im sitting in the middle of a empty row of seats on an ancient united airlines dreamliner  787, an american woman leans into me and asks if i am going to share the arm rest, and then complains that i have my arm on her arm rest to the hostess. within moments a team of people ask me to move to the other seat, despite i am sitting in the correct seat. i move over which leaves the middle seat free. the american passenger sits down and places her bags into the middle seat and then throughout the whole flight fills the space with her left over food trays, bottles, wrappers and various magazines. i offer her a chocolate bar that comes with the dinner, a peace offering, she grabs it without any acknowledgement. 
i can't sleep, despite being awake at 4am and training it to the airport. i watch the new speilberg movie, based upon his family life before he was famous, it's actually very good and reminds me of my own family, jewish neurotic mother, compassionate gentle father, conflicts and weird education, all the while the young speilberg is only obsessed with one passion, film making. the end where he meets director john ford is brilliant, played by david lynch who gives speilberg some sound advice that he acknowledges propelled him into his future.
we land in los angeles, thankfully my visa was possessed in a frenzied rush just before i boarded, i had no idea you need a visa for a transit stop. the airport is very boring and i wander around looking for something reasonably healthy to eat and finding only the worst and most expensive coffee on earth. i have to give up on the food as it's all rubbish.
we land in london at 6am and i make my way on public transport to my parents home. it's freezing, wet and the train is packed. i'm, exhausted. i am surprised to find mum alone, she's crying and gives me a huge hug, 'i miss him.' she says.
i'm also surprised that the funeral is actually today, my brother informs me that if you die at home it becomes complicated and there's a lot of processes the government make you do. 
so now i have to give a speech, and i've only a short tome to think of what i am to say. i don't go to funerals, and now i have to attend my fathers. in the next hour i am standing in the rain greeting a load of strangers, there are a lot of family in attendance but the majority of people are my brothers friends. 
inside i'm surprised to see a coffin, it's disturbing, my dads body is sealed up inside. i stand next to it and place my hand on the surface. i don't know why.
the service is quick, my brother gives a speech that traces the trajectory of my dads life, how he lived in a bombed out building in east london with a pet rat as a kid, how he met my mum, how he worked hard and became an engineer.
my speech describes my relationship with him, its very personal and i feel awkward sharing this stuff with a bunch of middle class jewish people who probably think i am some sort of freak. they all look so serious and i know my words will be a sacrilege to all their expectations of a funeral speech. however this is my truth and he was my father and i want to be honest and strangely i think about what steve kilbey would do in any situation, he would tell the truth and hide nothing. so i do. to my amazement every one listens, laughs and is fascinated. and later after the whole thing we all put dad in the ground they all come and shake my hand, 'that was a great speech, really from the heart and people seem to be fascinated by the contents. 
i go all humble, 'i am tired, just rambled a few thoughts and memories, not sure if i was coherent, ah kinda just went with the flow,'  i mutter. 
then it's back to mums place for some food and stuff, it's light and joyous, people telling stories and i push through the exhaustion, everyone is drinking whiskey but i find tequila so i down a few shots. around 11pm i crawl into bed, and sleep a deep restful sleep finding peace.

it's a tradition there is one week of mourning now, and the house is packed with people cleaning, cooking, feeding and drinking toasts to my dad, there's a very strange practice that mum, martin and i are just attended to, we are not allowed to even make a cup of tea, the people just look after our every need. this is hard for me being an independent soul.   

the following day my dads best friend and brother from a different mother terry comes over and makes a heartfelt speech. for the first time i feel a tear, it was a great speech, recognizing a few things i had mentioned and i sat with terry listening to his stories. one interesting one was how he worked with decca records and the studios, he told me how he watched this young long haired man playing guitar in one, he used to sit of the floor and write and practice. this was a very young david bowie i was shocked to discover. terry said he has the original acetate of, 'love me till tuesday.'

i guess my days are tied up here for a while and then when it's all over i can focus on working out a plan with mum, she needs to sell this place and start anew and i suggest she get on a cruise ship and have a long adventure, even coming to sydney for a while but i get the feeling she will just want to hang out in london with her grandson. 

so far i have not been out of the house, london looks like it's in its death throes, and the media just broadcasts propaganda about russia, the civilians here are so brainwashed it's pointless even speaking to them, although they are beginning to wake up to the covid scam. at some point in time i will make my way to charring cross and stop into my fave bookshops.

yesterday was a strange day in some ways, i had my garden cleaned up which in itself was a huge task as the debris filled a huge trailer that was capped with a tarpaulin that was about 7ft high. just in time before the huge rainstorm that hit, i watched the clouds roll in and heard the thunder in full knowledge it was upon us.

the thunder was so loud i had to lock the doors but the lightening freaked me out to the point i switched everything off and stayed in my bedroom. which i deemed the safest place to be. i was struck by lightening once and since then lightening freaks me out. in the same way fire engines freak me when i hear their sirens as i was once involved in a terrible accident with one which wrote of the car i was driving. when either of these two happen i just freeze up in fear.

around this time my dad died. i got the call as i was cleaning up the new converted garage, the storm had subdued, so i went to check the room and discovered a pool of water. i was mopping and scrubbing up, attempting to rescue my rug. i had just called back the afghans, part of me was furious as these guys were warned the room has to be waterproof. the skirting boards were ruined. i was lucky the books remained dry and carried my dehumidifier down. 

then i got the call from jake, he was on his way over and had left work heading to my parents on the train, he said he had no details only my father's heart had stopped beating and he thinks he may have left us. 

then my brother rang, he was driving over and said he felt this could be it.

a stream of incoming calls confirmed this and although i felt a sad tear or two i understood this was just part of a process and my dad was in a better place, at peace and not in pain or frustration at his failing body, he had regained his dignity and was home. my experiences with ayahuscia and my own journey had given me a kind of positive attitude so although i was sad i was also joyous that he had lived a long life, 94 years old is pretty good innings. his hero clint eastwood was the same age, and my last conversation with dad i described watching clints last film, 'the mule' where he looked identical to my dad. it was really uncanny.

i think he loved clint's characters, and identified with them as a righteous man.  my dad was indeed a righteous man, he was also very kind and gentle underneath his boxer physique, he  was loved by everyone. 

when i was a kid dad would teach me all sorts of skills, engineering, building and construction, car mechanics, decorating and fixing shelves, watches, circuits and gardening. everything he showed me went in one ear and out the other, he was talking to an idiot child. i recall when i was about four he was showing me how to put up a shelf and as he was tightening the screws i picked up the electric drill, put the drill in the electric socket and turned it on. 

once he was teaching me to swim in a pool in spain, he turned his back on me and in i went pulled down by my inability to understand the mechanics of swimming and what he had showed me. under the water i watched peoples limbs glide past me, through the deep blue i had no idea i was even drowning until he dived in and pulled me out. everything he attempted to teach me, maths and money just disappeared into a black hole inside my brain.

however, dad was a great story teller and as a boy had lived in bombed out rubble in east london, with his pet rat. he had no family here but somehow survived, he had left home (india) as a teenager and managed to live by his wits until he found a job. every night he would tell me a story, often about his days in london, sometimes about the exotic life in india, and sometimes about the mysteries of kabbalah, however all his stories had this weird style, mysterious, occult, last temples, ancient jungle civilisations, alien encounters, ghosts and god. these stories stayed well within my mind, i was enraptured. spent my days daydreaming and lost in my own forming imagination. i think that's when my desire to be a writer formed. i guess it did even though i could never articulate it at such a young age.

dad was a mystery to me, he stopped talking about his amazing family, his life back in india, his own father was the owner of a circus. very wealthy until he gave it all away. i once saw some photographs of the performers, it was a classic circus with animals and weird bearded ladies, freaks and outsiders. a strong man, a guy who dived into water, a man who was shot from a cannon. they even had a huge big bear that escaped and terrorised a small town, his own parents lived in a haunted house, they had servants and a cook, and often they would leave as they could not deal with all the poltergeist activities. his mother was a psychic who had dreams that would come true, she was beautiful but as soon as she lost her youngest son she did of grief. his dad was a strange man i met only twice, he was gandalf. i met him when he was old and poor. he had a huge long white beard and a big staff. he blessed me and mumbled some words, he had deep rich eyes and after he died i used to dream of him often, in fact i had very vivid 'messages' in dreams where he was present, often with his staff. he is a big influence upon me in some ways.

dads stories got me through life, i hated skool, all i ever did when i was young was stare out into the grey landscape and skies, the endless drizzle and drab mass of faceless zombies dreaming of a life under blue skies, strange exotic landscapes and beaches, sunshine. meanwhile the teachers voice droned on endlessly.

i hated england but i had my imagination filled with exotic adventures, dreams and alternatives. i knew there was more to life. i searched for it, travelling and being open to adventure and explorations.  as dad aged he began to withdraw, silent and strong, over skype, it was my time to tell him stories and we had some great conversations. my visits to london i would always borrow his jacket which he eventually gave me, he loved his suits and to dress sharp but he was from a generation where it was all very 1940's. often he would bemoan my hair, it's to long he would say, it's to short. shaving everyday was an important part of his routine, even until death he shaved each morning, with a razor. 

dad was a happy guy, but as we spoke later in life, as we both got older we saw the wicked in the world and our conversations became darker. it was hard for him as he was still holding onto the faith he had in institutions, he was more english than most english people i knew. whereas my mother was a cynic and she hated the institutions along with me. dad held a respect for anyone in uniform or a position of authority but as we spoke in later years he begun to see through the empire of dust, the corruption and betrayal. we both knew whatever apocalypse you choose we were living in its onslaught. i always said when we spoke about death, it's just letting go. he was scared, and i would reassure him of his faith.

last time i was in london he was in a decrepit hospital for most of my stay, he thought it was the worst hotel he had ever been in. one visit he called me over and said, 'do me a favour son, lend me a couple of pounds to get a taxi. i have to get out of this bloody hotel, it's terrible.'

i laughed and explained the situation to him, but inside all i wanted to do was take him home. the national health hospital contrary to popular belief was appalling, staffed by non english speaking people who wandered around like zombies, overworked and underpaid, ravaged by staff shortages and cutbacks, mostly africans or indians and a bunch of colonies come back to eat the remains of the empire. 

he was so happy to return home, the day i had to catch a return flight to australia. my biggest regret that trip is i was unable to cook him his fave dinner, a greek lamb dish he always spoke about. i tried to get a take away from a greek restaurant but there were only indian and arabic restaurants anywhere nearby.

anyways, my father is at peace, we remain, a fractured family who come together in grief and i have to do my duty as the oldest son. i will miss the funeral on sunday, i'm not disappointed as i never attend funerals and will probably miss my own. my grief is minimal but the loss is huge, my father was a big influence upon me, a man who gave me my own sense of righteousness and moral framework, a man who showed love to all creatures god had created even the pigeons that my mum hated nesting on their balcony, my father felt a deep compassion for them. 

and that is who he is. who he always will be. i see him in my own son who shares his greatest qualities, and i am grateful my son got to experience his grandfather when he moved to london about 20 years ago from sydney. he embraced a family he had never really known and loved them in my absence, he really became me in a strange way, while i lived the live i had always wanted, in the sun, blue skies and the beach at my door.

my father loved a drop of scotch and when my friends sue and simon left they gave me a bottle of new zealand whisky, so late last night i poured myself a small glass and thought about how when he would come home from work he would say, 'son, pour me out two fingers.'

two fingers of scotch dad. 

possibly the most baffling thing about my father was how much he loved my mother, who is not an easy woman to love. i was always somewhat baffled as how he had stuck by her for so long, putting up with the kind of behavior that would drive anyone away. it actually angered me, i saw it as some kind of weakness and betrayal of me, whom clashed furiously with her. he would always rush to her defense, even if she was wrong he would defend her from everything. like a shield of light he loved her and would protect her, even when her anger and awful irrational 'hatred' was on display he would stand by her side and make sure she was okay. once i recall he was thrown out by her temper tantrum and i must have been 5 years old, i grabbed his leg and begged him not to leave me with her, i literally held on down the driveway until he drove off in a car. i'll never forget the feeling off abandonment i felt, how could he leave me with her? but they were back the next day and he was dad again.

later as i grew older i understood you can never question a mans loyalty or devotion to his woman, it's a private intention and from the outside it has no rational or reason, logic or understanding. i began to admire his devotion and somewhat respected it. ironically he was in love with another woman before he married my mum, a lady called helen who ended up in new zealand. i think she was his true love but she chose another man. they reconnected a few years ago but i don't think they ever saw one another. 

when dad retired during his lunch times he would drive down for lunch at my mums work so they could eat together, i'd always say things like, 'jesus why not just enjoy the peace and quiet and have lunch here at home,' but he would enthusiastically drive down to meet her for a big baked potato. towards the end he stopped eating save for a tiny bowl of porridge, half a cup of english breakfast tea and half a banana. he would gobble down pharmaceutical pills randomly, from a huge big wooden box where he kept a lifetimes supply of scripted medication. i'd bring him natural supplements and vitamins but he only had misplaced faith in the doctor drug dealers. towards his final years they discovered his delusions and delirium was caused by the cocktail of pills he scoffed whenever he wanted. 

far away in australia i would honour my dad every time i had an ice cream. my father was a great ice cream maker, and made and used natural ingredients. our fave was rum and raison as he always poured in a bottle of rum, and we would all get drunk on the results. so whenever i had an ice cream in australia i'd be reminded of dad, the best ice cream maker ever.

when he was a young man i remember he started to smoke cigars and one xmas he sat at the head of a big family table, when my mums parents were alive and uncles aunts and cousins were young. he held everyone's attention as he explained the art of cigar smoking, suggesting and demonstrating the best way to prepare a big fat cuban cigar was to dunk it in whiskey. we all watched, wondering about my fathers new found passion for these fat cylinders you set fire to like cigarettes but a horrid dirty colour. with a huge proud grin he dunked the cigar into his single malt and rolled it around, giving it a thorough soak. then imitating clint he slowly brought it to his mouth and lit it. the only thing was it was wet and wouldn't light. we all laughed and he must have felt slightly embarrassed putting it aside. much later when i was alone with him and we had eaten a big xmas feast he looked at me contented and picked up the now dry cigar, he put it in his mouth and smiled at me, lighting it. the whole thing just exploded in flame. and he dunked it out with a look of shock.

the cigar smoking phase did not last long. but he always had the good nature to laugh about it with me.

yeah dad was quite old fashioned, an anglo portuguese indian jewish druid who loved clint. it's weird, he, me and my son all left our countries of birth and hot tailed it to the other ends of the planet at the same age. yet we were more than close, always will be.

as usual i don't have much time for me to do much, gotta get my home in order, do a couple of shifts and then work out a flight. it's going to be somewhat nuts and that flight is spirit crushing, i always feel like a deflated balloon at the end but i know what i have to do. lets just hope mercury in neptune don't get even more complex. so far it's been a roller coaster and not without it's drama. and so far i seem to manage each challenge, somehow.

my father is dying. 
it's a strange kind of helplessness i feel. i don't really discuss it much with people around me, i don't want sympathy or advice, death is inevitable it comes for us all. i accept it. but the helplessness is i planned to visit my father in july, it was all laid out like a well mapped out family plan  but this changes things. my family is quite fractured, communication is their challenge, mixed messages and the only reliable source is my son, who is remarkable in not just keeping me informed but being accurate.

meanwhile my friend is dying from cancer on the spine. i do what i can to help, what can you really do in the face of death. 

i have to meet my family responsibility, it's going to be hard but i need to make some decisions and then attempt to actualise them. i knew this was coming, i thought i may have a few more months but it looks like it's upon me.

i didn't sleep well last night, some anxiety over a work issue pushes me into a corner i don't want to be. i speak to a friend and she suggests i fight, but truth is i don't want to. i'm tired of it all. it's endless, all i do is clean up other peoples mistakes and then get blamed for it. so perhaps this is a moment where i must at least stand up for myself. however most of the time when i work i feel surrounded by people who are really not present and seem to get rewarded for it. in fact i think most bar one or two even know what their job actually is.

the surf this morning is huge and strong waves propel me into blue rooms, it's exhilarating, powerful and gives back to me what is taken.

i return to mission control and get stuck into some work, paperwork, putting affairs in order. there's a certain amount of online forms i need to navigate and phone calls, but i power through and finally it ends. 

my mind is focused although tired, that's the beauty of neptune, always feeds me what was taken. you name it, neptune returns. my relationship with terrible beach is now better than my relationship with avalon beach where i spent my formative years learning the surf. sure those days i was in much bigger dangerous waves, i was reckless and unafraid but now i have learnt to respect and honour the ocean, always stay within my boundaries.

as the sun sets i contemplate a new job. i could really walk into any job in my field but i figure i may do something new, something different. 

beautiful night with my friend sue and husband simon who live in new zealand and came to visit, we ate a fantastic meal at our fave indian restaurant. i really thought it had gone downhill over the last few months but last night proved me wrong. it was a magnificent meal and great company. they are staying over night so the whole afternoon was lovely, both really intelligent switched on people and such good friends. 
on their last day in oz they popped in to mission control and assisted me rearrange furniture. we zipped down to the groovy salad shop and ate a fine light fresh salad lunch, said goodbye.

then back to mission control where i did some more cleaning, laundry etc. tomorrow i have to polish floors and then start clearing some paperwork away. my final task is to move books around which will be a huge task but worthwhile. i just have to work out a system i like. 

no surf, as it's been raining and the surf has been a bit to messy. my garden is so wild it really needs more work, a mow, a cut back at the jungle and some major weeding. hopefully thursday will be garden day, if it is not raining.

blah! i am exhausted and can't quite catch up with myself, a lump of flesh holding a bone machine together along its essential organs. the sun streams through filtering its way through my jungle, wild animals make their calls and i stumble to the shower and then to make my morning coffee. after which i check upon my messages and then haul my self towards work, got a number of stops en route. man's gotta make a extra buck here and there, besides i'm attempting to plan my year and it's going to involve a lot of logistics and money which strangely keeps pouring in, without any effort. however like all physics there is an equal and opposite reaction thus i am hit with a number of real world fines, taxes, charges and fees.

take my unregistered car which i had no idea about. since they removed the sticker and made it electronic i never received a reminder this year. so when i get pulled over by the fat controller he issues me with a massive fine which i then have to pay plus my reg. 

ironically the very next day i get my reminder in the mail. cue the gods above laughing as they pawn with my life.

next various bills i struggle with, the cost of living seems to have doubled in the last few months. groceries i used to pay $10 for are now $50. it's nuts, plus my washing machine ceased working and $500 later i ponder weather it was worth repairing, after all new ones are about the same price with a guarantee. this disposable world, i fucking loathe it's stupidity. ultimately people become disposable.

anyway's death and taxes stalk me, my two very great and loyal friends have terminal cancer so i do what i can. no point in beating around the bush, you gotta confront death and laugh in it's face or transition with grace and ritual. i've done it and it's not easy, but it should be. it's all in attitude. however i want my friends to stick around and hang with me, i don't have many left, so it's sad for me to think they suffer and are in pain. fucking cancer.

one of these beautiful people is coming to visit me on monday, i'm looking forwards to seeing her. strangely she lives overseas and texts me one morning to say she was at the airport and would be visiting me on the 20th. at exactly the same time i received that text i am talking about her to a work colleague. then about 5 hours later i am wandering through the sci fi dept in dymocks when i hear this voice call my name, i turn and there she is. 

we hug and swap war stories, smiling all the way through, she is amazing. both my friends are, one gets me home safe and sound every night saving me from the perils of micro sleep. what am i going to do without them. loyalty. it's worth fucking millions.

so the phone is ringing hot, i'm in demand, everyone wants a piece of me, which is rare but occasionally it does happen. i am exhausted and it's still morning, coffeed up to my eyeballs, ready to roll. 

let's go mission, lets go!

blessings in disguise, describes the church very well.  

i've always been interested in magick, in all it's many forms.

it could be stage magic, old skool ritual or 80's chaos, it could be extreme tantra, synchronicities, dream yoga, cosmic alignments and influences, energy work, healing modalities or art. 
magick reduced away from all theories and practices is another word for 'applied imagination.'

 

that describes the church for me very well. never just a rock and roll band, steve writes lyrics and words and words can be spells. words can be all sorts of things but once cast out into the universe they are stories, communications, songs, dialogues, warnings and still a spell is cast. maybe that was never the intent of the creator but the listener is part of the equation and when i listen to the church i hear imagination.

to be honest i can't reduce the church albums into separate albums anymore, thus they are part of something bigger than the individual components. i cannot even split the instruments anymore as it reduces what is in essence a synergy. so for me it was easy to accept line up changes, new musicians and new energy creates new synergy. this is healthy within any organism, if it keeps things vital. all those comments people make about what is the best album went over my head, it's all just one piece of work for me, sure there's continuity but personally i can hear an acoustic version of 'unguarded moment' in a small club with steve banging away on a beaten up acoustic and feel the same as a new song cos it's all in the delivery and intent.

 

it took me a few weeks to get hold of the hypnagogue, i made several trips into the city but everyone said it was out in april officially, i avoided reading about it from fans and online media although my fatebook feed was filled with peoples thoughts and reveries. i must confess i heard the videos, i couldn't help myself. 
thus last weekend i found one copy at 'red eye' where i grabbed it like a greedy fucking pig, and went straight home to play it. however i was thwarted, called into work, drama after drama, almost 4 days passed and this morning i had the washing machine repair man come over, so as soon as he departed i put the cd on. volume up. 

i will leave it for others to break down the release into individual songs, as a concept album i want to respect the narrative and whole.
what i hear is consistency, surprise, intention, vast deep soundscapes that  second bridge time and space, intelligence, synergy, coherence, a story, the future (transhumanism) the human vs the technological, art, the creative impulse, the pulse and throb of love and passion (these musicians poured their hearts into this and it shows) the mysterious nature of nature, the strange pull of attraction, balance. personally i dig the vocal harmony (something the church are excellent at) but there is inevitably discord within the tale.  

having made music myself i know how difficult it is to get what is in your head out the way you want, after all there's a lot of stages and people involved, and it only takes one person to shift the sound from a pure state to something else but here i think there's a purity now in this album, steve's idea possibly as fulfilled as possible with musicians, mixers and producers and whatever influences aggregate the idea into conception keeping it pure until it hits the listener between the cerebellum and spinal cord, exploding into weird chemicals and synaptic sparks. the musicians are all masters and quite brilliant but for me it's not about who does what, it's about the collective and here is an example of excellence in collective creativity. i know prog music, yes, genesis (with peter gabriel) early floyd, tangerine dream etc but although steve describes the hypnagogue as prog for me it's just the church doing their thing, being innovative and smarter than the average band. challenging their listeners, pushing themselves forwards, pushing us to keep up. respect and love. 

obviously my words don't mean anything, i have no influence or hold upon the sales or response of others. love it hate it, all that matters is my relationship to it.

i love it. i love it so much it made me cry with joy. 
that's just one listen. 

the surf has been excellent, up at dawn for a couple of hours, catching perfect waves endlessly basking in negative ions, ironing out the crinkles in my psyche and building my resistance to the energy from saturn, dealing with pluto which has also moved into pisces. i'm friends with pluto so i don't really mind a little bit of pluto but i don't wanna get all self pitying and over sensitive emotionally. every wave brings me closer, each arc of water obliterates the tangled web of contradictions, my pathway ascends before me once again. it truely is made of light. 
my shoulder is better although not fully healed.

the builders return for one last day, just to fix their mistakes. i did loose my temper with them but they have come to complete the job, tidy up their mess. to be honest it will take them 2 hours but first i had to remove a cockroach that had got inside. they were petrified of the thing. i understand i felt the same way about the massive stick insect.

the morning is sweltering heat, like a furnace. it's not even incremental, it just is. human's complain, everywhere i move, people muttering about the unbearable heat. for me it's not a major issue, i rather heat than cold so i feel okay but i must admit, it's hot.
no time for a surf today, i have to clear out a lot of paperwork and organise an electrician. this happens through esp and when i wonder where the electricians phone number is, he rings me as if he heard my thought. this week will be expensive, electrician, washing machine repair and gardener all need payment. my gardner is an older man whom i like, i throw him the odd $50 to do stuff around the place, weeding and lawns. it only takes half an hour but we spend an hour chatting. it keeps him busy and healthy, and i can check up on his health. he's very good at practical things like using tools, measuring and all that stuff i cant do so i use him for handy stuff around the house. however he won't be any use to me when it comes to my kitchen which needs a deft hand, it's chaos. everyday i make a dent in it. storage is an issue and i plan on creating a hanging place for my pots and pans. i try to keep all my pots and pans down to three items, if i can hand em up somewhere i would have more space.

 

yesterday, written off with a host of people trampling through mission control, making a mess and leaving a trail of dirt, dust and debris behind them.  i can't even park in my driveway, it's blocked by skips and trucks. the work is coming to completion but it's kinda nuts, i'm really getting frustrated that it's taken so long and the builders are not able to listen to what i want. i guess they just want the cash and to save as much on materials, whereas i am trying to get my vision made. anyways, we are nearly there, it's going to look really fine once it's all finished. i just have to move stuff inside a very narrow doorway. i only want a beanbag in there, a ceiling fan and fridge. that's my plan, the walls will be books and some plants scattered around the edges. 

today, just as crazy only i start with my workout, and then a surf, the water is so warm, waves are friendly but not powerful, i splash around and play for a while.

later the afghans arrive to complete the building, it's the same as usual, a mess everywhere, mistakes and the usual cutting corners leading to more expense. i really was just trying to help them, new business, i figured they may get a good start with a guy that is laid back and not so committed to deadlines but this is now dragging onwards for months when it should have taken a week. oh well.

in the afternoon i find myself at a loss, it's pointless cleaning up now when tomorrow the mess will return. everything is half completed, half chaos, i like home to be tidy and everything in it's place, it calms me. i make a halfhearted attempt to clean up but it's like sisyphus says, meaning, absurdity or meaning in absurdity.

yesterday, i do something bad to my neck, pain is shooting through my shoulder, sleep is impossible. everything is intense, all my nerve ending are on fire and there is no release. i return to work, my house a complete disaster. in my anger i blast the builders, and they promise to return this week to fix their mistakes. then my washing machine breaks down. saturn moving closer, it's now  march 6th, so tomorrow it will be official. i'm in a new state of consciousness, one  have not experienced, where pain is everything. i can't even hold a bottle of water. when i get to work my boss gives me a generous dollop of her herbal medicine, a balm made with plants. it's cold burn neutralizes the hot one and for a moment there is a reprieve. 

today, i didn't sleep at all last night, although i managed to tidy up a few things. the interior looks somewhat better but it is still a form of chaos. once the fix is complete i can begin the rearrangement and repositioning of everything. this will change the fundamental layout of space. i contemplate offers of help, with my shoulder i will need a certain logical mind, more ordered and structured than mine to assist with the organizational tasks i am bewildered by. 

pain still tears at me, it's so acute, like a hot blade stabbing and jabbing away, the knife sliding in and out and in and out upon the very end of each nerve. if it was not for the magic balm my boss generously offers me i would probably pass out.

stabbing stabbing stabbing, all day all night, it's the torture garden but somehow i get through every second of it. by the way, i start 'slow horses' by mick herron, it's off to a good start. i had no idea they had adapted it for tv, and that mick jagger had worked upon the theme song. and i have to also say when i heard the theme, it really is perfect for the books. he has obviously read and enjoyed them. it's a perfect track, well done mick.