i am neither here nor there, neither unknown or known, nothing defines me, no politic, no religion, no belief other than what i need to evolve or break through the strange existence of tears and fears.
winter pains me, i don't feel right in the cold, in dampness that rots the bones and hurts my lungs. i don't like the rainfall penetrating walls and dry places, leaking through cracks like some abominable creature hp lovecraft described. amorphous monster, the past haunting me, london calling. misery.
the cold is my enemy, it chills the blood and freezes my motion in the thick soup of the moment, i retreat. 
along comes the sun, i sit in joy soaking it up, the birds are out, rejoice. my coffee is the defrost agent, waves conform, patterns emerge one again, harmony.
my breathing is clear, the damp waterlogged sadness leaves my flesh, bones, spirit. break out the coconuts, pass me a spliff, rejoice. it will be time to emerge from winter months soon, spring will come and we can dance with abandon under the full moon and celebrate the turning of the seasons. 

another time, inhabiting the spectral splendour of mission control, nocturnal sounds of strange beasts clamouring from their resting places, old bones creak, skeleton cabinet murmur, the rubick cube of mystery night as the moon calls dawn it's ancient tide. i wander the darkness, illuminated by some cold fire between my eyes, the central nervous system operating inter- dimensional. cosmic eye, perception of patterns upon patters, star maps hidden in star charts, multiverse within the universe, all embedded within and without. one step forwards, any direction is pointless, we are lost in deception. we deceive ourselves until we believe in the truth. 
here the wand is waved, spells cast, a maze of thought bubbles float away, some burst open, some catch the breeze, some just sink without trace, some go and evolve into great ambitions and forms, islands in the fabric of the world. 
science fiction writers produce ideas in narratives, the atomic bomb was an idea, satellites were an idea, submarines, helicopters everything starts as an idea. they go outwards into the ether, and some are plucked into reality. how does this happen, magickal theory suggests it's in manifestation and  invocation. 
i've been wondering about this, minds linked by intention but unable to know this, the ultimate detachment to result, detached by time and space. the sigil is encoded into a novel or drawing and expunged into the universe later plucked into a receptive mind and actualised by the time that mind exists in. this would conform to non locality and entanglement.

i plugged into the cosmos baby, with my dream coat dmt downloaded info dump, i see the game, the players, the rules and all probable outcomes, don't believe me! don't really care, it makes no difference, we are all space dust dancing on the head of a pin. 
i cast my sigil into my universe, i spell bind my enemy with a flaming sword, symbol of my intentions, i move like the invisible ghost in the machine, dense perceptions only revealed to those who know how to see with a mindful eye. 
there is a mighty force called chariot, it's often superimposed with lions and large cats, flames abound but not temporal heat, cool fire, light in dense talk.
i'm in a bar in newtown talking with a friend who doesn't speak symbol, he's a lecturer in philosophy, american guy. smart enough to keep me on my toes, i like him despite his rationality. he confesses his secret past when he took lsd and i congratulate him, every man should sup from this cup be they knowledgeable.
he don't speak symbol but his logic is doubtful to my finely attuned cogs.
i speak with some cats from melbourne, reveal far to much about myself. i fall into the uniform fantasy of a girl in a coat with an innocent face and nice heels, something about those librarian girls.
i escape the city, back to the world of waves, ocean form pounds relentlessly like the thought of soft sensuality. earth beautiful and bountiful, earth, makes the sound of soaring and a word is formed. earth the host speaks the laws of life. 
contemplation time, the atrocity, it's everywhere, exhibited for the alien, for the intergalactic judges, for concerned gods, high intelligence. mankind, does what it has always done, divide itself, shed it's own blood in a rite of tribal violence and lust for power and control, it's ridiculous to say one side is guilty and another innocent, an absurdity drives the problem further away from the solution, is light right, you need a darkness to know. manufacture the outrage, compassion only makes me angry these days unless it's from a space of non judgement. who knows what's going down, do you have all the information, are you so right that all evidence cannot change your mind, hate is enslaved by the conspiracy, hate is the ultimate game of thrones. only love will win in my world but what do i know, i'm just the non prophet of doom.  

CAPTAIN MISSION ADVENTURES

http://www.amazon.com/Adventures-Of-Captain-Mission-Mission-ebook/dp/B00GLFBJZ8

next door close by in space lay's pearl beach, beautiful and tranquil most of the time.
yet today the terrible events permeate into my sanctuary, imagine this,  a child of 5 plays on the beach, a safe beach with a reputation of being child friendly. his family watch from a few feet away. this is a very normal situation in australia, my son spent his first 10 doing this, everyone fortunate enough to be by a beach does. we all know surf conditions, we all follow the rules, especially with children. so here is situation normal, when something so random occurs, a wave sweeps the child away. 
i've seen waves like this, been caught within their invisible currents and force. the child just vanishes. 48 hours later the search still continues, the family know the worst has happened, there is no body washed up, nothing but an awful memory still raw and still being processed.
how does that happen?
what can it mean?
what can something like this teach us all?
love every moment because everything changes in the blink of an eye.
love is all that matters.
death is indiscriminate.
somethings have no meaning we can fathom.
this event made me very sad for all the people who have to deal with this kind of situation, for all the children who suffer be they at the hands of religious nutjobs, political fools or just fate. life is indeed a veil of tears from which we have to rise somehow.
i send a silent blessing to those children and their families.

terrible beach far away in time, i watch the surfer a lone longboard rider out there on the crest of perfection, man i wish i could surf like him / her. the board flies away from under it's rider, shooting up into the blue skies like a marlin.
i flick through my newspaper, drink coffee with my lesbian friend phoenix, the day has barely started and yet it's already frittered away. 
i have to pull myself away and formulate a plan but i'm pulled towards a need to clean mission control and do some domestics. the dramas of the last month have made my usual responsibilities slid, so i attempt to rectify this half heartedly.
for domestics to really work i require the correct music, so i spin the new lana del ray cd and follow her voice into some semi erotic landscape where french women meet california beach culture and everyone has a story to tell about some broken romance. 
in another life i wonder the possibilities of being a film director, what type of films would i make. 
i'd like to try one of each genre, horror, science fiction, detective, love story, rom com, action. i'd invert the normative and exploit the politically correct reality we inhabit. people from the smh and abc would give me a bad review because of this, but i would take this as a sign i am on the correct track.
my horror film would be about evil in human terms, how everyone holds the capacity to do bad things under the circumstances, there would be no blood or gore, it would be about good people slowly changing, it would be about the real horrors, war, slavery, the commodification of life, the exploitation of the planet and humanities inability to co exist with other species, it would be about good people motivated by what could be perceived as good intentions but ultimately they to are part of the evil that manifests in humanity. the ultimate climax would show how we are slaves, all of us to forces outside and beyond our rational knowledge, how strings are pulled, how people are engineered and manipulated without even being aware. the horror is the director is of course manipulating the viewer as well.
the science fiction move would be about first contact, only it would be with an alien so alien it is abstract in nature, spores (hat's of to vandermeer) that infect our minds and alter the way we live. i think i'd have to use annihilation, authority and acceptance as templates here. there is no point in attempting to be original as vandermeers trilogy nail exactly what i am going for. of course steve kilbey would be invited to do the soundtrack, only he could do it. 
for a detective story i would shoot in black and white, set in a nameless city, possibly about themes that revolve around identity and karma. i'd want to keep the story and script as interesting as possible, slow pace, slow burn, carefully considered characters, tarot archetypes, the lead detective, possibly female uncovering the truth about the nature of reality. 
the love story would be about a prostitute and one of her clients. they never have sex but come to love one another deeply.
suddenly i realise i would never make these films, these films inhabit my mind as films i'd like to create but don't have means to do so. so many stories, ideas float through my head, in micro time, split infinity.
lana sings her songs, the skies are true blue, the dog dreams and my place looks cleaner although piles of paper shrines need sorting through, but i abandon that in favour of my book, i'm hooked as it reaches a climax, must finish...

the shit went down today, i walk in shambolic in black, i wear my cosmic pants and captain's hat, like a seafaring man returning with bad news, from distant travels, i pass through glass cubicles where the workers look nervously in my direction, you can see them wonder as they follow me with their eyes. led by managers and top level bureaucrat, better sit down and open a bottle, listen to my tale. 
i have my second mate with me a woman who knows the score, she commands respect, a talisman. sitting down we do the small talk, then i tell my tale, occasionally interrupted for questioning. 
one day i will write about it, strange story where i'm cast forwards as spokesperson for the disenfranchised, but these upper management types have no idea of my nature, no idea of my background, no ideas of the force that empowers me. 
two and a half hours later they have understood and then i play my ace card. jaws drop, it's a good moment if i had an ego, but i'm feeling nothing but sorrow for my nemesis, compassion for my enemy as they are slayed by truth, i am detached, for i am not truth but it's vessel. 
outside on the streets my first mate gives me a hug, 'you were brilliant,' she offers.
'you were brilliant, your strength was mine.'
i mean it.
i drive home, long day falling asleep on me, i get some calls from interested parties who were concerned. 
i have to mention them, my karmic broker, jeff the interstate counsellor, the ace card without which i would have lost the war and the great spirit who flowed through me and i praise my enemy, i'm sorry but your demise was determined long ago by a universe of beauty truth and some sort of justice i know exists.   

okay, the walls are closing in, one wall is the face of an ego of my nemesis, the other is my clients, the other wall is my responsibility to all parties and the other to myself. 

bureaucracy is a beast, sluggish in it's efficiency, stumbling here and there, one cm forwards two cm back, wobbles here, wobbles there, looses itself in grey areas, is bleakly blocking the sunlight, in crisis mode it's two prime directives.

how can it stop itself being sued.

how can it stop the press finding out.

this is what bureaucracy does, it has one weapon, the face of mediocracy. it has one weakness, the spirit of humour. 

bureaucracy is no dragon, no unicorn, it's not alive with any coherent altruistic interest, it cannot care, support or nurture. 

the bureaucracy by nature are filled with smaller elements of itself, self preservation is instinctive and often without higher intelligence. the people that work there are automatons, limited processing power outside of generating paperwork, policies and procedures. the lights in the buildings of these institutions are artificial brain zappers, the colour scheme slows innovation down until it marches backwards, the dull ambient hypnotic throb softens the sharp edges of the mind.  
not me though, i'm captain mission, champion of lost causes, the disempowered. i can't escape the walls but i can move around outside them, everyone underestimated me, they big bosses in their ivory towers, the masses of paperwork they generate the huge dept. that they exist within all designed to crush people like me. ha, but i've always been outside the box. i say to my boss you have no power over me. I say to the gravitational pull of this huge construct you have breached every standard and ethical principle you promote, therefore i win. to my clients i say, i will protect you, to myself i say i am already dead, already fought the battle, win loose, it makes no difference, it's about being true to myself. they never seen anything like you captain mission. they use fear against you and now they are fearing you, as you laugh at their grasp over control, laugh at how the harder they grip the more it slips away. 

everything zen this morning i had that moment, feeding my old fish. he was dying when i inherited him, pondman said he's only got a few weeks left, old mangy thing, his eye all bulbous and wretched, skin looking awful, colour faded in decay, deaths shadow upon him. he's lived two years now, his colour and life force returned. 
so this morning i'm feeding him, it's almost hand feeding, his senses are not sharp but he's got spirit. i like his oriental mouth, it's hilarious. like an ancient kung fu master, a bit like yoda, as his mouth opens and closes i think he's trying to telepathically communicate to me. so i stand there and as i throw each pellet down in front of his mouth i get this really zen moment where i am the fish and we are all one, part of some process of nature, connected and unable to even intellectualise it, just what it is.
for a moment i was no longer captain mission feeding a fish, i was not even aware i was human, i was just in a zen moment.
it felt strangely satisfying, everything in place for that one perfect moment. i wonder if my fish felt it to.