strange dreams and formulas have infiltrated my nights and days, messages from outer realms as contact is made and connections reaffirmed with my cosmic condition, everything reformats itself as if on swift defrag. again i find myself in a multitude of tributaries, all with their own currents and flows, i follow all simultaneously into several different realities and domains but as one individual everywhere. a blend of something into something else, a strange newer aspect. reestablished in the paradox of a condition. everything deconstructs down to something, even atoms. i'm seeing the illusion and the truth at the same time. the glamour attacks with no mercy and despite heightened awareness i have been unable to discern what's what, my instruments are worn out, my aura leaking energy, there's no compass left i can trust in, no star to guide me, nothing but all. all but no thing. 

as usual i am pulled out by cosmic intelligence's and agencies whom employ me. i serve the light and the light comes in many forms, including captain mission. 

i found myself on mercy street, bashed up by some thugs in colour vision. they left me brutalized and hurting, my face was swollen up like a watermelon and apparently i lost a lot of blood. i guess it was inevitable, all roads to the glamour lead to a hospital bed and a drip. the nurses fussed over me and enjoyed my jokes, for some reason or treason that old comedian was back, asserting himself as the rest of me just lay there numbed out and passive on salvation drugs.
later the police came to ask some questions, 'who did this?'
'it don't matter anymore.'
'don't you want us to find them and throw them in jail?'
'no, they are in one already, best let them go.'
'but you were beaten up quite badly,' one of them says.
'yeah, it was quite bad.'
i gaze out the window at the blue sky, it would be nice to eat something solid i think.
cathy comes to visit, she brings big bright flowers and a magazine called 'warehouse interiors,' she's looking like a sunflower in summer, all yellow and golden smiles. 
'what's this?' 
'it's a magazine, you love interior design, and you're always going on about warehouses.'
'am i?'

'yeah, always.'

'cath, is that really you?'

'yes, it's me.'
everything speeds up, three new faces appear and sit at the end of the bed. i don't recognize them, any of them, but they are talking to me as if i know them well, asking me questions and laughing. it's hard to laugh at anything now, not only does it hurt but it's just no longer funny despite my inner comic who cracks jokes and tells humorous tales independently. i close my eyes and feign sleep but these persistent women take no notice and keep prodding me to listen to their stories.
'so i went skiing and had a great time. you would have loved all the ghost towns.'
'oh so and so has a nice new husband, he's like a buddha, all-wise and knowing.'
'and you should have been there, it was so much fun. fun fun fun you need to lighten up, life is fun, it's fun fun fun..'
i fade out into my own head, detaching from these people and that comedian ghost who fades away again. 

eventually they all leave and the nurse returns.
'okay well dr. zen will be around to check you, i think you may be discharged tomorrow.'
'how long have i been here?'
she looks at my file, 'admission date, let's see, oh about six weeks.'
'i can't recall anything, apparently, i was beaten up.'
'yeah, pretty bad by the looks of things, i think you will be discharged tomorrow.'
'i hope my fish are okay.'

the nurse turns to leave and as she is halfway out of the door i call for her, 'hey, can i ask a favour?'

she returns to the bed, 'that depends on what it is you ask.'

'that's a good answer. i need to dictate a letter, is there a way you can type it out and print it for me.'

'sure, i'll come back in my lunch break.'

when she returns she has a small macbook in her lap, she opens a fresh document and waits for me to begin.

'who's it to,' she asks.

'superman.'

i dictate my letter and like a real pro she says nothing but at the end looks at me sadly, 'no one deserves that.'

'obviously someone thinks i did.'

this dr.zen chap is quite the oriental, he's wearings some sort of sequinned suit and quite happy dispensing painkillers like they are jellybeans, 'take a load of these, often, numb the pain. i think you should be okay, after all we need these beds, there's a pandemic.'
'really, a pandemic, what's going on?'
'some chinese thing, nevermind, just don't stand near anyone.'
'why?'
infection kills plus there's a $1000 fine.'
'oh.'

later i find myself attempting to get dressed, the hospital gown slips to the floor and i see the bruising on my torso and back, it's pretty bad. no wonder it hurts when i breath.
i somehow independently manage to dress myself in a pair of black jeans and a faded church tee shirt with the pyramid, putting on my baseball shoes is impossible so i end up just carrying them in my hands.
i swallow some of the pills as walking sends shockwaves up my legs and lower back, i should be in a wheelchair i think, and then unthink.

they give me some crutches but i only require one.
outside i'm surprised at the air, it's fresh, the morning light is bright and hurts my eyes, sydney hospital is busy already and it's not even 9am.
i get the train and bus home, walk up the road like a crippled soldier coming back from the frontline. was i in a war, it feels like it.
at least the birds love me as i find a trail of white feathers on my homeward journey. home, i laugh, it's where the heart is but i quickly stop laughing as that joke is not funny anymore.
it takes me about an hour to get to the front door from the bus stop, a few random people stare at me like i'm some sort of freakazoid, which i am. i don't go inside immediately, i have to check my fish. 

fucking hell! 

i'm surprised they are alive, and not surprised they are ravenous. 
it's an ordeal enough to get that key in the door, its a challenge for my dexterity and nerves, as i shake slightly, tremor, is it a side effect of the drugs or just my new disposition.

mission control looks like it's hosted a party for tornados, my books are everywhere, paper scattered across the floor and piles of clothes strewn randomly. a woman walks out from the bedroom and leaps down the steps, 'mission, you're back.'
i'm not sure if that's a statement or question so i look at her blankly before asking softly, 'who the fuck are you?'
stacy babe, i'm your wife.'
stacy, ha, this some kind of joke? look i lost my sense of humour a while back so whomever you are just leave, now please.'
'babe, it's me, stacy, i was so worried, you went out to get some coffee and croissants and never came back, it's so good to see you.'
'are you? did i? is it?'
she hugs me and kisses me on my cheeks. i drop my bag, lean the crutch against the wall and put an arm around her for support and affection.
'just help me get to my sofa.'
she walks me to the big sofa at the back of the house. we fall into the seats. i notice she is only wearing a tee shirt and some pink socks (my clothes). she smells of the south of france, 'very irresistible' by givinchy, and she is in a soft, cuddly feminine way. the drugs are wearing off now, i can feel throbbing and some sort of swelling, not the good kind. 
'hey stacy, can you pass me that weed, it's in the kitchen near the tea.'

'i know where you keep it baby.'
she jumps up like an enthusiastic porpoise.
i catch a glimpse of her upper thigh and smile, she looks good in my tee shirt. 
we both kick back and smoke the joint, pain dissolves away, and i relax for the first time in a long time.
'so how did we meet?' i ask bemused by what circumstances have delivered. 
'we never really met, i think you just made me up in one of your stories.'
'mmm, that's possible, i do tend to have a powerful imagination. so are you just a figment.'
'yes.'
'that's sad, i wanted something real.'
'sorry,' she whispers as she fades away, 'i wanted to be real but i'm not.'

later i wake up on my sofa, i've drooled all down the cushion and my mouth feels very dry. 
i get a phone call from someone, 'hey are you okay, i've been trying to call you for days,'
'hi, yeah, er no, yes i think so, i don't know. i've been dreaming, a bit disorientated, i think i'm splitting apart to come together.'
'oh, well do you need anything?'
'no, nothing. actually what's my name?'
'mission you idiot, captain mission.'
'oh yeah, thanks, who are you again?'
'jesus it's me you fool, are you sure you are okay?'
'yeah, yeah don't worry about me.'
a voice in my head whispers, 'but you will never really be okay again.'
the cat jumps up upon my chest. it looks me in the eyes and i start to panic, did i have a cat. 
'who are you?'
'i'm the cat of wisdom. ask me anything?'
'what the hells going on with me?'
'you're in flox.'
'flox! you mean flux, is that like flow, what the hell is flox?'
'it's basically a nexus of possibility, where you are not just faced with its multitudes of choices, options and pathways but existing in all of them at the same time.'
'ah, okay. i'm no good at knowing what's good for me anymore, i feel so... dirty, soiled by recent events. i am not sure i know how to make good choices or choose anything anymore?'
'the illusion is the choice. flux is a null state, a pointless phase of being as the influx of choice causes a form of paralysis so what is necessary is to surrender to it and allow it to flow, that's what normal people do with their lives, flow. you can't though because you are far from normal.'
'mmm, so i am caught between flux and flow?'
'not really, you being you captain fucking mission are in flox as i said originally.'
'okay define flox smarty cat?'
'wise cat.'
'smart wise, all-knowing freaky feline.'
she moves further up my chest and puts her face in mine.
'flox is an anomaly for anomalies, it's when all possibilities happen at once. very rare that anyone human experiences this, you either have to be lucky or unlucky in fact it's a temporal anomaly itself.'
'ah well i think that's me. so what happens now.'
the cat of wisdom nestles its head in my face and purrs, 'it's happening.'
suddenly i realize someone is still on the phone, a voice echoing through, 'mission, mission are you okay?'
a croaky voice says 'i'm never going to be okay?'
the phone goes dead. she must have hung up. my eyes close.

when i wake up my house is tidy, some naughty and scantily clad elves have rearranged my room, maybe it was the zen girls, they assist me in my times of trouble. it looks better. less clutter.
i shower. in the bathroom mirror i notice my bruises and cuts are still pretty bad. there's acute pain again, in my ribs and chest.
days must pass by like a soft blurry shadow behind me, my shoulder aches, maybe i slept funny on it. i wander along to the studio and plonk myself down on the chair in my boxer shorts. it's turned quite cold and i wrap the blanket around me. 
i should feel motivated enough to make toast and some eggs but instead i just look at a half-smoked joint and reach for the lighter.
the physical pain still aches, it sends a little shockwave through my back but there's another feeling deep inside that hurts more. i figure the weed will just numb it so i inhale deeply and kickback. i feel tired, i hardly sleep, every night it's a few short hours and nightmares where i'm being crucified tortured and pulled apart. one where i am dissected by someone who just laughs at me. it's awful, the face is familiar but a different version, a brutal harsh stare gazes down upon me and pulls out my tongue. it gets so bad i end up staying awake most nights far to frightened to sleep.
eventually someone from victoria sends me a bag of valium which helps more than the dr.zens painkillers. i never take these pills but since my new found anxiety and panic attacks i gobble them up just to get through the awful day. 
in my valium haze i drift back into sleep but the nightmares still come penetrating the veil. it's furious and relentless, i fear sleep.
this time my protector turns upon me and slits my throat, my best friend buries me alive, my bride fails to turn up to a wedding, my love says she hates me and then proves it by sleeping with another man, my moment of bliss is shattered by it's opposite and then i'm subjected to a bombardment of words that tear me apart like tiny daggers and blades razor-sharp stripping my flesh. it's endless hurt and pain until i am no longer even flesh my nerves are destroyed and pain stops. all that remains is a black skeleton. at least your familiar we say to one another at the same time.
i wake up.

 

i look at myself, taller now, slimmer, darker but a still dead god walking amongst the living. osiris seeking isis. a sun-seeking a moon, a soul seeking its twin, eternal love seeking...

...a chance encounter, i never expected this but it is an enlightening exchange. i hear information that shocks me, yet it does not surprise me. however truth is revealed and the true nature of what i have been dealing with is finally exposed. it lightens my load but i'm none the less shocked by circumstances of its revelation and content, then another strange chance encounter and i am poured into another vessel, my spark is live. 
yet the shock of the new information sits with me, it's revolutionary, like the universe has shown me a secret and i understand everything now, clarity cleans away the filthy feeling i have within. 

i'm really dumbfounded by truth, that's no understatement but consequently ironically for the first time in over one year feeling blessed and liberated by The Truth. it was a harrowing journey that almost destroyed me, i understand what it all means now. i have the fucking truth finally, the universe is a strangely beautiful place and it does love me. i am so blessed. 

i am so very grateful. even my regrets are transmuted.

now i am a someone else, a new me. it all happens instantly, the fork in the road becomes many forks. one version of me is a film director, another an editor, another a writer, another an interviewer,  another a playwright, another a thespian, another a musician. everything happens at once again.
i laugh out aloud. 
i escaped.
i did it.
i escape.
time.
twice in a lifetime. 
it's all happening again but differently, millions of events infiltrate the space-time boundary, there is no illusion or separation i am everywhere and everything. the implosion of my original selves made no sense. it may have healed something but the cost was 'damage' greater than the healing so that is not real healing, merely an attack. 

i heal my split, the schism but by staying true to what is true, my savior said, 'don't forget who you are.' 

bless you. i remember who i am. 

i've understood it all now. 

why the glamour loathes me so much it sent me it's agent, a manchurian candidate. nemesis indeed, a black sun agent. the enemy of love and truth.  
the attack was devastating, everything that is wrong with humanity, selfishness, betrayal, lies, no loyalty but lies lies lies lies... left only hate and destruction all thrown upon me in the disguise of love, like a terrible curse from a fairy tale. ugly disguised as beauty kills the beast and suddenly perspectives change. i was the target but not the victim. 
my black bones are strong again and ravenous. 
i was killed by set twice in a past life and in this one set attempted to come at me disguised as isis. 

the false queen. 
set rules trickery.
set is the trickster.

so it was a short story, not what i wanted. i only seek the truth and isis. i will move through the deceivers, one at a time and eventually i will find my great novel and it will have the ending i know is destined and i feel it is close at hand, for after the ordeal of evil comes the reward. 

the days are glorious, i move fast again, not confined to the slow snail like pace of a zero machine. there are magnificent options ahead, massive change upon me. a sexy american singer has asked to record some music with me, she is based in salt lake and we chat about my travels through the city. i went to a gun show there as i had 4 hours to kill on a connecting greyhound bus stop, it was the only thing happening and seemed like such an alien experience so i took it. 

when she sends me her files i am impressed with her style, it suits my gothic nature and sentiment.

i do need to return to the studio, the mike is picking up some ambient noise. i fiddle around, ask a few people and discover something called audacity which is a pretty effective software program. 

all this occurs while i'm working on a documentary with a friend that kind of hits a wall and we put that in deep freeze. but i have mastered an editing software program, something that really challenged me, and now i can edit video. yay!

other projects fall out of the sky. the deep fix publishes and edits for a number of writers now, it just happened. i'm looking for collaborators, designers and marketeers, agents and pr people. mixing in strange art circles with eccentric creatives, for some strange reason i am popular with everyone. i get a good review from a reader. that's two good reviews from independent source's so i am encouraged.

i push the eye inwards, my beam is focused and wide. apparently the virus is global and still effects travel, i have information sent to me from deep space and thankfully my travel documents and passport are ready, i have time on my hands having been offered a huge chunk of leave after my assault. i seem to be fixed. the bruising is down, body functional and my mind alert. i kicked the pharmaceuticals but smoke a lot of weed. well wishers call around, bring food, gifts and kindness but i am discreetly organizing myself without anyone knowing about my plans. throwing clothes into my bag, a few books and some charts. there are flights out to northern kathmandu with stop overs in abu dhabi and bahrain. i discuss all my options with my nepalese friend sabi and then i book a one way ticket although i will return, it costs $4020 and takes 21 hours 

.

i'm in nepal. cold as fucking it gets, rats freeze in the overnight ice, sleeting heavily and ice bound, it's nuts. a place i always wanted to visit but never thought i would make it to and now i'm here on a quest. so many people, i never thought it would be like this, traffic, crowds, colour, noise, jet lag and the altitude makes me light headed. computers and internet hard to find, connection slow.

i have to find a flight to anissa. no one seems to know anything about it except on the 3rd day i meet an american guy who has a friend whom he suggests i speak with. 

we meet at the bar of the dwarika's hotel, let me tell you this place is great. it's plush and something from a lost time. i think about that time, where people had time, people put love and care into their craft, it's nice to see so far away from everything i know. the bar area is beautifully relaxing and empty save for one man drinking a scotch on ice. even the barman's missing in action. 

i sit down next to him and introduce myself, i don't have time for fucking around with small talk, i just need to know if he knows, and can get me to anissa.

'yeah, but it's going to cost you.'

now that's the answer i want.

i notice he drinks johhny walker red, he's bought a bottle and leans into the bar and plucks a clean glass out from somewhere. 'let's drink.'

'i rather smoke some hash, i'm not drinking these days.'

'suit yourself.'

i get the details and jump in a taxi back to my cheap dive. we fly out tomorrow.

thus begins the next strange part off my fucking life.

so there you have my last few months, although i could have sworn it was seven years. 

i been on a strange adventure, survived a beating and a terrible crash. it all seems so long ago but i'm heading home now. and i have the story.