in the realm of metenoia where everything is beyond intelligencia, the principality of singularity, bone and blood, mind magicks and psychological anarchy unbound. shadow warrior. plato cave, full moon rave, beach tranquility and the mind control of neuroplasticity. keep the eye in the sky, keep the eye on the mind, keep the eye in the try angle, of the angel.
saturation polotik black man smoking big spliff, in a bar 
downtown, words like syrup, falling from fat lips.

'these days it's all secrecy and no privacy, shoot first!'

there were days in old avalon town where i used to go out buy some milk for the family and come home three days later, that's how the life was in them olden days of tangents and tributaries. no one minded as the whole place functioned like that, heading into the village i'd meet keef who would want to talk about something, we would pick up erika and end up smoking a spliff on his boat down at pittwater. erika would get all enthused and wanna go sailing down akuna bay so we would motor off. down akuna we would meet chris and tim on their big yacht, go for a sail out past the island, smoke more weed, watch the sun go down as we moored on some obscure prehistoric secret spot listening to the stones 'black and blue' hanging over the atmosphere like a time travel bubble of a favourite party. in the early morn i'd watch the sun rise and have a swim, maybe read a little. chris would organise some food, and we would feast upon some incredible meal he would rustle up from a few eggs and bread. the sun would sparkle above and we would languid away the timeless space between the ocean and the skies, smoke more weed and someone would invite some girls from a house boat over, the day just melted away. 
on return i'd hop into the supermarket and return to the family, who had also had their own adventure. that was the way it was, no one got uptight with explanations and bullshit, we just had that trust and understanding, avalon man. that's all it was, the nature of the place. 
i liked those years, loved them. but you can't live like that forever and i needed discipline more than anything and when it all came down, everything changed anyway and i moved away. 
there's something about being free, it's an impossible thing to sustain but the secret is knowing when you are not free, because from that point you are halfway there. acknowledgment these days is deceptive, maybe it's getting older or more weary, maybe memory ain't so accurate, maybe i did get in strife for forgetting the milk but for a while there was some kinda magick in the place, it took me places, non rational, non logical, non linear, it all made perfect sense.   

the olive branch wilts, the peacekeepers tilt, towards the single point we are all focused upon, a shimmering illusion of rorschach patterns, chaos matrix fundamentals. neurone processors, electrical, chemical, psychological networks infiltrated by chance. the random disorder is just lost information. 
times arrow aims for entropy, our own runs opposite, assembling patterns, looking for clues. the true detective has to throw chance into the mix, i ching is not just divinatory, an engine throbs in the heart of every sky star, a crystal structure in the atom, the jewel is also truth.
     

new day, feeling to good to be true, yeah i pull apart the kitchen cupboards, finding all the ingredients for my favourite cake, and begin to bake in my frenzy of james brown like kitchen madness. this don't happen often so when it does i shift into fifth and put my foot all the way to the metal, blasting simple minds 'big music' doing some majestic kitchen wizardry. it's over real fast as i clean up after myself, cake on the rise i take a break and have a smoke at the spots. then i notice the ceramic stove top is on burning away a small spillage of coconut, date and apple paste. i give it a wipe accidentally smearing it across the surface so out comes my handy spray and wipe, and i blast the area only to be emerged in a cloud of chemicals burning in a foggy haze that i inhale and poison my beautiful clean lungs, heart and blood with. i choke up, gagging and spluttering confusion at my own stupidity. what idiocy, i spend my whole life keeping my body chemical free and in one act of stupidity blow the deal. my final thought before i pass out coughing and choking on poison fumes is what a beautiful cake and i think it's probably the best one i have ever made. 
i gulp down a litre of water, flush my body, clean my teeth but my tongue has swollen up and my mouth is numb, i can't taste anything but some kind of ammonia, it's awful. can't even eat the bloody cake. what a fucking cruel act. that lumberjack cake looks perfect.

struck down by the gut wrenching plague i made my way down to hospital 7 where the local authority were providing vaccinations and antidotes. apparently warnings were everywhere but i don't watch tv and hardly venture out into the city. the government announcements declared not to panic, that it was a curable illness and the health authority would now have the powers of state, and by the way they also were heavily armed.
as i walked through the town i saw the bodies being carted away, hundreds of them and my suspicions kicked in. 
an official in clinical white spacesuit type clothing confided in me the whole thing was sponsored by the united nations under the population control programs. they were tired of subtle attempts and were now just using chemical warfare through various chemtrails, i asked him about the antidote and he just shook his head sadly.
outside the hospital armed guards stood and from a distance i noticed hordes of people queuing up to enter but none exiting. i felt a wave of nausea and smoked a quick joint. 
i wandered around the back of the hospital where the trucks all lined up, large military black trucks shunting of corpses.
a doctor walked passed as i hid behind the wall, i followed him along an outdoor corridor that eventually led to a quadrangle of grass. he sat down on one of four benches and began to cry, sobbing into his white coat. 
as i approached he must have sensed me and turned around shielding his face.
'it's okay, i', not going to hurt you.'
'who are you?'
'i'm just a civilian, one of the people. doctor, what is going on?'
'it's population control, we have a quota. it's fucking impossibly large.'
'the un?'
'yeah, the un.'
'is there a cure for this?'
'cure! are you fucking mad?'
i looked at him, young man, probably in his mid thirties, he looked tired. defeated.
'yeah cure. for what i have, this gut bug thing.'
'there is no fucking cure, just like there is no virus. it's all mass hypnosis, chemtrails are not fucking real, don't you get it. you just believe it to be and your mind does the rest, it's all psychosomatic. we ran the campaign so successfully everyone made themselves sick. there is no virus so there's no cure. if you don't die from the believe you get to the hospital where we finish you off.'
'i saw the trucks.'
'that's nothing, it's going to take six months. a third of the population, that's global. we have only just started.'
i sat down with him, offered him a joint.
'what are you going to do?'
'i have to get back to the hospital, they will start asking questions otherwise. i have to go kill people. but if i were you, i'd get the hell away from here as possible.'
'i'll warn as many as possible.'
'they won't listen. the mind control program is to good. even you won't listen really, i'm wasting my time.'
he stood up and walked away with me shouting out, 'i hear you, i'm listening but it's difficult to believe such a thing is possible.'
i stood up and began to follow him but my guts ached and i felt my chest seize up with pain, air become restricted, lungs attempting to suck in some air. a warmth came over my whole body and i found myself quite unable to move. how had this negative placebo become so powerful. fear, i pondered, kept in fear, anxiety and a state of stress we believe anything from any authority, even if we know it kills us.
the world started to swirl around me, and i felt my eyes were about to burn, the wrenching plague was upon me. 

here i am at the golden dawn, substantiated in immaculate light, these moments only caught by the early birds of the town, fishermen, swimmers, dog walkers and joggers. we are blessed in light like this, filtering down through some miraculous engineering. how can people not believe in a creator of this, an invention of pure bliss, why does it appear beautiful and spiritual, fill the heart with something more than reality tv, why is it that the incredible perfection of the wave and shells have more meaning than going to the bank. why indeed?
because it's real.
and mornings, dusk and moments of peace are when the real shines through, fracturing the stupid mess of politics, religion and stupidity, presenting clarity like charity upon the unwashed dazed and confused.
there's an edge in the air, a fatal factor that forbids me to enter the water, it's a strange fear boundary i have always had, the cold, but it's almost time for it to change as spring turns.
i begin with a huge house clean, mopping, dusting, wiping and sorting. mission control is looking better but it sure could use a paint job. 

my book's out now, you can order a hardcopy from amazon, it's packed with 50 stories all true. there's lots of fucking stuff in each story, spiritual truth and rambling narratives of space time and mind. if you like hunter s thompson, william burroughs, william gibson crossed with some classic pulp science fiction i'd invest in a copy now. or e mail me your details and i'll send you a copy with an inscription. they cost $20 and that includes postage or $15 plus postage from amazon.
i have to thank tanya for reading through the final edit, and none of this would be possible without tez and jean my friends from brighton who really put it all together. 

http://www.amazon.com/Adventures-Captain-Mission-One/dp/1514277530/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1439436168&sr=1-1&keywords=the+adventures+of+captain+mission

city streets are busy with some running ceremony, joggers snorting like horses as i brush past them on my mission. 'city to surf' makes no sense to me on my opposite trajectory. i'm travelling from the surf into the metropolis looking for two books that popped up on my radar. 
i grab them from the jap bookshop and a copy of 'slow bullets' alastair reynolds new book 'slow bullets' from galaxy and jump back on the train. i have my head buried in the final pages of my novel when a guy called adam introduces himself. 

'you look switched on, ' he says in a strong germanic accent.

'positively,' i say. 

i deduce from his general demeanour that he is indeed a time travelling anarchist, he's wearing clothes that are from another century and has that mad glow in his eyes that only prophets, born again christians and time travelling anarchists have.

anyway i settle down in the train to hear what he has to say, apart from complementing me in my sunglasses he seems to think i should pass a message on. he's quite intelligent and i kinda like the fact he has also embraced some contemporary music.

'what ya listening to?' i point at his i phone.

'shriekback, english band from the eighties, still pumping them out.'

'ah yeah, i like them to. saw them in london and i saw barry when he played in xtc.'

'okay that's impressive. i knew i chose the right man.'

'for what exactly?'

'well you gotta get the word out there mission.'

'what word and how did you know my name.'

'i know far more than i should, it's true. now i heard you wrote a blog, and sometimes i even read it.'

i'm surprised, i didn't know people read my blog, i know a few people say they have heard of it but i never think that they actually read it. so i sit back and relax in the chair, the city seems to pass very slowly.

'the message is this...'

i raise my hand. i know what your message is, i know everything about you,'

'i'm impressed.'

'it's a shame man, your message was stolen by a guy called marx and made famous by his work in which there is no reference to you.'

'yeah plagiarism, he took my ideas and wrote that wretched book.'

'das kapital.' 

'yep, but it's a perversion of my idea.'

'yeah and yours was a perversion of something else.'

'are you suggesting i stole the idea.'

'no, it did originate well before you, i think you can follow it all the way back, all the way to solomon.'

'okay, i'm offended. i'm getting off here, next stop.'

'hey, you said i was switched on adam.'
'illuminated indeed. see ya mission. i'm heading back to bavaria.'

outtakes from the rolling stones

contemplating nothingness can sometimes be a good tactic, magickally speaking. the idea of creating a space is not new age but old age, it's what's necessary before manifestation so these last days of winter i am living in a space, nothingness, no ideas, thoughts stay, all pass through in a procession that amuses and bemuses, and like all things in space, nature arbours a vacuum so my space is filled with the people who enter. one a particularly nice guy reminds me about community and belonging. 
let's face it, after 40 years of social work i'm not a community guy. the less i have to do with people the more content i am. if i wanted community i'd be a socialist or communist but those days are well and truly dead and buried. 
community through like minded people would just find me stagnating, there are no like minds apart from those whom seem to grok what i am all about. these people are far and few between so consider yourself special. 
there's religious / spiritual community and i would find that so primitive, i know God loves me and she loves me, so why would i need to display that with a whole bunch of people other than dancing with joy at the sun sinking over the horizon or rising.
me i take my sacramental medicine, i have my hymns, i require no affirmation or feedback from anyone really although i'm a listener and i will always listen.
work stuff swirls around me like a storm, i have no idea what's happening there anymore, it appears that now everyone is squabbling and fighting amongst themselves, i watch and remain vigilant to the tides of discontent.
in my space falls boxes, books, music and some ideas. 
currently listening to the brand new kennedy kilbey release, 'inside we are the same' and it's excellent as expected, the more rock orientated songs are amazing. these guys have something special happening. i listen to shreikback in the car wowing me with clever rhythms and wordsmith - ism.
i even listened to led zepplin which i have acquired a late life appreciation for, my punk days seemed to keep them at bay. great band though and clever players, john bonham wow!
i get robert plant, his voice is pretty slick, i don't know how he does it, keeps it shifting gear on the beat all the time. is it feel or practice?
books, wow, i'm reading some stuff about the essenses, and the templars, the essenes keep writing to me, they want me to join their cult or whatever they have. 'i am part essene' i say, an original but they ignore my disclosure. yeah john the baptist jesus and captain mission.
i'm writing something about the 'book of the dead.' it's pretty out there.

morning at terrible beach, i'm gene sequencing my capacity to become aquatic. the surf is gentle, no power in the wave but it's a beautiful form and i'm appreciating it's aesthetic as negative ions magnetise themselves to my skin. the levels of perception shift and someone mentions sharks.
i no longer really fear them, i don't not fear them, it's an indifference despite recent attacks, i've had worse experience with people, sharks have mostly left me alone. if they are in the water and feel like they need to bite me, i think they will be disappointed, years of alkaline diet has changed my chemistry, i don't think they would feel particularly driven to devour a life form that tastes of powerful plant medicines. 
maybe i am the fool, i should design the surfers pack, stepping into the surf despite the shark in the water tugging at his leg rope. the fool has no attachments to mental fears or physical for these are generated by our perception of death being irreconcilable. maybe i'm being pretentious here, i would panic if i saw a shark in the water near me, but in the cosmic stream it's not that significant. besides in the tarot one single card is defined often by those that surround it.

captain mission

background notes-  about a year ago i had to get all proactive and have my manager removed for being abusive and assaultive, for basically sabotage and undermining all my work and making my clients unsafe in their own home and live in fear. she was a bully and she actually beat one up. she had got away with this and many other various actions for a long time and one day after listening to my clients talking about their feelings towards her i decided to do something. 
the dept. is a massive slow moving lumbering machine, filled with ego's, bullies and thugs who run a protection racket for one another in middle management so i knew it was going to be hard. however i planned my case carefully and eventually an external investigator concluded she must be removed and then sued by the dept. who employed her. 
while the investigation went on she was transferred to a different area of the dept, and my unit knew a awesome kind of happiness and glasnost type era. 
it was joyful period, these guys really came out from their shells and started to bloom. i knew i had done the right thing.
1 year later -
just before i left for europe i said to the managers up there in their ivory tower, 'the clients are really happy at the moment, please don't change anything.'
the day after i left for my overseas trip they reinstated the abusive manager, promoted her albeit to a different area and got her close friend in as our new manager. 
the new manager and her conspired against me.
when i returned after two months away, not only was i shocked to discover these events, i was also told my shifts / roster had changed radically, and my first day back i was told to scrub the walls instead of attend a meeting. now, i don't mind scrubbing walls, i don't give a toss but that's not my job and i knew that this was the payback from above for notifying one of their own. it was the punishment, especially the roster which was illegal.
when i confronted the new manager about the new roster i was told it would not change. she changed it for other people on the team taking into consideration all their needs but not mine. so i informed her that my roster was actually illegal, it did not give me adequate days off between shifts. she ignored it...

today - i go into the meeting, all the team and all the managers, and i'm running late as i have to stop off at a clients psychiatrist to discuss some issue so they are all waiting for me to arrive. when i walk in they are all angry, 'why are you late, blah blah blah.'
when i tell them i was working, in my own time, off the clock as i don't get rostered the right hours to manage my client they quickly shut up.
i was feeling supremely confident because like i said earlier i had one immaculate move left and i was about to play it.
when we get to discussing the roster i am asked my opinion, so i say, 'it really feels like you are punishing me through the roster because i notified an abuse by one of your managers. truth is, i would do it again. if someone wants to abuse our clients i will do whatever i can to expose them. but it's obvious you people don't like it, you want payback, revenge. i understand you want to punish me, so i'll take the punishment but seeing as though this is the consequence of my actions i'm going to have to look at it from an occupational health and safety perspective. so i will file a report that says, staff who report abuse through the notification system set up by the ombudsman will be punished for it.'

i pull out the completed form and walk towards the fax machine. every one there knows the ombudsmen would receive a copy.
well, you should have seen them falling over one another to stop me, almost like something cartoon. i turned and very clearly said, 'change my fucking roster so it's legal and leave me alone.'

so i'm feeling pretty fucking good about myself. yeah, i told ya it was an ace.

today is another day but different, it's damper and colder and makes me feel lonely. but it also gives me some preparation time for the showdown i have to confront at work, the one where yet again i have to tell everyone from management how to do their jobs. the one where i play my ace card, it is an ace card, it's fucking brilliant ace and maybe after it's played i can tell you how i did it. it's not war but needs to be treated like warfare. it's not a place where strength matters because the people who assume they are in powerful positions can only be floored by one thing. intelligence stumps them, people who intellectually and with style, not just ego but the flourish of spiritual war, can confront them into submission. they have no policy or procedure to fall back upon, because they have never met someone like me. i say this after 40 years experience as a social worker type in a country where they really are very primitive in thought and thinking. i will win and i will file my report as soon as i can get back here.  

ghost dog and me wander the streets of terrible beach before the civilian population arise from their slumber, the sun rising over the ocean. it's a vast still expanse, a slumbering mass and i feel the pull, i can feel it tug at my cells, every atom that my body contains ghost dog likes the sand, i like the water.

all my life i felt this pull, from my early days at skool maths, gazing out the windows into grey london skies while the education  system droned on. i never learnt anything in that place, only how to use my imagination and escape the hellish place, somewhere warmer, somewhere with a beach and blue skies, some where like terrible beach.

ghost dog and i.

drive home into dawn, on my right the magnificent coastal sun exploding over the horizon in it's cosmic dance, water blooms cascade light and you get the idea of divinity, you know this greatness, awesome and not indifferent. it's there to be praised and loved, appreciated and observed. my eye takes in the command, the whole world is a burning bush, aflame with it's quantum intelligence and life. 
on the other side a wall of red rock, ancient and majestic, holding the power of time. the things held within, trapped in their infinitely small motions, atoms like memory, captain fission, mission...
some one asked me yesterday, what is your mission?
i was quite and held myself in check, my mission is like the chaos star, it reaches out into so many layers, so many dimensions, it's to do nothing, change everything, it's to destroy and create, it's to see with my eye fire vision, to know gods, and God, to make love to the goddess and fuck her, it's to radiate and absorb, it's to forget and recall, it's to be the fool and the magickian, to be the universe in a grain of sand. my mission is unknowable, and unending, it defies all codex, it just is what it is and isn't.
i wanted to look into her eyes and tell her all this but instead i said nothing, i can't go around answering questions like this when people ask, can i?
the force of nature makes me infinitesimal, obliterated from matter, yet very much part of it. not a tiny cog but a huge great big massive engine of change, an agent writing my report.
captain mission, peace out.