i'm back in the thick of it, i have a headache already. boom boom boom, inside my head, as i deal with the needs of people. the formula is flawed, one can never give enough attention to some units. they are broken and beyond repair. i see this now, it's krishna on the battlefield. no buddhist nonsense holding us in check, my sword is merciful and mercifulness. i am the eye, the arbitrator, the magistrate, the administrator, i'm the hip executioner saying last rites first while my blade cuts through. if you fall upon my battlefield prepare for resurrection. 

last few days to enjoy the winter daze, perfect blue skies, immaculate surf, i traipse up the hill known as skillion, from where i survey the magnificent pacific. we can see the schools of whales as they pass by, a few breeching, flippers wave in recognition, i am a whale man now, they hail me as they pass. 
transmissions are sent, i have returned from the north and wish them safe travels and play. i send them good vibes, and tell them to avoid the humans.
the climb up is hard, my body aches, my lungs work overtime, upwards we go. 
behind me lays the terrible town, it's besides the sea, it's gleaming in negative ions, winter angles and light. angels dance on the head of the pin here in terrible.
i clamber back down, along the path like a wayward pilgrim, head into the heart of the town, where if feels like a summer in the warmth and casual atmosphere. people party outside the hotel, a band plays and girls laugh as they spill cocktails in the afternoon fun.
it's where i am. it's where i want to be. 

when i arrived in australis there was a nationwide manhunt, the uniforms, the banks, the govt. were all searching for a fugative named john fredrich who had set up an entity known as the national safety council, modelled upon thunderbirds and international rescue john received the medal of order of australia in relation to his service.
little know to the authorities john had already faked his death on the italian alps after embezzling money from a german road company. 
the banks and investors, including the govt were bewitched by fredrich who had the charm and allure of the most brazen confidence trickster. 27 banks had handed over millions and several had fallen.  interpol and all australian forces were out looking for him, and eventually tracked him down to a motel in perth.
although he had been given full security clearance to australian defence forces it was discovered he was not an australian citizen and did not possess a birth certificate. 
just before the trail john fredrich was found dead on his farm with one single bullet wound in his head, and then there was nothing. no media coverage, no mention of the millions he had stolen, no coverage, it was as if he had never existed.
during those early years i found this fascinating and asked several people if they had heard of him, all said no. it was as if i was imagining this whole event and there was no record of his existence or fraud.
while john awaited trail he agreed to write his autobiography and was recommended a friend by his bodyguard. 
richard was a young man, struggling to be a legitimate writer in tasmania when he got the call from the mainland, they had agreed to publish john's bio and richard was asked to ghost write it. he did, it's called 'codename ioga.'
fast forwards 2018, award winning australian writer richard flannagan writes 'first person' a novel based upon the events that occurred while richard was writing 'codename.'
wow, it's an ingenious novel, a slightly gothic tale with some brilliant writing and strangely humorous elements.
but the best thing, the one certainty is my mind can be trusted, richard fredrich was real, he did exist despite very few people acknowledging him, my memory served me well. 

back from byron bay i gaze at the glorious winter sun as it passes through the leaves and onto my tiny lawn. bird sing out welcoming songs, the koo and kaw of the feathered beasts, colours flash and insect sing. 
we drove like madmen, it's pretty much a straight stretch at 130, although there are numerous slow areas where roads are being widened. the further north the warmer, the more space and consequently the more relaxed i feel. the water is still, ocean currents retreat as the tide is pulled by the moon. i see strange patterns upon the sands, pass strange small towns and villages, pass landmarks and stop for coffee. i piss in side streets and laneways of remote beautiful places where no one passes, no people in sight, the sky stretches out, and as evening comes the universe swallows me up in stars. 
i find my place, uphill the arts factory, a zen like spa retreat, azabu. the rom is perfect as is the spa. and i sleep like the lord returned from the hunt. 
morning light filters through tall trees as i read my book in the peace, on the balcony.
byron is a resort town, once a place of healing, now filled up with backpackers and hippies, cashed up city executives and movie stars. it's beautiful but also expensive, it's magickal in the same way avalon once was and i am constantly reminded of this connection. shops are resort shops, with resort prices, the streets are packed with festival goers, the market throng with good food and produce. 
i do my business and head home back through the night. azabu, perfect place to spend a night. 

i sleep in, it's rare but i'm exhausted from working. my bones ache, it's so cold my blood is solid, almost. i'm smothered in layers, jeeping warm in my safe little zone. i drag my ass out of bed around 0900 and get some coffee, do chores and shopping. finally catch up on domestics by the time sun penetrates it's stinking hot and i'm resting, reading the book of the year.

stupidity surrounds me, it's part of the culture now, it's global. i'm convinced the left are the right, the real news is fake, the war on terror is the war on error and western democracy is on it's knees. war is imminent, possibly with china on one front, but if your clever you will research and see how china has been at war with the west for many years. 

all the west has in it's defence is hedonism, pleasure and it's alluring values. look at how islamic terrorists visit brothels and strip clubs, watch porn before committing their jihad, it has a fatal attraction but not strong enough to confront the programming of jihad. in china the party pay their citizens money to purchase properties in western cities, the history of warfare in china is absorption, the rice method, such are their numbers, as the west declines, tick tock, rotten from within, the steady march of tolerance towards the intolerant, the capitulation to islam since salman rushdie wrote his novel. the way media make their un sponsored news, the abc being the prime australian example. it's pathetic such a news station is sanctioned by the tax payer whom is smarter than the elites who run the show. 

i ponder this and come to the conclusion adaption is necessary, i am surrounded by morons, idiots and fools, opinions, tv drone like personalities and pointless existence and somehow they all gravitate to me because i am different. they befriend me but as soon as they find my weakness they exploit it. i have come to loath people, come to despise the pathetic ignorance as they believe in stupidity over reason. the ufo priests, the conspiracy nuts, the hippies, lazy socialists, the post capitalists, the journalists the politicians  the governments, the endless talking heads puking their stupid opinions as newsworthy, the faux spiritualists, the religious, the womens movement, the mens movements, the party, the fucking lobbyists  the anti party, the inner sanctum, the outer spacers, the comedians, the dramatists, the host and the guests, the warmongers, the peacemakers. i hate you all because your mediocre and wear the same face. 
all that's left when you strip it away is escape, and the best way to do that is alone. or at least with a good book, some great sex and a few of your fave plants.
oh! you can stay.
peace out.