suddenly dawned upon me i have no suitcase or travelling bags, my old bag fell apart on me. it was held together with tape and string, i'd used it for years and watched it fall apart in seven different countries and ironically on my last trip it disintegrated as i unpacked when i arrived home. it was a loyal case, it got me home before falling apart, things could have been much worse.
so i have seen some interesting cases but i feel like getting something in hot pink, i figure it will stand out at the airport and everyone will expect some glamourous supermodel type in high heels to own them when in fact it will be old captain mission, dishevelled, unshaven, stinking of airport fatigue and looking stoned and disorientated after travelling cross the planet. 
i like that whole concept of fucking peoples expectations and i also like the fact hot pink suitcases will annoy people, disorientating with their strange sense of sexual certainty. yeah fuck it, hot pink for me, but should i get the bold pink one or the leopard spots or the pink zebra striped ones, see these are the things i have to think about and i have not even had breakfast yet. 

afterthoughts.
i've worked for this dept for decades, seen stuff you would not believe so after a while i started to process the meeting and i just don't feel right. i really don't. it was almost to good to be true, but there was some added element where they said a legal team of their own would coach me in what to say and what not to say if i take the stand. at the meeting itself it sounded like support but then later i was thinking and i confess, i don't want to be negative but experience has shaped my perception of how 'stupid' this dept. can be. could they just want to stop me talking about the terrible debacle they (the dept) have made in dealing with this client. time will tell i guess. 

the rain here is amazing, winds that have savaged the state, killed and broken people. my driving around northern sydney through what looks like the aftermath of warfare, homes smashed, trees and debris everywhere, roads closed, flooding and all the while the rain falls. on my drive home last night the freeway was better but the small country roads on the central coast were hazardous, inaccessible and required some deft four wheel driving manoeuvres. my own street was hammered and this morning i look out at my garden which has been savaged, trees out of whack, plants overturned, river running wild.  

well bless my cotton socks, the meeting was much better than i thought and the guys who attended were okay, offered me a bit of support and generally were supportive of what i had done although there was a lot unsaid. anyway i was pleasantly surprised, it wasn't as bad as i thought it would be. 
diving home at midnight was outrageous as the terrible winds and rains had flooded the freeway turning it into a frictionless sliding track as cars moved in all directions in the most unpredictable of ways hindered by the trucks that raced past leaving a tidal wave in their wakes. roads flooded everywhere, trees fallen, abandoned cars, crashed cars, i am glad to be home. 

strange dream, different time, alternative universe. i missed a bowie gig but my father gets me there for the second half. no deep meaning or anything, i'd just spoken with him on the phone, we had a short conversation and i always enjoy our chats although skype was better. 
i'm exhausted when i wake up, the rain seems heavy and relentless, the birds downstairs are making a racket, the garden looks great, getting that tropical feel. down there past the trees i see the murky river and wonder what it's secrets are.
there's no skies today, just grey darkness. 
i contemplate a big meeting i have, should i do some preparation or wing it. they have summoned me, they have not issued me an agenda so i have no idea what to expect. am i about to be fired, given a warning, offered a new position, transferred? 
it's impossible to know with these guys, they probably don't know themselves. one thing i know will not be happening is they won't promote me or acknowledge my work. 

my job always brings up interesting challenges, i love my work but the repeating pattern is always my relationship with other staff. i never wanted to work here but was transferred against my will by the usual governmental bullies and thugs. the excuse they used was i got on to well with my clients, and other staff were not able to develop relationships with them. despite the fact the other staff had been working there for much longer than i had. instead of building up relationships they sat around eating sandwiches and gossiping about bullshit, neglecting clients needs and generally doing what the public service does which is get paid for doing little as possible.
anyway's i gave up fighting and ended up here, now the same pattern repeats. while my peers sit around watching sports on tv or taking long cigarette breaks i built up relationships and trust with my clients. we have healthy trust based relationships and i'm more productive than anyone else. the clients like me, they want to be with me, and they have fun with me. so once again the weird professional envy has crept in. 
the facts are i have far more experience than anyone in the dept. they are kindergarten level compared to my training and expertise. i never flaunt it or shove it down anyone necks, i just do my work and leave feeling like i accomplished something. managers fall by the way sides when they come up against me, some have had to deal with my wrath which i peruse through proper channels and always get a result in my favour, the current one is fantastic and i like her a lot but she has limited powers of influence. if i know a client is under any form of abuse i act mercilessly. i know no fear despite the attitude to staff that report controversy from our management. 
so when i walk into the monthly meeting and am attacked for 'waltzing in and having a great shift,' by someone that sits and watches sports while he gets the clients to do all the work, i'm in no mood to defend myself only attack back, twice as hard. there's a lot of fall out, everyone else is shocked disturbed and upset but i don't fucking care. i really don't. no one has worked as hard as i have in the last two three years under adverse conditions with complex case management and legal issues. no one has had better outcomes than me, and no one has more trust with our clients than me. and there lies the problem. i come across it all the time in this field. envy, jealously and the biggest sin is rising above the expected standard of care. one day my story will be told, i'll be on a tv show and able to tell you all about my experiences as a social worker. the truth is really much stranger than fiction!  

higgs boson blues NICK CAVE

so very busy as time slips away under my feet through my toes and fingers, can't seem to hold on to it at all, the days pass through nights, the nights seem lost in the dreamscapes of other realms, everywhere i'm a tourist. sleep is a station and i've missed a few stops pulled this way and that, demands from people, money is a burden, everyone wants something from me and that's okay, i don't really seek anything but they should recognise me and acknowledge my part in their result. this annoys me, so many people racking in the clams yet i seem to be the one doing all the work. i get phone calls on my days off, i get called in for meetings. yet my own needs are unmet, i need certain things, material objects, a working computer would be a start, i need money, to pay my ever increasing debt, i need time which is a precious resource, however i am writing, i am creating and i am getting some objectives met so all is not lost.
in fact to counter my trails is a wonderful tribulation. it means something to me anyway, a few months ago i decided to buy a ticket to london, via stockholm so i could see my dad and son. i chose various stop overs to break up the flight, finland, singapore etc, but the day i arrive in london the church play their one and only london show. my brother has acquired a ticket for me, and then the morning i return to sydney the church play the same evening. i just picked up a pre-sale ticket. 
now this is probably not such a big deal to you humble reader of blog, but for me it's incredible. it's definite proof of higher powers, it means life has meanings and is beautiful and whatever you are going through do not despair, for there is always some light at the end of the tunnels.  

some towns are not on the map. some towns don't have official names they may just be known by some historical event, or some landmark. 

i drove west into the desert.
the car was dying, a steady black burning cloud of smoke escaped from the grill. i was out of drugs, out of luck and out of time. my skin was blistering up, the heat was slowly making everything slow down to a stop, i could feel my heart beating, each beat slower than the last, blood sluggishly pumped its way through my body and the sun was blazing down. i figured i had less than an hour, either the car would seize up or i would.
the red dust was everywhere, on the windscreen, on the dash, on the skin and in my throat, it was finding its way into my eyes past my sunglasses. i wiped the petrol gauge with my hand, smearing the dust, it was in the red. everything out here was in the red.
the road stretched out, hazy and half there, i couldn't even be sure if there was a road any more. i just drove forwards instinct, my eyes must have been more closed than open, slipping into some sort of micro sleep.
when i opened them the town was looming.
must have been an old mining town, the tin huts and shop fronts all boarded up, a few shops on the high street and a hotel and pub. the car gave up right outside the hotel.
i must have fallen out from the car as i awoke in dust bruised and battered and burning up. i lifted my head and saw the doorway to the pub, some clanky piano music seeping out and a crowd singing some strange tune.
i crawled towards it loosing my sunglasses in the process. every movement sent throbs of pain along side, something was not quite right inside me. dense pain, throbbing guts, my eyes streaming with water, it was all getting blurry now, the door the music, the desert skies. my arm pushed against the door and it swung open as white light flooded out swallowing me up, white radiant light beautiful and perfect. when my eyes closed the light swallowed me up.
    

the biggest mistake made by people who read the old testament is they read it in english. it has to be read and understood through the prism of the hebrew alphabet. each letter is a language itself, each letter symbolic and placed very carefully to the others in complex codex. the old testament is a doorway. 
it is in kabbalistic philosophy that the pattern is understood. supporting books like the zohar are the key to understanding the old testament.
those old mystics kept the mystery to themselves, they didn't go around spilling their knowledge to anyone, it's not spiritual fast food and it's not part of the process of any enlightenment to force feed your neighbour with a spiritual truth because in all likelihood they will say it's a lie. unlike most religions these druids don't care if you like it or not, they don't need numbers and followers and it has nothing to do with belief. the committed truth seeker comes to them. there is two criteria the druids expect from you.
one. you are over 50 years of age. this is because they want you to have some real life experience under your belt that you can apply to the theory and practice.
two. that you reject everything you think you knew about the old book, which in practical terms means all your preconditioned ideas. even the so called followers of the hated tribe have to unlearn everything.
only the ignorant would take the old testament literally, only the ignorant do. it's a mish mash, fragments, the history of a desert people, the rules and controls for a society to function, the stories fables and tales that guide a civilization towards some kind of moral code. as a step on a ladder of spiritual evolution just like all other religions have, it contains aspects of mystical truth for the time. there is one ultimate conciousness and we can enter a relationship with it.

most of the stories are allegorical fables or mythological tales that pre existed long before. no follower really believes god created the universe in seven days jewish people are not stupid generally although they are a strange bunch and difficult to relate to. 
to the discerning scholar the only books that really matter are the first three books of genesis for here is the secret of how mind creates. emanation. to the critic one can see how prejudice and fear has manipulated perceptions, a slow creeping eternal paranoia. the god in the old testament is many things, it manifests as many faces but the most known is obviously the ego, the super entity that controls every aspect of peoples individual and collective lives. yeah it's amazing how many people hate that particular god and take any opportunity to bash it over the head motivated by...their own ego i guess.

there are not many qualities i like about this tribe to be honest and i don't live amongst them but i think the quality that sets them apart from others is humility and i think that's not a bad thing, maybe that's why people irrationally hate it. some say it's all about israel but if they are honest, the hate existed long before israel ever did. 

fantastic book, slipped right under my radar, halfway through it, totally engrossed in the world david zindell has created and his beautiful writing. why this was never as big as dune in the sci fi world i will never know. it's the precursor to a trilogy and i'm really looking forwards to reading them all. 

when the rain comes it's a slow drudge, it don't really fall out the sky but kinda just hovers around above the ground. i wander around like a strange beast out of luck and out of coconuts. my skin clammy, made of seaweed, stinking of sweat and slimy translucent oils, i get myself under the fan, it feels like 1950's burma, some half smoked joint and some water with lemon.
i pick up the only paperback in the room, it's an airport thriller by some guy called greg iles, it's called 'the quiet game' and i start to read it. completely different from any novel i would chose to read under normal circumstances but i can't leave the room until my package arrives. 
hours must pass, the sun must be in a completely different spot i can tell by the way the shimmering haze in the black clouded sky hovers, just penetrating enough in diffuse obscurity, everything fuzzy and smeared by watercolours.
i'm half way through the novel, it's brilliantly written and i'm surprised at the quality of narrative. i stretch my legs, pace up and down like an english assassin. for a while i leer at the window and can make out the street scene below as a cart pulled by an elephant passes. a few figures in white on an otherwise empty street, the water now a river flowing down the road. under a lone palm tree stands a tall man in what seems to be a white singapore suit. 
it's him, he's smoking a cigarette like a spy from 1954, faux coolness trying not to stand out while standing out. i put out my joint and put on my sunglasses, locking the door behind me.
he spots me immediately, after all only an english man would be wearing sunglasses in the rain. 
we meet one another in the road, a cart manoeuvres its way around us effortlessly. a small wave of water washes over our shoes.
'let's get out of the rain mr. mission. there's a cafe just here.'
he leads, i follow.
inside i shake myself dry, take off my jacket and empty my shoes. i even squeeze out my socks and hang them over a chair. they will all be dry soon, the heat is outrageous, even the fan makes no difference it struggles slowly to rotate through the thick atmosphere only churning around hot stinking air.
we order teas and he flicks through a newspaper, folding it carefully in half and half again like some origami, he pulls out a pen and circles something and shows me.
it's my advertisement.
'so mr. mission how would i engage your services.' 
'you must be under some misunderstanding, the moment you engaged my services is the moment you receive them it is not my job to take orders on targets but to target the order givers.'
the look he gives me is not quite confusion, more denial as the truth slips through his mind.
'the tea your drinking will take effect in a few seconds, it acts as a paralysing agent initially, after which you sink into a coma. chances are the hospital will terminate you. there won't be any traceable evidence, only that you died quite naturally.
the look of horror that crossed his face was familiar, i'd seen it many times.   
i stood up to leave, returning to finish 'the quiet game.'

saw the waterboys last night at the opera house, a completely different set from last time, they played most of the new album, glastonbury song, don't bang the drum (a powerful bare version with mike singing and playing piano while steve wickham played his electric fiddle. they tore through songs with incredible professionalism, a band that actually enjoys playing together their energy was so infectious that the audience which started as reserved and sedate ended up rocking. 
to watch the waterboys is to watch a band playing with energy, mike shifts, changes and manipulates the whole feel of the live sound, adding flourishes, little diversions, (song for cynthia lennon was beautiful and spontaneous).
the stage was fundamentally bare, some nice lights and the album cover hanging in the background, that image 'modern blues' looking powerful and mighty.
the band was a mixture of english and americans and they were incredible, the keyboard player brother paul was just a joy to watch as he made his hammond sound. mike seemed to be in fine form, jumping from guitar to piano and his voice was near perfect. 
the sound was spot on, the opera house either gets it right or wrong but this was magnificent sound, the big music honed for intimacy. wow! what a great night of music and joy.....'purple rain' made the audience go nuts.