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