Thursday, October 25, 2018

this is not captain mission writing, he is an imposter. this is captain missing. the mission routine is getting old and frustrating. what was that all about? 
writing reports?
the mission sub program is now inactive, we have it in a containment field. what would it write anyway, whimsical musings, stuff for the bird, lizards and the fish. who really wants to hear about his tiger grass and the surf conditions.
captain missing is much more exciting, has more to say about the world. captain missing has seen it all, been everywhere and knows everything, well almost. 
his reports are creative and written in that kick ass attitude you love, no political correctness, no fucking around here. 
captain missing is a bit like that guy conrad writes about, he's lost up the jungle, gone rouge. only rumours filter back in tribal tales and explorer antidotes in steamy whisky stinking bars in the tropics. 
one particular unverified story was told by a drunken doctor in rangoon. he was banned from a number of pubs and hotels, lived doing backdoor ops in a shed on the outskirts of town. when he was cashed up the doctor visited madame slings opium den for a few days release. it was during such lost week, in a haze of opium and oppressive heat the doctor encountered missing.
'i didn't see him come in, just saw his shape, wrapped up in that big coat, he's big, but tall to, he wears those big boots so it's hard to tell really but when he did stand out he blocked out the window and therefore the natural light. the window was only opened for one hour in the mornings, just to clear the air and smoke away. madame fling is quite particular about light, it's usually always dark inside. i remember him standing up above me, the shape of eternity, and i remember he sat across from me sipping tea on a big mass of cushions. 
he nodded at me, acknowledged my presence and offered to fill my cup. i saw his hand, specifically the rings. one was a moonstone, one was a pentangle, one was an amethyst the other was a chaos star. 
we sipped and he told me he had been in the jungle for two years, living with the voodoo people, a tribe i had never heard about. i listened as he spoke, telling me his strange story but i was also under the influence of opium and slipping in and out of dream states so i cannot be certain if i heard him correctly but this is what i remember.
the captain hitched a ride on a small motor boat. he adopted the identity of a ethno- biologist researching rubber plants for petro chemical company back in australia called mandox. of course the only research he had committed to was the search for the vast halo, a legend amongst psychonuats. the vast halo is a vividly purple small flower that only grows in circles of 12. the story goes only the voodoo tribe know where they grow and how to use them without death or permanent brain damage. the vast halo circle was only known by the shaman of the tribe so accessibility was difficult for mission, it meant infiltration and ordeal. so for almost fifteen months captain missing learnt the initiation of the voodoo shaman. 
the voodoo shaman was called loco, gentle and wise and very patient. his daughter was called agwe and missing and her seemed to connect on many levels but discipline was essential in mastering his apprenticeship, commitment to the mission at any cost. loco took missing under his wing and showed him the arts of voodoo sorcery and power, introduced him to the deities, the plants and systems of magick voodoo culture is imbued with. finally it was time to take the vast halo.
loco led missing through the jungle, it was dense and thick, teeming with hidden life and power. they travelled further than mission had ever gone before, deep into the unknown territory. five days and five nights later they arrived at a cliffs edge. loco led missing towards the edge, pointing down into a sea of mist. 
then he stepped off. 
missing followed. he leapt off and fell.
through the fog nothing was visible, but as he descended he came through to the clear blue skies, and below him a pristine lake. the obscured lake. the water was cold, refreshing, and beautiful. missing laughed with joy, he splashed around and then began to seek out loco. there he was emerging from the water, at the shoreline. missing followed. 
they sat in silence on the white sands until their clothes were dry. shaking sand off they began to make a fire, 'we have to await the night and the moon,' loco whispered. 
for a few hours missing enjoyed the peace, resting as he watched the flames jumping, and the moon begin to rise over the mountain. it was  full and the lake was illuminated by its silver light. eventually loco pointed at the surface of the lake. 
it was difficult to see but something was breaking through the water, whatever it was was improbable. missing stood to observe. gradually he saw it was a plant, not one but many. they were waterlilies. massive leaves floating upon the surface and there upon a short stem the purple flower of the vast halo. there were twelve of them.
they swam out, clambering upon the surface of the leaf. it supported both their weights, and offered a stable platform. 
anticipating loco would cut down the flower to ingest mission drew his knife but loco beckoned for him to put it away. he grabbed the stem and began to bend it down, while at the same time opening his mouth towards missing. 
inside the flower was a volume of what looked like water but it was purple, the colour reflected by the plant, 'this is what we drink captain.'
missing took a drink, it was sublime. not foul tasting at all.
loco drunk some while mission bent a flower towards the old shaman.  
then they sat down together upon the leaf. mission noticed all the leaves spread out so as they touched or could be stepped upon. the flowers all grew upwards and out like a three dimensional mandela. 
they were indeed vast and in the moonlight surreal as if from a fairytale story, the stars sparkling with untapped magick and the strange jungle sounds echoed across the dark water translated into a cacophony of living sound, life.
'what happened, what was revealed?' the doctor asked missing who had sunk into a reverie of sorts, his eyelids closed as the opium took hold.
missing smiled wryly.
'everything changed.'

is that it?
the doctor pushed missing for more but the man seemed to be lost in some colourful dream, freed from pain.

'is that it? it's not much of a story, it sounds like the old mission.'
'yes, yes it is.'
the howling plant spirits seared through his body, those obsidian eyes opened as if revealing the alpha and omega, his mind was everywhere, nowhere. it soared through the galaxies, tributaries of consciousness seeking out the dark matter. 
i get mission now, it makes it more interesting. he's an everywhere and nowhere man. 

captain missing filed his reports, captain mission filed his. one wrote their way out, the other in. in the end there was no difference. the destination was the same. 

Monday, October 22, 2018

still in the north, i stop for food, a bowl of acai berries and fruit with seeds and nuts and stuff that tastes awesome while chowing down i notice i'm in a yoga retreat with a cafe attached. how did i get here, i wonder. i sit in perfect union, nutrition floods my bloodstream, packing power and vibrational harmony. i'm in zen space, it feels good. i go to pay and speak with the yoga princess at the desk, she's smiling i make her laugh as i say, 'i didn't want to eat it, it looked like art.'
she's giggling like a schoolgirl, 'i just sat there and looked at it, and when i did it eat, it was magnificent.'
she's blushing but i have to go, the road awaits. 

Friday, October 19, 2018

I'd forgotten about that show, the expanse, it's one of the best science fiction series i've seen in a long time apart from westworld which is excellent as well. 
i knew i liked miller but forgotten why, then i saw the scene that clinched it for me, the bit where he explains to his friend why he's on his mission. it's a great scene, they all have their moments, even one of the head people in the united nations is rich and interesting, in motivation and character. her voice sounds so expressive, iranian i think, she's amazing.
i think if you liked westworld you would like this, it's complex rich and well written.

Thursday, October 18, 2018

i'm awake very early doing shopping chores, stocking up on coconut water. i get back just in time. a massive hailstorm ruins my plans, rain comes down like some weird deluge, frogs, fish and crustaceans litter the back garden, surreal garden. from where i stand in the safety of mission control. the sky is black, as if night has returned, and the hail is huge. white balls clatter upon my roof, the deck and the skylights, it's deafeningly loud. 
what can i do? it's my day off, so i finish my book. suddenly the storm becomes more severe and lightning cracks disturb my thoughts. i freak in lightening as i was hit by it and it's made me react in a very violent fear. i literally have to hide. my body won't even listen to my brain, it just moves and does what it needs to do,no amount of reasoning and rationalising can make my fear stop, the reptilian brain just kicks in hard.
the rain keeps falling, my garden is changing, lush and wild the only losers are my torn and tattered palms standing like loyal soldiers at the end of time, sustaining the brunt of the damage. every other plant is enjoying a much needed quenching of their thirst.
later i flop into my sofa and try to watch some tv show but i end up watching 'the expanse' again on disc, and they have done an excellent job transferring from books to screen. i like the screen versions better, they really are worthwhile as good quality science fiction is rare on tv. 
anyway's, book or screen its a good story to get into. complex and multi levelled. 
later a pocket of sunlight and i'm looking at blue skies. then the rain returns. i'm not going out again so i'm kinda reasonably content with added coconut water.  

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

few days off finally, i have time to do what i have to do, eat some salad and walk, see the ocean, see the trees. clean up home, move some books around. 
i'm the disheveled garden overspilling with potential. i have an amazing pond, i've spent loads of cash keeping those fish alive. and i love them. i want them to be happy. i think they are despite my unpredictable feeding habits. 
at back the tiger grass and black bamboo is growing wild and untamed, the palms though have taken a battering and need some assistance, maybe nutrients would help, i have to save them. wild weather, rain and wind does that. batters them.
however everything about my garden is jungle influenced.
okay, this racheal lady is really interesting and very cute. it's thrown me somewhere else. oh no, not again, i'm happy hope your happy, one flash of light,,,i wanna axe to come down right now. 
she's like... 
i walk in to that old workplace, it's brightened up since mary poppins arrived, i like it. her friend is often popping in to look at zeros and ones, so sometimes i see her and now it's been thrice, which is a good number because it means each time i see her it's better than the last. i just don't know why, just energy stuff i guess. even though brief it's very nice, but today was awkward.
i did stumble into town, unwashed and slightly dazed, after all it's the middle of the week, i been doing a few long days, and i'm looking at my worst. as for my clothes, burn them. that's my work outfit. it's pretty horrible, i should spruce up but it seems pointless when you have to do personal care. i don't mind doing it but i'm not fucking wearing groovy clothes to do it. 
anyway, i fall into the house and there she is, sitting on the computer with mary poppins. i'm like, what the fuck, i wasn't expecting this but, i'm also like well this is a pleasant surprise but i wish i wasn't looking so dorky.
so i launch into activity, some sort of avoidance response. i'm piscean, for fucks sake, this is like one of the strongest drugs in the universe. 
i power through, somehow i manage to say the right thing at the right time and then it becomes a blur. but i'm here now and...
okay i have to wing it.    
i miss you bowie. 
I really do.
everyday i think of you.
casting influence upon me
making me strange and weird, 
embracing consciousness, culture and magic

i drifted and flow
i change and i grow
 and understand your buddha nature

it never cast a shadow upon me
always showed me the way
i miss you man
star man 
since you went away

cocaine and sex
you did them best 
and moved to beautiful west berlin.
i like all that jazz, 
i really do now i tasted it
you know what's real is not faking it

i drift and flowed
i change
 and i grow
 and understand your buddha nature

it never cast a shadow upon me
always showed me the way
i miss you man
star man 
since you went away

i drifted and flow
change and grow
 and understand your buddah nature.

Monday, October 15, 2018

i find myself heading north, on the road to newcastle, passing kooky little towns and beaches, i stop for coffee somewhere quirky. i like this place, it's a town i have been to before. long jetty, just before the entrance. i flirt with a girl in a surf shop and then head onwards, over the big bridge at the entrance, along a windy a road, until i find the place i am looking for croudace bay. oh yeah, this is a different climate, the suns out, skies are blue although there is a rainbow behind me. i'm embracing the future, finding my power again. it's time for captain mission once more, a new mission a new captain mission.
great universe whom encompasses all, nameless and without form give us our daily dose of hope and blessings and forgive us our failings and inadequacies. direct us away from fear and into love and stop tempting me with girls like rachel whom although is quite adorable is another fucking lesbian who cannot possibly reciprocate in any way. 
it's the cosmic joke that runs through my love life, sadly and tragically it's hard to laugh. it's hard to feel anything but the fall guy in some elaborate emotional prank although i guess we could be great friends, but it's never enough really. 

Tuesday, October 09, 2018

the fear moves in, it's always there when you plug into media, when you hang with zombies, when you deal with the maya. bad news bearers, bad vibe generators killing the soul, and god knows there's a lot of it about. 
gotta focus on love and light for a while.
i gotta give some thanks to the things that matter, friends, family, flowers, the waves, the stars, art and girls, not necessarily in that order.
praise jah!

my wanderings took me across the silver ocean, to unbeknown shore. on the map it looked like a black circle with an x in the centre and then dotted concentric circles radiating out. 
the journey itself was uneventful, only that inner landscape seemed to shift, a certain fixed nature seemed to slowly dissolve within me, all my memories were quicksand as though time distorted itself the closer i reached my goal. my mantra kept me focused but it was imperfect.
by the time i put my foot upon the shore i was almost a different being, the only thing that stayed permanent seemed to be my name, captain mission.
the soft crunch of barefoot upon virgin sand was exquisite, the sensation of being the first and the tactile feeling itself blended into a vague euphoria. a hot breeze blew through my hair.
the walk up to the beginnings of the fertile jungle as life teemed within seemed like it was magnetically encouraged, i never looked back once as the jungle enveloped me. all travellers and explorers know there is no guarantee of return, and even if you do, nothing is the same as that moment of departure.
one foot in front of the other, one breath at a time, i moved through the vines, trees and palms, the deafening sounds of insects and birds, the oppressive swelter. on and onwards i fought my way through the dense patches and moved around inpenetratable areas. some vines were now the size of tree trunks, a circle of datura stamonium grew in strange uniformity to the rest of the vegetation and i knew i had found the spot. 
before stepping into the circle i wiped the sweat from my face and eyes, took a moment to calm my breathing and centre myself. 
the defence mechanism was impressive, waves of time displacement interfering with memory. i speculated it worked upon airborne pheromone activity, the closer i approached the stronger the impact. 
i emptied my pockets, laid everything out on a tree root and looked at my possessions, a photograph of my son, a watch. i placed these carefully into my bag and hung the bag from a low branch. 
for a moment i wondered if i should take my clothes off completely and step inside but i started to feel some confusion and thought it best to get this done so i stepped in.
instantly the fog in my mind lifted, pieces of me returned in some cohesion. my new skin was deep black, and my eyes now operated at supernatural frequencies. the flowers tasted bitter and the urge was to gag but i swallowed them up resisting all physical automatic reactions. i had not eaten for days and could feel the flowers in the pits of my guts being digested, quickly absorbed into my blood and making it's way through my body.
spirit beings appeared, many from different dimensions, and with a certain amount of adjustment i could tune them in and out. fortunately inside the protective circle none could reach me, but the malevolent entities tried to seduce me, to trick me from the circle. eventually i found the realm i sought. 
it was the ladder of lights i climbed, a certain mediative visualisation as i began my ascent. my research into the merkava had given me some idea of the symbology involved but i was unprepared for the revelation. to reach this point is akin to stepping through the wardrobe into narnia or finding yourself transported to middle earth perhaps even another planet or the asgard of thor, loki and odin. 
the chariot was incomprehensible, impossible yet gave the appearance of reality, it's base was solid, it was alive yet in flames. the living creatures that made the chariot were  man (earth), lion (mars), ox (venus)and eagle (mercury).
i ascended onto the mighty frame the flames licked at my skin but did not burn the way fire does. one hand in front of the other, i pulled myself up and took my place at the throne next to my queen.
it was time to rise.

it always feels like i have fallen off the edge of the world, caught in the reshaped remodel vortex where character is forged and identity transmuted, situations shift and transmute but there is a familiar archetype that always comes to the rescue. i often think of myself as a collection of personas all functioning in a healthy persona, a tarot deck is a good analogy and often i will fall back to those definitions. i use the tarot often, my thoth deck, sometimes i use the runes. i move from divination to invocation if necessary , the major arcana is the palette. i can be all things at all times, depending on environment  i can utilise what ever influence i require. i used to consider myself a magickian, i still am, but i know powerful magick requires no ego and ironically should be renounced for an egoless magickian does not use magick but something else, a childlike innocence and trust perhaps, the fool. ego, is the key and often i have written about it as the trap all spiritual seekers should be aware off. magick as a complete system warns the philosopher of this in it's oblique language and terms but the new age does not even know about this trap. and it is a trap. 
the fool has no power, the fool has no control, the fool seeks nothing but discovers everything, the fool is the blank canvass ready to be anything. the fool has a dog that excitedly jumps after his heels, why? because the dog loves the fool, (in the crowley deck it is a tiger that bites the fool) it represents nature, and instinctively knows they both live in the moment. no hopes or fears, just being and a belief in self. the fool will move in any direction, even over the cliff, which is why i guess i always feel like i am falling into something new. 

Thursday, October 04, 2018

i'm up at 5am like a lonely raven hunting the house for my keys, a sad strange figure functioning on moonlight and weed, a strange enigmatic character from mervyn peake's unpublished lost novel, mission alone.
go through the motions and get myself out the door into the fading moonlight and into the xv and along the strange route that leads to my local nexus. i try to sleep on the train, but end up reading a big chunk of viv albertine's extrodiary book, 'music, clothes and boys.'
i try to catch some sleep but someones listening to headphones and the tinny sound of dance music. but it's five fucking thirty in the morning my brain screams silently. no one sits next to me, i project an aura that pushes people away, it's powerful in the early hours. 
in the city i get my fix of caffine and do what i need to, i find a few interesting books, one on the mimiesis and representation in the arts, i flick through it, seeing some damaged pages get a massive discount. 
the first page talks as mimiesis as sympathetic magick. 
so it's me with a book on art and hours to kill. no problem. 
later in the early evening i meet an old friend and we go grab some cocktails at the arthouse where i gaze upon my fave painting in the world. 
it's been a long fucking time since i have seen my friend, to long. she's amazing. she's so talented, clever and wise i always feel so inadequate in her company. the fact that she's drop dead gorgeous is very disconcerting. what's she doing with an idiot like me. 
i think i am slightly drunk, words are falling out my mouth i have no control over, nothing is considered just a gush of whatever pops in / out. i'm falling through the stars, what's going on, i was looking at my fave painting and now i'm hurdling through space and time. 
we peck away at olives, blue cheese and some salad. there's rain in the air and the small restaurant is squished full with people but as soon as i sit down people move away thus we have room to sprawl, the harbour looks amazing through watery glaze of rain and lights bouncing off it's surface. my perceptions altered, i'm not used to being out in the city late, so much happening, people noise colour, and this woman who is really a phoenix before me. an old battered raven and a phoenix, it's surreal. 
we go see the the at the opera house. i find the first few songs difficult as the vocals are distorted and the mix is not correct but after the fourth song things start cooking. we are right at the front. matt talks a lot, i've seen the the a few times and he never really speaks much to the audience but tonight he's chatting away in that soft voice, telling us about how leonard cohen took him for dinner and gave him some good advice. talking about growing up in london. the songs have not lost any power or relevance, they still have the passion. it's a simple show, live no trickery or complex lights, just a bunch of guys on stage. 'helpline operator' is amazing and i'm enjoying hearing the mind bomb songs but most of the numbers come from 'dusk' tonight as matt speaks of his brothers deaths and the way the songs from dusk revolve around these events. last time i saw the the was 30 years ago at selinas on the 'the the verses the world' tour. most of the audience get up for most of the songs, but i stay seated until uncertain smile. 
out into the sydney night i wonder what i have done to deserve this friendship, and i hope that maybe it will last and be stronger than love even.