cosmetically beautiful to the tourist sydney has it all. a glorious climate, pristine beaches, blue skies and a decent mix of people, cultures and styles but as i wander through the familiar i'm struck by the sight of the homeless people. their bodies curled up in shop fronts, seeking refuge in parks and under bridges, the homeless never used to be so many in numbers and today, this afternoon i met my first female beggar. 
expectations shattered immediately. she lay there on a small sleeping bag on a crowded street with a hand written sign that states simply, 'don't hurt me' but looked immaculate, quite stunningly beautiful, even in her poverty she maintained her dignity. 
i scanned her on several dimensions, firstly as i mentioned her appearance was incredible, not only well dressed and stylish but her teeth were perfectly cosmetic. it was an anomaly. 
she also wore no jewellery, which seemed contradictory to a young girl her age, not even an ear ring, no visible tattoo's. her footwear was a pair of designer angle length baseball boots and they were clean, as if brand new. 
she sat upon her sleeping bag in some sort of yoga pose, her hair cut short and her nose looked noble and elegant, slightly turned upwards as though she were to good for this world.
i couldn't see her eyes clearly and as i walked passed her i felt a compulsion to ask if she was okay. it was a strange indecisive moment as my own processing was in conflict over the decision. if i spoke to her i may regret it and yet i was curiously drawn to find out more.
i can't describe the processing speed of my thinking, it was quantum, yet like a slow moving ping pong match where all arguments manifested as moves within my mind, and the game that took an hour took a micro second as the arguments for, cut through the ones against, in wonderfully precise aces.
i was standing before her before i knew it.
'are you okay? can i buy you a coffee?'
she looked up at me, she gazed into my eyes making me feel awkward and vulnerable, self conscious as i looked upon her
slightly asian face, a hint of japanese i think.
she smiled the mona lisa smile and bided me to join her at a level i would find uncomfortable and she would find non threatening. i crouched down and awkwardly placed myself upon her blankets, next to her.
i realised she may be mute, her mouth opened but no sounds emitted, just a strange tangled drone, as though she were trying to say something but became stuck upon the first syllable.
i grabbed my note book and a pen, passed it to her and she immediately began scribbling. not words but an intricate doodle, a fine line of black upon the white page, scrawled around in circular patterns and strange shapes.

i watched mesmerised. 
then in a elegant twist of her had she held the page towards me so i could look at it. it was a complex twirl of patterns, some circles, some triangles and some strange squares. the first thing that struck me as i looked upon this pattern was how similar it was to a crop circle. 

i purchased a coffee for her and a muffin, left her on her blanket and shuffled off to the train station.

in the carriage i took out my notebook and found the drawing. it really was amazing, she had drawn circles that were precise circles, her design was quite beautiful but what the hell did it mean. as i looked at it i began to see within the detail was even deeper detail, and within that even more. just like mirrors facing mirrors, it was infinite, fractal. it must mean something i wondered. my mind pulled me further and further inside the pattern, and eventually i stopped wondering what it meant or could signify, my mind must have surrendered to the experience without any defensive mechanisms, my mind just vanished and i was falling into the patterns infinite depth until i reached no mind.

from that point things got weird. 

i'd once read a book by a guy who wrote of an alien species called the pattern jugglers, they live in the ocean upon many planets and if one submerges in the waters and returns to the land your mind is completely different than upon entrance. they impart or exchange knowledge from other intelligences that have swum within their waters and sometimes if the individual has swum for to long their body is absorbed and they become part of the alien entity. 

this felt similar. 

i had lost my self. it was not difficult as my own self off self is as elusive as any ocean, there are key words i use to define whatever that is but at the end of the day these words are just words. the metaphor is possibly the closest truth we can ever aspire to. except i had pushed beyond. language fell away, my mind opened up to the size of a universe. no body. i am no body. not a poet but part of the poem.

and then suddenly i understood the sigil was activating part of me. feeding me certain spaces within my mind. within the pattern was the girl herself. she was not human, but human. she was dancing in a field of flowers, the moon above her. she smiled and gave me something, it was another pattern this time drawn upon parchment. again as i gazed upon it i began to drown. it was glorious.  

i'm being force fed waffles at a niche cafe down the beach, she's spent almost two hours hounding me to meet her and join her for coffee and eventually i just give in. i mean i have some time and it's a beautiful morning. nothing else happening.

when i get there she's waving one hand over her head, sunglasses on, scarves wrapped around her shoulders like some 60s movie star. as i approach she stands up and leans in for the kiss. there's nothing i can do, resistance is low, i'm so fatalistic the next two hours will be painful as i'm force fed waffles and stories of her exploits in business. oh dear, i hope she don't ask me to invest. 

i smother my waffles in blueberry sauce and start shovelling them down, horrible fucking things, i chew em up and feel so sick as i swallow the big thick wads of whatever evil shit makes waffles. my mouth can feel the blueberry busting, sweet goo slips down the back of my throat and although i have to have some form of conversation with her my mouth stuffed full of waffles it gives me a reason not to.

'it's been such a lovey year for the trade darlink,' she says loud enough for people to overhear. i wish i could just hide my head in shame but all i can do is waffle my waffles and nod my head.

'the market just seemed to explode and now we have america i just feel so blessed.'

i attempt to ask her a banal question but with a mouthful of waffle it just comes out muffled. so i smile nod my head and slump into some sort of weird dejection as my glamorous  companion seems to somehow have ordered more waffles for the table. 'eat, eat, you look so malnourished, i simply must come over and cook for you, i think you need my squid ink pasta darlink, it's divine. tonight would be perfect, i'll bring wine, you like pinots right? you must try the sidewood i have a 2017, it's divine, now have you had your cards read recently, you came up in my readings...'

and on it went, onwards into the drone sound one gets at mind body festivals, middle class women talking about their buddhist practice.

there is only so many waffles a man can eat and if you are a man who hates waffles the number is diminished but she just kept ordering them as i become weighed down by them, they absorbed into my bloodstream and cells, my brain became a big blueberry waffle blob, a trapped audience as she went on and one about her new enterprises, shopping trips, her garden, her spiritual practice, the need for cashmere sweaters and if abc national was becoming to repetitive (possibly the only thing i could agree with but not in a way she would understand)

lets face it she was successful. not unattractive but really loud and flaunting her wealth made her kind of ugly in my book. i mean i've known wealthy people but they are all understated, whereas marylyn just looked like she belonged on san tropez sipping moet with some racing car driver on one arm and some greek shipping magnate on the other. as usual i'm completely out of place. but she is a force to be reckoned with and eventually when the waffles run out i am wrapped in her arms as she kisses me on the cheek and asks if i would like to walk along the beach with her.

'we can put our shoes in my car,' she suggests.

'oh, er i really need to get back, mission control needs me, my sofa needs me, i need my sofa. i need to close my eyes, sink into the depths of some oblivion where there are no sounds, no lights, no people. but what do i know, waffles dumb all resistance down, it's like fluoride, just makes you more susceptible to suggestion so before i know about it, i've dumped my boots in her car and find myself wandering hand in hand down to the shoreline.

thankfully the water is warmer than the air and not freezing, it's quite beautiful, crystal clear and clean. azure blue. 

i stop to look at pieces of debris, that has washed up in the tidal flow of last nights full moon. the sand feels good between my toes, the water laps my feet and despite my waffle stuffed body i figure the day will get better, 'let's just keep walking' she says, 'to the next town.'

first sensible thing she has said. i start to warm up.  

 

ah uh, ha! ha!

i was half heartedly laughing at the joke. i didn't get the punch line but these natives don't like it if you question them. i don't get it, it's a cultural thing. i don't know why your fucking laughing at some thing that has no intelligence, it's not like its a bright observation. its not an interesting story or remotely humorous it's just scatological nonsense and i'm differently wired man, i got an independent analysis. i demand something better than just having my intelligence insulted. i don't find that kind of stuff funny man, it's dumbed down to the lowest common denominator. sure you can be dirty and nasty but it's gotta have a context, saying rude words every five minutes is just infantile and boring. my sensibilities expect quality in all things, humour comes in many forms, if your making observational humour then you need to open your eyes and your mind. not just tell a story and pack it with swearing and a dumb conclusion. 

back at terrigal, hordes of people out in the morning sunshine supernova, that autumn light blinds and bounces, it collides and explodes in consequences, time warps and detours. i follow my flow down to the cafe and grab myself a take away coffee. the waves crash at my feet as i position myself , big beautiful perfect shapes and sounds. everything here is in harmony.  coffee tastes good, i watch the horizon, some intergalactic transmissions are received.

everything speeds up now. i slow it down to snails pace, move through the speed. relativity calls me from florida and we discuss the idea of boats, key west i say. but i am quite happy sitting here, bathed in light, smothered in sound, receiving the signal. 

as i head home i notice my driving has changed, i'm slow, a cruising relaxed slow. soaking it all in. no need for speed now. i have time.

back at mission control i sit on the balcony, stretch out with my book, 'the luminous dead' and wonder about why people would go caving on other planets let alone in the earth. 

im smoking a joint with a woman who claims to be a mathmatitician, she works as a scientists in a research centre. i confess in a cloud of exhaled smoke i am useless at maths and relate a story about my moment of mathematical genius where i plugged into the akashic records and pulled out a logarithmic answer to a geometry question i was asked when i attended skool in london. the purpose of the question was to humiliate me in front of my peers whom all held their logarithmic tables open in front of them while my book was closed. 
'mission what's the sine off...blah blah blah,' mr locket said, in his usual sarcastic and prematurely triumphant tones as he awaited my pathetic attempt.
immediately i gave an answer, it was something like 8.674329.
his face looked down upon the tables in his hand as his eyes followed the lines and then a look crossed his face, it was disbelief crossed with defeat and then instead of acknowledging i had the correct answer he moved on to someone else. 
the scientist starts flirting with me, as if impressed yet i confess i have no mathematical ability entrusting the satori to divinity.
i ask her if it's all numbers, she says yes.
i ask her if we live in a simulation, she says, 'so what if we do?'
i suggest hack it.

she said it would be impossible and i reply, 'i've done it.'

she shows me her breasts.

i wonder if this is something that women do as a response to an certain biological pattern, possibly entrenched within a mating ritual. i dunno, i'm kinda not that interested in her but bemused at how often this happens. 

i don't respond but ask her about the books she has upon her shelves, a selection of science and fantasy. interesting mix.

she asks if i read fantasy.

no, i generally avoid it but i have read the important ones, mervyn peak, tolkien, c. s. lewis and scott bakker. 

she speaks about the 'wheel of time.'

i say, i may one day read sanderson.

then she asks me if i know what the true nature of time is?

'yes,' i say, 'if you hack the universe then you have to understand time.'

we change the subject as someone else joins us, the mathmatitician wants me to go outside with her and smoke bongs, whereas i like the warm indoors.

i speak with her friend who is working with tina arena (crazy world) and i blurt out how much i like one of her songs but i do mention how much i like her as well, she's always been really cool to watch being interviewed. 

the woman agrees and says she is great to work with.

together the three of us watch some tv show, i get a lesson in streaming services and an introduction to a series called, 'jane the virgin.'

one of the girls wraps me in a warm cardigan and i find myself becoming very relaxed, she's almost naked while i'm wrapped up in layers of clothes. i can see where this may go and make my excuses to leave, it's been an interesting evening but i can't say i'm in the mood for any carnal adventures, all i want to do is get back to mission control. i must be getting old.

system upgrades all around, my chaos matrix plugs into the universal engine, it's a discombobulating experience, where mental processes are restored with optimal functionality for manifestation. i used a few ancient techniques but now everything happens at q levels, some sort of inner system of conciseness (unconsciousness) guides me. last night i tuned into a babalon presence that was occurring in the blue mountains area, i dunno how, i just felt it and responded. i guess it's frequency based. anyway lilith says to me, fill her cup so i do.

there's some elegant exchanges, subliminal occurrences, i feel the energy vibrate around my skin, expanding outwards, picking up information in the exchange. i spark up new energy centres, my mind is everywhere, like the exploding universe, i ride the wave, the face of the 'bang' filling up void with zen type. the choas matrix sends me into the new. new captain mission, new adventures, a new age. light explodes everywhere. 

am i a god now? part of god perhaps. i can do anything i want.

what do i want?

2021 is proving to be the year of the ex girlfriend, as another long lost love contacts me. this time meredith, and wow, i'm so surprised. it's great, really great to resume contact. she tells me her head injury turned into epilepsy, we both laugh at what happened to us. simultaneous brain injuries. very strange. anyway that was pretty good to hear from her.

so i'm at home for a few days, clearing up some stuff, organising paperwork. the days a bit wet and light rainfall makes the sunlight filter into a glistening sheen. when i pop out to 'buddha cafe' for a light lunch i notice a few amazing plants and end up buying four.

my home is transforming. indoor jungle.   

as i move through life in slow motion i see the detailed fractures in the systems, the cracks where information fails. i reconcile the dark energy with the energy, i understand the binary codes of existence here.  the secret is in application, and then the equation of faith.
faith.

i work with a lady called hope, she is new and i always tease her about my relationship with her sisters. i don't have one with hope, i say, hope is the expectation of faith. it's a minor difference but nuanced. details like this matter i guess.

good fortune comes to me, i seem to be on a winning streak, i win the lottery almost every week now, much bigger denominations than ever, never over $100 but when my total expenditure is only $10 it's a good investment. maybe it's true, money attracts money. my house just got valued at $900,000, an absurd amount considering i paid peanuts for it. now i've done some significant work on it, new bathroom, amazing balcony, de cluttering, new lighting, it's actually looking amazing. i have no wish to move. i like hanging out here, and the coast is thriving now, even down the beach the buzz is incredible. from dawn to midnight, the place is packed with new bars, clubs, restaurants. i tend to hang out at the hotel looking down upon the beach, a coffee, my book and the feeling of perspective as i see the vast expanse before me. the new walkway looks amazing, people jogging, walking their beasts, pushing prams, it's a busy little bay all the way to the skillion where at the peak you can watch the whales migrate past. 

things are good. very good.