lot's of movements, it's strange these days, i hardly know where i am, sleeping in a different house each night, moving through people like a phantom, new connections, old faces, new places, the promise of a better future. i get one single day respite, a day of rain where i crash on my sofa and fall into a deep sleep. my mind carries me upriver, some kinda electric dream in blue. sex and death with old captain mission. conrad meets burroughs. i splay some voodoo, deal with amanda and her white worm lust. i'm living a stranger life than ever, no one would believe the things i have done, life stranger than fiction. i peek outside, the moon seems bright for a moment, the stars reveal themselves and then clouds close in like a curtain at an old theatre.

on with the show, the show must go one. more rain, more hours frittered away in a strange narcolepsy where dreams collide with dreams and new dreams are birthed. 

where do dreams go to die?

they go as far north as i can get.

the invite comes out of the blue and it's timing is perfection, but we have a tocking ticking clock to beat as things in the city begin to heat up. the c-19 is back, came out the blue and into the streets, i guess opening up flights from india was a miscalculation, connotations of racism lurk under the surface but whatever the flights arrived and bring in the delta strain. 

my travelling companion wants to fly out early but i'm stuck in a fixed coordination. i do encourage her to leave early and escape but she sticks it out and we rendezvous at the airport early morning. wandering around the empty departure lounge i notice our flight is the only one out for the city, it could be cancelled at any time as down the feed we hear about lock-down. 

on the plane as we lift of i count my blessings, whatever deities pull my strings they seem to have good fortune towards me. men of good fortune cause empires to fall i whisper to lou reed, well that's something at least. behind me everything fades.

up the cost we check into a friendly cottage in a cool seaside village. the shops are just across the street and there's some cool restaurants nearby. my generous friend takes me for many fabulous dinners, the best mexican food ever in a funky joint that has her picture painted on the wall in a large south american style. it's uncanny. i dunno, i'm kinda new to mexican food. 

the days begin to melt, i watch a lot of good shows on the stream, i read and sleep, lots of lounging around and my body begins to revert to it's default settings. my dreaming becomes intense saturated in high concept and drama like qualities, always percolating a future. one morning i wake up after a colourful dream that was more acid trip, i'm literally reeling from the whole experience like a phycadelic experience.  

the second week we move to a seaside apartment that is literally on a secluded beach. it's magnificent, and i sit on the balcony watching the ocean and scanning the three islands. colourful birds visit us and as we nest in a huge comfy sofa we watch movies and sleep. 

one day we drive to bellingen. i discover some incredible blueberry jam. we literally put it upon everything we eat afterwards. strangely a few days after returning to sydney i meet a woman whom informs me through casual conversation her best friend owns a farm in bellingen that grows blueberries and makes a niche jam. go figure.

the days merge into luxury as i sleep, walk, eat and watch movies. my companion has good tastes in drama and we binge watch all the stuff i need to see.

on the return as we land i'm picking up the urgency of sydney's lockdown. it's serious shit, complete control surrendered to our authorities. delta strain changes everything. the fascists move to the left. the goon squad are in town running the show.

i go home, feed my fish, check my mail and the messages. i start my car and take it for a spin. later at home i make some tea, shower and sleep. it's colder now. rainfall in witch road, the wind rattles along the roof. 

back to work tomorrow.