the sea gives but sometimes takes, it can curl itself around a passerby, an innocent fisherman on the rocks, a woman, a man a child. it can come from nowhere, rise like a mighty hand and swipe you from existence. to read the sea you must know it, have it within your soul, for the sea can be a mysterious environment to decipher, many layers in contradiction. 
the sea commands respect, and respect is attention  ones senses must be in tune with the moon, and the ocean will know, it has unfathomable wisdom.

everything's fucked, will be the title of a novel i have yet to write. although i am in good spirits after val and olga hash cookie and me went out for an indian. i saw my friend iggy in the city, we wander around drinking coffee and talking about politics, global conflicts, control methods and girls. i have good friends, few but all exceptional. 

can't put a square peg in a round hole. you can push it, shove it, force it, ask nice, but it's not going to fit. that's an analogy for what i want to do. not fit, i'm the contrarian, never followed the herd, never will.
anyway suddenly i am popular amongst the girls, i don't wanna be, i hate that fuax attention, people wanna wine and dine me, people wanna call me up, wanna know what i think about this or that, wanna know what i eat for breakfast and all that jazz. not sure why people find me interesting, i'm just not them i guess. 
anyways, what do i think? you can read it here like everyone else.
gay marriage? what the fuck has it got to do with me. a girl wants to marry their girlfriend, hey i'm happy for you. not my business.
bill shorten? an absolute opportunist, a disgraceful leader with no integrity whatsoever.
malcolm turnbill? same as above only worse.
the greens? dumb people with no fucking idea. worse than the above.
books? publishing is gone the way of music, over populated with crap, politically correct nonsense, the great writers would never get published today. only women who write about their year of living as an ethic minority will get a book deal, only people who work at the abc get to write a book and have it promoted, it's a racket. only people with an immigration story, only manufactured social engineering projects get a book deal.
music? bowie, lou reed, are dead. there are a few good bands still around but they are a minority, the industry pumps out mediocracy and people love what they are conditioned to love. 
relationships? i don't really know what to say about these things, i don't connect with anyone anymore. sure i have sex and enjoy a healthy sexual life but when i say relationships i think i mean something intimate and i really think that means opening up and revealing yourself, and when that happens people don't like what they see. i mean i'm a heavy soul and byron bay, hippy shit won't work on me, feel good hash tags, causes and movements are just random white noise to me. so there's no fluffy bits hanging around my identity, nothing really superficial to enjoy. so i guess it takes a special kind of person to relate to me.
family? i miss them but the whole concept is alien. sightly disappointing i guess, i mean that inclusively. i disappoint them as much as they me. so that's that.
life? it's brilliant when i am in nature and surfing, appreciating stars etc but the moment i have to deal with the illusions i get depressed. banks, tax, politics  religions are all depressingly present and pointless to the value of our lives. 
writing? is like eating. i have to do it else there is no meaning to anything.
heroes? i loved bowie for the same reason i love all my heroes and heroines. because they do not follow the herd, they always challenge and defy expectation and they teach me something.
spirituality? it's a supermarket out there, find your method towards  connection with the universe and stick with it. the process is the finding. once you find it, let it go, connect in occasionally and keep it healthy.
ex wife? i found myself telling someone the story this morning, it's sad and should be a film. no one would believe the events that led to my divorce. none of my family even know what happened, they all think i had an affair. the truth is much stranger.
the future? it's going to be like the past. light and dark yet necessary. 
isreal? the most intelligent country i have lived in. you have no fucking idea unless you have been there. 
australia? the dumbest country i know. a nation of lambs being led to the abattoir by people they love and celebrate.
the UN? i hate and loathe them.
islam? i'm no friend of it.
chirst? i dig his groove, a master kabbalist.
buddha?  same as christ but much smarter.
the uk? paying the price as the empire comes returns to colonise it. 
best book i ever read? 1984 baby but it's nothing without animal farm, they are connected by the invisible thread.
the future? it's exactly as lenord cohen wrote, bloody.
tv? i like the walking dead best. 

swanning around in my sarong, getting domestics done, yeah i have housework to do, laundry, washing, cleaning, scrubbing, vacuuming, paying bills, phone calls, on my one single day off this week, it's almost unbearably hot, almost. there's a constant buzzing of cicadas, no wind, just that stillness you get in intense bush fire weather. soon i will leave for the beach, late afternoon when the sun is not so dangerous, at the moment everything can get burnt to a crisp. fortunately i watered the plants a few days ago, i also did some bush fire preparation and cleared out the dry leaves, made a perimeter around mission control and cleared away all the dead foliage  these are the practical necessities of suburban life in australia. gotta look after the land for the land to look after you.

we must progress forwards into time, moment by moment. each step transports me someplace new, i was there and now i am here. 
old captain mission was cool, new captain mission is hot, he has longer hair, less teeth, he has adjustable perspectives, flexibility of dream yoga. he's a mass of anomalies, a stranger loop. no one sticks to him, they try, but they fall behind. no one really likes him because he's unlike them, not a follower or leader not a sheep not a wolf but a deep oceanic mystery. 
i have a girlfriend whom texts and calls me non stop, it's gotten banal, she just informs me of stupid vapid things, 'i had a cup of tea, i saw a dog, i am having cake, serial killer lore, hollywood gossip, i know a famous person,' it's driving me nuts to the point where i just reply in stupid pointless messages, 'one of my legs is shorter than the other, my head is stuck in railings,' it's drivel but it's consuming my time, in the end we will fall out and she will hate me to. 
time is shorter than it was before, it's somewhat more of a asset than money. time or cash? so every time my phone rings i feel precious minites slipping away.

grinderman

my pond man arrived with some special imported koi food for my fish, it's high grade stuff from japan, i have five big fish, they have expensive tastes. 
we clean out the pond water and debris from the trees, the mud at the bottom of the pool has blocked up the pump so we give that a big clean. the fish are happy, they swim around like atoms. they have no knowledge of outside the pond, no understanding of the vast eco system they inhabit, the palms are a mystery to them, the fronds, maidenhair ferns, finger ferns and strange australian flowers that have bloomed in the last few weeks. the birds that come sit near the pond overhead, the frangipani, the stream that carries water into the pond via waterfall. all these things do not figure in the mind of my fish as they swim around, or wait under the bridge in the shade. all they think about is feeding and dreaming. they play a part in something beyond them, and they have no idea what it could be, i wonder what they dream.

when your number is up, it's up. such is my nonchalant attitude to it all, the bad news is in, all hope is lost, and yet...
the great adventure begins, the transition into a new dimension awaits, the unknown is my friend as we have known one another a long time now so there is not much to fear, it's just letting go, there's nothing else to say. words fall into black holes, lines bend along with light, curved space turns me on, the void baby, it's such a beautiful peace. all things die, all things are born again. 

may the force be with you. 

maybe they can save me, maybe i can save myself. maybe baby. but what's to save, a bag of bones, a data bank of memories that are spilling over, warm blood and cold breath, so many low points but the highlights were amazing. 
the church, bowie, seeing the world before it became the globe, making music, writing, the surf, the stars, the vine. the force was with me. always.

being something of a reclusive anti social creature these days i had been jonesing for a church fix for the last few months, i know they were in the usa and eventually would have to return to sydney for a show and but the days just dragged and my need was growing, maybe going to manifest in some awful self destructive implosion  from a sun to a dark star. i stopped smoking weed for so long it felt weird, my health deteriorated, my mojo bled out from my hole riddled aura. 
i had been working long hours and time was distorting around me, one moment i was a baby crying out for a nipple, the next i was a dirty old man crying out for a nipple, what is with this sudden breast fixation i wondered. i'll leave that to the sexy freudian psychotherapists. anyway i was just saying to a friend the other day, i feel like i'm ready to cash in my cards, after all i seen it all, not much in the world inspires me anymore, my best friend dead, bowie gone, my current friend is in hospital, joy is on the decline, nothing interests me, maybe i am just depressed? whatever the malaise, i knew i needed to see the church, only they can fix me.
so when it came for the show i had to race back to the coast after work, shower change, catch train to city, see the band then return to the coast and wake up three hours later for another long day at work where i found myself having to return to the street the venue was on as i dropped a client off at her sisters in marickville, just around the corner from the factory. so it was a congested weekend.
anyways, i was very grateful that sharon and nina had saved me a barrel on which to lean, and nina blessed me with some golden aura which offerred some respite from the awful pain in my leg and the pins and needles shooting through my left hand. 
anyway's the band came on with jeffery caine who proceeded to add a layer of tone that just shifted gears in a very cool new direction, i gotta say he was excellent. 
as far as church gigs go, it was up there, the sound at the factory is never consistent and there's awful moments where it goes all out of phase but this never depletes from the performance. during those bits i watch and then when the sound comes back i listen. 
so coming onstage and playing aura is always an impressive beginning, and the songs have new textures and parts, new arrangements, that make them sound new and dynamic again. i loved the show but i have to say i wish they would just drop milky way and metropolis, the two crowd pleasers. maybe i'm just being selfish but i think it's time to put those songs to rest from live sets. 
as far as set lists go, it was an almost perfect inclusion of songs that all seemed to fit together, day 5 was transformed and transcended  possibly an all time church highlight for me, but block, constant in opel, tantalised all incredibly reworked to give them a vitality that saturated everyone present. brilliant. however, it was the new songs which impressed me more, the handful they played were executed with such immense power and conviction by steve at the front and this incredible band i was filled up with whatever missing ingredient i needed, my fix was in, it was mainlined into my blood and hit my brain at the speed of life. steves hit a new level in his presence as a stage man, he's up there with the greats, embodying the songs with conviction, love and respect, his base playing and vocals are masterful and the many tangents the band jams along make the whole evening worthwhile. 
so thank you. happy xmas to the church. 

instructions to agents

travel light

pack a book, camera and bikini

buy ticket to large island in southern hemisphere

never look back.

instructions for agents

sleep is where we meet,

exchange information

dream stuff is never snorted but inhaled

instructions for agents

look at the stars often

orgasm with them in mind 

it's all just an experience

until it isn't.

the last few months, since my return from the uk i decided to detox from weed, a big mistake. 
my body started to deteriorate, pains in my knees, my leg unable to support me, throbbing pain in the calf which i have borne in my usual stoic way. working hours pushing me over the brink, physical health, mental heath and spiritual health all falling rapidly, until i smoked a spliff and within seconds healed. i must keep smoking, keep on smoking smoke the sky away.

i have not written for weeks, maybe months, nothing. my story lays unfinished untold, and it must be borne. i'm thinking of doing something very strange with it, but it may fail. whatever, it's going to take time.

the terrible fact is i have to register my business, this involves various hours filling forms, making calls, searching online and dealing with australian bureaucracy. it kills any passion for business dead. it's a nightmare against creativity and enthusiasm  a system designed to crush anything it may not like. apparently my name is used by someone else, fuck them i think, no one should own words. 
anyway, i sort things out and move onwards, i buy a filing cabinet for the office, mission control has far to many piles of paper randomly scattered through it's rooms, so i bring a sense of order to my chaos. it has to be done. 
now the website needs making.

the waves spat me out and i walked up the shore to where she lay, by the time i arrived i was almost dry. she looked up at me as i blocked the sun, 'how was the water?'
'come find out,' i whisper and reach out for her hand.
i can see the excuses flutter through her mind, the tourist anxieties, sharks, jellyfish, sting rays, currents. 
'i'll be with you, won't let anything happen at all. in fact we won't go out of your depth.'
she has no choice but to trust me.
the sand is hot, she hops down and the first sensation of the ocean washing over her feet is relief. i guide her in, but she's smiling and filled with confidence. knee deep she laughs and i suggest she throws herself right in and gets wet. 
i lead by example and she follows. 
a powerful flood of chemicals race through her brain, the pure rush, the joy of the oceans embrace. we hold hands and i lead her further out, demonstrating how to take on a larger wave. you just dip under, never let it meet you head on at face level, just dive under and shoot out, the water will do the work for you. she tries it and comes out the other side. it's still shallow, waist hight. we repeat this three times and she finds she's further out, the water is up to her shoulders.
'this is our zone, don't need to go any further out.'
she smiles, and splashes me. we hover out there waiting, i see the wave in the distance, part of a set. i explain the system. she follows me. we dip under, surface, dip under, surface, dip under and surface, then turn and face the beach. 'follow my lead, just arms out feet out, ride the wave until you feel you should stop.kick off with your feet, ready, steady, go.'
whatever it is, chemical, phycological, physical, the surf will fix it.

love to all witches and wizards, you do the great work, and i respect that greatly.

i'm writing a novel, it's almost finished then i have to work on its narrative style. i think it's groovy, i think you will like it. i hope it will be finished in a month or two.

oh oh, there's panic in the world, theres panic in london, panic in the streets of islington, panic in the stanmore vicinity, panic in the notting hillbilly, panic in terrible terrigal, panic in the oceans and the seas, there's panic in the borough of hackney, panic in the roads of old avalon, panic in the air and panic in my hair. fucking panic everywhere.

investigations into my new idea prove worthwhile, however one must navigate the trenches of ridiculous australian red tape, and like all prison systems they want their slice of the pie. so i do the work and pay a strata of unimaginative vultures for the service of what appears to be some sort of racket. 
that's the thing about australia that most people don't know. i love it because it has a natural beauty that is unsurpassed. it's a frontier, a land mass on the edge of the world where everything is unique. what i loathe about it is the people who rule over us are corrupt, the systems they run corrupt and the average australians appear to worship this due to some convict prison romance.

i concluded a long time ago, the australian system has not changed since settlement, there are the convicts and the jailers and they all live together indistinguishable from one another. it's an open prison with the illusion of being democratic and free but the reality is your tax file number is your chain, and the government is your ball.
an example of this is the NBN which was dreamt up by an incompetent prime minister and his public service. we were told australia would have the most significant infrastructure ever, the national broadband network which would wire up every house to fibre optic cable thus opening the future up for everyone to join the new economy. business would boom, innovation could flow to the four corners of the globe, and australia would join the information superhighway in the super fast lane.
the result 10 years later is a white elephant. 
both parties are responsible, equally, labour and the liberal party. labour for having very poor organisational skills and blowing the budget. the liberals for just cost cutting, and generally taking the vision and turning it into some sort of no frills dinosaur. oh, and blowing the budget. in fact the current PM is really responsible as it was he that made all the terrible mistakes that now leave us with a $56 billion white elephant net that is already out of date and running so inefficiently half it's customers have complained to the ombudsman.
(i am one)
now apply this to every single idea the govt. has promoted.
the french submarines, $50 billion, spent to win one disgraceful minion his election. a useless outdated model that runs on diesel and cannot be delivered until fifty years from now. when all experts will tell you, by then every submarine will be a drone operated from a base on land and unmanned.
then there's the NDIS national disability insurance scheme, costing the tax payer  $21 billion. let me just say, this cost will double next year as i've been working with it and it's a major failure. 
now, you ask why do these ideas get supported by the people?
the answer is people here are easily seduced. they always have been, ask john friedrich who stole $296 million from the govt. 
a country of crooks ruled by the corrupt someone said to me, now i think that's a bit harsh but i see the point she is making and it's hard to disagree completely. the smart australians are the ones that leave.
our goverments are so bad, when they are not screwing the public they are knifing each other in the back. 
i personally cannot understand how the public tolerate this kind of governance. in europe they would be rioting, a guillotine erected outside their window as a reminder of whom they serve. but here it's a tv crew and some dumb abc journalists who all agree and enable this kind of rule. 
i'm a big believer in closing the abc down, public money wasted upon a dept. of propaganda. it's backed every hare brained idea they come up with and can't critically analyse at all. in fact the abc are probably the worst media machine for information i have ever seen, there is no balance at all. a fake institution if ever there was, pushing it's agendas at every opportunity it can.  

good to take the early train into the hive, meet my friends imi and iggy, have amazing northern chinese food, noodles made fresh and fast, eggplant in some sweet sour chilli type sauce. i like places with no frills, no posters, shiny menus, smiling waitresses, table clothes or paintings on the walls, this is bare and simple. it's cheap and excellent. 
we walk along into the japanese book shop where i pick up 'blood year' by david kilcullen which details the massive failure of obama and the rise of isis. i'm particularly interested in his comments about isis now, they lost the battle for land but the west is where the war will be fought and it ain't over baby. in fact it's only just beginning. kilcullen wrote an essay for the quarterly from which this book is built around and i'm looking forwards to getting my teeth into it.

however on the train i read a short story by laird barron, the forest and wow, that guy is amazing. i'm going to have to finish 'occultation' before starting blood year.

iggy gives me some constructive feedback on my new work, he's dead right, as usual. switched on guy. we part ways, imi and iggy go looking for a suit and i slip away back to mission control. 

those words that leak like snakes from lips that can't stay closed. there's so much hurt in everyone you touch and you just make it worse. your influence traverses distance and time, it rots the very sparks of life, enabled by a good man who married the wrong wife.

my existence would be snuffed like cosmic dust, a life of happenstance, the gods of words and irony bellow up above, for that's theres nothing unconditional in a rotten mothers love.

the toxic emotions are corrupted, they are cynical and mean, for once where there was beauty now it is unseen. in a narcissistic streak that lasted many years, let it be known now, all you brought were tears. age will not wear you down or erode your bitter taste, all the fucking time you had to love you just always chose to hate. 

https://youtu.be/JhS4iHOiags

please buy the new live cd from shriekback : it's brilliant!

expect only beauty, the rest is unpredictable, yes clever wordplay and beautiful soundscapes but here lies a new sound, less rock more roll, the roll of waves, the surf is here, in the sound, it's pouring through the headphones, i only see it now it exists within me. i had no evidence to show what direction the church would move in, they are on their own trajectory, always have been a band that does not follow fashion but follows the flow. 
the flow takes them to this pivotal piece of music, where the intricacies of coral reefs lay spawning under full moons, and the octopus of sounds weaves through cites made of beauty and playgrounds for the seahorses. there's something very innocent that catches the light, but there's also the depths, the places only experience could take you, it's light music with some heavy soul. hey, if you want a title like man, woman, life death infinity then you got a have some weight. i was stumped first listen,it was thing of beauty, a magnificent journey but it was unlike anything i had heard from the church previous. that's what i love, it takes a brave band to do that. 
my fave songs, fog and dark waltz. 

i'm still writing my book, it's cnsumed me as the plot is very complex and sometimes i loose my way. i try not to over complicate things but it's tricky. i got to chapter three and realised it was not quite right. it wasn't where i wanted the story to go, i had hit a wall. so i threw myself in the surf, it was freezing, my heart nearly exploded but the wave was there. and i figured it out. spent the day writing chapter three again. 
it's a big idea. 

i'm writing a book. it's good. it's got sex death and art.

managed to catch up with iggy in the city today, had a great chat about politics, art and australian culture, had some interesting fig drinks, checked out a few bookshops. walking through sydney i see how the food culture is prevalent, everyone is a masterchef, it's okay, i like food and the asian heavy pop up shops are cool. however it would be nice to see more bookshops.  

the project with the other writer is doomed, she is talking to much and not writing, i don't think she actually has the imagination to be the kind of writer i like or would want to work with, maybe it's just me, anyhow, the parts i wrote i have taken and morphed into a new story, a novel. it's pretty much an epic and i am working on it currently. i will probably self publish as soon as it's complete.

i think the other writer would be better suited towards something investigative or research based. 

the body of work was burnt by fire, a lifetime consumed and obliterated, ash floating in the air currents. dust.
it's where history lays, it's where we all end up, it's end of the line, end of time. ash and dust are the past and the future. 
all the endeavours of man, all the monuments and art, all the effort. i guess that's why the optimists say its not the destination it's the journey. so what's the point of anything?
it's to create.
not for the result but for the act. it's what our brains are for, it's what love is, its what god is, its what art should be. 
i've been looking at art movements lately and i love the situationists, a true movement towards liberating but they have made one fundamental mistake which is to think das kapital is not the spectacle. it is very much part of the spectacle for while karl and engels were sipping on their expensive chardonnay's writing about redistribution of wealth their work was turned into pop cultural politics we see today. 
the working classes are no longer represented by the left leaning governments. the labour is not valued by the labour movement, ask craig thompson how much he values his members and he will say, 'as long as they pay for my strippers and hookers i'm a socialist.'
while guy deboard was one of the worlds greatest thinkers in my opinion he was mistaken that marxism was the answer. it can't be because it is part of the spectacle.
especially now, with the rise of the internet and social media. the spectacle permeates all things, it moves through the post truth world, it radiates in causes  in memes and commentary  it fractures society so the truely alienated are the ones with differing views. inversion philosophy. all things that are true must contain their paradox. alister crowley was right. lao tau was correct. laurel and hardy are the righteous.       

the water is shockingly cold but i adapt fast, it's still surface licks at my skin, no wave. no old wave, no new wave, just no wave and i do. i know the wave. it's going to take me away from where ever i am and i will find myself somewhere new. in that space will be something pure and liberating. all i have to do is wait for it to arrive, catch it at the right point and love the experience with pure joy. simple. 

not sure what occurred in london but my taste buds suddenly took on a new appreciation for indian food. look, i  have always liked indian food but only when my grand mother made it and that was at a late age, in early adulthood. i had infrequently gone out to indian restaurants but always chosen the same item from a menu no matter where i was, the palak panner. 
when my friends tez and jean visited me we ate a few meals at indian restaurants as they seemed to be connoisseurs, strangely something most english people have within their genetic make up, possibly due to the high number of indian places open after pubs shut in london, plus india has pervaded english culture and the two are intrinsically connected which is a good thing. the empire is now  being colonised democratically. 
anyway's in london i had a few indian meals and tried something called a biryani which i have to say was amazing. 
on return to australia i have searched for the same type of quality, i even attempted to home cook it but my attempt was dismal. 
so last night i got a call from two old friends whom are moving to new zealand and they wanted to see me and go to the indian restaurant we all love in terrible beach. 
on my fridge there was a take away menu so i scanned the meals hoping they would do a biriyani otherwise i'd default back to panner palak. no sign of the sacred biriyani. 
so at the restaurant i was about to order my spinach dish when i saw the specials board and thus my desires were granted.
it was perfect.
this restaurant is quite simply the best indian on earth. i can't eat this food every week but maybe once every month or two would be fine, it's a beautiful spot and an eating experience. and if you need to rekindle the romance there's a hotel next door and these spring evenings as you stroll along the beach walking of a decent meal all sorts of possibilities are open. 
  

situationist internationale

i am in collaboration with a friend who wants to write. she is obsessed by crime and like a lot of australian girls seem to read a lot of true crime books. 
i suggest two characters  her and me, the female is a hard drinking, hard fighting, hard talking aggressive alpha female who possesses all the qualities of a male whereas i am the quiet bookish introspective loner. more female. 
the inversion of roles goers against every modern drive in fiction, especially as the female is a husband basher.
my writing partner will write the crime scene. i will add some flourish and conversation to introduce the main characters. 
let's see how we progress.

not quite the soft focus not quite the hard, things slip in and out of some points in time and space, flickering existence, fluttering life. i don't know anymore, i want to let it all go, just exit stage left and take another part in a new play but the script says i have  more lines to speak so i will have to complete the performance.

north korea is shooting missiles across the islands off japan, it is a reckless act of defiance by a mad dictator. with capability to launch anywhere and strike the american heartland i imagine there will be some kind of retaliation, there has to be, it's the right action to so much provocation. japan has no army, no war machine, it is dependant upon it's allies and in many ways it is the front line along with the south who do have a military and capacity to strike back. 
complex games in the sea of japan. butterfly wings ripple cause that may effect australia but will certainly provoke an american move. 
hang on to your self.  

up before the dawn, i slept deeply in a soft night of vermillion dreams. the episodes all fall from my head like strange foam bubbles, filling up the void. when i walk down it's still dark even birds are not awake. 
i drive down to the ocean, watch the sunrise. i sip on a coffee and feel the stillness, the gentle splash of tide, the wind circulates, my heart beating strong. 
life without pan.

the days of night, the september country, the forgotten memory, the ironic state. the mental catastrophe of variations in inertia. spring heeled mission, the limehouse captain, captain tripper, the cockney reject, the prodigal sun.
walking along the beach with my friend who is wrapped in salvation i look out at the water, still and gentle, calmness tranquility waves caress my skin like the warm kisses after sex with an ocean nymph.
the dying winter sunlight on the cusp of spring, crisp surface tension stretches out to the horizon, in the distance a shoreline north. 
we have walked a long way, up the strange place they call skillion, to the lookout where the wrecks of many ships are detailed in stone. sunken treasure, like all good rewards awaiting discovery. 
     

twelve hour flight, a marathon jaunt from the nasty technological security systems where my prized mint sauce was taken by a fucking robot in uniform to kuala lumpur where they steal a tiny tube of tooth paste from me. but it's not 100mg i protest. rules he says. but i already had it approved by the uk customs and you guys when i checked in. rules, he says. i hand him the 100mg and mutter stick the toothpaste and your rules.
the second leg of the flight was empty, i nab four seats and sleep the entire way arriving fresh. e tickets rule, efficient and stress free. my driver waiting for me.
mission control looks lonely. 
in the morning i head dow to the beach for my routine swim and coffee. it's brilliant, clean, fresh and sunny. the birds natter away, colour fills the skies, everything back to paradise. but i miss people, family i hung out with, jakob. it's a strange feeling.
i have a few days before i get back to work. a few days to work out what comes next. 

wandering back from hackney, i see fragments of a london left behind, drunk girls falling out of cars clutching their cans of special brew but letting go of any dignity, shrill broken cries of desperate attention, lost souls almost ghosts. jake and i avoid the drama, we dance on peripheral, he goes off to work while i follow my nose down brick lane to the bagel shop. brick lane, half of it traditionally trendy and cool, the other a dump, derelict weary buildings cold and damp penetrating the fabric of culture, curry houses ad infinitum, dodgy looking taxi companies fronting for the some bangladeshi cult. the massive city looming over my head reminds me london is a saudi city. economics always wins, govts always sell their soul, it's the devils business, politicians sell their soul and then your country. a global problem far to late to unravel.
in rough trade i hear some music played loud, it's got something familiar about it, something interesting. i ask the man who tells me it's an australian compilation of electronica. ironic, can't escape the place. although i consider myself english i cannot vote here, neither can i vote in australia, yet i have now lived over half my life in australia and feel less connected to the uk than ever.
later i find myself in soho, my old haunts, wadour street, brewer street, all cleaned up and looking spiff, nice niche shops, trendy well dressed individualistic types, jazz man, it's like watching jazz sprawling out in three dimensional space, i like it. this tiny area will always be my london. 

it's tricky, being back here a city i never really liked or thought of as home. certainly not much to keep me here, and in my final week i actually look forwards to returning to sydney.  
the uk is pretty much the same as it was when i left, class structures more intact than ever, the peasants lorded over by their masters. people here respect doctors, lawyers, people who own four wheel drives, it's a city ruled by old gods, dark ones, their impulses radiate through the bones and nervous system of anyone unable to defend against these entities. magick is strong here but it's corrupted, it's violent and stupid, manipulative and weighted by history and it's possessive ego.
I've exhausted it, it bores me. i have picked up various books i needed, done my duty as a son and felt somewhat done with it all.
family life here is different, i am grateful to have spent some time with my father, he's grasping for reason in an unreasonable world, he's open to the other world and invites it in but dogma makes a sabotaging guardian at the gates.
for an old man he's sharp, not agile or mobile as i would have liked but his mind is lubricated with good stuff.
still ever apocalyptic dad watches the news, wondering if he will witness the inevitable come to pass.

No News from Nowhere

Nothing happened between the days, just the family circumstances of old age parents going through their dramas and filling their days with tea, food and supermarkets. Banal conversation about things I no longer cared about, strange neurotic babbling and reversions, routines and fear.

Everyone seemed trapped in their time space co ordinates, it was not liberating and that was obviously why I stood out from every part of the experience. It started in an argument when I arrived.

For some strange reason my legs from knee down had turned bright crimson, in a pattern that was similar to a giraffe. My mother came with me to the Doctor who referred me to emergency at the local hospital.

They quarantined me. I sat outside a doorway while the Doctor put his tight elastic surgical gloves on. He had left the door slightly ajar and I couldn’t help but notice the disapproving look he gave me when he saw us. I guess he was not used to wild unkempt hair with feathers dangling down. He was not used to seeing people in psychedelic tee shirts with the sleeves cut off and reading a book called ‘cryptonomicon.’

He invited me inside and my mother joined me. He asked me a list of questions which my mother answered. I interrupted and said to my mother I was capable of answering questions about my health history better than she would as she had no knowledge of me from after age 16.

The Dr. Continued with his questions.

He requested I lay down and started inspecting my legs. He seemed baffled and asked if it hurt. I shook my head, ‘No, not at all.’

Then he nodded and asked if I took drugs.

Now I do smoke a lot off weed but I was never going to confess so I said, ‘No.’

He asked me later if I took hard drugs. I repeated my answer and wondered if he was serious.

After taking a few basic tests he informed me that I was on drugs. I corrected him that he was wrong, and I do not take drugs. He said he had never seen anything like the marks on my legs and that I should take antibiotics. He wrote the script and charged me.

As I walked out my mother said to me, in all seriousness, ‘You look like you take drugs, everyone thinks you do.’

Now I should have let this pass but my mother is an impossible woman to deal with, her irrational mouth often emits the most bizarre and ridiculous comments.

‘Everyone looks at you when we walk down the street and thinks you are on drugs. You dress like you are on drugs, your hair is like a drug addicts and you talk like one.’

The barriers are broken and it floods out from my mouth a barrage of self defence against anti logic, I should have known better.

Later at home mum and dad break out their medication box and show me the horde of prescription drugs they have, literally hundreds of blister packs, tubes, and foils. Lotions, creams and tinctures. They even have the antibiotics I have been prescribed.

And I am the drug addict!

complex constellations require a slightly better perspective, navigate a path where the complexity becomes elegant. it's a neurological magick. 
i've not always been a yellow magickian but lately i find myself floating towards this concept. i have no interest other than selfish when it comes to the black skools, for they are only interested scepticism of the white skool.
the white skool itself aspires to revere god, or whatever that intelligence is, but the yellow is detached, it keeps it's understanding internalised and examines them as he goes, which is the way of the scientist i imagine, no conclusions, only observation of the observer. 
i have learnt, never react to changes. always respond in a considered way, over a period of time. time in an ingredient magicians often forget to include in their will because one should never focus on a result, but it needs to be taken into account because the expectation of a fast result will disappoint. 

i have infiltrated the structure, it's weakness is it's strength and its strength is its weakness. one would imagine that this type of tolerance rate would create some equilibrium but in a universe where  matter is on a trajectory with entropy we have to investigate the weakness.
the stronger the structure the stronger it's integrity. this applies to non physical things as well as matter. an idea must have integrity, which means it must translate from imagination into some tangible form. there are no political forms that will survive, democracy is broken and slips further towards some other collective agenda, socialism, fascism, technocracy. 
the religious beliefs are equally volatile, built on lies, half truths and misconceptions. 
they fight for control, control itself is explosively unstable. enter a struggle for control and you may find yourself loosing it just by taking a side.
there are a handful of techniques that have survived time, and human pollution.
the basis of art is shamanism, from which techniques analogue to magick have grown, these last because they are unconscious castings, often thrown out into the world without much intellectual consideration. dreams come true.
modern magick attempts to rationalise and formulate the process but there is little point, for in the magickal universe time has no place. the event you cast may happen at any time, it may even of happened at some other place in someone else's life. it may never happen. however all unconscious wish fulfillments end up in someones future. 
calibrating this technique is the science of magick.

i've always found yuri bezmenov one of the great political minds and strategists. here he is. listen hard.

 

london. the headlines are splashed across the streets, the mad crowds, a horde of multi ethno tribes all being polite yet seething under the surface, it's a j b ballard story bursting at the edges, supressed tensions spilt the infinite possibilities into one chaotic resolution.
now, the new fashion amongst the young are the savage acid attacks that seem to result in the theft of a few mobile phones and scooters, mopeds and cycles. yes, a gang will approach a target who is just minding their own business and throw acid into their face while stealing whatever they can. i see faces burnt up like scarred war veterans under agent orange, it's just business as usual in the city, a spent police force can't offer solutions despite the millions of surveillance cameras. the perpetrators are all young men, not even reached puberty in some cases. it's a system in decay, something is seriously wrong with the host if these types of virus run rampant.
 
i walk along the dark streets, i have found walking at night less traumatic than day time where i am exposed for all to see, like some circus freak with a day pass into the community. my skin deep plasmic red, violently radiating it's strange aura.
the dark clouds forecast rain ahead but for the moment there's a reasonable yet unusual humidity in the air. i like these nights, a scattering of people wandering around, the traffic moves through the arterial roads and the pulse of london throbs with it's vital life signs.
i think i am on a side road, quite close to my parents home, i am looking for stars but london's ambient light kills the natural sky, smog and pollution keep the universe at bay. 
i can smell the danger first, a strange overwhelming flood of pheromone activity, assaults me with some brutal force. my spine tingles and the strange patterns on my skin begin to glow. 
out from several directions they came, shadows, hooded and lithe but it's the glimmer of blades that reveal their intent. 
knowledge, understanding, action, it all comes inherently within my new skin, a movement behind me, the elements are disturbed, i spin around and catch the mans arm as it swoops down dagger in hand.
the truth is instinctive, i surrender to my strange new skin, let it do the work. there are movements, swift and gracefully i spin around and face three more of them. they look shocked at the fall of their comrade but are not unenthusiastically seeking revenge. the glimmer in their eye is fear but also madness, and then horror as they see my face.
i've already won this battle, my skin takes care of them, it's over instantaneously as i find myself standing over their broken bones and blood. it's impossible not to be overwhelmed by this stigmata, this strange new power. i gaze at my arms and hands, the pulse seems to fade and the bright glow begins to dim.


 
           

i have a strange affliction, a terrible skin condition, a giraffe pattern of bright coral like maroon overnight appeared upon my body. highly noticeable for it's vibrant sheen and gossamer like finish as it reflects the summer light in my home city as i stand upon my parents balcony looking downwards at the train station and the disembarking passengers at the end of the jubilee line. it was not unexpected, i have always reacted to returning to london in strange psychosomatic expression.
once i couldn't even walk, pain searing through my legs every time i attempted to take a step or even stand upright but this time i am mobile and move with unusual grace and stealth. however in public i am the freak, like the tattooed man, or the monster, the alien being who magnetises attention of all. even children in their prams gawk at me and then burst out crying in terror at the hideous creature they see before them.
yes, i disguise myself as much as possible, i even wear long pants instead of my board shorts, i wear a neck scarf despite the warm evenings and i attempt to cover my face in sunglasses and a low brimmed hat, however up close you cannot fail to see me, in all my awful naked truth, a creature in the shape of a man.

choices are limited, i could have flown straight to london but i would have arrived a mess, drooling and dribbling like a jet lagged clown in a sarong balancing suitcases through the rush hour commuter chaos, instead i thought five days in bali would alleviate my stress and the anxiety i have accumulated in my physical form.
it worked to a point. i took myself out of the balanese tourist areas and into the more remote areas, in the jungle, tiny beaches, remote villages and no connectivity with anything remotely civilized, nothing much to do except watch the sun rise and set, get massaged and eat papaya.
my balinese experience was amazing, scooting around on moped, surfing in warm water and generally finding myself loosen up again, as balanese hands released the knots and tensions trapped within my flesh, using hot rock technique, bamboo and lots of oils, certain pressure points setting free traumas and negative experiences. it was very much like returning to my original self. i can recommend to all people seeking some sort of healing, bali is cheap, it is effective, it is real and it is a memory to treasure. i fully understand why bowie asked for his ashes to be scattered there, i would want that to, bali culture is easy to love, rich with friendly islander hinduism, the locals are beautiful and friendly. it's a simple place but deeply traditional, deeply joyous. 
yes indonesia presence is there, casting a shadow upon everything but that's all the more reason to visit and support the natives.
when i did return to town connectivity ruined my bliss.


sadness.

i move to malaysia, eat a hot laska and jump on-board a aircraft bound for london. i catch the train and alight at my parents. i feel okay, still relaxed and healthy, my body feels vital and motivated. the next day i set off to meet jake in the city but get misdirected and end up having to walk for hours (thanks google maps) when eventually i see jake i am exhausted.
we eat dinner out at a turkish place, there's some kerfuffle over pizza and pide, the waiter has an attitude problem, something i notice here more and more is the way people like to stick their nose in other peoples business and have their say. it's quite unsettling, people making assumptions, telling you what they think about something you are doing, or saying. an example is at the supermarket i buy a pair of pants and after paying ask if i can have a plastic bag. i'm surprised when they say i'd have to pay for it, and the woman in the queue says, 'you ought to know that you pay for bags.'
'well lady, i don't live in the uk so forgive me if i don't know that'.


the next day i notice my legs are infected with some sort of strange red colouring upon the skins surface, it's not itchy or scratching but it is bizarre. a criss crossing of strange shapes bright blood red have formed like giraffe patterns all over my lower legs. everyone tells me i need to go to hospital. 
the intake officer quarantines me.
the doctor repeatedly asks if i am on drugs, he asks me the question over and over again, he asks me if i drink and won't believe me when i say i don't.
i get in a huge fight with my mother who seems to side with the doctor.
the upshot is i am on antibiotics and some other medication.  the doctor had no idea what was wrong but suggested the antibiotics to fill his quota so he can have a free holiday paid for by the pharmaceutical company. he also says my blood pressure is high, mmm, i think, yours would be if you had a stupid doctor repeatedly asking if you were a drug addict. i felt like telling him there was only one dealer of drugs in this room and it was not me. 
so i'm in recovery mode, trying to relax, resting my legs, and reading my book.        

countdown the days, the final program as heat is sucked from bones, birds struggle with flight and fish are in a state of deep freeze. my pond life is a solid state, my home life is a state solid. nothing can move in the permafrost of winter. even time is frozen. decay defeated in the snap freeze of the moment.

all we wanted was that frozen now, the naked breakfast, on a spork bending with natures psychokinesis. ever thought about that fraction of deep freeze. 
adversity is opportunity, as an old friend told me just before he died. he was incorrect, it's a chance at opportunity and if your well trained in some buddhist or magickal techniques a choice. 
my mind flies free. it weaves through time and space, it seeks and finds, but is never trapped, it is free from all these equations of physics and philosophy. through the needles eye we all pass, once in a lifetimes transmigrations. passing on with full consciousness, it's improbable but not impossible.    

i wake up pretty early, it's still dark as i drive into the sunrise at terrible. it's intense colour, these winters days have a certain clarity, a sharpness about them. the definition of things becomes much clearer in winter light, less distractions. 
on the beach the sun shines across the water, each drop a crystallised future, quantum foam, no surf. a few swimmers out there pushing through the temperature, not me, i'm wrapped up in layers of warmth. the sun now eats through me, so good for my bones, my skin slightly burning, on days like these i feel alive. 
that's a good thing, as i take my breathes seriously. you never know when it's your last.

memory from yesteryear- outside i'm walking along one of those quaint english roads, where the houses are far to close to one another, where the width of the road is slim and narrow, where the some sort of strange soft blizzard falls, the trees have no leaves, just black frozen nerve endings meeting a dull grey sky today, the transmissions of a cities synaptic messages are dead ones, decay. nature suffers in the extremes, it's far to cold for polar bears and penguins, the city has it's own wildlife, the wild londoners, the gangs off ethnic tribes, the wailing police sirens, the old people in their rented rooms smothered in blankets as they fight winter in spring, old bones clasping a mug of tea that only has one direction to travel, colder. 
the fashionistas, the young good looking europian set, the glamorous, it's all here frozen in my moment as i walk through the scenery.
later i'm helping my mum shop, driving a small car around for her, the traffic is chaotic but we end up in some sort of massive supermarket, a hypermarket, my mother pushes a trolley around it talking to anyone who listens, and if they don't, to herself. i am attempting to help but my back injury makes movement impossible. 
i notice these shops are filled with unfamiliar products, and the familiar ones are very cheap, mangoes, here sell for much less than they do in australia (but they taste crap). how does that work? fish costs less?
there's a good range of products for vegetarians and vegans, there's a very good range of organic products and it's all really good quality, and cheap. australia we are being fucked over, free trade agreements, no competition and dumb politics has meant the customer looses out. i buy a book, and some dark chocolate from south america. the strange sleet gets heavier, falls harder, i drive back, i make garlic bread for my folks and swallow some painkillers.     

pull out my travelling bags, it's a mystery what i take, some reading matter. some swimming stuff, a few clothes. always travel light, never know what you will pick up in strange lands, amongst the natives. i was once given a big black stick in a village where a masai helped me. he said it would be good to carry in the city and as i wandered nairobi late at night it did indeed offer me protection, and a sort of profound confidence. no one dared approach me without respect. it was like i carried thor's hammer. i still have that black stick, along with several other strange things i have picked up on my journeys. 
mostly i return with books. as i get older my adventures become less intense and provocative. 
i notice the sun is up, no clouds or rain and the warmth nutrition feeds my bones. i wander down to my cafe and read the paper, it all seems so silly, like i am detached from it all now. watching absurdist theatre, acrobats and mesmerists. 
at least my coffee tastes good. 

hello winter my old enemy fighting from outside, penetration is your strategy. i got you figured out after years of australian resistance, a cultural anomaly, i need a russian girl to survive this year, nothing else would do but i would settle for a canadian  i need fur and whiskey, a fire burns. that's the long of short of it. i need some heat from a soft body that knows how to generate it. 
may have to escape from this and seek refuge someplace groovy.

i often wonder what happened to the realians? remember them?

the last of the new age cults. 

i met a few realians at some palm beach parties, they were all very foxy older women, i was in my thirties but they must have been 40 or something, really successful switched on, actually come to think of it, very bourgeois. anyway they explained it all to me and although not as cerebral as scientology it did have the science fiction landscape of a great novel. 

i am always interested in the origins of these ideas, i would have enjoyed hanging out with crowley, heinlein, jack parsons and those guys. it was crowley who gave l. ron scientology, it was crowley's idea shared over a long lunch, he also gave that hack buckland a heads up for his witchcraft movement but discuss that with any witch and they deny it. 

raelism is different group, softer, liberated, hippy type stuff with a science fiction edge, cloning, extraterrestrials, the transference of consciousness mixed with a liberal dose of free love, positive vibrations, they kinda were really all waiting for the alien. whereas scientology was more of a process, healing etc but then at the higher levels again becomes science fiction. harder sci fi, technically a space opera, that bit is hubbards contribution being a science fiction writer. i would have focused more on the mystical, less science more fiction. just like organised religion but with an edge, i probably would have thrown in more sex. a religion based upon sex. now there's a novelty. 

  

the gig is over, my contract ends and with it a new change as i am unable due to some bureaucratic fuck up in my dept. to return to my unit. it is not surprising, the dept is abysmally dumb, filled with middle management who are just thugs, bullies, incompetent and brutal. in their trail lay hundreds of ruined lives and turmoil. i am a survivor, my deep trauma is in every atom of my being but i have always stood my ground and pushed back. i am an anomaly for them, they fear me.
the phone call comes late in the afternoon. i tell them that if i am moved from my current situation and have to deal with any new managers or staff with psychopathic behaviours towards me i will sue the dept. i add that given the biggest thug in the whole dept. is now the general manager i will not really raise my expectations.
then i am informed they have put me on speaker phone and the whole office has heard. 
later i get a call from my boss. he's okay, not part of the group thug mind. he says he will place me somewhere good. he does.
i receive my roster, big drop in hours and pay but lots more time. i figure time will be the resource i need for the next year so i can live with it plus surfing starts soon.
back at my work a woman tells me how a sexual assault was covered up a few years ago. she starts crying and sobbing and i tell her it's important she finishes telling me, which she does. i am not shocked, the number of people whom have been fucked over by this stupid dept.  grows every day. i have heard hundreds of stories from people. many people leave, some are damaged  some become drug addicts, alcoholics  some stay and just do no work at all which is why everything is fucked. all i can do is direct them to the online survey they are conducting and encourage them to be honest. one day there will be a royal commission and i will be there singing every single name of every single manager who fucked me over, in turn ruining the lives of my clients. 
i head home, the trauma bubbles away under the surface. these things  are heavy matters.   

slow lazy weekend, i wander around with nicole and veronique rambling in a fluid kind of way through the crowds and hordes out celebrating the diversity day at our local beach. a black kid sings a stupid song to an empty seated arena, not one person stops and listens and to be honest it's a painful wailing modern pop song al la the voice. my head hurts and i have to move away but the girls want to enter the eye of the storm. 

the stalls all seem to have some sort of agenda, refugee groups, african food, south american music, indian jewellery. ironically veronique and i are the only exotic looking people in the crowd apart from a couple of dark skinned people. we wander over to the stand where a man is offering some south african bread for tasting. this is our national dish he proclaims. it's bland as fuck, i wouldn't eat it but in the interests of society i nod my head and offer various platitudes. 

an australian man obviously taken by veroniques attractive look moves in, 'where are you from?' he asks.

now i hate it when i am asked this, i only get asked this in australia where racism is so entrenched in the blood of it's left wing harmony groups they are able to be rascist while declaring it something they fight against. no one else cares where i am from, only fucking australians have to have an ethnocentric label so they can divide you into a tribe. idiots!

veronique and i have discussed this, we never get asked anywhere else but australia. i mention i have a strategy which shuts people up when i always answer, iceland. veronique says she always says bondi. 

we leave the beach and go find some healthy juice bar. nicole buys me lunch. 

the world is okay today. the winter sunshine is wonderful, blue skies, the birds are happy, i was in perfect harmony until the united nations fucked up everything with their stupid harmony day. 

    

student: does the dog have a buddah nature ?
master : mu 

this reminds me of the schrodingers cat theory. neither alive or dead until observed. but the master says, much more. he say's it does not matter. who cares! 

it makes no difference if the dog has buddha nature or not, the cat is alive or dead, it does not matter and therefore mu means un-ask the question. there is no yes no answer. one's mind must move from simple binary answers to some other form of intuition or awareness.  
often the master will answer the question with a yes, or sometimes a no. but the answer is really mu.
so unless you look inside the box and see the cat, it is a pointless question with no answer. 
these zen monks were pretty smart.

THE LEON SUITES - DAVID BOWIE

first week ends thankfully, i'm fucking exhausted. i have so much to do but first i have to save my fish again as i noticed the pond is almost empty. there's some weird things going on, my gate is broken at the side of the house and it looks really damaged as if forced open. the pond empty could be just the stream being clogged with leaves so i don't add that to my suspicions but when i enter the house the tv is on, and there are a pile of leaves on my rug. 
everything is secure so i can't understand what has happened but, weird things happen.
i have a weekend to myself, going to do some hard core reading and laundry. i have just finished 'the frozen dead' and 'a song for drowned souls' by bernard minier which are excellent french detective novels. 
i finally got hold of another copy of the book i left in the cinema 'dark matter' by blake couch, i only had about 20 pages left to read so i can now say i read the book. not sure if i liked the ending but it was a good idea and food for thought.
i also read my first chuck wendig 'invasive' which i felt was a bit similar to micheal crichton in style and story, not really my cup of chia.

australia could have once been the clever country, now, it is just the dumbest i think. a dumb county run by dummies, for dummies. yes, i am a dummy. so are you if you so wipe that smirk off yer face. 
we are all dummies as we put up with it. the fucking corruption that flows through every single institution in australia is appalling, it's so toxic that eventually the only way to beat them is to join them. 
our political system is a tool of the chinese communist party, it's so fucking broken we need a revolution more than ever, not a dumb one either but one where we just start making good rational choices.  every issue should be judged on merit not through ideological lenses. this sort of thinking takes us backwards. 
people use the word vision a lot but there is no vision, even the greens have no vision just the same old fucking tribal shit dressed up in a strange weird united nations of beniton advert with political correctness spilling from it's brainless drivil. they have to be the most conformist party out there, dare not think outside the un agendas. 
all these parties are more obsessed with control. the liberals are about being controlled by economics and controlling economics, labour is about being controlled by unions and controlling the workers while spending their fees on strippers and champagne and bourgeois things (is craig thompson in jail?) 
the greens are controlled by cookie cutter ideology straight from university of brainwashing and they would like to brainwash you.
personally i would just not vote anyone until they get the message. do not vote! we should never encourage these people.