this morning i venture down to the ocean but i miscalculate, it's angry and windy, it has a ferocity that is dangerous so i retreat to my coffee shop and then head home. my fish, only one left is swimming in a freshly cleaned pond, the outside area looks very good, landscaped and clear of debris. soon i will erect my hammock and enjoy a spring afternoon lazing in the sunshine overlooking the front garden. mission control slowly taking shape, slowly getting there.
with a new roof i'm immune from leaking, new skylight the sunshine will illuminate my indoor palms and the whole interior will morph into something spectacular. mission control my little sanctuary, a genuine eden with my stereo cranked up playing some space tune from kilbey and kennedy, ambient poetry, 'ignorance is bliss, thus you are eurporic,' you gotta love that hey?

i'm still recovering from some weird sin, it's left me tired and sleepy, somewhat in need of a warm tropical island and some coconuts. not much i can do about that. just have to grin and wear it. work does my brain in, the endless ridiculous double standards, the lack of mature communication, the slow death of my clients as they are dumbed down into control by an unconscious authority, ah well, onwards and forwards.

these days i just love being home, alone. pottering around, reading and pondering like a galactic watcher of worlds, waiting for the mothership or some sort of intervention. waiting for a sun god or solar flare, waiting for the angels of principalities, waiting for the barbarians, waiting for the magic bus and the visions of charlotte, waiting for the english civil war, california sinking into the ocean, waiting for the postman, and to bump into nick cave, waiting for the pain to cease, war to end, the clouds to part and waiting on a friend. 

p.s. i'm reading james blish, 'after such knowledge' a collection of novels based around the tension between magick and science. 

the last few days i've had some sort of weird virus like flu, it's okay as the rain keeps me inside anyway but generally i'm not sleeping much due to some weird condition, i'm tired but sleep just refuses to defend upon me, instead i read and listen to podcasts which is probably not the correct method of sleep induction. i probably should read a very boring book. i once read a book called 'an arabian nightmare'' that was a novel set in cairo, it was about dreaming and dreams within dreams, it was also about cats which feature strongly in the dreams of the main character and the city in which he found himself succumbing to this strange malaise. i recall every time i picked it up and read a few lines i myself would fall asleep as if this book had some weird spell casting mechanism upon me. i've never experienced anything like that before.

so last night we took a trip into the past, and ended up after very civilised drinks at the opera house bar, watching the city light up at dusk. expresso martinis, the rain had ceased, the neon skyline was magnificently illustrated in it's rich blues and striking reds, the toaster famous for it's celebrity overdose, yes you, sprawled out as a million tourists took the opportunity of a break in the downpour and enjoyed a night at the opera.

then we headed to kings cross for the sole purpose of govinda's where we watched a magnificent film called 'road to patagonia.' before a lovely vegan meal upstairs in the resteruant.

the film was about a young man from melbourne whom goes on a surfing trip to an indonesian island where the natives are animists and he ends up staying with them for 4 years, learning their ways and understanding their connection to the land. when he returns to australia and begins working in IT he has a breakdown, anxiety and depression. he escapes and decides to follow his desire to travel from alaska riding his motorbike and surfing at all the breaks he passes until he gets to patagonia.'

however around the canadian coastline he meets a young girl who is a farmer and very into nature and the environmental impact she makes upon the world, she's adopted an alternative way of living and they spend months together, swapping skills among other things i guess. when they depart the young man is quite emotional but he is determined to finish his quest and travels down to california, catching waves and meeting friends. and with a beautiful leap of faith she joins him and travels south on bikes. all sort of calamities befall the couple and although the journey is about the environment, indigenous relationships to land, the natural order it's also a journey of love as these two remarkable people transcend all obstacles and are committed to the end point. eventually they decide that to lessen their own impact they will trade the bikes for horses and they travel the rest of the journey on horseback, again challenged by emotional spiritual and physical obstacles. at one point they have to sell the horses and after travelling with them for so long, connecting with them it's painful and for the young girl she's loosing her sense of self as she merges  closer into him. she goes back and he continues. he gets there. and then he realises it was nothing without her. she was the key and he flies back to canada and turns up at her door and the next thing we see are them sitting at a farm in victoria having dinner outside with friends and their children. let me say it is a great story, i loved it. the shamanistic bits were toned down, everything alluded to ayahuscia but never quite explained, the journey involved stripping away of everything, even identity until there was nothing and in nothing they both understood all that mattered was their love for one another. beautiful. low budget, filmed on mobile phones, surfing and spirituality, all leading to la deeper love.

we all ate this beautiful food and debriefed about our fave bits in the movie, and then we walked around the cross looking at all the places i used to go, places that are iconic for me, 'barons' now long gone, 'pimlico cafe' now some sort of trendy bar, it's all very gentrified, everything was quiet and there were only a few people wandering around. saturday at midnight, the cross was dead. we couldn't even get a coffee.

our memories of the cross were a vital vibrant place filled with chaos, traffic blocked as people were walking on the road, half undressed, out-of- it people, dramas unfolding, over crowded bars and clubs, hawkers selling flesh, sex everywhere, it was glorious in its heyday but now, it's lost it's spirit, it's nice, clean and just another piece of real estate with big burger restaurants everywhere.

my hash cake has worn off, i'm tired and feeling weird, my nose is leaking, i'm older now. all that drama from my past is long gone, but there was something wild about it i miss.  a weird nostalgia.

on the peripheries lies fantasy, a genre i rarely delve into, a genre i usually avoid but joe abercrombie always seem to pop up when i investigate good books to read, he always seems on the selves in bookshops with asimov and aldis and many times i avoid him and delve into hard science fiction but these days fantasy is everywhere, it overwhelms science fiction and the sf genre is polluted by politically correct and feminst marxist philosophies that are badly written and lack any kind off interesting take. do i sound harsh here? all the female science fiction writers bar maybe le guin, shelley, mary doria russell and a handful of others have nothing new to say that is not based around politically correct tropes and happy endings. girl gets the girl. i dunno, i need more, i need to have my mind blown and i need challenge and a good story, not feel like i've just read the opinion piece from the guardian or sydney morning bullshit. 

the only fantasy books ever enjoyed are mervyn peake, tolkien, pullman and that george rr martin series, 'game of thrones.'

the rest are just far to dull and kinda based around tolkiens themes, the heroes journey, so you feel like you are reading the same story and then one day just as an experiment i picked up 'the devils' abocrombie's new book and gave it a go.

absolutely brilliant, i completely understand the adoration he receives from his readers and i enjoyed reading the novel so much i want everyone to read it. i'm not going to tell you anything about it here, just trust me, read it.

now here's something, i loved this book so much i'm going to work my way through his back catalogue. 

im never comfortable in cold climates, they make me nervous and cause a contraction in my mind. i don't like rain either, these attributes confound most people i know who seem to be quite comfortable with these conditions. they think there's something quite peculiar with my distaste for these elements. 

anyway's i'm better in the heat, the sun, the blue in the sky and the comfort of tee shirts and shorts, sunglasses and maybe a hat. i have lived in many cold climates, berlin, canada, the uk all places that leave me, well feeling cold. and that snow, yuk!

last night and this morning was very cold, despite the early morning sunshine. down on the beach the onshore wind cut through my old bones like a nazi scientist. it made me very uncomfortable. then joined by my friends i began to warm up. as usual our conversations went from the vast indian migration to sydney, the rise of south america, two tier kier in the uk, and the wonders of govinda's hari krishna food in the 80's and 90's and perhaps a saturday trip for a feast and movie. well i'm up for that. i'll bring the cookies. 

anyway's the whole morning was productive as i got my technology fixed, although i still can't operate blu tooth in my car. 

also ever since i named my fish carpe and diem, diem has been suffering from some sort of weird affliction. i'm not sure he will make it.

some friends in the uk send me a version of a song i wrote, it's made by fake intelligence and it sounds incredible. i do love what can be done, but there are some tweaks i will suggest. listening to it actually floored me, it really is amazing what fake intelligence can do and somewhat frightening.

occasionally i get things right, sometimes in a blue moon this old druid feels the impulse of the universe conspire in his brain, some wild psycadelic download installed, it's not like i even give permission. 
recall those old films about the greeks and their gods playing games, pulling strings, as though humans were chess pieces and they were just bored players making stupid moves. 'oh lets see what mission does if we make him face a gorgon.' 
'we are out of gorgan's in these modern times we only have the far more deadly 'ideologies' however i don't recommend releasing them, you know what happens when we do.'
'yes, death destruction and chaos, but that is part of the drama is it not. part of our entertainment?'

'i don't know anymore, i'm bored with these games, just do whatever you want.'

and this is why the greek gods are dead, they ran out of games to play, humans are tenacious and creative. they find ways to win, to survive and thrive. 

the newer gods born from philosophy were much more deadly, they are proxies of the mind, thought forms with a life of their own, contaminating everything they touch. billions dead, the earth is littered with corpses and bones, the body deceased but the ideology lives. dead ideologies come back from the dead.

there are a number of gods associated with the mind, with mental health but these all seem to be dead as well, and i think like all gods their creations kill them. 

killed by their own ideology like frankenstein, then free to wander the planet and contaminate others. this is the way of the world we live in, a war of ideologies, with us as the battlefield. they is no escape, it all seems relentless, no escape from it, no rest, just onwards and onwards, until you take a side.

cosmic war

one day i found myself on the island of zanzibar with two very lovely french ladies marian and flora. we were just living in a hut on the indian ocean, eating coconuts and fresh fish with rice. there were some rasta folk around so weed was always present and reggae was always somewhere. most of the time it was just sleeping, swimming and relaxing, nothing much else drove us. we enjoyed chatting about our lives and books and i found myself as close to paradise as possible. there were no other tourists around but occasionally strangers would turn up for an afternoon, usually to visit the owner of the place a finish lady who was always stoned. the girls had heard rumours about a bar in the north, it was on the beach and would take about a days hike to reach if we followed the coastline. 

i dunno, the idea of a big trek to a bar didn't really motivate me but the girls had persuasive ways, and obviously i capitulated.

so after a breakfast of fresh ginger coffee with cardamon we set off, cameras, money and sarongs. 

you know walking along beaches in the tropics, warm clear turquoise water lapping at our feet, the pleasure in the air radiating like a soft sensual dream, it was all perfect. i would tell the girls stories and they would talk about their lives back in europa, we all loved reading so books featured heavily and occasionally when we came to a nice little bay and private beach we would just stop and have a lay down.

there were no other people in sight at all, just the occasional fishing boat would float by.

we would have to swim around each little inlet to get to the next beach but the water was at low tide so it was easy, but gradually after about six hours the tide began to rise, and quickly. now this surprised me, i'd seen tides come in but never this fast, one moment we were up to our waists, the next shoulders and we had to move with our hands raised to carry all our stuff.

at one point i took the cameras, passports money and spare clothing from the girls wrapped them up in my sarong and raised my hands wading along while they swam, hoping the next beach would lay around the corner of the black forbidding volcanic rock. i was wearing a wide brimmed hat which floated away as the water rose, and eventually i had to store the stuff inside a little  up high in the rock wall, and soon we were all swimming.

at first we were laughing, but as time progressed fear took hold and the girls began to show signs of anxiety and stress, tears and outright sobbing. i on the other hand was formulating the inevitable, we would all die here together. but what a perfect death for me, washed up on some weird tropical island with two beautiful french girls. there was no less a perfect way to die and thus i smiled. in retrospect i probably felt quite please with my choice of death and company, it was perfect. but as always the moment you accept the inevitable, circumstances change.

at some point a boat came around the corner from up ahead, it was a long black canoe with a tall black native holding a huge long pole, he stood upright looking at us seriously. i waved, hoping he would pull us aboard but instead he raised his free hand, the other held the pole and he pointed ahead. 

onwards we swam, the silent sentinel watching us as he drifted passed us, i almost read his mind, 'stupid tourists.'

as we rounded the rock face we could see a small inlet, a perfect white sanded beach and i yelled to the openly sobbing girls to make their way in. i reached the beach and pulled them out of the water, we all collapsed and lay down in the hot sand. breathing, absorbing the sunlight,  silently overcoming trauma. then we laughed. may hat had floated in. 

we decided to stay put until the tide went out again, and in this remote landscape of eden the simplest of pleasures were embraced because lust is life, that prehistoric impulse, the basic coding of dna. 

as we lay exhausted on the beach and somewhat dehydrated, stupidly we had forgotten to bring water, from out of the sand i noticed something disturbing as though a very tiny earthquake was making the sand move, but looking closer there appeared thousands of translucent crabs surfacing and heading towards the water. and we were in-between to exhausted to move. they seemed to part and millions of them just circumnavigated our bodies and disappeared into the ocean.

if i'm honest this frightened me more than drowning, i'm not great with anything insect like and this was a horde that would never be deterred by three bipedal creatures with soft flesh.

after the crabs had left we continued our trek, the tide receding and although more cuatious and aware of the environmental dangers by dusk we reached the bar.

it was at the northern point of the island, at the end of a very long stretch of beach. large candles illuminated the area and sofas and comfy chairs seemed randomly placed near the bar, but there was also many hammocks attached to palm trees and posts, and that's where i headed while the girls sat at the bar flirting with a small group of people gathered drinking cocktails. a. ghetto blaster was blasting, bob marly and in the pastel drenched pinks, light blues and greens, the sunset over the horizon, and we all were in awe of it's beauty and simplicity. 

i don't know how many hours passed but i was awoken by the girls who suggested it was time to head back, it was dark and stars were out in full, the gentle lap of the dark water in lieu of bob marly. the bar was empty save for the rasta barman who waved goodbye as we set off, he had said if we kept moving south we would miss the tide.

at one point we splashed about in the water and noticed the bioluminescence, it was like being surrounded by thousands of fireflies,  mind blowing. very romantic and other worldly. we were all mesmerised by its wonder.

returning back to base we shambled up the beach towards the hut, exhausted and feeling mission accomplished. the whole day was perfect, and we were alive.

as it happens flora said she took a photograph just before the water rose. she sent it to me, and it's off marion wading as the tide began to come in. over the years i thought it was lost and lay in digital heaven but yesterday i found it, although it was an old file extension and required some technical expertise to bring it to life. i am pretty sure there's another one somewhere, one of me before my hat floated away, but it may take a few years to find that one.

apparently 100000 people marched across the harbour bridge to protest israel starving the palestinians after a fake photo was posted across all western media, leading to governments of canada, france and the uk and eventually australia all recognising palestine as a country. i guess because they are left wing governments and have such large muslim populations appeasement is their self serving response.

yet the image of the real starving israeli hostage being forced to dig his own grave was ignored.

the fake picture was on the cover of the new york times and it took four days for them to confess the image was of someone with a degenerative disease. in fact israel facilitated his treatment in a hospital but that was omitted. and in the un-cropped image you can clearly see his siblings are well fed and far from starving. 

whereas the video images of the hostage digging his grave was filmed in the tunnels under gaza and the man was so weak he could barely lift the shovel as he renumerates about his death. surrounded by hamas eating from piles of food.

no one wants war. israelis least of all but the world seems to hate jews there is so much cognitive dissociation calcified in their brains, and they cannot see the woods for the trees. the fog of war is not so thick as murky with double standards, hate and some sort of weird psychosis, the oldest hate. a shape shifting mind virus that seems to only adapt to jews. it's weird but very much part of spiritual warfare, and not political at all.

my premonition has come true, it took four days to come down the line, the transmission of the truth in catholic black funeral blues. the strange feeling i was left with, as the spotlight came to rest, i found myself in it's centre between the dark and brightest light. i thought about my unpublished novel, how it sat there for years, i thought about caroline in her grave, and the irony of the heavy rain outside. flashes of the eastern suburbs, my life as an undercover man, a bag of weed and sack of lobsters. i thought about the offender program, and how he replaced us with his mobsters. that creul mouth and darting eye, i vividly recall being trapped in a room with him, telling him he was intimidating as he attempted to bribe his way into my soul.

all that access to infinite wealth and fame, never quite the holy man the press made him to be. we knew better, the four horsemen of the apocalypse, riding towards our own doom on that high ground. the skool teacher and with his guns and christ, the clinical psychologist with her heart torn asunder, caroline with that big smile. and me with my stupid vengeance. the pen is lighter than the sword but you need patience and a good editor.

i was frozen in those moments when it all sunk in, and my phone began to ring, i was frozen in my own lonely present, not sure if it's for celebrating. it was a heavy moment or was it light, fucking conflicted feelings but he was gone, and we were now free. three. vale caroline, i wish you were around for this moment.