's police everywhere coming out of the mists sirens ablaze, they see me as i have the window down, and i am wearing my round sunglasses listening to strange music, driving well withn the speed limit as well. i guess i looked a bit outta place for them. it was all to surreal until i hit the beach, not the best surf but man it felt good to get into. i really needed it, could feel my sense of self aligning, my aura stopped leaking and i just melted into the ocean. i can't afford to miss the ocean now, every morning when i have to be somewhere else is a morning distracted from my need to be in the water, 
admittedly i do like safe and sound conditions and in order to bodysurf with my fin. i require a nice wave or two but generally the conditions are good for getting wet. early mornings is best, the water temperature is perfect, there's no people around, just a few old sailors swimming out to the buoy as they do every morning. they all wave when they see me, they think i'm a real novelty, a man with a fin, which indeed i guess i am.
happy new years and all that jazz.