Monday, February 14, 2022

i'm travelling through the night time, with it's creatures and features, the 24/7 vibration blues as salvation drugs kick in deep and hard, the forecast says rain but its crystal clear night with abundant stars sprawled across the curvature of space. a cosmic orgasm by some life giving being we could never comprehend. the milky way comes over us all creamy way. 
i'm wrapped up in clothes and scarves like a troubadour gypsy expelled from the population along with his compadres, a vagabond bunch of desperadoes and heavy hombres, badasses and desperadoes. we have south american pine cone voodoo happening, a shaman waves some palo santa and mutters some icaros. we don't need to be part of your mass population, we don't need friends like you, we don't need validation from ghosts and zombies.
a girl in the front seat passes me a cd, 'is this okay captain?'
one glance at the cover tells me it is, 'oh yeah, that's perfect.'
the shaman nods, the music kicks in and we approach the city.
she smiles, clambers into the back, falling onto us, snuggles up close to me. her hands are cold, fingers link mine like some sort of organic locking device. her other hands clutch her compadres hand in a tight clasp.
the bass kicks in, we smile, i nod my head and click my fingers on my free hand. 
'i wanna love more.'
she passes me her half blazing joint. 
the city streets swarm, the drunk hordes, the unregulated body temperatures of girls in skimpy clothes, tight tee shirts, unstable heels and short skirts. boys following impulses that can only lead them to girls. it's a loved up symphony, a hadron sex colliding machine, chemical ecstasy a short term solution to the intense situation we all find ourself within. 
i am the voyeur of utter sensuality, orchestrating hedonistic impulses that are followed through like a satanic indulgent pleasure. my dissolution leaves me absorbed in pleasure only, the only truth i find is in the lie.
it has integrity, it has authenticity, it has so much more value than the truth. i rather accept the lie for it is what it is, than the truth for what it is not. that's how dedicated and committed i am.
pleasure. give me danger little stranger, pleasure principles, pleasure of indulgence. living in the moment is a satanic concept really, an abolition of responsibility, let's face it human nature is selfish and now i want to be selfish. at least for a night. 
mikhalia pulls up and reverses into a space on oxford street. she waits for the song to end before switching the engine off. 
between her alexia and emily i share a trust. 
the zen girls are unpredictable. it's like casting the i ching or playing chicken in the bermuda triangle. they create a zone of possibility and probability, it's taken me a while to understand their physics and in all honesty it's not the physics that one needs to even understand it's the acceptance of being in the non determined state. it's nice and easy to live in a place where you enter a probability and then have a choice but the zen girls are not about choice, they abduct and then inform. reformatting, imprinting. when the experience is over you are in a different place or different mind. it's like molecular structure is completely rearranged, an unholy trinity, born again in theory. 
usually they come visit and smoke weed, share some mushrooms, sometimes it's just sex, sometimes it's to play a cd or do some housework for me. i'm not sure why they take an interest in me, it's not like i lead an exciting life. when i ask them they just say, 'we like hanging with ya mission, you're the most interesting man we know.'
so right now mikhalia is adjusting her clothes. i scan her like anyone would scan a venesian milo, she's looking very much like she belongs in the 30's tonight, a sexy parisian nightclub look from a lost era, confident sexy and chic. she flashes me a fast smile and runs her fingers through my beard which has grown wilder than ever.
i hug the shaman who is getting into the drivers seat ready to depart for his next appointment. i thank him for driving. mikhalia grabs me tightly and pulls me away.
'come on, we gotta go someplace special tonight.'
she takes my hand and emily takes my other arm while alexia goes running in her leather boots into the newsagent to buy something essential, quite possibly skins for joints. we wait outside some weird window display, guessing at what kind of products this shop would sell. the display is very ambiguous. a structure sculpture made out of coat hangers with no discernible shape. 
when alexia catches up with us she's wearing a wide grin and marches past us pointing to what i think is the neon sign ahead, 'oh this is going to be a great night guys, i can feel it in my bones.'
great night, i don't really need a great night but the girls are set on entertaining me, i just hope the music will be right else i'm doomed. no doubt they will want to dance and persuade me to join them. no doubt i will be subjected to the horrors of social activity and integrating in some weird club with strangers and having to reverse engineer scrambled eggs conversation from people i will never know and whom can never know me. the girls will protect me but eventually they will dance and leave me alone and no doubt someone else will invariably find me interesting. aggggh! 
i'm quite the reluctant hedonist these days not sure how to have a good time anymore, jaded and worn out, no, i must dismiss that thought lest it send me back into a reclusive misanthropic mode. the new me is all about good times. i have untold resources now, money is not an issue thanks to a strange and ridiculously large windfall. i have no stress anymore, no needs for any kind of monetary security as it's all taken care off. i can basically do what i want, only limited by these strange conditions of another year of plague 2022.
but big nights out, getting wasted, dancing and carrying on... my old bones just seek a quiet life. my gears should be going downwards, instead they move into turbo and accelerate me forwards.
the girls now pick up their pace, walking into the heart of darlinghurst like an elite gang of colorful glamorous assassins after a successful big hit, it's the big payoff. i'm their prisoner or handler, blurred lines, hard to distinguish.
we walk passed the neon signs. a few bouncers involuntary turn their heads to face the women i'm sure it's not me they are interested in, they are all compelled by the force of beauty, it's natural biology. we take a left into a dark alley and my curiosity is sparked, this looks like a place to get mugged more than dance.
suddenly the trio stop and gather around me.
'we wanted to surprise you mission,' emily whispers as mikhalia and alexia grab an arm each and gently make me face a steel fortress like door covered in graffiti and sporting a keyboard industrial coded lock. mikhalia's elegant finger stretches out and i hear the sequence of discrete blips as she punches the numbers. she pushes the huge mighty door open and then one by one we file inside.
'it's our lair, you have mission control we have the lair.'
i'm amazed at the contrasting interior, as soon as i walked through a small passageway i was looking into a massive warehouse space, mostly decked out in a plush, very feminine living space. 3 different coloured chaise lounge, purple, hot pink, and black all from different periods. the black a classical goth chic, the hot pink straight out off 1966 and that purple elegantly detailed sculpted finesse is pure french baroque. they triangulate around a beautifully ornate circular coffee table littered with a mix of up to date fashion magazines, travel journals and computer tech mags. there was the open copy of the collected works of baudelaire looking well worn and a copy of nietzsche's 'beyond good and evil, and lastly a closed book with a lace bookmark sticking out a third of the way through. it was jung's 'red book.'
we sprawl out on the lounges, emma starts rolling a joint, 'shall i put some music on?'
'i'll do it, something classical i think.'
'rackcy number 2 please emma.'
'yes that would be perfect,' alexia says.
the soft piano drifts in from hidden speakers, and i sink into the cosy atmosphere.
'let's play a game,' emily suggests.
'i have a game we can play. mission has known us for a long time, he's a smart cookie. lets see if he can match the book with the girl. each one he gets correct he gets to fuck.'
'hey, come on mikhalia. i'm not that easy you know.'
'ah come on mission, play with us, guess the book.'
'he's going to do it, you know he is.'
it's obvious. i did it straight away, emily the poet, alexia the shadow dancer so jung leaves mikhalia the darkest mind in the room, obviously beyond good and undoubtedly slightly evil.'
they start purring and fawning over me like i was the cream and they were starving cats, it's a mixture of erotic and humiliating at the same time, but what the hell, i'm done with values, nobility, fuck that, lets just indulge in the fickle wanton flesh, after all it's kinda hard to resist and moral compass points up.
i kiss all three of them and we giggle a bit and smoke more weed. 
later i say, 'hey are you going to show me around your lair.'
'ah well i think you have seen more than enough for one night.'
emily whispers, 'we could introduce him to yuri.'
i perk up, 'who's yuri?'
'oh you know him, well off him, we sort off know him to. in fact we have him downstairs.'
'okay look i know you zen girls are into some weird shit but now i wanna see yuri, i'm curious.'
'well actually it is why we brought you here. we kinda got side tracked.' 
more cute giggles and coy looks.
they lead me past the open plan kitchen area, i can't see any food but do see a very swanky looking silver coffee machine.
mikhalia opens the large silver fridge and pulls out a bottle of champagne, she grabs three glasses from somewhere and places them in a line on the bench. then she pops and pours, each girl takes a glass. 'to mission, our friend.'
they know i don't drink, they know i loathe champagne but mikhalia throws me a cool bottle of water so i can acknowledge their toast.
'that's so very kind, here's to the zen girls.'
'oh your an honoury zen girl mission.'
'i smile, 'okay, l'chaim, to life.'
taking our drinks i am led towards a silver doorway and emily pushes a red button with an arrow pointing down. a door slides open revealing a plush elevator. the mirrors on either side reflect us to infinity and i wonder if this would be a good moment to die. 
i do this a lot in life, find my peak points and identify them, usually with girls and sometimes in nature or after catching an amazing wave, or seeing the church play live. i figure i done it all now, what's the point, i rather exit on a high than low. my life is intersected with these points, perfect moments.
our decent is so elegant i hardly notice until the door opens again. 
this time i'm greeted by what looks like a cross between nasa mission control, the batcave and some sort of hi tech survivalist bunker.
the lighting is strange, executed in a way certain key points are illuminated while others are hidden in the dark.
'now this is a very lair like lair,' i say as i follow them around the maze of lighting. 
'it's the lair inside the lair,' one of the girls whispers.
after a moment we stop and a large column and array of desks, computers and digital equipment that sprawls out. i'm speechless, not sure if i am in a state of shock or disbelief, for there in a science fiction styled glass container filled with liquid and what seems to be nutrients and bubbles is the head of yuri bezmenov. from his neck are a selection of floating filaments that appear attached around a central stem, a cpu.
yuri's eyes are closed, his nostrils indicate a deep breathing although it's possibly instinctive as there are no lungs and oxygen seems to be passed through the water in a light gas bubble cloud.
i stammer, it's just one word but it's a huge concept and i'm overwhelmed with what is not just inconceivable but also incomprehensible.
'oh mission, you hate details, it's not important. what we wanted to do was introduce you to a hero of yours we acquired. it's our gift to you.'
i grab the nearest glass, it happens to be alexia's and i drain it, letting a long breathe escape when it's done. i find myself sitting down, looking up at his face. it's him, the bald head, the heavy eyes, the angular features, all that's missing is the spectacles.
'let's wake him up.'
emily activates something, and the density of the bubbles increases. 
his eyes open slowly, and they move from the girls to me.
'ah, mission. i am honoured.'
i fumble for words, 'oh no, please, i am, please, ah forgive me...i'm ...somewhat shocked.'
he laughs and then his eyes sparkle.
'i read your blog every time you make an entry, some of those posts are very interesting.'
'you read me?'
'ah yes, you are inconsistent but interesting. i'm sorry for that twin flame period, it seems you suffered but suffering is relative correct?'
'yeah, i'm okay now, that's what matters right. and it's just experience. a really bad one but experience nonetheless.'
'yes, experience. it's all experience. until someone gets poked in the eye. ha! ha! ha! the girls speak off you so often, so i am happy to finally meet you.'
'mr, bezmenov can i ...'
'please yuri is fine.'
'what the hell are you doing in a glass jar?'
the girls acquired my head and brain, froze it and began reanimation when technology was proficient. they were young, 11 year old kids, i didn't want to disappoint their ideals. they kept me in deep freeze for 25 years. then i find myself here, catching up with time. events.'
'you were correct about everything yuri, a visionary in many ways. your life was worthy, i thank you for an incredible education, you shaped my political life in the same way orwell did.'
'i wish i were forgettable individual, a man who history abandons as being fruitcake. a man who got it all wrong but unfortunately for humanity i was correct right?'
'exactly like you said.'
there's a silence for a few seconds. yuri smiles and says, 'you have a much wider spiritual experience than myself, i am conditioned in the politics of man, whereas you are the spirit. i am spending my time understanding this spirit.'
'does it help you?'
a wry smile, 'i am already dead, i need no help, you do.'
i've never been good at accepting help, always been so independent but yuri is right, i need help when it comes to living. i can't keep pursuing hedonistic impulses. self destruction is so passe even if it's very stylish.
'how yuri, how do i move forwards. i'm a man who has everything, money, friendship, family and the grace of god but i reject everything as i slide into the meaningless of it all.'
'it is all meaningless mission, but you are not here for meaning, meaning is what you give. it is your mission to write yes.'
'it's my will, my true will. nothing else matters, it's so compulsive.'
'then continue to write the meaning for the world.'
'but i'm no saint, no one likes my stuff, it's all pulp stream of consciousness meta fiction. i write for my own needs and impulsion.'
'you believe you follow a star but you are mistaken. you are a star.
'now, go write. i must sleep.'
his eyes close slowly and remain shut.
i watch the bubble activity slow down and return to a gentle stream.
'we can't sustain him for long, maybe a few minites max. it's getting shorter every session.'
i turn face the three, 'it's remarkable you have him.'
'ah well we acquired him for you mission,' emily says.
'age 11?'
'we have always been very forward thinking.'
mikalah grabs my hand and we return through the labyrinth of the basement.
'what now?'
'when was the last time you had a spa?' 


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