i thought the transmission would be georgian as i had recently seen some georgian script and it reminded me of an ancient language i knew. the strange motifs sent my mind asunder, the girl that drew them even further. i was casting and you turned up.
i read four novels in the time i had, one straight after the other, part of a series, i had read five of them before so the theme was familiar and i knew the essential plot but the details were important so i just read between my long working hours and made considerable headway.
i travelled from georgia, thailand, cambodia and nepal. hong kong would be next but i was fractured, splinters of me had taken seperate roads, one on their way to india as i speak. the splinter in nepal was being tutored by the nameless monk. he touched my forehead and transmitted to me the most powerful meditation that must be left unwritten and unmentioned.
another splinter seems to have found its way to florida where it indulges in many hedonistic activities, sex and drugs surround me like a steam bath of sin. i enjoy it all, for i am here to experience.
another splinter travels with my son, i sit next to him in an aircraft, we look out at cloud city landscape below. i am there in astral form only, just for protection. he knows he can call upon me at anytime and i think for the moment he's just feeling anxious and needed some reassurance. i write something down in his book:
if you fear loneliness do not travel.
travel is transformation.
a splinter of captain mission is of course smoking opium in thailand. the red sinking sun pours light across the skies painting it with a violent brushstroke of vitality. my eyelids are heavy and above me on the balcony a beautiful fan revolves with a clunky whirring noise i adapt to. strangely as i surrender to my state a rouge splinter is having slow languid sex with a girl whom has a serpent tattoo that winds around her lithe brown flesh, tail at her left foot as it wraps around her stomach exposing her belly button and makes its way between her breasts and finishes just as her neck begins. i kiss her serpentine symbol and a little hiss escapes her lips.
in hong kong i am eating some noodles, assaulted by sound, the horde moves past me, traffic crawls while scooters and bikes weave in and out of cars. the air is half filled with the stink of spices and fresh cooked foods and the rank of car exhausts.
another distantly attached splinter is in a colder part of serbia. i ask the glamorous girl in her leather boots how people stay warm in such a climate. she looks at me and says in a hard edged broken english voice, 'der ink much vodka, fuck like bear.'