a family dinner, it's a gorgeous english spring day, in a beautiful modern suburban home in some part of unfamiliar london. my cousin stephanie has impeccable tastes and her designers eye is impressive. 
it's great to see everyone, a warm friendly vibe over a lovely lunch, kids run around playing soccer aunts laughing, cousins swapping stories about our grandparents. my dad sits quietly in an armchair half present, half asleep, deaf to the world in his last bit of defiance, refusal to wear a hearing aid. (mind you if i was married to my mum i would)

it's sad that this is not my life, the english part i relinquished nearly 40 years ago. but then my son replaced me, and he is very much part of everyone's life here.

i drive them back and as soon as i walk into the apartment i feel sick.

so does my dad.

i sleep for four days and nights, waking for a couple of showers and change of sheets, i sweat heaps and i shiver a bit, but mostly i sleep. one day i spend coughing. on the fourth morning i join mum and dad for breakfast, i'm feeling better but not prefect. my dad on the other hand is having trouble, as months of laying down have atrophied his muscles thus the simplest movements around the apartment require assistance. eventually the inevitable happens and he falls. i have to pull him up onto his bed and assist him move his legs up as he has no strength to do this independently. 

the following morning i am awoken by my mother, she is alerting me the ambulance is on it's way. 

the medics take dad away. about an hour later i discover i have covid. i feel great now, but i got the double lines. so does my mum and in a few hours i hear my dad has it as well. later we discover dad has had it for 10 days.

anyways that's the way it is. my brother in his conditioned conformity and obedience tells me i should stay in my room for 5 days, as that's what he did. i tell him i just did and the rest of the people who live in the house are infected as well but i may as well be talking to a tomato.

the next few hours are tense, the usual shit dynamics, things in the house border on insanity and once again it's all about a total inability to communicate. that's where i come from and what i escaped. a family that cannot communicate. i wonder about it and suddenly feel the perspective i need. i wonder if my son after years of living here in this environment has also damaged his ability to communicate. maybe the whole solution to all global issues is communication. my mind expands outwards, the massive fractures in the world exist because of one side unwilling to communicate to the other. all sides want to do is talk. no one fucking listens.

i took the train in the post rain, a trip through the southside, i saw factories and housing estates, shopping malls strewn across the suburbs and concrete parks spilling over with electric cars the size of matchboxes. i looked at the grey skies turn blue as we cut through old englands country side, men and women shuffled on and disembarked at each stop, and the rattle and hum of the train, the soft rocking of the carriage sent me into a deep sleep. when i awoke i found the landscape dramatically shifted, as if travelling through medieval times, there was slow drinking ale on tap at every little pub, time ceased and the micro climate seemed much more friendlier in olde sussex county, as the train pulled in at my destination.       

tez and jean whom are there to meet me at the station. we don't need to do anything, it's great just to hang out with them and talk until we can't keep our eyes open. two switched on cats, tez is a bit of a humble genius. he has incredible knowledge and is matched equally by his sitar playing partner. we talk about everything under the sun, but the grim shadow of covid hangs heavy in the air and we always gravitate towards it. jean asks, 'what did we talk about before covid?'

it's a good question. 

like australia the uk was hit hard, easy to see on the people of england. it's like a tiredness, a weariness as they take a moments break for what next?

tez tells stories about the east end where we were born, about the gangsters in our neighborhood, we chat about politics, spirituality, control,power, geography. it's epic. we visit brighton and i check out the lanes again, the weed shop, the bookshop a few pubs, one is very authentic, the kind of place we knew as teenagers, and it's got a beautiful atmosphere. we decide to have lunch there, a magnificent menu. i have a very strong negroni. it's good to be in the company of friends, my friends. i wish i was able to stay longer, i could see myself living in brighton. i must admit the windfarm on the coast looks awful, a frightening future awaits. terry tells me the royal family get paid as the sea that far out belongs to the crown. that would be right.

it is with a heavy heart i return a few days later, back to london.  

in contrast from yesterday slight rain falls through the afternoon, bleak clouds overhead and we are indoors, lazing around. i have managed to pick up a copy of alister reynolds new revelation space novel, 'inhibitor phase;' the fifth novel set in the revelation space time line, it's my fave contemporary sci-fi sequence  so i am happy to read. 
i try to spend a bit of time with my father but he exhausts easy and has great difficulty being mobile, hearing is also a huge problem hence everyone shouts and that really is something i find difficult to deal with but i understand why. my dad is 93, he's still sharp but jaded and his intellect is frayed, although he still possesses an engineers mind, it's the focus of his concentration that is damaged, unable to pay attention for to long to any one thing, however if i give him some challenge he will do his best to solve it, maybe it's 'purpose' that he needs. i see that as a huge issue around aging, loss of purpose. our society aging is just waiting around to transform back to spirit, it's almost like a slow phase of shutting down. i see elements of this in dad, a reversion to an almost youthful innocence. 
fortunately i personally have a healthy attitude towards death, in the scene i have had so many i am familiar with it's process but i don't want to loose the people i love, their loss in this realm is my own.
one has to adopt a cosmic perspective lest be overwhelmed. i tell jake i think i will take control of my aging, and my exit from the physical. he's so lovely he wants to look after me when i am older but i say i will remain independent until i can't and then i will take my leave. i may need him to administer the shot. irony huh?

took a long walk with jake along the river, from hamstead heath where he lives to kings cross. it was quite amazing to see how vibrant and alive the city was, a beautiful spring / summer day, suddenly the englishness of everything stops being angular and begins to curve, taking on a softer pastoral glamour. the striking architecture along the river banks as you approach kings cross is magnificent, there are apartment buildings that are huge yet have a flow, a certain feng shui essential harmony clearly defined by the way sunlight plays such a considerable role. 
the other striking element is the way casual conversation is from a multitude of global points, in the space of a few minutes i hear, french, spanish, american, scandinavian, chinese  and arabic, and it's really intermittently i hear an english accent. london has become a global city, not british but part of the planet, i like that. jake and i walk along into the hive of the cross, st. martins art school flourishes and opposite a line of barges functioning as businesses operate. everyone is smoking, everyone is drinking, i ask jake about this and he says there are no laws about drinking, no times, no restrictions. in fact in the space of our walk he buys two beers. we stop in a pub for a beautiful and very strong cocktail and halloumi chips with pomegranates, the price is about £30 which translates as AU$55. 
we discuss political trends, environmentalism and the need for revolution. while i agree with him on most points i can see how his thinking is shaped by the dichotomy of right vs left, which i claim as an illusion. it stands that if right is wrong, left must be good but very few people can think through to the ultimate truth both are exactly the same in the current world. jake makes the mistake of thinking this is a capitalist society where i claim it is post capitalist, far removed from capitalism and closer to feudal technocracy, the left wing right wing is just an illusion of choice. 
we speak about growing up in school, our respective countries, him australia me england. we share a few similar experiences both outsiders. we work out that we and my mum and dad did not stay in the countries we were born. it's an interesting fact. 

the cocktails are kicking in, i'm feeling quite drunk, again.

it's been a beautiful day.

later we take my mum out for fish and chips.

 

back in london where the streets have no point, 
the graffiti spray truth at war. 
politicians lies marching in through the out door. 
there's slaughter in the air, corruption in the wind, 
the violence inside you

casually surfacing. 
underneath friendly smiles, everyone is jaded or broke

and the only things that matter are the

shrieks of the woke.

yes back in the city, my home town, the place that spawned me, chewed me up and spat me out london calling, london burning, london's tendrils corrupt the world, where money is laundered, where arms are bought and sold, where big business decides the fate of the world. the zieglist motto among them is 'we want a war and we want one now.'

the pubs are packed with people who all share concealed trauma, smoking endless cigarettes and drinking pints until they can't talk sense and then as they re-acclimatize to surfdom and fall out the doorway to cotton infancy dreams only to return to work tomorrow and do it all again. working for the man, working for the pound, working for britain, working for her majesty, working for the tragedy of an empire that appears to have failed but is really expanding, more powerful than ever, more occluded in it's agendas than ever, harder to fathom unless you understand the ambitions of globalists. 

everyone here still thinks in terms of left / right so i can't see a way out for them. unless they shake of the ideology and invoke a framework of personal liberation. the zombie apocalypse has reached a new stage in it's evolution and unfortunately i am in the minority. it#s not i've seen the future and it's bloody, it's the present. it's not if you tolerate this then your children will be next, it's can you tolerate your children. 

on a lighter side, i'm enjoying hanging with family, catching up with my dad who is living his twilight years. he's frailer than ever and needs a lot of help, hearing gone, body weakened, mind loosing lucidity slightly. he clings to the established order of doctors no what they are doing, he takes so many medications and is completely dependent upon them to the point he won't take anything i offer in the way of alternatives or natural therapies. then there's my mother who withdrew £1000 and then immediately after threw it in a public dustbin outside the bank. he's me 30 mins later rummaging through the garbage bins among the old half eaten macdonalds burgers, old decomposed bits of food, soggy paper, cigarette butts and the rest of disparaged civilization. it's pouring with rain and notice this must seem like a very common occurrence in the high street as no one seems to care, notice or seem phased.

this has a happy ending as i do a bit of detective work and retrace mum's steps, like an antipodean dirk gently, i put together some random fragments and uncover mum never threw anything away, she just thinks she did. 

i do some book shopping in folyes, waterstones and watkins. i find a kenneth grant books i wanted but they are very expensive and i decide to let them go, not essential reading. i do pick up the new alister reynolds, 'inhibitor phase' which is something i can't wait to read.

i spend the evening at jakobs new place, a lovely spot overlooking hamstead heath, we chill out, he makes a nice dinner and have a few deep conversations, he's worked it all out.

downtown singapore, i find myself in the long bar at raffles drinking not singapore slings, but a stream of coffee negronis and munching an ever replenishing bowl of complementary peanuts, shells thrown upon the floor in tradition. it's quite simply the perfect environment for me, the 1920's plantation design, the weird parallel lines of ceiling fans, the piano jazz and the ability to swing, the clientele a mix of sophisticated exotic looking slim  wraith like women along side the more disheveled writer types, sporting crumpled linen jackets and wide beaten brimmed hats. the immediate thought is which one of these women holds the opium. 
i am sat on a round table directly underneath the classical wobbly fan, a malay woman in a tight black dress shimmy's over to join me. she asks where i am from.

'just in transit, on my way to europa.'

we exchange awkward pleasantries although i am filled with supreme confidence in this environment, i wish i could roll a spliff but singapore is a place where they frown severely upon that kind of activity and the only life sentence i want is stress free. that leaves a range of exotic cocktails to experience, and let me tell you the barmen are very generous with their serves. i wouldn't say i am drunk but i'm in an altered state of consciousness and it's becoming slightly surreal. 

we chat a little about malaysia and the east, she's some sort of rich daddy type daughter, basically shopping and pursuing the hedonistic lifestyle daddy's wealth allows, the good life although unfulfilling must have obvious benefits. suddenly i'm caught in a conflict, i mean who doesn't want to swan around on a luxury yacht port to port drinking cocktails and looking glamorous, surrounded by bikini clad nymphomaniacs. yep, that has a certain appeal.

i have to return from an internal fantasy as we talk about the famous writers that have all stayed here, after all i am on hallowed ground. 

joseph conrad, kipling and sommerset maugham spring to mind as fellow expats. my malay temptress has read kipling, whereas i have read conrad and dabbled in maugham. 

i'm very drunk, things are getting blurry, i have no idea what words are escaping my mouth, the colours are all so perfect, the atmosphere of a time period i remember i'd forgotten. i have been here before and now i am again. i fall on the floor, what happens next?    

the universe displays truth through it's many mediums and here is an ultimate personal truth. i did enjoy the sequel to dr, strange,  everything about it reflects a reality i experienced with the twin flame, it's surreally uncanny.

the scarlet witch, dr. strange, madness, the multiverse, love, magick, the chase, it's all in there, wrapping up the end game in a way i couldn't. magnificent and beautifully terrifying. the BEM (old sci fi term) at the beginning is the best monster ever.