i'm on a radio show with a psychiatrist and he's talking about the way asian men are now all risking their health to have their cock's enlarged with gels and silicon, an extremely painful procedure with harsh side effects not to mention it's illegal. the dr. explains that western advertising, porn and the internet where once asian men never even considered cock size important now they are all insecure and there is an epidemic loss of self confidence. he says previous to this the asian cock was quite adapted suitably for the asian vagina. ironically with all this advertising comes a rise in impotency amongst asian men. 
'so the west are literally castrating the east? the host asks.
the psychiatrist laughs, 'yeah that's one way of looking at it.'
the interviewer asks me what i think of western culture.
'it's basically a culture of emergency, emergency climate, emergency   economics, emergency epidemics, emergency drugs, wars on this and a wars on that, speculation on catastrophe, the sun zooming in, the meltdown expected. but if we did not believe you could control everything there would not be an emergency would there?'

a dream, a message i can't say but i'll take it as conformation there are things beyond what we can even comprehend. 
it's evening the sun has set over a large open air stadium, filled to capacity, i sit on the lawn at the front, and the atmosphere is beyond electric. david bowie, in all his various incarnations is playing a live show, he sings into the stars and then comes over to me and whispers 'thank you captain mission,' and then he shakes my hand in what i can only describe as sincerity. he smiles, i do to i'm sure in my sleep and then he returns to sing. 
later i am above the grass area, a luxury box looking down at the stadium and the man. i beckon a girl, 'come look see, it's david bowie.'
she seems disenchanted, 'yeah, i know i'm here, i know what's going on'
'but it's him. he's alive.'
she wanders of bored.
i look downwards as the dream fades and i awake.

fortunately my personal supply of medical marijuana is flowing. 
i drive home in the traffic, i'm listening to all india radio. i like some of their stuff. i like driving to them. i don't feel the need for speed. usually i listen to the radio, a banal station where they talk about politics through their predictable left wing prism so all india is a nice distraction. 
there's a lot of traffic down the winding road, everyones slightly maniacal and aggressive, especially the dumb tradies. 
when i get home i feel exhausted  a throbbing in my head, the terrible stress of being responsible for people, the frustration of not having a creative outlet at the moment other than write dumb stories about slow death from weirdness. maybe i'm turning into an h p lovecraft type, the monsters for him were the other. the blacks, the jews, the alien races. for me they are people who want a piece of me. i have always disliked that feeling, hence the themes of being eaten, cannibalism and devouring. 
i'm going to write something very dark and malevolent soon, i want to explore this. i am very influenced by liard barron whom you must seek out and read, i recommend 'the croning' to start with but you can start anywhere, any collection of short stories will do it. i love his work, so well executed and those brutal characters  the strange sexuality, the weirdness creeping in under the doors. he writes like a master and with such skill takes you into the dark like you never have been before. horror like this, cosmic horror is becoming very popular apparently. i guess it's a sign of the times.
i listened to a podcast by some writers who specifically wrote horror novels, they all seemed to agree that you have to start out writing a story about something normal and relatable, you need something very average that the reader can relate to and then introduce the horror. it's a disruptor. 
    

heavy day at work today, a client smashed his head against a desk, it make the loudest 'crack' i thought a fire work detonated, he then smashed his fist into his chin and bashed himself up pretty badly. we managed to put on a helmet but he struggled and proved to be fearless. he even tried to bite himself. he's pretty serious, a hard case, self injures and has serious epileptic seizures. this is the side of autism you don't hear about, the side where they are so far removed from reality there is no way back. occasionally i get a glimpse of what's under there, through all that defensive shit. it's like a moment of clarity but it's far and few between. i administered a dose of heavy tranquilliser, he was calmer but it took a few minites. i felt like i needed one to, the shock of that whack really effected my fragile psychology. later at his psychiatrist i asked if medical marujuana could be used, it's very effective against autism and seizures. the dr. said there's no supply and people have been waiting for it for many years. most people waiting are in far worse condition than my client. 
makes you wonder sometimes.