captain mission

2012-01-30T12:43:00.001+11:00

down in the corrupted sun, people swarm in insect memory, hordes of wild children out of control toddlers, ugly mothers and disenchanted fathers promise gold and silver, riches and wealth to their demanding offspring. i'm meeting a friend for coffee, he's some sort of barrister chap, i never quite understand his role but he's very well respected and successful, he's also my friend and has been for nearly twenty years. he's a big guy with a powerful presence and most people fear him or are somewhat in awe of him. he dosn't have a lot of friends, like me, he's to far outside the box to attract your average zombie, his friends are invariably my friends. i have not seen him in a long time so i'm looking forwards to catching up.

we meet off the beaten track, both seek obscurity from the horde but they chase us down and then we scare them away with our outrageous talk, except the the girls. girls are drawn towards my friend in a strange alluring way i don't quite understand. he's like tony soprano, crossed with rumpole, crossed with a some sort of gourmet celebrity psychotic chief. he can sometimes dress in flamboyant suits, mad colours and jazz memories but often he's like me, shorts and a cut of t shirt.

anyway's we are reading the papers, i'm not actually, i stopped plugging into the news so i'm reading a book called, 'discovery of witches' which is not as good as i was hoping, some sort of girly romance for women with phds.

later we wander out down the main street, hordes of people stop to talk to him, i am like his weird offsider, a don quixote to his sancho panza, his phone rings every few ministers and eventually he stops answering it, we hide away in another coffee shop. the atmosphere is different here, it's off the beaten track, reggae music pours through the windows, there's an old lady writing in a big notepad. she says she's a novelist which perks me up, and i try to engage her in conversation about books, my vast data bank of diverse literature fails to impress and she starts looking nervous. i reassure her that i am a reasonable balanced individual with a healthy disposition and only seek a stimulating conversation, but she starts to make excuses and leaves. later i see it is my friend who she was feeling anxious about as he has begun to do some strange himalayan exercises with his eyes and tongue.

i return to the unsatisfying witches.

2012-01-29T13:34:00.002+11:00

somewhere in my life lies perfection, i fuck up lots of normal activities due to my need to deconstruct everything and pull it apart, i mean there's no point in believing in a false god, an idol when there's a real one. i don't accept politics, left or right unless it embraces the individuals right to self determination. all memes need to be analytically and critically broken down until their essential truth is revealed and lets face it we are then left with a lie. the only aspect which works for me are the non dualities, love and art, and then even those can be deconstructed into various values if one desires, ultimately everything is flawed. in my life there are a few things that offer some reward. i guess the obvious one is my son whom i can honestly say is a fine example of a human being and somehow through all the hurdles i got that bit right. the other are my friends, three or four but i couldn't ask for a better group of people around me. my books, i love my books, i like the fact that some one put in so much effort and work, blood sweat and probably tears to write something that connected with me, so i love my books as there's something perfect in most of them. then there's the church whom i have followed from the moment i first heard them, and i saw them last night playing at the zoo.
a perfect venue, behind them sydney lit up like a movie set, spectacular and beautiful and yeah, it's an aesthetic wonderland.
the animals are sleeping but the elephants stir as the music travels through the earth up through their feet, those big floppy ears tune in, they dig this sound, steve's base notes flow like space jazz groove, elephants have been waiting for this, tim's magnificent powerful and yet intricate drums call out to them, like the beat of the jungle, the beat of planets in transit, the beat of ancient systems and intelligence. seals get frisky as the sound of those guitars, and the birds sit hidden in trees watching and grooving along to these songs, songs they will remember and one day imitate in homage to this night.
and somewhere the tigers and jaguars, the panthers and lions listen to the words, they loll around king beasts of their respective domains enjoying the poetry of words that constitute the church.
and me, i'm right at the back with wild child, we are listening avidly, watching steven move like a shaman, yes he has the moves and dance routine perfecto, like a performance artist stepping into many dimensions while we listen and dance filled with something i would say feels like pride but is joy.
the church are at their best, i imagine they will get better, i imagine they will shock us all and awe us all as their music takes on new forms and the band re-imagines itself, pushes further into the space rock frontier, takes us where very few musicians in the industry can go, beyond.
i think it's sad that these performances are not documented but it also feels okay that they are not, it makes the event special, it makes the music transient in the very buddhist ideal that nothing is permanent. plus it offers something i learnt that i value greatly from steve and his relation to his muse and that is 'devotion.'
i don't think there's been a figure in my life whom has influenced me as much as steve, william burroughs perhaps, both seemed to have the ability to transcend three dimensional space time with their arts. i think that's something valuable and i am eternally grateful.
wild child wants to go say hi after the show, but i am reluctant, i don't want to intrude, i imagine they want to get away, i imagine that they are exhausted and have heaps on their plate, children that need tucking in, pets that need feeding, sleep that needs meeting. i can see wild child is torn, 'go,' i'll wait here, but she decides not to and we start that arduous haul up the hill to the exit where who do we meet, steve and co. he yells out, and we cross paths in a very warm generous affirming hug.
priest = aura, metropolis, ripple, destination, reptile, milky way, you took, almost with you, unguarded moment, space saviour, grind and more, what more can a man ask for.
i ended up living in sydney, it was kinda all by accident, chance, randomness, it was the church that somehow brought me here, and i've been lucky enough to see almost every show they play in sydney over the last 23 years. if i looked back in my life at all the joys, i think the church would be multiple entries and then some of the solo side projects. why do they mean so much to me i wonder, after all it's only rock and roll?
i think it's just the intention, it hits me like an arrow hitting a target. what does that mean? i don't know but i'm glad of it. why settle for a lesser band when the church exist. i don't see other bands, i have no idea what they play on radios or tv shows, i have lot's of music at home, but apart from the church i play kate bush, these days that's where it all ends and begins in music. how strange.
later we meet kate away and the three of us wander off into newtown for chocolate drinks and a debrief, it's a brilliant evening, really one of these evenings where life feels perfect despite all the kicks and punches i seem to have taken the last 12 months, i can go down happy knowing i have seen perfection in gods creation channelled through four guys making music and writing words. if that's not a church i don't know what is.

2012-01-28T10:43:00.001+11:00

there is a greek word psychonautics meaning sailor / navigator of the mind / soul, i think this is what captain mission certainly became, as well as being dad, ex husband, social worker, health worker, writer and all round strange eccentric nut job but i have become very fond of this term, psychonaut as a far more accurate description of one who explores the magickal realms of the mind, as opposed to magickian. magickian comes with so many connotations and preconceptions, i understand that, i guess when i use it i think of it in archetype terms but most people don't even know what archetypes are let alone understand what a magickian is. anyways, the term magickian can easily backfire, where as psychonaut has an untarnished association, plus it is generally associated with mind altering drugs which although not prerequisite in the practice of magick is actually a very useful tool. from wiki:

dr. elliot cohen of leeds metropolitan university and the uk institute of psychosomanautics defines psychonautics as "the means to study and explore consciousness (including the unconscious) and altered states of consciousness; it rests on the realisation that to study consciousness is to transform it." he associates it with a long tradition of historical cultures worldwide.

plus robert thurman is quoted as saying 'the modern tibetan masters could be called a psychonaut since they journey between the frontiers of death into the in between realms.'

so there we have a rebirth of types, a change in language is as good as a holiday they say. captain mission psychonaut not psychopath if you don't mind.

now, onwards there is a terrible crisis in the universe, but don't panic, i am attempting to alter the status quo. my herbalist has said all organic plant medicine's have run out, all stocks depleted and there is no known time at which they will be available. however there is hydroponically grown substances.
i rejected her kind offer, i never use any hydroponically grown green goddess for fear of infiltration by artificial chemical agents that will wage war upon my neural networks and re wire them for the zombie army.
this did come as quite a shock as my stock was running low and i never anticipated this sudden shortage. it makes me quite worried about the future of evolution when i hear things like this. i have sent out a few thought forms to assist, post haste, for the entire realm depends upon the spice flowing. grok that!

2012-01-28T10:15:00.002+11:00

part of my brain has been preoccupied attempting to explain the significance in the relationship between language and magick for the two are intrinsically connected and i believe a chasm tends to appear when language is used in a conventional way to interpret a magickal framework it's trying to describe an indescribable process. i had my head buried in a few old books and some modern ones, looking for a synthesis of ideas to explain my thoughts and i found this... which explains things better than i could have. i'll just mention now that austin spare was a very talented but generally unrecognised artist / magickian, his work was quite striking, brilliant, but it was for his work in sigils that he is mostly credited. he used a similar technique that i have sometimes adopted which is automatic writing, it occasionally slips out.

language, magick and neurolinguistics by david lee

this article explores the relationships between language and magick, and uses concepts derived from neuro-linguistic programming to bring into focus the core elements of magickal training.

Introduction: What is Language, and What isn’t?

Some dualisms are actually useful, and considering them leads us deep into magick. One such complementary dyad is that of biogram and logogram. The biogram is seen as the operation of the entire genetic potential, the whole genome, of the individual or, on a wider scale, the gene-pool of the whole human race. This includes flesh, desires, atavistic levels; in short, everything that Austin Osman Spare might have implied by the definition of Zos as ‘the body considered as a whole’. It appears that the biogram contains the needs for food, shelter, sex, companionship and some form of ecstasis.

On the other hand, the logogram contains the whole gamut of symbolic systems that humans use—language in all its forms, from the abstractions of mathematics through spoken and written word, semaphore, the structured visual and audial imagery of painting, TV, music, to symbolic postures and hand gestures and everything in between. A magician can be viewed as someone who seeks to strengthen, liberate, feed, indulge and enjoy the biogrammatic forces through transforming his or her portion of the logogram, although it might be pointed out that this definition is broad enough to take in anyone who succeeds in generating sane (functional) behaviour out of the logogrammatic mess of mass culture.

The distinction between biogram and logogram gets blurred when we consider our appetite for ecstasis, or what is usually called the ‘drive to transcendence’. This whole issue is dominated and confused by religious/political exploitations of our fears of death and social ostracism. This exploitation takes the form of repressive dogmas built deep into the logogram in the course of the socialization process, along with their related reward/punishment patterns. The function of these elements is the achievement of social conformity via co-option of the ‘transcendence drives’. This pollution of the weirdest aspect of the biogram has the effect that many magicians deny the existence of any ‘drive to transcendence’. This is not surprising, considering that ‘transcendence’ usually (and wrongly) implies escape from the world of the senses—indeed, escape from biogrammatic realities into the cloud-cuckoo lands of religion or historical determinism.

This is basically the position of Freudians, who identify transcendence with mere escapism, regression to the oceanic consciousness of the womb. While this is valid as a critique of religion and body-denying mysticism, it has to be borne in mind that the outcome for the Freudian process is the return of the individual to the ‘ordinary misery of life’. The more sophisticated views of the postmodern psychonaut assert that there is a whole spectrum of eigenstates available to us. In this view, the socially-sanctioned formula of ‘ordinary misery’ is merely one rather sad example of institutionalized disappointment and hedonic dysfunction. Let’s face it: either we are here to experience ecstasy in as many manifestations as we can handle, or we’re wasting our time.

To look at civilization so far, it’s easy to get the impression that the logogram has won a decisive victory over the biogram. The contents of the logogram, under the influence of the slave-religions, have been severely anti-hedonistic and anti-bioaesthetic, crippling the ecstatic capacities of all but a few strong individuals.

There is no easy solution to this mix-up, and I believe there is a good reason for that: human consciousness is, by its nature, incomplete, provisional. Our atavistic prehistory in the stream of organic evolution provides us with the biogrammatic constants of hunger, sex, the search for shelter, and the more primitive forms of reproductive bonding. As soon as we start to construct more complex social forms, we need language. It may even be true to say that the evolution of language and the evolution of society go hand in hand. In any case, as soon as we start consciously defining and negotiating our relationships with each other and the world, we transform ourselves. Therefore, language is the prime medium of transformation; the logogram is the history of our past transformations, and a set of levers which we must use to achieve the next ones. Awareness of the inevitable link between language and magick is recapitulated in numerous myth cycles—Hermes was the Messenger as well as god of magick; Odin gained the runes, bringing the core of the mysteries into focus through a sophisticated system of semiotics.

Structures of Magick

Certain themes are common to all effective systems of magick. These core elements have also been recognized in one of magick’s postmodern descendants—Neuro-Linguistic Programming or NLP. NLP has been described as ‘an attitude and methodology which leaves behind it a trail of techniques’. It is the techniques that NLP is best known for; the ’10 Minute Phobia Cure’, and the Pacing and Leading techniques that are taught to salespeople are (in)famous, and tend to give the impression that all NLP is is a set of techniques for doing a few tricks with the mind. This is not the case: NLP is essentially about finding out how people who are exceptionally good at something actually do it, including the parts that they may not have conscious access too. In other words, the practitioner finds a precise role-model for the skill he or she wants.

To illustrate this, imagine you want to become better at, say, archery. The most obvious route would be to find a truly excellent archer, the best you can find, and get him to teach you. Now, your master archer will only be able to transmit to you what he knows he does when he shoots an arrow. Unless he is also an exceptionally sophisticated teacher, this will consist only of the conscious part of his skill. Under his tuition, you will no doubt progress to a much higher level of skill, but it is unlikely that you will achieve his own level unless you also absorb the unconscious strategies that hone his technique to a level of brilliance. The elicitation of these strategies comprises the core NLP technique of modeling.

Some of these strategies may appear initially to have nothing to do with the skill of archery; for instance, you may find that you have imitated his stance, his breathing, his sighting… and still you miss something. By talking to him, however, you may find that he performs a particular visualization, or hears a particular voice in his head just before he releases the arrow. At an even more internal level, you may discover that he has a particular belief or set of beliefs about his archery skill. You may even find that he has beliefs about life in general, powerful generalizations that mark the difference between you and him, and which facilitate his excellence. In any case, the model is complete when you are able not only to achieve his level of excellence, but able to communicate to others the internal processes that can take a third party to a new level of proficiency.

What is it that is being studied here? In the most general sense, it is the internal language of the person being modeled. The phrase ‘Neuro-Linguistic Programming’ reflects discoveries of how the brain actually represents information—in other words, the internal language of consciousness. Magicians have been ‘programming’ in this sense throughout the history of magick, and many of the concepts and structures of magick have been rediscovered by NLP modelers. Some of these are:-

Using Willed Imagination

Magick is often seen as a linking of imagination, will and desire towards a single aim. Much of basic magick consists of the controlled daydreams of visualization and audialization (and to a lesser extent the use of imagined kinaesthesia and smell). Anybody who has tried this a few times will realise that it works, if the focus is strong enough. Much NLP work also relies heavily on imagined situations, although usually for effects on the self. (NLP practitioners will seldom admit (at least in public) that they are trying to affect consensus reality!) The point is, your brain cannot tell the difference between the ‘real’ situation and the visualized/audialized one, and responds accordingly.

Try this exercise: remember an emotionally-loaded situation that is past and done, and check you reactions to it. Better still, evoke one of your obsessions, a concept you can get really emotional about—for instance: scroungers, poverty, Country and Western music, or whatever really rattles your cage. Get really worked up about it. Now relax and look at what you have done: you have taken some key images, sounds and words, and created a set of feelings which are indistinguishable from the feelings you would have got if you were standing in front of a real sample of your obsession. In fact, even when you are in a ‘real’ situation, you are often dealing with it through the lens of previous remembered experience. In other words, you aren’t there at all. Experiment with evoking the whole range of emotions—start off with a basic 6 or 8—lust, tenderness, anger… proceed to more complex ones, like gratitude or jealousy… experiment with different modes of each one. Remember to banish! This is—or should be—absolutely central to basic magickal training. If you cannot achieve a resourceful/useful emotional state at will, you are always vulnerable to enemies and manipulators. That is one of the differences between a magician and a non-magician.

The ability to change your state of consciousness via imagination takes us on to the next point:-

Correspondences and Anchoring

Correspondences are often used by magicians to attain repeatable states of consciousness. Correspondences work by conditioned reflex linking the desired state to a symbol at a pre-conscious level. For instance, a magician may associate personal dynamism and assertiveness to Mars, via repeated work with the colour red, iron, blood, and the smell of leather. Every time these symbols are used deliberately, the Martial state is evoked. In NLP this type of process is known as Anchoring, and it appears virtually everywhere—consider the power of a perfume or other unusual aroma to bring back a precise memory from years before. Consider also the ways in which we associate a particular task with a particular emotion; how do you feel when it’s time to get out of bed in the morning on a work day? Or again, on a day when you’re about to go on holiday? At some stage in the past, you had anchored a particular state to an imagined situation; whatever went through your mind, whatever picture or voice was in your head, had had that emotion anchored to it. Knowing that, you know that you can change any state, if you want to enough.

Will and Congruence

One of the central themes in magick is Will. This is probably best defined as ‘unity of desire and purpose’. This is the unity of purpose that brings about the reification of your most inspiring dream. Most people, most of the time, hardly ever achieve this condition, and simply wander from one passing impulse to another. Failed attempts to break out of the cyclical world of desire-gratification-frustration and achieve one’s dream of life often feed back to the person an increased sense of impotence, resulting in further entrenchment in hopeless cyclicality.

The condition of one-pointedness is known in NLP as ‘congruence’. A person in a congruent state knows what he or she wants, and is already in the process of achieving it, by that very fact. She can walk into a room and command attention by the slightest of gestures. The kind of congruence required to influence others can, to some extent, be developed by rigorous attention to one’s own body language and voice tonality whilst in the process of speaking one’s desire. This will lead to some inner congruence. However, the royal road to congruence at every level is to pay attention to signals from the ‘unconscious’ that manifest as body sensations, inner voices and images.

Try the following: get into a relaxed posture, and ask your ‘unconscious’ if it’s listening: you will probably get a sensation of some kind; this is a congruence signal. Now repeat to yourself a desire-sentence about which you have some doubt or fear. You will probably experience a different sensation, which is an incongruence signal. Experiment with different formulations of the desire-sentence, until you feel quite a different sensation. When you are confident that this is a congruence signal, you will have formulated a congruent desire. If you persist with such techniques, it becomes rather like dowsing. Some form of congruence testing is a powerful tool for magick, because you have at your disposal the entire committee of selves whenever you want to clarify your will.

Multiple selves, Goddesses & Gods

Chaos magicians have been working with the notion of multiple selves for some time. So have NLP practitioners, as the following quote from Frogs into Princes by Bandler and Grinder shows:-

We’re all schizophrenic… Evolutionarily, the next step, which we’re all engaged in, is multiple personality. You’re all multiple personalities. There are only 2 differences between you and an officially diagnosed multiple personality: 1) the fact that you don’t have amnesia for how you are behaving in one context; you can remember it in another context, 2) you can choose how to respond contextually. Whenever you don’t have a choice about how you respond in context, you are a robot. So you have two choices. You can be a multiple personality or a robot. Choose well.

We can view a personality as a pattern of social responses. It consists of language, of external and internal signals—body language, voice tonality and language patterns that project it to other people, and internal dialogue and internal imagery that supports it and keeps it in place internally. It has an agenda, concerning social power transactions via the repetition of learned roles (or, in the case of more advanced personas, adaptation). One feature of personalities is that they attempt to achieve (or believe they have achieved) some consistency of behaviour. They are in a sense functional clusters of word viruses or memes which have acquired self-consciousness, and in this respect they are like deities.

Chaos magicians invoke god/dess-like entities from various sources, including the archetypal/stereotypical humanoid deities of pagan pantheons, characters out of films and comics. The god/dess form Baphomet as used by chaos magicians is a kind of reinvented gnostic entity, culled from various sources, which has come to represent magick, and the universal life-field, the planetary biogram. When we invoke any of these entities, we are seeking to bring into our nervous systems a perfect (or at least improved) role-model for one of our personas. Or indeed to assemble a ‘new’ personality for some new function. These selves are then available so that we can access and act from whatever self is the most effective in every situation we find ourselves in. The use of samples is a kind of parallel in music to this modeling of personality traits we desire. Flexibility is one of the cornerstones of power.

Systems, Levels & Hierarchies

Magickal systems almost invariably involve some sort of symbolic psychocosm. These maps can be useful for doing practical magick—generally in proportion to how much the magician immerses herself in the set of beliefs that the system implies and depends upon. The usual meta-belief in Chaos Magick is that belief is a tool, rather than an end in itself, and a particular psychocosm is viewed in the light of its usefulness. Psychocosms originate from mystery schools (‘Qabalah’ means something like ‘oral tradition’) or from commentaries on older texts (the I Ching, reconstructed Runic systems), or from scientific considerations, like the 8 Circuit model of Timothy Leary and Robert Anton Wilson.

Some such maps can be viewed as purely magical or ‘spiritual’ in purpose. Such psychocosms have teachings associated with them which are only comprehensible if the map itself has been internalized. Further, some, like the Qabalistic Tree of Life, have an inbuilt up/down quality, a hierarchy, explicit or otherwise. This kind of hierarchy is seldom helpful in practical magick. For disentangling levels in the selves, the neurolinguist Robert Dilts has created a ‘Unified Field of Neurological Levels’. This is purely functional, stripped of any ‘spiritual’ message. Each level contains all the most general features of the level below it. In other words, the patterns in one level imply the patterns in the next level down. This means that change at any level will affect the levels below it, but not necessarily the levels above it (although this can happen). It is not the case that higher levels are more important than lower; rather, the model reflects the way in which willed change works: it is more effective to make a change at a higher level, and that is precisely what makes it a higher level. Dilts’ Neurological Levels are:-

SPIRITUAL: Purpose. This is anything which is at a higher level of power or priority than:-
IDENTITY: all the things we tell ourselves about who we are; we are often not conscious of the self-referential loops that inhabit this level;
BELIEFS: whatever ideas we think are true. This includes our criteria, which are implicit in the way we make decisions, whether we are conscious of them or not.
CAPABILITIES: these are our skills—not just manual or recognized intellectual ones, but the abilities that enable us to get through our everyday lives, socialize, make decisions, engineer our emotions and so on.
BEHAVIOUR: what we actually do in the world. Our usage of time.
ENVIRONMENT: the final level which we change through action (including magick).

Conclusions

Magick is inextricably intertwined with language, and language is just about everything. We are immersed in it for better or for worse, and so we need to understand it, take a grasp of our inner linguistic processes, so that we can become just what we want, rather than another robot whose blueprint was drawn up by someone else. Change is resisted by the nervous system, which prefers to repeat comfortable and familiar actions which have become ineffective rather than adopt new and more powerful strategies.

Magicians are generally aware that, in order to get results and fulfill your potential, you have to do things you don’t initially like—you have to break out of your ‘comfort zone’, in order to change. Through its modeling of successful change, NLP has accumulated (and is still accumulating) some of the smoothest techniques for changing beliefs and identities. This in itself makes it worth the magician’s while to investigate.

2012-01-28T10:11:00.001+11:00

it appears there is an issue with blogger re: comments not being posted, they are investigating this problem and i'm sure normal service will be resumed soon.

deja vu

2012-01-26T11:27:00.000+11:00

2012-01-26T10:43:00.001+11:00

i have made a space, a large clear area, it exists between realms, a place where all is still, all is quiet, it's harmony, tranquillity, it's sanctuary and everything that falls between us will sit there. the days have passed away like empty vessels of nothing. you can put what ever you wish in this space, its the un- carved block, it is the void behind which another place exists and the void moon hovers somewhere behind void sky, in a void town, void boy meets void girl, void love fills void hearts and we drift in a void like universe under it's gaze looking for the anti void until we find it.

it's one brain, one mind, a central nervous system, it's vaster than anything, it is anything and everything, it is everywhere, it's the huge great big universe of intelligence attempting to discover itself, through all life, through us. are we suffering in pain, all of us, and eventually we begin to loose our hate, our anger, frustrations, resentments, judgements, attachments and our desires, we begin to gain appreciation, some sort of humility, some sort of...love within our humanity. it's tested, tested hard, for what good is anything unless it's tested and we curse and fume, we react and respond, sometimes falling back to the lowest common denominator. we are fallen down only to rise, and find love. this is the way all men must travel, it is the path of the soul, to meet himself and find only god.

i don't know about australia day, what does it mean, i see people waving flags, eating animals, displaying pride, honking horns in big metal death machines. i see the beach filled with people playing games in an ocean, although it looks pretty washed out today in the downpour. i see a publics holiday.
in the past white people came from england and killed the natives, later they bombed them to hell in a-bomb experiments, then they gathered them up and killed them, or broke up their families. the survivors all were forced into the centre and away from the coastal areas, the european man came, and stayed. it is the way of empire. rise and fall, but the native folk will remain for they understand the land and the skies, i guess once civilisation reaches a dead end.

i skype brighton, my friends tez ad jean, how i miss them, such lovely loving people. i miss them so much. i am assaulted by people, territorialitists, greedy landlords and ever encroaching boundaries. maybe i have to move soon, it feels like this, mission control under siege from downstairs middle class buddhists, champagne socialists, megalomaniac capitalists, all the same thing, the most selfish of all the people, hungry for more land and money, immune to anything else but the unconscious need that drives them, the accumulation of more. i collect this information and place it in the void space along with all the other nonsense that clutters up my head.
i feel like i have lost my compassion, tez says i am angry and i think he's correct, i have never been good with anger, anger according to my book on emotions which i wrote about earlier is all about boundaries, i need to set boundaries and perhaps the only way i can do this is to buy a home. apparently now is a good time to buy a home, i'll investigate how this is done, i know you need a bank or lending authority to loan you the cash, ha, there's no way around that trap. i can't afford sydney, it's gone mental, there's nowhere to rent anyway, there's no way i could afford even a unit here.

2012-01-25T19:46:00.002+11:00

my natural inclination towards esoteric stuff comes from my family on my fathers side, specifically my grandfather whom i met only twice, the second time being the only time i recall. he was an old man with a long white beard and looked exactly like gandalf in lord of the rings, he held a huge big staff and he put his hands upon me and muttered some words which i didn't understand and that's my only memory, i was about five years old. even then i knew there was something special about him, apart from his appearance there were a few family stories floating around, and his wife was said to be very psychic, unfortunately i never met her.
much later when i was a teenager i was helping my father and we were in spain. i was about 15 or 16 not much of an idea about anything really just a young boy with the usual interests. one night i had a dream so strange i awoke in the middle of the night to tell my father.
some of the themes reoccur often in my dream, but this was the first of it's kind. i was a scout in some sort of exploratory party who were somewhere behind me, i was exploring my way through a dense forest and suddenly came to a clearing and then a massive wall overgrown with vines. i pulled away at some vine and there was a huge doorway made from stone, with an engraving above on a marble like plaque. it said 'spirit' and as i pulled the vine away the huge door opened and revealed a long corridor. the corridor receded into the distance and i could feel something at the end, a presence and there hovering all the way at the end was a huge stick, a staff, my grandfathers staff. i felt a slight breeze, very gentle at first, almost like some one was blowing on my face and this got increasingly stronger, until the breeze was a wind, and as i stood my ground the staff still hovering came towards me, levitating until i reached out and grabbed it, at which time the wind stopped and i woke up immediately knowing it was my grandfather.
i described my dream to my father and he said it was a spiritual dream, that my grandfather was a very spiritual man who gave away all his wealth and worldly goods to follow a spiritual path. i couldn't really understand much about all that, i was just to young, but i knew that dream was not just a dream, it was a communication, and that staff was more than an ordinary symbol.
anyway, when i say i have a natural inclination towards these things i think that's where it comes from, in my dna, my grandfather that i only saw twice yet influenced me greatly in a strange unconscious type of way.
i wish i had spent more time with him, i wish i could have more stories and memories of him of my own, i would have loved to know what he did, learn from his experiences but all i have is this strange experience, maybe that was enough.

2012-01-25T12:48:00.000+11:00

baptiste i'm afraid i have not been able to find the source of the quote you mentioned, however i did find an interesting quote by austin spare who perhaps alludes to the 'quote' in his statement, when he said,

'others praise ceremonial magic and are supposed to suffer much ecstasy, our asylums are crowded. the stage is over run. is it by symbolising we become the symbolised? were i to crown myself king, should i be king? rather should i be an object of disgust or pity. these magicians whose insincerity is their safety are but the unemployed dandies of brothels.'

perhaps the quote you mentioned is originally from another source, often these things have a way of being recycled.

2012-01-23T10:40:00.000+11:00

olcott and blavatsky founded the theosophical society back in 1875 to investigate the philosophy of the occult sciences and since my arrival in sydney in 1988 i have frequented many a lecture at the wonderful adyar bookshops where i have enjoyed hours perusing the literature they stock. while i never belonged to the society i respected their investigations and integrity although sometimes i felt some of the recent new age stuff they stocked seemed a bit weak and vague, generally they catered for all enquiring minds from a number of perspectives. the bookshop had many incarnations but always managed to maintain my interest and it came to my attention just recently it was closing down so i went to pay my respects and popped in. most of the stock had gone, it was the dying hours.
i looked at the small pile of books that were being sold for a few dollars, i picked up 'nivarna, an occult experience' by george arundale.
i spoke to a lady behind the counter. i told her how much the bookshop had meant to me, and how sorry i was to see it go, she smiled and pointed to a poster behind her.
it was a photograph of the earth from space and above it had in bold letters, 2012 everything changes. i smiled, she smiled and i though to myself in a strange kind of way how poetic that was that they had just embraced this idea, i wondered if they as a society knew something i perhaps just felt in my bones.
we spoke for a while, shared a little connection and then i left a little piece of history behind.

2012-01-22T22:50:00.000+11:00

the phantom tigers, the cobra lie, the worlds on fire and you have no time, dragon years bleeding the teeth of a monkey race, epic tower and structure trying to kiss space.
speaking in tongues, like the babbling angels, dancing on pins with the wild hyenas, kissing the mind of a woman from venus.

the shimmer of water, the fracture of ice, a little bit of sugar and a whole lot of spice. the indian mantra, the african breeze, kilimanjaro and old k2 peaks.
the ghosts of the frozen reach for the stars, inelegant movement of a trapeze artist, never to sure if gravity ended or started.

the foam bubble cloak, in a slipstream void, the ocelot claw as a talismanic toy, open the door and open the window, crashing the party, evading the myth, jokers are wild in a zoo of card tricks.
give me a moment with the goddess of sparks, i'll show you the secret of her unresolved genius, kissing the mind of a woman from venus.

a man with a plan, a globe bulb explosion, fragments of glass in untold moments, time flow backwards and into my heart, reconstructed patterns beget the light arts. entropy's children atrophy and withered. i'd like to believe the queen is a lizard, she's chameleon regalia all dressed to rule, and i am the jester the idiot and her fool.

PANS LABYRINTH

2012-01-21T23:37:00.002+11:00

it took me a few years but i finally sought pans labyrinth and it's everything i was led to believe, amazing film, really brilliant, don't be a dummy like me, make sure you see it. it comes from the man that made chronos, which is an excellent vampyre movie, he also made hellboy, but pans labyrinth is actually the best film in my opinion. very good faun and fairies to, with a hideous beasty who has eyes in his hands.

2012-01-21T14:05:00.000+11:00

deep sleep like a drunken god, dreams pouring out from somewhere, spilling over, it's been an eventful 24 hours from meeting my friend, a wild child, and having noodles and a lovely wander through the streets of oriental joints and connections, then onwards to meet my old friend's lilly and peter as we feast on medicines from a sovereign state located in bondi junction.
it was good to see pete who has been my doctor for many years. he's the only retail outlet for health where prices go down, he's mr. non profit, serve the community and he is quite brilliant although abrasive.
a chance meeting, an interesting chap who cured himself of a tumour by eating wild grass and drinking raw juices, i meet an old acquaintance quite randomly who offers to drive me home. it's very late, i've had a big day and a lift home sounds like an offer i cant refuse, as though the universe is being kind to me. i jump in her car and say goodbye to my friends, only to find as we drive across the bridge my kind angel is in fact some sort of nazi.
this makes for an awkward journey as she espouses her beliefs and ideology, i challenge her in my awkward humble way but part of me feels like just getting out and walking. it's funny how once people get an idea that suits them they become inflexible and thus their reality is shaped by what they believe. i jump ship prematurely and escape.
later i visit my friend val who has lost his mother in a freakish boating incident. i've been meaning to see him for a few days but our time tables were moving in opposing directions. it was good to spend time with him and his wife. we kept it very chilled, watched some tv, a show about a man who can plant suggestions, hypnotism, mesmerism, a mentalist i guess but completely mind blowing stuff, he makes a passing stranger forget his identity and adopt a new one as a beggar on the streets asking passerby's for cash.it's incredible, when he is brought back by a simple whistle blow, he can't recall anything and is shocked by the film of himself. this is close to me, as during my brain injury they said i had become another person, i did not know who my girl friend was, i had no idea of what i was doing in hospital and i was speaking with a totally different voice, much more aggressive and confrontational than my natural self. it took five people to hold me down as i was determined to leave the hospital. i have no memory of this.
but it makes me wonder how our daily lives are influenced by these techniques. another example on the tv show was the mentalist went into a cinema and hypnotised everyone in a matter of seconds into thinking they had seen the funniest best film ever, he brings them out very quickly and they are all in hysterics (except a few who are not susceptible).
later he asks them what they thought of the film and everyone says, it was very funny. yet no one recalls the story, any plot, any characters and any details, as there was no film.
we are constantly bombarded by suggestions via the media, advertising and culture. it's quite frightening which is where the techniques for liberation come in handy i guess, keep flexible, change your mind every now and then, reman open but apply critical analysis.
travelling home i finished reading michael moorcocks new book, 'the coming of the terraphies' which is a dr. who / eternal champion crossover. i found it taking me back to the dancers at the end of time, in a universe where anything was possible and all the boundaries of the imagination where free flowing, and there was some very wonderful sub texts hinting at the magickal universe, especially from the point of view of quantum magick.
it was a brilliant story, rich and well written, as a the dr joins a group of terraphiles, humans and aliens, who re enact ancient earth rituals in a very distorted way as sports for the famed arrow of law as prize. the surprise of course is the book's humour which i thought was a lovely quality.

there's a lovely passage where cornelius says to the doctor, 'this isn't just physics we are talking about, it's metaphysics,' the dr's eyes gleamed with a fascinated curiosity, 'it's the only way we can understand reality, and both are represented by mythology, by legend and the shamanistic power of humanity to tell a story that is an absolute lie beneath which hides an absolute truth.'
and later when describing the multiverse, 'wheels within wheels, shadows within shadows, self similarity is the key to all as our actions are reproduced throughout the multiverse. resonances, echoes...'
on the train home i meet up with arriane by chance, she shows me her book she is working on, it's part political rant, part business plan, part cook book and part autobiography, i don't understand most of it but i like her rants about the government.
we get soaking wet in a freak downpour at central, drinking our coffees under a tiny shelter waiting for the bus, the city skies very foreboding, ah, it will pass.

2012-01-20T13:23:00.002+11:00

baptise apologies, my blog ate your comment, yes i do recall the quote i am not sure who wrote it but it may be a play upon the statement, 'in the kingdom of the blind the one eyed man is king' i'll do some hunting around and see if i can locate the source.
apologies for the comment being lost like that.

2012-01-19T10:04:00.001+11:00

the global financial institutions have said we are on the brink of another gfc, a huge one this time caused by the governments who have made bad loans and now don't loan money to countries because they don't know if the country can pay them back, greece is an example of this but there are others.
i'm not an expert, i have no idea about economics, money and financial systems but what i know is you can't live on credit without having to pay it back, and debt is the name of the game.
the system has no integrity, it's run by greedy people and lacks vision. the only thing these people are motivated by is profits and power and therefore they will fail eventually.
however the problem is they effect everything else, anyone who has savings, a loan or a bank account will be effected, i'm uncertain how exactly but we will end up paying the price for someone else's greed.
this is beyond political systems, it makes no different which side of the fence you're on, the bail outs proved that. the capitalists adopted a socialist solution and if the situation was reversed the socialists would adopt a capitalist one if it suited them. when your in power you do what you can to keep it.
the best way to deal with this is by non attachment to the gods that these people worship, power and money. these are abstract illusions if you like, i really believe that. a man has power over his dog and abuses it every day, same as a government has power over its people and abuses it every day, all the greater reality is a reflection of the personal one. if everyone dealt with their power and control issues i hope that would put an end to all power and control issues on a bigger level. imagine a banker going to work without such greed or a politician accepting he or she is flawed but tries their best to do a good job, for there is no need for perfection, humans are flawed, they make mistakes and do stupid things and as long as they are not destructive then i guess we should accept that. the problem occurs when we are sucked into other peoples realities, and after all, reality is a shared agreement. i feel intuition will get us awakened, and insight will guide us out. these are divine qualities, and perhaps people should invest more in these than the city bank.

2012-01-18T18:03:00.000+11:00

in the other city the day is sticky and the heat folds in on itself like a heavy blanket, the light configures itself for sunglasses and wraps itself along the natural world like a belt holding everything together.
i whisper in my sleep to an avenging angel, she says she is high but feels low, i feel low but am high.
some kind of technology intrudes, maybe some where down the time space line i did get my wires crossed, could happen to anyone, anytime, least of all myself, when i wasn't expecting it.
caught out but not surprised i guess, ha well it takes a great mind to catch me out and there's proof in that pudding.
i will wander through the daylight, reading my book and discussing the touchy subject of reincarnation with my long distant friends who are always close by. we travel back together to the days we were in a band, rehearsing in a south london loft. we were not really friends then, i guess he was way ahead of me, i was just some kind of arty punk from the north side of london town. i belted out lou reed / bowie songs and sang the lines, 'crack baby crack give me your head' with a little to much conviction for his liking maybe. ha, i don't know i was just young and dumb.
anyway through some subtle space time manipulation we came full circle, after about 30 years being missing in action he played on snuff music for me, laid down some glam guitar on 'straight outta hell.'
off course i'm still a talentless fool with no idea but we are friends now, and we chat often, he always encourages me for which i am very grateful.
we discuss reincarnation, it's strange how few people around me accept this, choosing a rational approach i guess is the curse of modern times, rationalism is applied to everything and kills imagination. you see it in science, economics, politics and religion to, the enemy of vision. these days there's a terrible sickness to stop magickal thinking, to dumb everyone down into one mono acceptable culture. i warn tez that the next thing we will see is a political control being willed upon the internet because despite being filled with nonsense, hate and distortion it is a true representation of human consciousness as much as we want to aspire higher, the internet is where we are at and the powers that be hate consciousness more than anything, in fact that's what the war is all about.
later i go to look something up, i want to know about transmigration of souls and type it into google, thinking wikipedea will assist. this is what i find.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:SOPA_initiative/Learn_more

so here we have it, congress wants to control the net, once that happens change will be slower, information will go underground but it will still rise, for truth is like that, it can't stay buried. same with your previous incarnations, sooner or later they surface and you find yourself acting out dramas that you have been playing out since time begun. it's all just some weird pattern we have to confront or a doomed to repeat. isn't that right?

2012-01-16T23:44:00.003+11:00

city streets, chinese feasts, as i wander along old china town. twilight in sydney, as the blast of setting sunlight pulls the shadows and angles into the night, the structures all start to look like ominous towers from a gothic dark nefarious city. the gargoyles have flown their ledges and peaks leaving a few cracks in their absence, empty spaces, some sort of portal hour, i'm in kafka territory, super imposed realities, a convergence of cities, seeping into one another, bleeding out through my cosmic eye, a spider web of disconnection.
i am followed by a shadow being, i can't see his face but i feel his gaze, he can peek around these corners, stare through the walls, he can look deep into your soul and take something that you require to keep yourself sane, to keep yourself true and on the path. i take evasive action with my chaotic strides, and random ways, i throw my invisibility dust over myself and blend into the grey underwater dusk, undercover, underground, vague and invisible i loose my shadow, loose my skin, loose the boundaries i am imprisoned within.
there's a terrible sadness upon every face i pass, i begin to notice it, a disenchanted look as we are all dragged down by some awful gravitional force. it's a strange evening after a long day of heavy rain, black clouds, cold winds, with this eerie dramatic change as the clouds part and the last hour of sunlight penetrates yet only reveals more darkness.
i walk uphill towards old central station, the puddles have dried, the streets wash out, above me chimes the old clock tower. 13 times.
i like central, it's structures and walls, it's doorways and corridors, it's historical elegance. i like the way it mysteriously pipes soft jazz music through outdoor speakers
through the multilingual crowds i weave and gravitate etheric trails for no one can see me now all light has been sucked into the other city, the shadow metropolis, at the end of every train journey, the end of all roads, the end of the night.

2012-01-13T14:22:00.001+11:00

with the cloudless skies, the mild zephyr coming in from the west, the crisp waves lapping upon pristine beach my friend tim picks me up in his dilapidated car, the last thing you would expect him to drive, it's held together with tape. he's in a foul mood, disgusted by the way australia is heading, disgusted with the way everyone is following our leaders blindly, disgusted at the whole damm thing, and he's in full flow, ranting and raving, it's hard not to disagree with him but i hate politics, it's just so pointless at the moment, everywhere you look someones rorting the public. we are the cash crop, society is eating itself, it's soylent green only the cannibalism is economic. it's hidden away behind a screen of media, opinions, gourmet recipes and fashion gossip. it's depressing, i find it very depressing but what can you do, run around warning people, everyone is to busy just trying to survive and avoiding getting depressed, so i feel like i'm contributing to a mass fear just by being part of it. poor tim, i watch him getting angry and cursing everything, it's going to give him a heart attack or a stroke. detachment i say, stay detached from it all, just enjoy the good bits, the animals, the clouds, the thin layer of spray that rises from the waves. but it is not easy is it. i mean you can't escape political reality intruding. it comes when you're defences are low, it comes when you got other fish to fry and it comes when you really just want some peace and quiet. politics seems to exist in all communities one way or the other, it's all about power and control, it can exist within a marriage, a band, even a simple dinner party comes with politics sometimes. i don't know, maybe that's why i like being on my own, maybe it's why i like hanging out with my dog and reading my book, or just doing stuff alone. no politics. what is politics but the guys with the power bashing the ones without over their heads with a club.
i do come from a political family, vastly political, always watching the media, current affairs, always talking about global events, switched on and plugged in. when i was young my mother took me on demo's and stuff, marches, riots and all that stuff. i used to write letters on behalf of political prisoners and it was a strange way to be a child, seeing everything from a political lenses. but what the hell good does it do, the more i know about politics the more i hate it. who would be a politician?
i guess i just came to the conclusion if you want to change the world, change yourself. that seemed to bring about better results than voting.
have things really improved politically, well i guess society has got a little better, we have ipods and the information superhighway, we have health care and good dentists so i guess somethings are better but we still carry on like primitive tribes.
poor old tim, getting very angry reading the papers, soon it will be despair like me as he turns the pages.
i look at the ocean and the little boats wondering what earnest hemmingway must have felt like when he went fishing for marlin. i've never caught a fish in my life.

2012-01-13T10:54:00.004+11:00

my blog may be extreme bullshit perhaps, here's the strange thing, i'm not attached to the idea of being right about anything or wrong or any value really, these are just thoughts, spawned from imagination. occasionally some are based upon research and a linage that dates back a fair way, yes most of the people involved in this stuff have been called mad at some point in time, it's not uncommon and its part of the territory, when a magickian talks about the demon chorozon or uses any of his / her terminology they are thought off as insane. the last thing i am interested in is a battle of wills or ideas over sanity, i'd probably loose anyway. the terms are part of a reference system, they are metaphorical as all symbols inherently are including words. everyone's spiritual path is their own, one mans map is anothers trap, it's just the way it is, and yes i am guilty of writing some stupid things for which i take responsibility, but it's my process and that's what i do via writing, i certainly don't expect people to agree with me let alone read me, that surprised me! i'm not after anything, i have no agenda, not trying to change anyones mind or sign people up into a cult, a society or organisation, i don't even encourage commentators for if people want to read what i write they can chose to do that or not. i'm not even attempting to communicate with anyone else but myself through a kind of automatic writing process, i guess. and maybe one day my son will read this and find out a little more about his dads inner life, and i believe he knows me well enough to distinguish i have an imagination which is used quite frequently in my writing styles. he can tell the difference between the dad he knows and the one he reads just the same way i can tell the way that h g wells did not build a time machine but was playing with ideas in narrative about social structures.

the magickians path has evolved since the old days, it's now the path of a number of philosophical types, even some scientists and clinical psychologists. in fact it was a scientist who started the iot, which is possibly the most recent group of occultists to tap into a new magickal current. philip hine, ray sherwin have written quite extensively on these processes and all i have done is test their ideas in a safe progressive way that harms no one, except myself occasionally. i seek my own communion with god or what i refer to as the universe, and that is done through writing and magickal events or synchronistic occurrences that have metaphorical significance for me and me alone. perhaps substitute the word magick for metaphorical, it's just a word people used to describe a process that in its modern incarnation is actually surprisingly quite scientific. for the science requires results that are repeatable, and so does the modern magickian.
practitioners are in agreement that magick only tips the odds slightly, it does not alter the universe in great consequence and it is not the same as mysticism, although i have always held the belief that in order to be a good 'scientist' one must follow the process of mysticism.
history shows us that the most groundbreaking scientific discoveries have been made through a process one would say was mystical. newton himself after the discovery of gravity devoted the remainder of his life to alchemy. einstein believed imagination was more important than knowledge and for the modern mage imagination is everything. in fact it is everything.

recently after reading the crowley biography i read something i had never heard before in other books about him. towards the end of his life he observed that mysticism was the greater path. now before i read the biography i was emerged in reading moonchild, where i found i became very interested in the character alan bennet whom all the magickians seemed to looked up to with an other worldly respect. i was taken by this element and at the end of the book felt this was the main idea crowley was writing about, the main story was almost incidental.

yes my writing can be verbose and weird, it can go off the rails and be over the top, it can mention the taboo, it can provoke and be full of loathing and anger, it can be childish and ridiculous, it contains lies and truth, it's everything that flashes through my mind when i sit down at the keyboard and i very rarely censor or rewrite anything. it's sometimes wise and it's often rubbish and it's pointless to everyone unless you see it as that, a man writing stuff. why? because that's what i do. judge me, hang me, hate me, love me, it's not such a big deal for i can't possibly give offence, people can only take it from me, either way i am not attached to any idea about being anything else.

modern magick is completely different to classical magick, the 21st century gods are jim morrison for dionysus and tv personalities, it appears the engine that drives success within modern magick rests on belief. you can use any system as long as you believe in it totally, golden dawn, enochian, lovecraftian iot or voodoo. you trick the mind in believing it's true, which is why the mage spends so much time doing mental preparations, in the same way a method actor believes in his character and the film he is in is his reality while he is acting, i guess the diagnostic manuel would say that based on their perspective daniel day lewis was temporarily insane and they may have a point. belief is everything. which is why 'i believe in you' as a statement often has more power than 'i love you.'

life has taken it's strange twists and turns, it's been a trip but a very profoundly interesting one, different from the usual path people take and thats okay, it suits me most of the time. everything takes me somewhere, to a point. plant medicines took me to a point but they can't take me any further, magick took me to a point but it can't take me further. all that's left is writing and i know i have to go further, writing my imagination, love it or loath it that's where i am going, dead end it maybe but it is the journey there not the destination tat was always important to me.

i am ridiculously sorry for what lines i cross, it's never been an intention to even get near a line let alone cross it.
i am the first to confess i don't know how to be a friend with almost anyone these days so don't feel special, i'm always baffled why people actually like me and not surprised when they say they don't. it made me sad but i accept it, and i value your honesty, i always have.

i am not making excuses, i don't have any reason to justify myself as i take responsibility for everything in my life, good and bad and despite what people think about me i believe in myself, which i guess makes me either stupid or dangerous.

anyways, the last few days i have returned to the ocean, from where i came apparently, it's always a great place for healing, sorting my head and crazy mind out, tossing me around gently this time in magnificent temperate surf. i have also managed to catch up on much sleep, which is good, i was beginning to feel like i was living in a netherworld of foggy shadows and flickers. i'm gonna get some clarity in the next few weeks, it's coming.

there are another two things which have really effected me, one being the twin towers conspiracy, it's so fucking awful, i hate the idea that these fuckers get away with it, and i really hope one day they are exposed. i'm still haunted by the images of it. my friend says that i should not even worry about ancient history and think about what these evil people will do next. i can't imagine anything worse. i mean how much power and cash do these idiots actually want?
secondly a story which came to my attention in the papers, a small item on page 7 of the telegraph, it didn't even make the other papers.
this was a terrible story and i feel writing it will just contribute to making everyones day miserable, but sometimes you have to acknowledge the side of humanity that we don't want to even look at.
in brazil, in the amazonian rainforest some illegal loggers found an 8 year old girl from a very remote tribe. she was playing in the jungle, just like eden i guess innocent and free. they tied her to a tree and set fire to her. this girl had never ever seen civilisation, she had no analogue of life outside her tribe.
this was first contact and it murdered her.
oh humanity, where for art thou?

2012-01-12T21:10:00.002+11:00

apoptosis,information stream, random noise, look for patterns, integration ofsubroutines, diagnostics applied through subtext code, virus removal softwarehas detected sub personality 666 has insurgent agendas, warning, systemcritical, executing counter code processing to higher modes.

scanning,scanning, scanning, retrieval initiating.

2012-01-06T19:45:00.000+11:00

precision timed, complex intoxication, ghost moon, evolution paradox. i switched off the phones, unplugged the screen, the shrieking ravens and crows ate my oats as i stood on the balcony. ones called prometheus, the other called esmerelda i think they are married or living in some sort of committed avian relationship, they hang around sometimes pecking on my door as i drag myself out from my rooms, they have a message for me it seems.
'we come to bring you back in capt.'
'back in, what do you mean?'
'you been undercover too long, the crow says.'
i'm looking at these big black birds, they are fucking talking, in english. they hop around me, one flys up onto the barrier around the balcony, 'yeah mission, your missions over, we gotta pull you out.'
i feel like i need a drink but i don't drink, there's a cold mug of coffee in my hand, how did that get there, i can't remember.
'my mission? what was my mission?'
'you better sit down, we can explain.'
i find myself sitting in my hammock while each bird sits either side of me.
'you had a mission, hack the universe, find out what it wants. you had to infiltrate, get deep undercover and work your way into it. gain it's confidence. you were our best operative, we invested in you, and sent you in but that was a long time ago, many many years. you file your reports daily, we been receiving your transmissions. in fact our system analysts have been collating them, verifying the information, you have completed the mission much better than we ever hoped but it's time to come back in now.'
'back in, where?'
the birds looked at me, 'back in for a debrief. then get back to work, we have another mission that you may be interested in, something slightly different.'
'i don't really know what you're talking about, and since when do birds talk? i must admit feeling slightly lost these last few months, as if i have fallen into some strange grey murky depth, i can't remember much about anything really, the whole of my life is just a blur. i don't even know who i am anymore. but i like that, it feels like i'm close to knowing who i am and more importantly whom i am not. but its left me feeling isolated and alone, and distant from everything and everyone. i've lost all my friends, i can't hold on to people anymore...'
'you've developed what we call the deep fix.'
'the deep fix, ha, that's a joke right?'
the ravens eye seemed to dilate as he looked at me, 'it's the name we give to when the universe has made you. you blew your cover but you're to far in deep to get out alone, so we have to bring you out.'
i breathed out, took a sip of the cold coffee, 'that's the deep fix?'
'yeah, it's a bit more than that but essentially we need to pull the plug on this mission, despite the dangers it was a success, we have what we required. there's other missions waiting for you now.'
'so i hacked the universe, i get that, but what does it mean?'
'it means the missions over, we understand the nature of this universe, we have your reports.'
'who are you anyway, who do i work for?'
'well let's just say it's best for the integrity of the missions you don't need to know.'
'everything suddenly became far to complex, the closer i got the more complex it became until i finally got to the source code and it felt like something just had to give, there's a lot of traps and pitfalls, it's been really tricky but i was driven though. the mission had to be completed i knew that, i couldn't just abandon it. i guess that's why everyone who's searching for answers usually stop at love and don't continue, it's very comfortable. i mean most people would just think after love it stops but my pursuits mean i've driven friends away. it's not like i have many.'
'yes fall out, everything will be okay and lets face it that little experience was pretty special for you but everything changes, you know that?'
'yeah, yeah, i know, how long is the debrief period?'
'well mission, you've done it a few times so i should imagine this time won't take to long, then when you are ready we will give you a new mission.'
'i'm tired of it all, can't i retire to a nice place with girls and coconut drinks and some of those onion baji's.'
'it would be indiscreet to say?'
'the future looks so uncertain,'
'2012 is a cosmic point in human evolution, it will come at a cost but it would be indiscreet to say more about these events.'
i nodded my head, it appears the conversation had come to it's conclusion, but the big raven esmerelda added, 'we will be in touch' as she stretched her wings and followed prometheus into the dawn.
i wandered back inside mission control and looked at the reflection in the mirror. i had been in to deep, undercover, filing my reports, focused on the mission, now it was time to come back in.

2012-01-06T11:49:00.001+11:00

this is compulsive reading, go out and buy a copy as julians message and story will never get told as accurately as this. no matter what you think you know about this story, you will be surprised and shocked as julian tells his version of events. i suspect it's an official biography but for legal reasons the publishers have made it unofficial with julians consent.
i'm reading this on the bus this morning, heading towards palm beach when a old man starts talking to me, he comments on the book, asks me about my yin yang tattoo and then starts telling me about how he is in a group called structural engineers and architects for 9-11 truth. apparently there are quite a lot of members all pushing to reopen an inquiry. he says explosives were placed in the buildings 10 years before the planes went into them, and they were checked and activated a few weeks before 9-11. he said it was a controlled demolition.
now i get very nervous around these types of theories, i mean i just don't know, i do know that governments are fucked up and capable of anything but this is pretty fucking extreme. i can't imagine how they think they could get away with it if it is true. truth always comes to light. most people i know say it was an inside job, i just don't wanna think that we are at this point. i mean it's not like a few innocent people died. thousands of people died in that attack, and then there are the people that died in the wars. that's a lot of blood on some one's hands.

2012-01-05T22:47:00.004+11:00

i climbed up the towers, when i was younger, i remember standing up there looking down upon the city spellbound by the height and engineering, i couldn't get my head around how humans could build something so high, so huge and mighty, it was massive, i mean really massive, both of them were. the wind was blowing, i took some photographs with my canon slr, i ran around up there soaking it all up.

inside job?

i can't quite comprehend it myself, it's just to huge, yet the evidence is all there. but who the hell would do that and why?

oil, war and gold?
i don't know who they are, i gave up thinking about it because there's no point, as far as i am concerned the people responsible lost their humanity when it was optioned, and they will get their payback. i don't believe in evil just human stupidity, control and power, all governments are responsible in one way or another. and so are we, we voted for them, we tolerate it, we use the cars that burn oil, we are part of the problem, and don't think just because you buy 'free trade' products you're innocent. it's not black and white, people are exploited everywhere, they always have and always will be, it's the way humans use power and control and if you are really free of your own power and control issues, you just made the world a better place. that's all an individual can do i think.

yesterday evening as i plundered abbeys treasures i received a phone call, it was my friend, my very dear and really good friend whose mother had just died in a terrible accident. he was at the hospital and although i could hear the shock in his voice he had rung me to let me know because i guess in a way we are brothers. so my brother, my thoughts are with you today.

2012-01-04T16:21:00.001+11:00

the splash of indifference, the twist of nostalgia, the sliver of sublimation and pour through a stranger, iron out the wrinkles in time, and beat occasionally with a wet wooden spoon. when it reaches a fine consistency pour the liquid into the moulds and bake for several days.
yeah i'm sorry, i lost the plot, that occasionally happens, i default to something else, another persona takes over and well, it's not an excuse, i am after all a work in progress and mistakes are bound to happen.
my thoughts don't express well sometimes, ideas come across jumbled and mis represented, intention misunderstood, i don't know, i just write what is in my head, travelling through my crusty neutrons, i'm not an authority on anything and this blog is just a mode of writing.
i gotta express my ideas and reflect on them, it's a deep impulse i cannot ever limit, i can't think about the reader or what he or she makes of it, you're a free individual, you can make your own mind up about it, and i'd probably agree with most of what people say, the ravings of a madman and fool.
the point i guess is i am not my blog, i'm a traveller, a sort of astral psychonaut on a journey and this is my way of recording events, it's a representation but it's not actually me and most of the time ideas and writing are not very well thought out because it's a diary of sorts and a reflective device, all stream of consciousness. but i should not make excuses, while some of it may well be bullshit to the reader, there are some elements that are worthwhile. i know this is true no matter what, that cant be diminished or devalued.
one day the compilers will look through this work and organise it into sections for each persona that has written entires, and some will be liked more than others, some will have merit some not, some will be worth reading and others will be trashed. i accept that. however i will keep writing, and keep exploring and keep reporting.

2012-01-04T14:25:00.000+11:00

my attorney tim is a big man, he's probably one of my best friends, a giant. he's an intimidating presence, a vast aura of power and authority, he has influence over everyone he comes into contact with whereas i prefer to stay in the shadows, my attorney and i have a small spot in a sacred place where we drink coffee and review the transit of venus which is due in june. we ski over politics, tribal religions, women and music, and in general we are aligned, saddened by what we know to be the kali yuga years, watching it all with a certain detachment.
when you have children detachment is very difficult but i guess you have to extend it, practice what you know is true, children are much wiser than we are. our children do not belong to us, they have chosen to incarnate in our lives, teach us what we have to know. sooner or later we lose them, better to loose them to the ocean of life than a war or a tragedy of someone else's making. but what is life but a tragedy which is why the best banishing ritual is laughter.
laughter in the face of adversity, laughter at your own absurdity and the banal paradox from which there is only one escape.
umberto eco writes a fantastic novel based around the medievals churches response to laughter, it's called, 'in the name of the rose' and is worth reading as a fiction novel with a fantastic story but on an esoteric level as well. mind you umberto eco's novels are all multi levelled in this way.
laughter is the best response to the ending of a ritual, clearing space and also banishing negative energies, which is why sometimes it's best to laugh at ones enemies rather than to attack them or defeat them for what can defeat laughter, it is the antidote to tragedy. so look at mankind, strange little civilisation building it's weird little money hungry societies and structures, eating itself, killing it's host, chasing fame and trinkets, a million face book friends, a zillion pairs of shoes, a gazillion hits on you tube, an eternity of zeros and ones. i can laugh at myself, all my crazy ideas, all my words and ideas, all my strange little clues to unravel the mystery. a little pixie dust goes a long way, a little bit of magick makes it all clear, amongst the terror of meaningless existence, here's a way that actually does not reduce itself, it's clarity and perfection, it's the path of illumination and the brighter the more darkness we can see for this is duality and it's all nothing but smoke and mirrors, tears and laughter, ups and downs. i wish my friends were happy more than anything else, i wish them peace and love, a soft landing from the war, a little bit of a reprieve in the battlefield. i don't know how to help them anymore, i can barely help myself these days, just getting each day done is an achievement, but sometimes you gotta just slay the demon, look it in the eye and kill it man. for it's better to liberate what's left of the soul than let the thing claim it totally.
my words are keep yourself safe, protect the children and let it go and i am here if you should need a friend.

2012-01-03T16:42:00.001+11:00

the ocean, our ocean, cut the water surface for breath, deep rich blue, undulation in the mass of energy, it churns, yearns, pushes and pulls, it is everywhere, above and below and until i find my inner gyroscope i am at its mercy. stretching out, my body is awkward and slow, needs a tune up, i find my skin has limits unlike my imagination, i swim out into big waves, under their bow, up and out, following the physics of the thing, being intuitive. the surf is filled with colour, people, noise and random action, i avoid these children, dodging them as a wave carries me through the crowd, it's been a long time. i play my solo game, i being to feel time slip away. walking out past the sunbakers past the english tourists with their white skin and past the lebanese people with their word tattoos and loud 'doof' music, past the bbqs, i wander across drying in the sun, summer arrived, it feels good.

i wire some cash to jake so he can pay his rent, i ponder how i will pay my rent, i hope it's pay week, i eat some bananas, cream cheese, dates and walnuts wrapped, in a wrap. i meet my friend tim, the worlds greatest barrister and my friend. we go drink coffee together and discuss the government, both agree that this particular government has been the worst government we have ever lived under, we wonder about how the future will look for the young ones who will be paying back the debt we have accumulated as julia gillard sits in her big home with her big fat pay check, more than obama, and tells australia, 2012 will be the best year yet. have you got your electricity bill yet?

we discuss julian assange whom we both think is brilliant, we discuss quantum physics and music. i tell tim the best concert i have ever seen was the church at the enmore, he says pink floyd was his, we run out of things to say as we are joined by the multitude of brain dead zombies, enemies of love and light and liberation.

2012-01-03T16:22:00.000+11:00

the methods of augoeides have been well documented, they have also been suppressed and made to appear more complex than the process actually is, however it is dangerous and should either be attempted in serious and dedicated intent or avoided for the consequences are dire if the process goes wrong.
my interpretation is this.
the universe is female, it is intelligent and engaging, it is supreme consciousness and part of that exists within us. the god within, in kabbalah this is known as the spark, but there are many names to describe it in mystical traditions. let's for the sake of practicality call it K, which i believe aligns itself to the sensual or sexual magick crowley used and the tantric practices of the east. k also represents the prefect state of singularity that exists within duality, within us. this is the drive to seek liberation, light and love. this is the universe at it's most pure state in the dualistic scheme of things. it is the true will of the magickian, the avatar in earthbound body. possibly the thing that drives you and i together.
the process of discovery is fraught with danger since it leads to obsession.
the operation is to seek metamorphosis, a transformation, a rebirth. yet each incarnation must have purpose, why is k reborn into the life it has? what are it's lessons?
each life must be looked as part of the puzzle, each progressive life must be driven towards knowing the method of escaping the cycle of rebirth ultimately or serving the universe by doing it's true will.
one must watch reality carefully, watch the way it moves, look for the patterns, look for the metaphorical lessons, look for the synchronistic events, look for the subconscious landscapes, everything has a meaning.
as you follow your heart you discover your true will, this will become proportionally easier as it's unveiled, however the maya of consensus reality becomes more and more bizarre as it falls away and reorganises its self to you. part of the HGA process is to interpret every part of existence as a message from the cosmos directly to the magickian, this is the magickal world you enter, and this means you have to take full responsibility for it and everything that occurs within it.
as i have suggested earlier a magickian is someone who takes responsibility for everything in their life. it's a curse sometimes but it is a blessing really.
while this is manifesting the magickian begins invoking the augoeides, this is a process of love, prayer, dedication, devotion and ritual, it should be mentioned you are not adding to your personality but stripping layers away.
as i mentioned there are many methods to invoke ones HGA and i won't repeat them but find one that suits you and stick to it for at least 6 months after that stop attaching significance to everything and show discernment lest ye go mad. anyone who tries to shortcut this process will go insane.
conclude the ritual by the wisdom of silence, dedicate yourself to the HGA but never banish. later you can use more intense forms of gnosis while invoking, at the end of each day process the events and write notes in your diary, failure is part of the process, but there is no room for guilt or sin, for these are traps of the religious not spiritual world. magick raises the power of the individual and liberates not entraps or enslaves.
if unbalanced scraps of ego become attached to the augoeides by mistake then disaster awaits in the form of the demon known as choronzon.

2012-01-03T00:42:00.001+11:00

the city, this city, a million people a million stories, the streets are jammed packed with them crawling around the bargain bins and cut price shopping malls, everyone looking for something, under a clear blue sky.
i'm looking for a book when a man in a turban comes to me, he grabs my arm, and in the slightest of voices whispers, 'sir, you have a kind face, a very kind face, i can see this, i can tell, i can read your face.'
i'm stunned for a moment and then non attachment, this stuff happens all the time to me, while it's impossible not to feel something as it's quite extraordinary one must be careful not to obsess or place to much significance on these events.
i look at the man, he's leading me to the side of the street and i find myself following, 'i'd like to talk with you, i can see a few things, help you, i know things, i have gifts.'
so i suggest we grab a tea somewhere, he declines and tells me that 2011 was a very difficult year for me, he says, 2012 will be fantastic especially march, then he writes three letters on a piece of paper. MBJ and says these are significant letters, doe they mean anything? well i guess J could be jake but the MJ really don't mean that much. then he says not to wear black on a tuesday and then he writes something down on a pice of paper, he sticks it into my hand and tells me to clench my fist, which i do. he puts his hand over my fist and asks me to chose a flower, which i do. lilly. then he asks what my age is, the guy is young, he has a fire in his eyes blazing, tells me he in 2012 i will meet a very special woman whom will love me, she will be the one he says, and then he pulls open my fist and asks me to unravel the paper i hold. it's a tiny ball, and it's quite difficult to unravel. when i do it has a number written upon it, my exact age and the word LILY. he'd spelt it wrong i think, but none the less i was impressed although what these things mean is any ones guess.
then he said that i should pray every morning and he gave me a stone, saying it was very lucky but i should wash it, i don't know what that meant but he went on about karma, and he said i had good karma. he repeated the trick with the paper tis time asking me a colour and number so i said blue and seven, and sure enough written down was the words BLUE and the number 7, amazing but what does it mean i wondered. and then he warns me in a very serious manner never to have any business partners and says, soon i will make quite a lot of money, and then he says, never wear black on tuesday, and i should pray in the morning and then feed the birds. something which my father would probably do. he shows me some pics of some orphans in india and asks for a donation, i slip him some cash and wander away, wondering what it all means and he yells out to me, 'you think to much, don't think.'
i slip into a passing crowd in a wave formation, like a skool of fishes, i disappear. later as i am wandering around the opposite end of the city a crippled indian man grabs me, 'you have a kind face.'
i say, 'i've already donated some money to the orphans today,' and he smiles and nods his head and i look kinda bewildered.

yeah a kind face, soft eyes, that's me, old captain mission with the kind eyes wandering around in a big city looking for a book and finding a strange wandering band of hindu fortune tellers and mystics, truth is stranger than fiction brothers and sisters, that would be the title of my autobiography.

2012-01-02T10:49:00.002+11:00

the process of liberation is a strange and dangerous path and requires self discipline, and commitment, trust and a very good knowledge of yourself through the eyes of detachment and objectivity. it is also important to understand that life results out of diversity thus possibilities of expression are found in diversity. the cultures that are most flexible, adaptable, inclusive and complex thrive as do individuals.
to have individual qualities like these results in far more liberation than any power political structures, religious structures exert over oneself. read the 'gita' it's central message is:
the only war worth fighting is the war inside.
it is wrong to think that one belief is more liberated than another, certainly some allow more freedom to liberation than others but ultimately every new form of liberation leads to another form of enslavement, it is the potential to change that is important. we cannot be free in duality but we can attempt to choose the duality we live within.
the key to being free is not to limit oneself to the number of realities available, this is where multi dimensional thinking comes into play. get outside the box, expand the parameters, blow the mind open. it's an extremely uncomfortable thought as the journey includes loss of self, sometimes family, friends, society, culture, beliefs, opinions, ideas and the sense of belonging.
but my friends, remember to cast of ones shackles usually means adopting another set.
the best forms of liberation are the ones which weaken the hold on society, convention and habit. these will lead to a more expansive outlook and can be considered very dangerous but the methodology is ancient and proven despite being very confronting.
the map laid out by my predecessors suggest certain techniques and rather than repeat them i will sum them in a simple straightforwards way.

profanity or sacrilege- energy can be released via a profane act, this can be as complex as breaking a religious taboo or sexual one to something like questioning authority, basically anything which is considered revolting or taboo, just don't harm anything. in ye olde days it was usually sacrifice of an animal, a homosexual sex act, or for the black schools setting fire to a bible, or reading the lords prayer backwards and all that stuff. i think it's far healthier to respect the religions and schools of thought and just break your own taboo's or absolutes. for example i will eat meat or drink alcohol at least once a year as this stops my own self from being to fixed with my beliefs.
heresy - check out the ideas that appear insane or extreme, nonsensical, and discover that the ones you cling to are actually equally as bizarre. whatever you suppress contains a telling counterpoint to mainstream ideas. in arguments disagree with your opponent, especially if they voice your own view. these days this comes naturally to me, because i find most people know nothing about what they are talking about, the world has been dumbed down to such a low level that it is easy to argue with anyone about anything. most people i know believe the exact opposite of my own beliefs anyway. for example if i discuss my previous lives with some one and they begin to display a certain verbal scepticism i have the skills to destroy their arguments.
iconoclasm - this is hard but understand the space that exists within human affairs in theory and practice, means and ends. contrast porn and romance, gluttony and famine, consider violence as entertainment, look at what goes on in the name of religion and consumer society. relish the cacophony of fantasy, neurotic impulse, psychosis which guides sensationalist culture towards it's inevitable end. human folly is without limit, cynicism, sadness and laughter is the magickians privilege.
the body - the body is your temple and therefore holds more knowledge than any library. it requires sex, food and a transcendence satisfied with love, humanitarian work or artistic scientific or magickal pursuit of truth.liberation is needed.
power authority and greed for sensory experience are the aberrations of these.
self destruction - while you avoid the conventions you are still left with a mass of idiosyncrasies, prejudices and identifications which give comfort and definition to the ego or personality. self destruction is a rite of passage and unfortunately hardwired into our psychology, but without the correct map is not understood as a metaphorical process, which is why so many people actually self destruct.
an idea cannot be said to be understood until you understand the conditions under which it is not true.
the same goes for personalities.
therefore the principle of anathemism should be practiced upon oneself. this can include embracing the things you loathe until they are no longer loathed, scheme against the beliefs you hold most dear, you have to witness the loss or putrefaction of everything loved while reflecting upon the transient nature of all things. examine all you believe in and destroy it.
the personality becomes stuck to the face, the human spirit becomes a mess of petty identifications, the most cherished principles are the greatest lies, in magick the intellect is a sword and used to prevent identification with any phenomena encountered. the strongest mind clings to the fewest fixed principles.

the only clear view is from the top of the mountain of your dead selves.

this all sounds dark and a process that has no light, however what i have just described is basically tibetan buddhism without the frills for the middle classes. i mean how many housewives would spend a year in a room with a dead body while it decomposes so they understand the nature of impermanence.

the methods above is a sure fire way to liberation, alternatively one can use a psychedelic path which may take a couple of really strong does on some super strong lsd, or plant medicines, and some good insight or guides to steer you along the trip, or the tibetan tantric path which may take 20 years or more or as i have mentioned in earlier posts trauma can take you there very quickly with the right healer to guide you through.
i do think that this magickal map is the best way, certainly because it is a map and the explorers that have come before have taken great lengths to offer you a safe and fully understandable experience although unless you prepared to allow your boundaries to dissolve the map can never be read and the way is closed.

as i have a genetic predisposition towards these things they are second nature to me but the mind can be trained and these exercises will assist.

2012-01-01T11:09:00.001+11:00

a man should be free, free from the past, free from his program, free from what people think off him, what he chooses to do, who he chooses to be and how he chooses to explore his universe should be his own choice and non restricted by any law, uncovering his truth and then acting in accordance with what he feels his purpose is providing it does not harm another persons true purpose or will. in order to attain ones true will one needs to do some preliminary groundwork. in magick this is known as conversation with holy guardian angel or augoeodies, this can be reached through traditional magickal methods or by focusing on perfecting, motionless, breathing, non thinking, magickal trances, object and sound and image concentration which results in transmutation of the mind to magickal consciousness. the ability to change oneself has more power over the ability to change the external universe.

duality must be transposed, despite being the minds default position, which is why we are suffering in-between moments of joy.

laughter is the antidote and therefore perfect as a banishing act, it has no fundamental opposite.

non attachment of your own thoughts protects against obsessions.

the metamorphosis of the self and acts of magick must be recorded in what has been known as a magickal diary, or perhaps in my case a magickal blog.

in order to undertake a process such as the magickal one we must by pass what is known as the rational mind, for this will filter out the magickal universe.

as i have mentioned earlier in the blog there are very good ways to do this and the process is known as gnosis. my preferred methods are sex, plant medicines, sleep depravation and dreaming. don't mix and match methods, chose and work with one each ritual, there's a huge range you can chose from including, anger, sensory overload or depravation, trance, gazing, fasting, chanting, pain, drumming, fear, concentration etc you will find the ones that work for you through your own experimentation. once perfected it becomes second nature to hack the psychic filter or rational mind, i am considered totally nuts by most people i know, but this is because i work in a consensus reality and operate in another. the 'totally nuts' over time just becomes slightly eccentric or quirky and this is almost accepted although not quite, the magickians path is lonely but it will attract interesting and like minded people to, especially children, whom are able to see themselves in you.

experiment with the gnosis that suits your own brain / mind / body most people prefer sexual gnosis, this can be done solo but it's much better if you have a willing and receptive partner. the scarlet woman or whore of babylon are exalted roles and should always be treated with the upmost respect and care, for they are the magickians cup to his wand. i've found sexual partners whom find the magickal aspect of sex very beautiful and arousing and surprised me by their willingness to learn and experience and then there's some who revert back to their frightened morality and tag you with the judgement of evil or perverted, which is why tantra is used more often instead of sex magick, it's user friendly. remember to the initiate all sex is an act of devotion first.

2011-12-31T22:47:00.000+11:00

well i can't say it's been a brilliant year but there have been some peak moments, the sk stuff, the solo gig upstairs in that little italian joint was great, the award for the hall of fame was pretty amazing, the david neil gigs were fantastic especially the dee why one where sk made videos and i hung out with rickey and steve, sam and wilde childe back stage, the amazing night at the enmore. man those just were the perfect moments. i mean how many people get to be friends with their heroes and then find out that their hero does not disappoint them in any way what so ever, in fact it helps validate your taste in heroes when the rest of the world suddenly works out why this person is so exceptional?

then there was some lovely times with miss cupcake before the drinking, there was also some brilliant times with val and olga, the recording of snuff music was a brilliant process, the content is good, and evan and leanne who told me they are expecting a baby, that was pure joy for they are such wonderful people and i guess those moments when i chat with jake on skype or the phone are great to because we can't get further away geographically, there are quite a few books i read that really were fantastic, especially the rick moody book, 'the four fingers of death' but also the moonchild book which i re-read recently, i enjoyed it and learnt quite a bit along side reading it with the biography which once again validates the work of an anti hero, someone society excluded from history, who it turns out they say was the most wickedest man in the world when he was actually another fucking genius.

my works been great but all in all it's been a year of blows that have really tested me, blows below the belt, right in the balls. it changed me, made me more defensive, less trusting and slightly harder to reach and i had to deal with it, all the time it sat there inside me fucking up my aura until i retreated to where i have to go. the magickal will. that fortress is impenetrable but it's also quite functional and works.

and my friend tim who assisted write my defence, completely different from my own one which just spoke the truth, he was kind enough to point out truth has nothing to do with a court room, and he spent a lot of time with me, during which i got to see his genius in action.

it's been a year of breaking off old friends and making new ones, a year of strange turbulence but i managed to get through and now it's 2012 and we are all heading onwards to meet fate and i am focused, on track and happy. stronger, smarter, and closer.

dear readers, i wish you the best for this year, i believe that it's important to find your place, your position in the 2012 shift, this is only done by intuition, trust it brothers and sisters for it will not deceive you, believe in the power of love, believe in the universe as an intelligent feminine principle and get in touch with the part of it that exists within yourself. i will show you how to do this in the next few weeks.

2011-12-30T23:23:00.000+11:00

a great atmospheric ghost story set on a remote norwegian outpost island where the elements are at their most severe. a young man finds himself alone and manning a weather station while experiencing some strange echo's from a past event. there's a terrific sense of realism, an absorbing and intelligent story, again easy to read, i read it in under two days.
the writer captures the desolation of the artic regions and what it does to men, she also builds the tension up so that you're turning pages faster to find out exactly what happens at the end. it's not the best ghost story but it's a good one.

2011-12-30T19:19:00.001+11:00

gotta say people, isidore is amazing, 'life somewhere else' is so majestic, the songwriting and vocals are remarkable, i'm loving it and i'd recommend you get hold of a copy now, it really is quite an incredible piece of work. i'm totally reminded of william blake for some reason, songs of experience, not sure why, i guess it's all in the voice, a man that's seen far to much and longs for innocence again, knowing it won't return. i reckon william blake would love this music, it has everything he would approve of, from luscious deep oceans of soundscapes to lyrics that lift and descend into the glorious and tragic limits of humanity.
so we have isidore and guilt trip ej on high rotation here in mission control, both outstanding pieces of work.

2011-12-29T20:15:00.001+11:00

you must have taken the hypocritical oath, sworn to sword tongue barbarianism and brutality over love, you must have chosen this corruption because you have no insight for the heart of the poet. it was the poets who saw through the veil, pierced the occluded frontier, in trance cities they fell away the flesh, while the barbs of the daggers from the will of opposition attempted death blows, suffering and crippled the pen was always mightier than your bladed tongues and eyes, everything about you is sharp and caustic, like the fish hook of lies.
look waywards, across the horizon there lay's a place where freedom and peace await those who have journeyed, the road was filled with surprises and traps, it's a challenge, it's a trip, it's the journey we can't escape.
some african witch doctor once told me my best friend would kill me, it was in the bush somewhere in the mountains of tanzania. he said i should pay him in gold and he would remove the act from my future, i said no, i can do it myself.
i can do it myself.
they say you need to keep your enemy close, i say it's better they are far away.
i can do it myself.
i will do it myself.
i get protection from the people who do love me, i get protection from the universe that loves me, it's bestowing it's gifts upon us all, you just have to know how to receive them.
i get protection from the spirits that live within my aura, guardians, servitors, angels and a few demons i've trained.
i get protection from my diet and dieta. you are what you eat, and drink...
i get protection from the velocity of my own history, self directed evolution, towards something better than myself, for the flesh is always weak, but the spirit is strong, i may loose my mojo but it's never far away, i may even loose my way but that's all part of the mojo, i may even take the occasional hit but that's okay for it tests my defences and belief systems. i protect myself by the white egg light radiating around me, with it's purple strands and yellow solar plexus, but it is the green heart charkra that protects me for despite the attacks that is stronger than the forces used against it.
i told you i'm protected.

the year took it's toll, started great but ended in madness and sadness and now everything is at rest, how fast things change.
i have some final notes on clusterfucks, call it 'an afterwards.'

no one really wins, it just fades away to where it came from and maybe you bear it well but it leaves a deep scar, a blemish and if it does not destroy you it will wound you and hurt you and maybe even wound others close to you. it will try to do this when it realises it's loosing the war. but the clusterfuck is just an experience and it's there to also test you, challenge what you know, it grows as you battle it, spreading out into different domains, money, family, travel, friends, work, self respect, love can't defeat it although it may be the best defence against total hatred which is exactly what it desires. for once hate fills you it has won.
yeah you come close to hating, i felt my anger reach out but i never really hated it, just felt sad and even that sadness was a passing energy.
here against the clusterfuck, it is will over love that is necessary,love can't do it alone, it requires a little bit of shaping, the way perhaps a sword maker would shape his / her blade, for love needs force and force needs a will to command it and direct it.
the clusterfuck is not worth fighting but sometimes it leaves you no choice, it's not something you feel you can just surrender to as it won't allow you that option.

make a decision, fight, flee or surrender.
if you fight it's the hero's journey, mythical in it's structure and epic in breath, even an unexpected ally may appear from out of the blue to assist. choose your weapons, detachment, non attachment, psychic self defence, banish fear, invoke your spirit guides and face the battle knowing even if you loose you have won. this is not a judgement, merely a fact, for the clusterfuck is a self destroying energy, once you are gone it will turn upon itself again for clusterfucks obey the known laws of the universe, and for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
the best strategy to win this war is of course to operate outside the known laws of the universe. however this is hard to reconcile when you are under constant attack and your own emotional structure is being tested. trust the process and above all else be indifferent to the outcome for it is the lust for result which will get you.

the martian ambassador

2011-12-29T19:35:00.001+11:00

the martian ambassador is a quirky steam punk victorian novel set in a version of london not quite the london you or i would know, inventive, witty, well written and a great fast moving plot makes a trifectea in holiday reading. if you want something that's not challenging but none the less interesting and with a great plot, these are the ones.

2011-12-28T17:12:00.004+11:00

if you are looking for something that is imaginative, page turning and i guess dark fantasy these two books are the first in trilogies that are very worth while if you're wanting to fritter away a few hours on the beach, on a flight or just the bus, i read them very quickly and enjoyed the stories, they were not particularly challenging or demanding but riveting.
the writers are good and there was some remarkable surprises in both novels.
both are about young boys, old before their time, violent and in perpetual combat. there's elements of the supernatural and both have just enough humour to make them interesting.

2011-12-27T18:19:00.000+11:00

i'm interested in coffee it's a good drink, it effects my brain in a productive way if i use it correctly and i have a coffee machine i depend upon when i desire a hit, it's a good machine, even john malkovich and george clooney like it. well it's fuelled by capsules that are rated on intensity and although my tastes are not so refined i do have my favourites. the silver / brown ones.
so i set off into the city to restock my capsules, i buy in bulk so i don't have to go often but when i arrive the queue is massive and i give up thinking i have not got time to wait in a queue. i wander around the city, stopping off at a few bookshops looking for a particular writer but to no avail. on the way home i stop at the big shopping centre to meet a friend who fails to show, so i head back home when my phone rings, without going into a huge story i end up in a car that stops in a car park where a strange thin looking cat who is very loud yells at me, 'get out.'
i'm asking the driver whom is the only person i know whats going on and can i get a lift home, when the guy starts yelling, 'get out man we gotta deal to do.'
it all chunks in place and i hop out the car disappearing into the bowels of the car park.
junk addicts of this calibre all share one thing in common, while desperately trying to blend in they stand out. i don't have much experience of these types as my days were spent with a more sophisticated type but i hated this desperation and rudeness, and also the kind of unintelligible lifestyle that these chaps had created for themselves. call me an opiate snob but if you're going to meet the opium spirit do it in style. i know i sound like a judgemental nutcase but there's nothing worse than watching some cats attempting to act cool when they are actually sticking out like sore thumbs.
i should point out that i was only hitching a ride so i could get some milk from the shop.
anyway i get home again and arianna calls, she's got me an xmas gift and wants to go for a walk, so we grab the dog and wander around the dog park, i open my present, it's the coffee capsules. a minor miracle?

2011-12-26T19:14:00.000+11:00

hot sweaty lust, i lay there a spent force, covered in a weird male stink and feelings lethargic as the heat in the air and the humidity felt like a treacle limiting movement, i dragged my old body down to the mists of avalon where i attended a lunch with some old friends, people i have not seen for a long time, including my ex wife who is obviously discomforted by my presence but is quite gracious and we do enjoy a few laughs as i clown around, i do meet a lovely lady sarah who is a performance artist and pretty smart woman and her mother who is a kinda switched on lady with the gift of vision.
later i catch up with the girls and exchange some pleasant time, we are all in flux between events so it's short and sharp and soon i am home, ready for the end of the day, it's been far to long for me, and the idea of an astral event looms close and i'm keen to explore this.

2011-12-26T18:58:00.001+11:00

one day charles allan bennett and alister crowley were walking along the high street when they passed some theosophists who ridiculed bennett as he was carrying a magick wand which he had made himself from glass. allen promptly produced his and blasted one of them. it took fourteen hours to restore the incredulous individual to the use of his mind and his muscles.
at 24 he went to the east, sri lanka to devote his life to buddhism taking his vows as a monk. when crowley attempted to reunite the friendship and get bennett on board, bennett said,
"no buddhist would consider it worthwhile to pass from the crystalline clearness of his own religion to this involved obscurity.'
it was the one friendship old crowley would miss above all others, and his respect for bennett never wavered as a mystic he was way beyond crowley's need for magickal intrusion onto reality crowley proving the idea which i have come to that magick is for those that invoke and evoke gods to become gods, the mystic surrenders to one god. the magick and mystic divide appears inseparable yet for me they are the completion, one cannot be a magickian without being a mystic and one cannot be a mystic without being a magickian, for both one needs direct experience of possibility and potential, the manipulation is the magickians realm, tweaking the parameters to make it happen, it's a role, a persona accessing part of the brain that is god like, the mystic is god and therefore has no desire or lust for result. crowley appeared to have understood this later in his life, he was never the persona we have all read or heard about. his information was channelled from the universe or an intelligence called 'awaiss' and it is highly likely this is extraterrestrial in origin as his sketches are very similar to todays grey alien likeness.
represive english society treated crowley with the distain they do to things they cannot understand, it's obvious why his legacy lives on, he was great and his work was magnificent as was his life. the myth is a distraction from the reality, he was a man of integrety, and a spy for the english agaist all forms of fascism in the first and second world wars, here is a letter he wrote to the members who headed the german occult group.

'as for the ravings about jews they are unintelligible. almost the whole life in modern germany above brutality, stupidity, servility and blood thirst was jewish.'

the exploits of crowley are incredible, a man who gave the english the victory sign, as a magickal symbol, a man who set up some very complex counter spy networks in europe to serve liberty, a man who maybe gave einstein assistance the theory of relativity, a man who mastered mountains and yet was written out of mountaineering history and a man who established the new age in a way no one could anticipate, we are indeed in his debt weather we like it or not.
i finished the crowley biography and felt all the things i intuitively knew about him were true and all the horrible stories about him were nothing but propaganda and lies. anyone with an interest in the occult, science and mysticism should read this book, sure he had his faults but i think if i had met him i would have liked his mind because he was his own person, with the ability to think for himself critically and evaluate reality with great measure and insight.
but it is allan bennett whom still draws me in, the man crowley and all his peers looked to for guidance, a white magickian who did not practice magick but remained in an enlightened state detached from everything. while reading moonchild i feel certain that the book is as much about bennett as crowley, and in a way that is the key to the books central message.

2011-12-26T03:16:00.001+11:00

merry xmas to wayne goddard who is a true bodhisattva even though he once tried to kill me, you're a good man with a good heart and sometimes killing me is the only appropriate thing to do.

thanks to karen the irish witch and her redhead friend who was lovely last night and her cousin who made nice spliffs and to the people whom i met, very cool as my mind sprawled across into deep meditative zones and thoughts.

2011-12-25T16:33:00.002+11:00

xmas daze in australia have always been difficult for me, no family, no method, no guru no religion so i find myself following the flow, one year after the other surrendering to what will be will be, and this year i find myself visiting a friend i have not seen in several years. he has cerebral palsy, confined to a wheelchair, he's name is danny and i knew him about ten years ago when i took him out to nightclubs, bars and strip clubs. he always liked music, and enjoyed the vibe of a good band. we even bought him a keyboard which he played relentlessly, his head swaying just like that blind cat who played jazz and blues. danny still digs the music, i played him my cd as he opened up his xmas gifts, a new keyboard which i set up for him and let him rip into it, little blasts of sound, we set the rhythm track up and he played shorts bursts of dissonant organ, i'm clapping my hands and danny starts smiling and laughing and we get the groove going.
i sneak away while he explores the parameter of sound, i'm sitting on a sofa listening to him, watching him rejoice in some sort of ecstatic state and i'm thinking this is perfect, i wouldn't want to be anywhere else than here right now, today.
as i prepare some salad for his lunch danny comes out of his room, he's crawling on the floor, laughing and swaying his head. man he's loud but i tell you, he's free in that laughter, happy as a clam. a lot of people make the mistake thinking danny has limited intelligence but he's actually quite funny and sharp, just has trouble getting people to appreciate that he;s more than his body. he sits down at the table and eats all his dinner, washing it down with a soft drink, satisfied he crawls down and into his room for some more keyboard.

it's been a strange year, watching friends succumb to drugs, alcohol, stupidity, envy, greed, selfish whims and self destructive ways that cumulated in taking me down with them, i turned to ganesh for assistance and to magick, and to my own true self, i left behind foolish things, sacrificed everything put the cards on the table, the jokers and aces, touched the flame, incense and candle, drunk the amazonian wine that can only take you so far, i took the dream weaver and created my kingdom, walked upon water and maybe i drowned a little but i never once doubted my self, i know what's what. find out who you are stay true to that.

you can worship your dollars, your idols and sins, you can keep your little ego's for the game to begin, i don't need no illusion infiltrating my work, a little temptation leads to a world of hurt.

i got my motives and they are known

i have my passions and their on the road (less travelled)

i know what i'm doing is inversely proportioned

as you watched it fall apart (unravelled)

i got my motives and they are obtuse

and i know what i'm doing makes no rhyme and reason

and you just call it madness

but i know that it's only

love over sadness

you can have your money in dollars and cents, the banks are the temples where you deposit intent, and you can have all the cash for that's not my thing, you can have your lies and web of deceit, a little propaganda on a dead end street.

have a great day to all my friends and family, stay true to your selves, follow your star for you all shine very bright in my universe and it's beautiful.

2011-12-22T12:48:00.000+11:00

what is a looser?

well he could be the drunk guy starting a fight, he could be the guy that gets bottled in the night club by the drunk guy, he could even be a she. the spoilt little girl who inherits her daddies fortune but not his humility i dunno, winners and losers, a winner may win a few hundred grand on a horse race and then loose it on the dogs, a winner could be a looser if they marry the girl of their dreams only to find out she's sleeping with his best friend, or perhaps a winner could be a looser if they think by taking some one to court and trying extortion they get the person to hand over some free cash before it all goes down, i dunno, i don't care about that, it's all bullshit to me, winners and losers, no one wins no one loses, it's the realm maya so everything you say or do is kinda predictably unimaginative and uninteresting when you are drunk.

i expected your post court room attacks, the abusive messages, the tantrums, like i said, i know you, i see you and i call you. that thing inside you knows this, it fears me because i can kill it.
i forgive you, i don't like you but i do love you, as hard as that may appear to you to make sense. it's not totally your fault but you need to take responsibility, blaming everyone else in your life is kinda like being a professional victim, i know you're better than that. you can transcend if you chose, however i can't help you anymore and i'm not the best punching bag for you as your words are empty.

i don't know, i thought about how i would define a looser and i came up with this,

'someone who when they loose can't allow themselves to loose gracefully'

i hope you get there, i really do.

om sri rama jaya rama jaya jaya rama

2011-12-20T16:14:00.002+11:00

this devil is a woman, she is a tall drop dead beauty with immaculate tastes in clothing art and friends, she surrounds herself with desire inflamed with passion that's why the flames, she tosses suitors aside like broken toys, she lures you with her eyes first, undresses you with her mouth, she has the lips of a movie star and the ways of mythology never leaving evidence but always a clue.
i wandered around in the desert, kinda born again but in a sexy way, looking like a beat poet in a sharp suit, unshaven and unholy but with a funky haircut and nice shades, my suit was filthy, my feet bare. i drew a magick circle with a stick, lit a candle waited till dusk before the invocation.
did i mention conjuration's require sacrificing something, it's an old sumerian precondition magickians can't get out of until december 2012, usually some sort of body fluid is used but i had already spilt some blood from the cuts on my hand and forehead, so i offered that as the deal sweetener, however this little fallen angel required cash being the ruler of extortion rackets so i slipped some dollars down into the pile she had already burnt then i started, it only took a short time for her to appear, with her serpent tooth smile and her lithe body wrapped in silks and leather boots, swaying like herods daughter i could see her ways sprawling out as she spoke, promises of this and that, the stuff that lures, fame, glamour, orgasms, domestic bliss, notoriety, all falling around my feet for me to claim, everything i ever wanted on a silver platter, lumberjack cakes, coconut milks from the tropics, she was doing her best to lick my heels, she was quite sophisticated in her charms, offered me nivarna, peace, love, sex, obliteration, war, death, everything a man could desire but she knew i was on a mission, the circle held, she gazed into my eyes and our wills met, the chime of a gentle cymbal, rings out through the universe her knees gave way and she fell slightly and then i saw the evil intention for a moment, in her eye it flashed and then it slipped away receding like a sack of kittens drowning in a dark river, she gave a shudder before she fell upon her knees.
she said, 'why summon me.'
'to defeat you.'

this is the nature of duality, we create what our subconscious desires and it comes with its price, we must defeat our own desires, the war is internal, we must no longer desire and then we are in a place of power over those that do. is this humility or just ego, depends on intent. even power is an illusion.
you are the enemy of your self, love has to be unconditional to be received unconditionally and that's when it can move the mountain, for unconditional love opens all doors and windows, it knocks down walls. one should walk with that in their heart and observe the day and night how it effects their reality, then try it with anger.
to unconditionally love your nemesis is what jesus did in the desert, when you say, 'get behind me satan' you're binding the forces that rule desire to your will, those forces exist within you, tame those and the external one is nothing but smoke and vapours.
that can only be done from a place of love. intention rules, over and over again, the poets now this is true, they mystics know, the magickians know, all creation is manifested to experience unbound delight, it is female and therefore open to receiving, humanity is able to receive yet we are in pain again and again for existence is suffering, how can we reconcile this.
by the ancient truth of the sages, the buddhists and kabbalists shared the same methods, through devotional contemplation, ultimately destroying the mind in order to not use it to find the truth. for the mind is in the suffering, it cannot possibly get the picture unless it is not used to perceive it, which opens the way off the heart. however this is a warrior path, and will be tested for what warrior can be a warrior unless they have tasted warfare and are non attached to the idea of death itself. meet the challenge, evolve your own self, push through the fear and desire born from fear, trust the process, trust your own intentions. make them honourable not necessarily good.
these are preconditions to the magickal path.
the secret chiefs, the scared forces that work inter dimensionally, have given us many ways to have a relationship with the universe, tantra, meditation, yoga, shamanistic plant medicines, intuition are all pathways inwards, to 'tune in' but to 'turn on' one requires devotional elements, practice and commitment, and to 'drop out' requires no fear and total trust that the intelligence of the universe will direct you to it as long as you are aligned and in harmony with it's will. those that do are avatars and often present as mad.

2011-12-20T13:22:00.001+11:00

sunrise on the highways, heading towards the ocean, conflicting light crashing the angles, cars everywhere littering the sleeping suburban vistas, toast burns, kettles boil, wife's and husbands fake the daily grind, cars reverse from driveways and we hurdle down like hunter s thompson and his attorney high on venusian lsd and afghan porcupine spikes, some horrid songs pouring from the radio, a splattering of clouds dissipate in the fast forwards. i'm wrestling with my thoughts, strung out on sleeplessness and chocolate bars dipped in coffee, can't stop talking about the theory of unpredictability versus planks constant when i catch the look on my comrades face, he's bitten through his lip, blood streams down his face and his eyes are like frozen plates on a stick.

'hey man, breath.' i say, while i light up another porcupine spike.

he tries to say something but it comes out sounding all distorted, 'um... fra... faa... zeze... mmmm.'

i turn the radio off and lean back, palm trees are whacking past my head, i put on my rose coloured sunglasses and laugh as one of these suckers offers me a coconut drink, i wash the porcupine spike down with the sweet juice.

we've ended up in miami, beautiful girls in bikinis wander along the beach front, waving, i'm wearing a bright red shirt and a panama hat, my companion is pulling the suitcases from the boot of the car, he's searching through them, chucking clothes onto the floor, 'grtta mmmeeeanti dodo.'

clothes, books and drug paraphernalia fly through the air onto the beach.

i lean in and masterfully grab a book from his big paws, 'hey, not my necronomicon, it's the only copy on the planet.'

'shhh..udd, sss...mon...ppp sssuuummm..,ssser..day it eee.'

suddenly he jumps upwards and a contorted smile breaks across his ugly face, he' found what he was looking for a fur glove, he slips it over his hand and strokes his face, running the back of his hand gently across his cheek.

the sky is electric blue, like a photo shopped postcard, it's far to hot for days like these, and it's not even morning really. across the street some uniforms are looking in our direction, i get a flash of some police brutality, clubs, handcuffs, a can of mace, a young law enforcer whacks the legs of a pregnant woman and watches her fall, while her husband is screaming they laugh and hold him back at gunpoint. i start to feel uneasy.

'get the gear, lets go.'

while he throws the stuff back in the boot in a kind of arbitrary chaotic manner the narcs start to move in slowly and indiscreetly.

i get the engine started and start to crawl forwards, 'come on, let's get outta here.'

some guns are waved around and my attorney waves at me dismissively and walks to confront the narcs. my options are running down the funnel of choice, i see them sink into a dark vortex, they aint coming back sister. i reach for another porcupine spike but then this shouting and hysterics shocks me into action, my foot hovers over the accelerator and i hear some kerfuffle, the back door opens and something seems to fill the space, i can make, 'shhh...lllzzz...ggotttagonnna.'

my foot hits the accelerator and the hot stink of tyre rubber burning is left behind as we zoom away to the thrill of the beautiful bimbos and observers that flank our sides. i peer into the mirror, it's the police woman, he's kidnapped the fucking policewoman, but she don't look worried, she don't look distressed at all, in fact she's kissing my attorney like a cheap mexican whore, her hands wander all over his body and she's already saying things to him that make me blush as he strokes her with his gloved hand. then she leans forwards and in the most politest of voices asks for a porcupine spike, i toss her a few and try not to look in the mirror, in the distance sirens wail. i take a winding route through the old city, zig zagging my way until we reach the southern highway. we have a full tank of fuel, i have my sunglasses and am sucking down some coconut water. i switch on the cd player and the rolling stones play. 'waiting on a friend' and when that juicy fat sax starts up, the sun setting behind us, the warm night kicking down tomorrow, the clear road ahead i start laughing and wonder if freedom always felt so good as i forget what i have remembered to leave behind.

at a motel i leave my attorney with his new flame and i drive to the desert looking for the hopi tribe. i pull up outside the reservation and then have to exchange some pleasantries with a sentinel who seems concerned that i may not offer the kind of respect an american tourist would, 'hey i'm a fucking gentleman let me in, i come bearing the gift of the afghan porcupine spine.'

well like magick words the porcupine spines open all doorways and i hand over my bundle to the sentinel who appears all friendly and welcoming now, as he points to a large hut with a few candles burning on the porch and a couple of goats ties up to a pole. i wander in. the chief is known as happy but it's not him i'm interested in, it's the medicine man, miguel who sits buy the chiefs side inspecting the bundle of spines. how did that happen?

teleportation i guess, these hopi peoples know all sorts of voodoo.

so medicine man is preparing me for ceremonial visionary questing, i have to take a steam clean and then be bathed by the women and then put on ceremonial robes and imbued with oils and smothered in some strange smelling cream.

in the small tent i sit opposite the medicine man, he's enjoying the porcupine spikes and i think ive pleased him as he can't stop grinning, and occasional little giggles escape his strange looking face, kinda cross between an oriental stand up comedian kung fu expert like jackie chan and winnie the pooh. he's enjoying the spikes, he has thee sticking out his mouth.

i drink the potion he has made, sticky black stuff, molasses, it even tastes great.

i was waiting for the stuff to kick in, my mind was slowing down, my body relaxing for the first time in days, i felt clean and safe. i'd heard about these hopi dudes on the radio, they were interviewing a professor about their calendar and mystical beliefs, these hopi folks sounded switched on and in touch with some cosmic intelligence. they also had a very defined understanding of the reincarnation process, which was where my interest lay. for i needed certain information about the nature of my life, it was spiralling out of control addicted to the porcupine spikes and various nefarious activities that were taking me into edges of the universe i was growing bored with, there's only so any dimensions a man can walk down.

i had no idea why or what was driving me but it was a self destructive force and i no longer felt comfortable in my own shoes, i was loosing interest in the people around me, their activities bored me as did our pursuits, i required the only thing left for a man to desire, the only satisfying fix, the truth.

hedonistic pursuits were not the answer, in fact they were distracting my quest, mind expansion worked to a certain degree, and magick had taken me to a far point where things made a strange elusive sense but in the most abstract ways.

i felt my body numb. the face of the shaman leers and distorted itself and he chanted some words of power and i felt myself sinking or was it shrinking, or growing, down the rabbit hole.

i was in the wrong body, that was the first thought, i'd incarnated into the wrong body, a body of a woman was actually what i was after, some one sexy and smart, a kind an embodiment of the feminine but with a black belt in karate or tai chi, i wanted a theoretical physicist who knew how to load a glock, i wanted to be a witch who also runs a major corporation.
i could see her as she came towards me her long hair in a sort of wind funnel flow, her skin white and soft, her lips red like flames and her cheeks aglow, then it changed and she was carrying an egg, she held it in cupped hands and passed it to me, i looked into her eyes and she began to fade, the egg started cracking, and a dragon appeared. it was small and covered in purple and black scales, it had a classic fantasy dragon look except it was tiny and brighter than i would have thought, it had the most beautiful eyes, soft and gentle, intelligent. i placed it before me and watched its exquisite beauty, my heart started to beat as it began to transform. now the dragon became a man, it happened so fast as if i had transcended time, the environment seemed to dissipate and change, morphing around me into a ever mutable landscape, sometimes natural, trees, oceans, deserts and sometimes man made, cities, small villages, large monuments erected to deities and astrological significance, sometimes the peripherals just appeared a single colour but most of the time my attention was concentrated upon the activities before me, the man was me. it was identical in almost every way except it was slightly leaner, slightly more healthier and vibrancy aura, less jaded and with a softer edge. the other me was smiling and his teeth were in much better condition than mine.

he was talking, and i had to attune my ears to listen, 'it's just a simple formula, you're very close to getting it but your not quite there, you have to offer the light to receive it, offer the

light captain mission.'

suddenly all was black and i floated in a cloud of octopus ink, warm and naked, like a baby, and my thoughts had ceased and my body seemed to be absent, and my will was gone and i was dead.

awoke to the harsh sound of birds, crows, they sat around my body, one upon my chest looking at me with his eye, head tilted to one side.

'we have returned you. learn yoga, meditate upon nothingness, seek no answer, ask no question, discipline your inquiry through discipline of your body, your mind is free but your body is a cage, eat only that which sustains, love well, over power the darkness with your light, offer the light unto the darkness, peace, harmony, love....' and onwards it went, spiritual truths, hundreds from all traditions, all pointing to the same things, in the end it was one single noise, an AUM, droning onwards out into the stratosphere and beyond and soon the space was filled with alien beings who had tuned into this vibration knowing that there was intelligent life on earth and that earth transmitted ths message into the galaxy, and the AUM was heard throughout creation and the universe was alive with it's sound and then it spoke back, and i understood everything, everything.

i stood up in the desert sun, my suit was drenched in sweat and sandy dust and i had lost my boots, my face felt dry but my body, my body was everywhere, i was in everything, my body moved but i seemed to be watching it, from all angles, i watched and inside i felt a great understanding and love, it beat out of my energy system, like a rainbow, colour explosion, it was magnificent but i could also feel it, i was feeling it from outside myself, and from other things, small animals, bugs, a few shrubs, a lone crow above. i was transmitting and receiving, knowing myself for the first time. i was liberated and set free, yet i still understood the paradox of existence lays in separation, and i could feel the bodies desires begin to tempt me back, a hunger for a porcupine stick, some cool refrigerated place where i could shower and shave and get out of these clothes, a nice bed to sleep on, a meal. the sorrow of separation was as real as the unification,and buddha's words 'life is suffering' rang true to me, and i laughed as i walked into the desert to meet the temptress, for i knew what i have to do and i forgave them for they did not know, they could not know, the magickal path is the only path that will lead towards some sort of liberation but it is only when it is reached not used that one is liberated, true power is the will not to use it, for magick delivers you to a doorway and only becomes real when you are non attached to it as you would be any other construct within the universe, in fact the goal of magick is the same as mysticism. crowley knew this in his friend allen bennett aka mahatera phang, that's why everyone looked to him with total respect and love. i was smiling as i walked into the night, ready to meet the devil himself, but that's for tomorrow.

2011-12-18T14:34:00.001+11:00

the church - three incredible albums live, untitled 23 the lush emotive strength of power and force meeting grace and sublimation, a transforming fix of evocative soundscapes that pull you in to their landscape and if you're not weeping you're already dead.

then there's priest = aura the epic, wagner meets mahler meets proust on smack, the musical grimore to the opium goddess, the terrifying yet magnificent velocity of these songs sucking you into the empire of dreams and nightmares, played with such power and beauty one can only tremble at the journey made and know that the writer made it back with a strange story to tell about the edges and perimeters experience can take a man.

lastly starfish, ode to a lost city, a masterpiece of displacement and scorn, a complex joke in a complex fractal and the punch line is a bitter truth 'we have lost our way.' starfish is like a prayer, made up of postcards from a bad trip, the searing words cut through the glamours cast by the los angeles demons, the corrupting angels, under clear visionary perspective.
each album preformed in full, in sequence, with incredible sound, this cannot be over emphasised, the sound guy nailed it perfectly and if there is justce, should be THE only person to do the church sound from now on. everyone agreed the sound, the mix, the clarity could not be better.
marty looking excellent as he stands in black, lean and ever leaning into his guitar, meshed as one single unit, he played with the passion of a holy man, fire in the eyes, searing through the sound and vision, into the elegant playing of peters guitars which added the sonic layers of tapestry and harmonics, intricate and complex, elegant to the point of sublime, the church are a guitar band after all, but they take the guitar and transform it into something else.
tim plays the drums, he is in my eyes the best drummer the church have used, for he uses the less is more quality the daoist approach, he keeps it all together, and his embellishments will leap out and wrap themselves around you like a snake or a serpent, they rise up and strike and once you have been bitten you're left wanting more.
throw into this craig wilson, part time member of the church, a young multi talented guy playing, mandolin, guitars, keyboards and some percussion and you have that wonderful round corner that balances the edge.
but it has to be said that it was steve tonight who held us all, spellbound, the man did not play as much base guitar as he usually does, in fact there was no base on all on aura, instead he played the guitar, but steve being free of an instrument was able to focus on some other skills that constitute his genius, acting, theatrics, mine and singing his words, for those words were delivered in a way that matches their content.
for me it was as though shakespeare or proust or milton or philip k dick were narrating their work via richard burton, ben kingsley, johnny depp and orson welles. this was not a rock concert, this was not popular music, there was nothing about this performance that was not enriching, challenging, disposable, because it was the real deal, authentic art from artists that have been generous enough to share their talent with us and take us with them for thirty plus years into territory that challenges, provokes and stimulates the listener as much as surprises us. the church are in a special place right now, they can do anything they want from now onwards, it's taken over thirty years to get the recognition where people listen to them with the respect they deserve, and steve's lyrics taken as serious writing. all in all the great work is done, but the interesting thing is where they chose to take us next, because this is just the platform on which they can leap into the stratosphere if they chose or burn up like a beautiful star we all saw shine in our skies and followed knowing it would lead us to a promised land. it has.
we were delivered safe and sound and much richer for the experience but oh how i want it to go on. there's very very little that gives me this much joy but to see the church live is like an autistic phase-out into bliss. they are the moments, spalding describes in his books as perfect moments, they are short lived and far and few between but when i see the church, that's one hell of a hit!

2011-12-16T14:29:00.002+11:00

finished reading moonchild, and i must confess towards the end i began to loose the narrative slightly, it begins to shift and change as lisa's personality begins to change and she enters an astral level depicted by the tarot card, la lune, however pushing through this surreal piece of writing the twist in the tail comes as lisa runs into the arms of a rival lover to the protagonist cyril, where she gives birth to an unwanted daughter.
the end of the book finds the white magickians joining the allies and the black lodge joining the opposing forces as war breaks out, this really is quite a clever ploy as the white magickians reveal although they lost lisa they used her as a pawn to distract the black lodge while creating many other moon-children who would save the human race. but it is the final conclusion of moon child that raises crowley up in my eyes, for he ends with such a powerful and fundamental truth that any reader who is attuned to magickal thought would find emotive and moving. brilliantly written for the time, occult concepts strewn throughout the story and the mystical understanding that shines through the ending will linger on for a good few days.

keep it secret - gregory scott slay

2011-12-16T11:08:00.000+11:00

Gregory Scott Slay - "Keep It Secret" from Brooklyn Vegan on Vimeo.

2011-12-13T08:50:00.000+11:00

helicopter summer, moving forwards while going around and around, i spend my time with media infected junkies, plugged in to the daily whatnot, downloading fiction, stressing fantasy and pawning the future for plasma tvs and coke. my dog gets it, he's actually a unicorn. he dreams below me as i dream above in my hammock, listening to the guild trip, remembering what my soul has not forgotten, i am happy, i've reached a good point in life, weeding out the shadows, being more selective and tuning into what people really are, getting in tune with who i am, culling my friends from my enemies, i don't want my enemies close any more, the further away the better. i rather be alone.
but i am happy, and that is to be valued. gratitude, for i have survived. i am disconnected from the fragment of reality, it's tiny shard of ridiculous illusion has bored me, politics, religion, power and control, it's all nonsense, the games of small minded fools.
moonchild is rather good second time around, it's so advanced for its time, and the biography is compulsive reading.

REPTILE - THE CHURCH

2011-12-12T19:17:00.001+11:00

2011-12-09T22:59:00.001+11:00

the endless sea, starts with a drum beat, enter the base line, and then that keyboard, and then the guitar all whacked out on heroin, oh baby what a place to be, in the service of the bourgeoisie, iggy sings, and it's that beautiful subtle harmony on the word endless and that hawkwind synth line, and there's some sort of perfection in this song as we move through the landscape, we see the boys with their empty looking eyes, beautiful girls staring out like vacant parking lots, and here comes captain mission....

i walked through the night in my velvet suit, looking like a heretical astronaut, i touched the skin of a dead girl suspended in silk. she had two soft eyes, burning hard liquid lips and the soul of an ocelot. when her lips touched mine they bloomed momentarily, i caught flashes of her tragedy, she had bad taste in men, not an original trajectory, i couldn't help her.
some one was playing russian roulette with two pistols, jeered on by a crowd of religious folks, fundamentalists from the wetlands. some one was reading from the bible, spitting out angry words like a baptist machine guns rapid fire.

yet she increased her prostitution, remembering the days of her youth when she engaged in prostitution in the land of Egypt. She lusted after their genitals as large as those of donkeys, and their seminal emission was as strong as that of stallions - Ezekiel 23:19-20

while another group played poker, cards dealt by a hooded skeleton wearing a blue oyster cult tee shirt and smoking a joint, he's got a pile of money before him and talks not unlike keith richards, in actual fact looking closer it is keef, he leans back an offers me a jack, i decline but grab the joint and walk into a kitchen where a group of supermodels are doing lines on a kitchen table. i make a sandwich, cram it with some sort of nut spread, the texture is creamy and one of the girls starts to poke her finger into the jar and lick it seductively, like some sort of porn star. it's only a matter of time before she's smearing the spread all over her body, her friends gaze on encouraging her. i leave the party and catch the night bus home. the night bus ride, into the dark suburbs, speed is the drug here as the handful of passengers travelling home look out at the void. yeah all passengers on this bus are tired and wanting to go home, we seen the outside, with it's hungers and desires, with it's desperation and tears, we got our ticket out, we just want to get home, leave this weary cage, some one at the back starts singing softly, an old song with the lines, 'all i need is providence.'

2011-12-07T20:49:00.001+11:00

isadore have a new cd out, it's called 'life somewhere else' and i have played it once in my usual ritual of playing the church related music, the conditions must be perfect, no interruptions, no distractions, no speaking, no telephones, i usually attain an altered states and just listen.
the verdict is... it's magnificent, i really love it, which i know will come as no surprise but my god... this is amazing music, and steve's singing and lyrics are getting better and better as time progresses. remember this is a man who is master of his skills, he don't need introduction, he's got his great work and that says it all, his history speaks for itself but watching his genius grow is an incredibly beautiful thing. his collaborations are equally as brilliant, quite different and somewhat remarkable in the way they maintain a very high quality, something almost pure and on occasions pure. the ideal is reached.
but with this cd mr. cain has created a very interesting layer of sounds to lay steve's words and voice upon, it is from my perspective an architecture. i can see a building when i hear this music, it's like the pyramids, astrologically perfect but suspended in space and time just like tanelorn or interzone. but this city rotates, it gleams and glistens, it's intricate and complex, not just made of bricks and steel, it is created from some sort of crystalline structure, this is something from the future, like a roger dean painting. (there should be a word for a image of the future from the past. what would you call that? retro future nostalgia).
well this building is from the future but it's defiantly close to a roger dean picture, a strange curious perfect shape hanging in blue skies above a tranquil ocean or still forest, this building is a city is huge and populated by all types of lifeforms, it contains gardens, jungles, lakes and fields, a vast array of life fills it. the building is shaped like a polyhedron, a diamond shape that also contains the mystery of human experience, sadness, loss and tragic heartache, it's all in crammed in here played out on this cosmic stage, the universe.
hear the hurt and sorrow, all here in this strange wonderful structure. a self enclosed space that is rich with immense beauty to explore, it's life somewhere else but it's life, i understand this veil of tears. this is a beautiful pice of music people, it's strong and mighty and that's the power that keeps the structure defying gravity. we all know that building, we have all been there or we are all going there, it's the place where things that are falling apart are healed.

2011-12-05T17:31:00.001+11:00

for some strange reason i have started re reading moonchild by aliester crowley, a book i read when i was 17 that made an impression upon me, certainly made me more concious about ideas of conception and intention, but this time around i am getting a huge amount of supplementary information as the main characters divulge the tenants of esoteric philosophy and crowley himself is presented in a number of incarnations. simon iff the old taoist detective and the main character, the enigmatic cyril grey, ladies man and magickian. in fact all of crowley's crowd are in the book including alan bennett as the mysterious buddhist monk who says nothing but has everyones respect as a holy man and mentor. although the dialogue is dated the book is quite provocative, sexually and esoterically, for here are the real seeds of modern magickal philosophy. i can see how the linage of modern magickians can be traced back to crowley, and i can understand how the extreme science of mind is applied via taoism and buddhist tradition. what's really interesting is the descriptions of the fragmented genius / secretary relationship which neurology is on the verse of defining now. then there's the explanation of the fifth dimension, which science went on to define as time, but crowley calls it the aether, perhaps what he means is astral dimension although it is certainly another dimension, however the semantics are not under scrutiny, as a story each chapter moves along a linear plane as our brave heroine finds herself under the glamour of the crowley figure and inducted into their order in preparation of creating an homunculus, however she is never lied to and always told the truth about her choices, in a way that would be quite liberating for any woman of that time, she is treated with respect and love, (under will) in fact the women are the males equals in this book and for the time that was quite radical. i have to say this is a very good read so far.

2011-12-04T02:57:00.001+11:00

at a friends party, i watch a beautiful swedish girl take her clothes off and climb into a swimming pool filled with jelly and another girl clamber in after her, it's quite strange how life just carries on while this occurs, some one cooks some food on a grill, some one brings us drinks, a girl in a tiny skirt offers me some hash cookies and i do indulge myself because it would be rude not to, then find myself unable to stop talking to the beautiful swedish girl, oh no, my mouth just will not close, oh no, i'm raving on like a demented raving fool, talking about anything i can, all pouring out like stream of consciousness going wild, an ocean of consciousness, we are drowning in it, it's filling up our lungs and making us....laugh, wow, i seem to be saying the right things, there's lots of people here to talk to, a lovely guy and some old friends of mine.
the swedish lady drives me into the city, it's gone midnight, people are out in droves, the streets crawl with the hedonistic impulse, i need to use a loo so i wander into a bar where a meathead says, 'how much have you had to drink?'
'about two litres of water and one basil seed drink and i had some lemonade at a bbq.'
'how much alcohol have you had.'
'i don't drink alcohol'
'well you can't come in.'
'why?'
'becuase your wearing shorts.'
'well i wouldn't want to come in now i know your establishment is run by people like you.'
this is alcohol energy, stupid,ignorant and totally primitive. a girl grabs my hand, 'come with me' she smiles, and she's quite stunning, dressed perfectly and with such elegant motion. we wander up the road, she's squeezing my hand tight and links her arm in mine, she's smiling at me and says in a sexy voice, 'i'll take you to a pub i know.'
she wanders up to this bouncer and says hi, she obviously knows him and asks if he wants a drink, man she is stunning and cool and really smart, the bouncer says 'no' and holds the door open for us, she guides me in. later we separate as i have to go to the loo and take a leak and then i slip past her and i just want to kiss her but instead i just smile and say, 'thanks' and slip away.
on the bus i sit next to two young girls, they smile at me, i'm starting to feel like i have the karvorka, what's happened, have i somehow just invoked the lure of the wolf. i notice the girls have been to homebush, 'what were the church like?' i ask.
'we only saw one song but it was brilliant.'
that's it, the young girls saw one song and it was brilliant.
i head home happy, i had a good night catching up with crazy folk i know from the past, it was unexpected and nice to be social for a change but i don't do late nights and i'm not looking for romance in bars or pubs so i head home with my book, buried in alister crowley biography again, which is getting better and better.
as society attacks him the more his genius shines. this is the nature of genius, it's never really recognised until the rest of the world catches up with it.

2011-12-03T12:19:00.001+11:00

a correction and apology.
in a previous post i said how i would have liked to punch glen a. baker out for his review of the church at the opera house. i apologise to him, it was not his review it was some one called bernie zeul whom writes for the smh. i'm so sorry for this mistake glen, i always get you two mixed up, i would have to retract my statement about causing you harm and offer you a coconut drink next time i see you as an offering. however mr. zeul my statement stands, what concert where you at, i recall the whole audience gave a standing ovation at the end, that says it all really.

2011-12-02T18:35:00.001+11:00

raving and drooling that's me, a whacked out freakazoid from planet x, tripping on cacti and symbiotic mushrooms, voodoo frog druid juice and belladonna boiled up with dandelion sage and seven venus wasp trap flowers, yeah colour me in and watch me blend into the environment like a jungle night cat or an nocturnal octopus with jet black emissions under the full moon, serenading venus.

music.
lights.
avocado.
basil seed drink.
dog.
hammock.

i watch the sun pierce the elemental wizards sky, dark clouds hang there like unexplored countries, soft landing for a cloud dweller, i'm astrally projecting to another life, the one i was with you in some oriental den, we had money and women, we had it all, we were fighters and lovers, i think we were probably dreamers to even then before time, clambering through the eastern plains, in hanging out in temples and places of ill repute away from the strange morality we disliked so much, on the cusp of some mystic satori but we had a perchance for the poppy and oriental women in their fine silks. we were exotic to them, everyone's a winner and we laughed and loved and languished in the fluid temperatures of hazed dreams, like dust mites in the ray of sun, we were fleeting and we lived for the moments between. you were a handsome man then and talented, all that talent leaking out of you like small packets of joy, you knew almost everything and nothing, and i was still in awe of you. when we fought our battles back to back we were outnumbered but we used flair and wit, we disarmed opponents with laughter and then we cut their throats. we knew the value of life, that's why we stayed alive. i was glad you were in the world then as i am now. you made everything okay. when i died i just thought i'm going to miss your poetry, that was what i thought, i wanted the world to hear that poetry and rejoice in it the way i did.
how strange, is that strange?
not really, it's just the way our paths criss cross, it's a kind of poem in itself.

also what i really like about pink floyd is when they just suddenly get funky, right in the middle of some prog rock, they have a funky part with the base, the keyboards, usually a hammond in the mix, and some driving rhythm with some punctuated guitars. there's some great bits on dark side and wish you were here, super groove. on the re issue re mix of wish you were here there is a bonus disc, it's brilliant, welcome to the machine has this funky section, as does wish you were here, well worth listening to what rick is playing, just laying down some textures on top of a very strong foundation. pink floyd for me were all about nick mason though, i think if you took him out of the equation they would just never be the same, whereas most people said, it was waters or gilmour. i think waters lost it with the wall, it really was just a concept that didn't work for me and it was down hill from then on but the rest of their work, as good as any church album. i often wonder if the church will ever make a conceptual album, i'd like to hear that, i imagine it would be so rich and deep i could just lay on it and let it engulf me. i'm not a big fan of concept cds, although diamond dogs is pretty good.

2011-12-01T21:48:00.001+11:00

i'm halfway through this new biography of crowley and i have to say it is rather brilliant and from what i know very accurate, dispelling the mythology finally we get the man. even the biographer admits his surprise to find the absolutely appalling defamation that other writers have made when attempting to define crowley. the writer tobias churton is certain that crowleys achievements were totally suppressed and his character deformed and vilified from the british public. he states that crowley should be listed along the lines of freud, jung and einstein and churton should know as he is a fellow of exeter university and faculty lecturer in western esotericism and an accomplished filmmaker and composer and the writer of the award-winning drama documentary series the gnostics. he has spent ten years researching this book and consulted letters and books unpublished held by the oto and crowley's grandson, and paints a completely different picture of the man than the one most people are familiar with.

it's a brilliant book and although i am only halfway through it i want to share with you some key points crowley makes that i really found fantastic

'civilization looked more like some awful curse by which barbarism to the spirit is sanctioned in favour of respectability'

speaking on english repression, , he says, 'the english poet must either make a successful exile or die of a broken heart.'

on his inner agony, 'reason, the god of western philosophy held within itself the seed of its own absurdity, every thought evokes its opposite. the higher planes of consciousness transcend reason altogether, ordinary logic is useless when approaching spiritual reality, worse it is an impediment.'

he felt mad and wrote, 'i am one who should have plumed himself for years upon the speed and strength of a favourite horse,only to find not only its speed and strength were illusionary but it was not a real horse at all, but a clothes horse...i wish to go from a to b and i am not only a cripple, but there is no such thing as space. i have to keep an appointment at midnight and not only has my watch stopped, but there is no such thing as time. i wish to make a cannon ( a billiard move) and not only do i have no cue but there is no such thing as causality.'

'because the mind is a tool, when one attempts to transcend that operational tool to reach a higher l;evel of spiritual perception and existence, a serious impasse is reached. it produces a species of insanity.'

this was the magickal abyss described by crowley as,

'when the aspirant to the higher intelligence has intellectually examined all possibilities then all phenomenon which presents themselves to him appear meaningless, disconnected and his own ego will break up into a series of impressions, having no relations with one another or with any other thing. it may end in real insanity, which concludes activities of the adept, or by his rebirth into his own body and mind with the simplicity of a little child.'

the exempt adept must destroy his identification with the transitory ego, the ego must become a tool, not an obstruction to the higher consciousness, the genius.

2011-12-01T01:45:00.001+11:00

i'm at some sort of australian songwriters event, i'm not sure how i got here, it's the last place you would expect to find me, after all i am a strange reclusive personality, i don't like crowds, loud noises and can't deal very well with most social situations but here i am at a special dinner type tribute in honour of the australian songwriters hall of fame, who have decided in their infinite wisdom to bestow this years award on a certain mr. kilbey whom sits across the table from me making jokes and punching me in a friendly way which is ironic as i feel inclined to punch glen a baker for his stupid review of the opera house gig,(but i don't get a chance) while the ever wondrous miss mayfair sits next to me attempting to keep steve in check and on the tracks that lead somewhere with a beautiful sunset. i share the table with some of steve's friends and his brother russell whom i have to inform has made one of my favourite albums ever, in guilt trip 'ej' and his lovely wife who wears a very striking pentangle, and steve's mother joyce whom hails from the same part of london as i, a terrible slum from what i recall that is now a trendy yuppie area where the rich folk are dying to invest in. and wilde childe who sits opposite me, saviour of all wild beasts including me, friend to the injured, wounded, homeless and fluffy, all in all it's a good table and social phobias aside i can fluidly talk to anyone about anything this evening, in fact this is the only table to be sitting at in a room filled with personalities and familiar faces, up and coming singers and musicians, movers and shakers this is the only table to really be at. we are waited upon, food, drinks, i take the opportunity to order a lemonade. various personalities come and go, some people sing some songs and then the room is filled and silent as glen a baker makes a speech and steve accepts his award and makes a great speech about his origins of being a songwriter, he mentions having been lucky in his ascent and yeah i guess it's hard to refute that luck plays a part in all things however i do strongly feel luck didn't come into it as far as his writing is concerned, eventually it would pierce through the shallow illusion of what constitutes art into the very focused realm of excellence and distinction that certain art inherently has as a quality, fame and recognition are a side effect of this intention, and i'm not familiar enough with steve to say if he set out to be famous over being good at his craft. it was quality that got awarded this evening, a quality that one does not get much off in a world of quantity.
i joked with steve saying, 'i've waited 30 years for him to get recognition' adding that he 'must have been waiting for it to.'
it wasn't really that steve had been overlooked or undervalued, it was just the world wasn't ready to accept him on his terms, and that just added to the quality, he never sold out, he never gave in, he kept on writing, following his muse and doing what he does, irrespective of events around him, circumstances, money, fame, glamour, he knew the difference between what was elusive and what was exclusive and you don't sell out your muse, he just kept making sure what he delivered was high quality and believe me in the early days he was limited to using the most primitive of equipment but he still set out to write quality songs that made the listener think, nay, it demanded something from the listener.
now what kind of writer demands something from their reader?
i'm certain that none of the other artists in the room do. in fact there's only a handful of writers on planet earth that expect their readers to be as thoughtful or reflective or emotive as steve's work asks. and this is what got recognised in the most subconscious of ways yesterday. ambiguity, steve describes it as being open to interpretation, yet ambiguity is an evasive term itself, you may as well say a song is purple or deep blue. however ambiguity is what it is. and sometimes the writer does not know what they are writing, yet they write it and send it off into the universe and sometimes these songs or narratives seem to come back laden with seven types of meaning.
no art can really be defined, it's just a quality, a vibe but there is a quality of art that transcends the mundane world, the world of formation, it takes the observer to a place of purity and spirit and this is what i think was celebrated tonight in steve's award.
after the speech he played four songs with george ellis and a kinda string quartet that were re imagined into these intricate contemporary chamber music filled with detail and nuance and beauty, and if a song can shine then here was the proof.
these days steve would be far to modest to suggest such a thing, yet i'm a great admirer of his work and of the art of writing specifically, therefore i feel i can say this all of this objectively and one day people will look at his work like they would gershwin or van morrison.
well done steve, it's really only just begun.

2011-11-27T15:26:00.001+11:00

you're on your own, the lights go down slow, a kind of darkness to fall for, some kind of ghost to know, clinging to the familiar just to let it go.
a warm wind blows in, like a cool breeze you blow out, streets filled with consumers and angry girls spending daddy's cash on frivolous trinkets and jamboree bags. they wear designer labels, and high heels, lip gloss and shimmering dresses, they look like hollywood idolatry, fallen swingers and la cabaret stars.
it's 13 o clock, the bells are ringing out across town traffic, you flow with the tide head in a book, trying to be all indiscreet, attracting no attention, blending in with the background and standing out like a sore thumb. up above mercury, venus and jupiter align, you think what does it mean, a good time to write love letter to people you do business with. some flickering thing at the back of your mind, you take out a little hit of holy mushroom and swallow it down a shot of basil seed drink, the heat spreads along like a cloud of glitter and here comes the razors edge, slicing through the veils, hitting you up with some revelation...
...we see in cross sections, everything is frozen in the moment of time and space, you can't escape, evolution is the development of desires, a righteous man feels the force behind the event, our thoughts are a contrast between intentions, the intention of the universe and the intention that we have as a response, which brings suffering. the law of the universe is bestowal, this is the law of life.
the bells stop, you slip into another secret state, they have to hate you for the truth, the mushroom wears off, your trembling and covered in sweat, it's morning, you forgot your sunglasses.

2011-11-26T23:45:00.001+11:00

create the chaos, divide and conquer, it's crisis management, take a side, your enemy is the other side, techno paradox (thanks tez) which means the more technology there is the more people get stupider, they wanna put lithium in water now, they want to call pizza a vegetable, the language is diminishing, the words are being sliced and chopped up, snorted with cocaine and strychnine, hate and war between the enlightened, fall out zones everywhere, the animals are spooked by the magnetic shift, people are going spontaneously crazy, murder, it's just a shot away. whales swim by laughing and crying, octopi think we are stupid pests and only dogs love us, the beasts await our demise hoping we don't spoil whats left, greed is god, greed dominates, nasty impulses and accursed hunger fuels desires, you cannot leave your head but you leave your heart, how sad for the tears, how happy for the fears how insanity takes us to places that are mundane and normal, how freedom is just your gilded cage, how much how soon how ever!

nautilus floating in space, neither up nor down, just balanced in harmony, neither here nor there, not being just doing, like all creation. stillness is impossible, the buddha's fate is sealed, he laughs at nautilus. he knows he is stupid in comparison, what are words, sound waves, with significance attached. a portrait in flesh can start a war, and peace is an elusive beast. who's hands are clean, every action has consequence, what are going to do?
nautilus knows the fat man who laughs is in on the secret. it's no big deal, everyone gets washed away by the punch line.

2011-11-26T20:21:00.001+11:00

everything has changed, i see with such clarity now, people fall away from me like tiny flecks of dust, my vibration has shifted, i no longer attract stagnation, chaotic energies disperse as my leaks are filled and deep healing is the result by proxy, only it is sharper than blades, it cuts away and slices, i can not control it, it happens around me like a side effect it wounds and it kills but it is not my doing, it is the shift itself. i do nothing, people react violently, change occurs like a wavelength tuning in, i understand this now. i understand how fragile your world is, your strange manipulations of it, your desires to tweak and control via your convoluted means. i am sorry that all of you feel that way, i wish i could preform for you, dance your tunes, respond when you pull strings but i am a free agent and not under the spell of the glamours you wish to cast. i am lost to you now, three of you but i speak my truth, your hearts are hateful and bitter, twisted and warped, your minds unclear and polluted and your reality is distorted, you wear the mask of deception and fear the truth. there's nothing liberating in that no matter what you use to hide it, i know this for i was once like you.

tantalised at the opera house -the church and george ellis orchestra

2011-11-26T10:01:00.001+11:00

2011-11-26T01:44:00.001+11:00

i've taken the night bus, it travels faster than you care to imagine breaking all the limits, it bends and curves, it twists and turns, it is a driven by an old asgardian, with his face dark and haunted eye.
a loss he cannot remember, he is earthbound, just like thor, ejected from the heavens, sentenced to human life, he works the graveyard shifts, driving the night bus through the pummelling rains and wild wind, getting every one home safe and sound, his lips tremble with words never spoken, his eye sad and watery like the night, he is fixed on his relentless journey with the grim determination of the dammed.
there are characters on the bus, strange collection of souls, some have stories to share.
an old man and his wife who have been to the theatre. they sit next to one another and hold hands like young lovers, they sometimes look into one another s eyes and smile. they indicate something, something they share, a deep love, we all watch them with respect and wonder. i'm reminded of my parents, how wonderful to have that love, either from your friend or from your partner, that love is sacred stuff, it spills into the hearts of those that notice.
further up there's some guy trying to pick up a girl, he works for channel 7 and he's spent the evening trying to get this young girl to sleep with him but she refuses, he's a good sport but he's drunk and she's drunk and there's something really sad about that as they flirt across the sexual innuendoes and games of desire in mask. this is how people fuck in the 20th century, it's how they break cross social phobias. sobriety brings a new kind of pain, honesty.
there's a guy with his laptop plugged in to face book, he's listening to you tube music at the same time. i like the look of this guy, he's geeky and cool and he don't give a fuck.
then there's some more drunk people, they all have a sad and tragic feel about them, one guy sitting nearby looks like he's about to throw up, he's falling into micro sleep and making grunting noises, unpleasant chap, there's a few zombies on board, with vacant stares.
a lot of people are using their iphones and some have ipads a girl in white sits at the back like an angel who got to trashed to find her way home. one by one people leave the bus, jumping of at various points until it is just myself and the driver. it's almost a dream, as we pierce the thin veil of speed and light, the echos from the future head towards me as i look out the window. i see the past behind me, derelict and abandoned, i see the future in front, its unknown and blacker than the void that once existed in my solar plexus. the driver and i look ahead.
it's incredible, in the darkness flashes of vibrant possibility, i see her face, it makes it's presence known.

ORGONE ACCUMULATOR - HAWKWIND

2011-11-25T12:22:00.001+11:00

don't you wish you had one?
i do love this song.

the notting hillbillies 'go your own sweet way'

2011-11-24T16:37:00.001+11:00

this song is for my friend tez in brighton, i love ya mate.

2011-11-24T10:05:00.001+11:00

many days of rain, i bunkered down with my book isolated and in solitude, i was content and feeling relaxed but the phone never stopped ringing, people popped around, there were places to go, people had dramas, events swung from one extreme to the other, my down time became my up time, my hyper sleep became a dream and i fell upwards into the stars. where my head exploded with revelation.
a mighty flaming sword the precondition of war, the hunger game, the long nights of burning dollars, economies collapsing, the euro zone built on a house of cards, the american revolution returns, food wars, water wars, starvation of intelligence and wisdom, academia fascism, neurological warfare as memetic bomb fallout creates toxic fields of neutrons, a new scapegoat same as the old one, land mass plunges into the sea, truth filters like radioactive sound bytes, tomorrow never knows, the corporeal moment, the sex imperative, the hidden mythologies are born again, the lost city of atlantis will rise again somewhere in time. an oracle is written in stardust, calamity jane meets cataclysmic john and they have a child named chaos.
soon we will build a new temple, it will comprise of the whole planet, it will be filled with love and harmony with all natural intelligence, the lamb will lay down with the lion, the man will lay down with the woman in peace and respect. the time for war will end, the heart will rule the brain and the sun will beckon us to light, science will confess its magickal origin, the alien will love us, there will be purpose and reason, meaning and consciousness to action, for this is the age of humanity, this is the age of aquarian aspects, we will put down the sword and pick up thy pen, we will compose song and make love not war, for it has come to pass and will come again, it is written in the dna strand, the eyes of the dolphin, the patterns in fractals the space between notes is where music is. celestial lights, plant goddess, the fish people rise from the depths, all will find a way home, all will be basking in truth and beauty all will know their place, the old gods will be reborn anew, the sacred geometry of the spiral be known, nautilus, pyramid, pentangle and circle squared all is known to those that know.
but to get here / there the war within must be fought, every man is a star, every woman is a star and every child is a star, but unless the war within is won, there is danger of becoming a black hole.

2011-11-20T23:46:00.001+11:00

'the four fingers of death' by rick moody is perhaps one of thebest contemporary science fiction novels i have read in a long time,although it's unlike any science fiction novel i have read. i have nothing butadmiration for the writer, a man who has taken a pulp movie 'the crawling hand'from the fifties and transformed it via a novelization narrative that is itselfpart labyrinthine, part kaleidoscopic vision, rick moodycaptures the details of a trip to mars like you have never imagined, taking uson tangents that are shocking and bizarre, tragic and very funny.

this is an emotional read, with the themeof longing present as we watch humanity fail in every way possible. thebook is dedicated to kurt vonnegut,and i can feel his spirit in the pages. hewould have loved this book as much as i do.

anyway i hope people rush out and readit, there's some great writing here.

i recall when i saw the film'armageddon' years ago i said that it should have had a homosexual sub plot andthe ben afflick character should have fallen in love with brucewillis, as the film was really missing this yet it was obvious the narrativerequired it. here in the four fingers, moody totally gets it right. there's themost transgressive sex in space scene i've read yet it's such a joy to read,very funny. there's plenty of moments in this novel that will challenge you,plenty of moments where you will feel the same longing as the characters,especially the encounter with the mars rover which stands out for meas very touching.

2011-11-20T22:45:00.001+11:00

drive, a movie that is advertised as being on everywhere yet no cinemas near me are showing it, i see it in the city where it screens to a small handful on a small screen. this is a beautifully filmed movie, fabulous acting meditative in parts and excellent script that must have been about three pages long as most of the communication is non verbal, exquisitely invoking steve mcqueen and the car films of the seventies, a lesson in noir yet it has a violence that is unnecessary and shockingly brutal.
i liked the film but thought it had been vastly over rated, there were some real good moments but the ending was just crazy and could have been so much better.

2011-11-20T11:59:00.001+11:00

a baby is taken from me, one comes in, this is the mechanics of karma undoubtedly, my two lovely friends are expecting a child and i am thrilled for them, really happy for they are such fine people and i know they will be just fine.
i have dinner with my friend yesterday, we eat japanese food watching the streets as a procession of sirens flow by,kids barely teenagers wander around drunk out of their skulls on vodka and udl cans that are packaged as fizzy drinks, the girls all wear short dresses and amplify their naked flesh, toxic pheromones whirl through the air as their boys refer to them as bitches and slags, this is the battle zone the war that has raged for eternity, the separation of femininity from nature. male rage. male fear and now the remnants of the feminine principle imprinted on a generation looks ravaged and conquered. if there is such a thing as apocalyptic this is its mirror.
we discuss the idea of technology, man has enmeshed within it to the point it is no longer a tool, it has become part of the maya, systems are impossible to define, organic life is technologically enhanced but at the same time diminished. this paradox is the nature of mans reality but not reality as facebook determines reality more than reality does. facebook is not real, it's constructed like all of mans illusions, it is completely unreal.
'but it's just a tool,' i hear you cry.
no, it was a tool, now we are the tools of facebook.

2011-11-19T21:08:00.001+11:00

it's true the days and nights converge, they meet at that hypnogogic point, they blur like tomorrows yesterdays and you travel in comfortable passage on the overland train, the fast one, the one that takes you to where you want to be in three stops. you order a water with lemon and specify you require cubed ice not anything with curves. the waitress looks at you momentarily absorbing your request and nods her head when she knows you are serious. yes this train reminds you of the days you travelled in your airship, how you year for their return, such sophistication and elegance. when you had money to burn and friends to burn it with.
my drink arrives, i check the ice, 'perfect,' i say. the train moves quietly and speed takes me there by the time i have finished my drink. i am undisturbed and feel rested.
central station is the usual hub of activity, even at this early hour, the guards wave you through the gate and you find a bus that takes you down to the quay. you stop off midway to purchase some books, you find some excellent ones in the japanese bookshop and then in galaxy where you are greeted by your book dealer who hands you a novel, the third and last in a science fiction trilogy, you exchange some words, money and pleasantries and then continue your journey.
down on the waterfront you jump onto your vessel, a beaten up old wreck, carrying hordes of tourists, mostly wandering around looking at the view, a city drenched in sun, they shout in several languages and take photographs. you sit down thinking if you can't enjoy the peace and quiet you may as well enjoy the view, but as you sit back the boat is engulfed by fog, dense thick pea soup fog swallows you up and slowly you see it coming through the windows and the open parts of the boat, down the staircase, swallowing up everyone and everything, sound begins to diminish and then light seems to fade. you clutch your bag close to you as the cold fog penetrates everything and you know you are alone. when the fog recedes the vessel is empty, you can see the crews cabin where a hooded tall man beckons you towards him. you climb those steps, nervous but certain that there is no alternative. a skeletal hand, boney fingers reach to you handing you an envelope. you dare not look up, into the hood but you know you will, part of you knows what it will see. you open the envelope and in it is the contract. all your tomorrows for a pact with death.

2011-11-17T22:25:00.001+11:00

strange things happen on trains and buses, sydney public transport is a labyrinth of coincidences and chance encounters, faces look strange when your the stranger, eyes look out of the dark penetrating the thin facade of persona. i set off on my journey, some what dishevelled, make no illusions i travel incognito, i have no desire to attract attention, my face unshaven, my eyes half closed, i sit near the back, head in my book, or leaning against the glass gazing out the window at the rain drenched night. jumping buses, making connections, heading into the network of trains. the secretary's, the office people, the commuters all following their patterns like ants in a system, hive mind, electrical sparks reach into magnetic flow. this is the current of movement, the human tide, the motion of crowds, side effects happen here. i clamber onto a crowded train, jump up the steps to the upper deck, find a seat and open my book, my logic circuits shut down, my peripherals close, my internal instruments power down, now it's just me and my book, no space, i am no longer aware i am on a train, i care little for destinations or stops, i care nothing for anything and in that void time itself folds and a voice next to me says, 'mission, captain mission, are you captain mission.'
the speaker is a young man, about mid thirties, he's a bit dishevelled like me, and he has crazy eyes, i carefully start reflecting back on my data, but retrieval brings me nothing, a familiar face i can't trace.
'it's alex man, alex.'
i don't know who alex is but he knows me.
he smiles at my disadvantage, 'from the youth refuge,' he says.

okay now this does happen a lot, a kid i worked with in my years as a social worker will stop me, could be anywhere in sydney or nearby, manly, kings cross, some obscure shopping mall, a beach, it happens when i don't expect it, they usually are kids that remember me with great clarity and affection, they are always very thankful and grateful and show me their children, boyfriends, wives, tell me about their jobs, try to sell me drugs or just shake my hand. yeah they are mostly successful and stable, turned their life around and moved on.
alex is still on the streets, he's had addiction problems, he's had relationship issues and quite frankly he's a bit of a mess. he's on his way to the doctors to get some anxiety drugs, it's quite late in the night and i feel despite my terrible memory, the fact so many kids came through i feel sorry for him, i wish i could help him, he seems like such a decent guy, telling me how much he enjoyed his time with me, telling me how his family fucked him over but he was trying real hard to come to terms with the events that put him on his trajectory. he tells me about how he writes lyrics for rap songs and he says he has a genre called educational rap, songs of experience and wisdom, i tell him william blake would appreciate this. we talk for a while about gill scott heron whom i suggest he listen to and then he jumps off the train but i have taken his number and will call him just to check up and make sure he's okay.

it is really strange how these kids all come back, they all return with their stories but above all with gratitude. my job was never rewarding, it was just a hard job dealing with tragic people and circumstances, people just assumed it was rewarding, in fact it was unrewarding as often we never got successful outcomes, no one cared about youth, they didn't vote. but twenty years later the rewards come along.

i exit the station at the end of the line, into the cold wet night, wrapped up in my west berlin overcoat and hat, i merge into the night, wind hits my face, the ground shimmers in reflected neon and cars hiss by like rattle snakes.
alex i hope your warm and safe, i'm grateful that you came and said hello, means a lot to me, it means everything.

2011-11-17T10:32:00.001+11:00

public transport makes me feel like a citizen, all those faces buried in somewhere else, moving along like blood vessels in an artery or vein, i have a golden pass that gets me a ride on the bus ferry and train but i rather be on anteries 7 exploring the pleasure domes and experiencing the soft flesh of some earth girl who smells good, but here i am amongst the peoples, i don't mind it so much, i take a good book and i'm happy, occasionally some one starts a conversation. i met a few travellers, a dutch lady, she was quite cute, i met a couple of girls from london yesterday, they had amazing tattoo's, dragons and fairies, they showed me their backs simultaneously, and the tattoo's formed a big picture, imagine that!
it's a strange culture that uses the transport system, glamourous girls in summer dresses look out of place on the trains, there's a whole bunch of people out here, asians playing computers and mobile phones games, i gaze out the window and watch the stations fly by, my thoughts are really elsewhere.

i read a few books, lincon prescot's 'wheel of darkness' is pretty good if you like transit literature. i read 'discovery of witches' and thought it was awful, harry potter type romance, halfway through i felt sick and traded it for something else at the book exchange. i resented spending my time reading it, apparently it's by some academic, i felt like writing her a letter saying she has taken back the vampyre ethos decades with her drivel. anyways gotta let that go, there's also a new cd from ms. kate bush called 50 words for snow, and here is the very bowie like single. enjoy, it's fucking brilliant!

2011-11-16T10:56:00.001+11:00

the police sirens fade, a cross hair aligns the night, all the significance of a cat flying through the freeze frame in a dali sequence, just like dreams. i was walking inner suburban places, small shops closed down due to violence, graffiti lined streets can be ugly at midnight when the violence and tension burns your tongue like an acid french kiss. no one else on the streets but i could feel a million eyes burning into me, hungry blood thirty gangs in stealth mode, no one in their right mind would be out at this time. just me, out of my mind on vital k and them, the hunters.
i'd taken the vk about thirty minites ago, it was coming on slow, like a tingle first, the usual symptoms but then time was beginning to alter and i could feel my vision become totally precise, every movement registered, the nocturnal cultures became revealed and i could sense more than anything the danger that lay concealed, i could smell humanity and it was the same rotten stink as depravity, lingering on to long. a burnt out car on one side and what looked like a smashed up truck on the other, glass lay all over the street and some awful smell hung in the air. i moved my head to the left and the knife missed, flying by slowly, i reached out and grabbed it, my hands wrapping around the handle, i smiled, perfect catch. i threw it back in one elegant sweep. it hit the target, a wild boy, he fell from his rooftop hiding place with a thud. ducking behind the truck i thought i better keep out the line of fire, a few shots ran out but missed me.
i could feel them moving away, they would leave me alone. i clambered inside the truck, it had fallen on its side, it's cargo in small wooden boxes had fallen out onto the floor, mostly emptied. there was one larger crate that sat upright, i could smell something inside it alive. i called out and pulled the lid off it with my hands.
inside was a baby. it was alive but barely, it was naked, a girl. i wrapped it in my jacket and held it close, instinct took over and i moved carefully out of the shell of the truck back onto the streets. i wandered towards what looked like a chemists, it was burnt and wrecked but i could make out some untouched stock, i grabbed the tins of formula and made my way back to the campsite stopping only to check the baby.
once there i handed it over to the medics and katria whose face lit up like an xmas tree, she cooed and clucked and made several strange noises and her face seemed softer, a crowd of people gathered around and demonstrated the same response. i was amazed at the way a small lump of meat could effect our morale, everyone lightened up, for the first time in many years we had a little hope. i suggested the name, hope, and everyone agreed it was good for a little girl.

2011-11-15T20:15:00.001+11:00

chungg tzu finished his tea, the cloud temple master sat in contemplative silence after their conversation and tzu completed his ritual duty. the chrysanthemum flowers had been infused with fresh wolfberries and as tzu added the water to their forth brew the master opened his eyes and smiled. the ritual was to keep adding boiling water to the brew until it was exhausted.
they had sat there in the roof garden meditation pavilion since sunrise and now the sun was sinking behind the savage mountain. the monastery was accessible only in the summer months, chungg looked out across the mountain tops, he only had two weeks to descend lest he remain in the monastery until next spring when the ice caps melt. he offered the temple master his bowl and bowed his head in the traditional way. they finished the tea in silence and then the temple master smiled.
'chungg you will have to leave tomorrow morning at dawn.'
'yes master, i will leave at sunrise but have you considered my request?'
'yes, i have considered the request, it is unusual.'
chungg knew better to interrupt, he felt the chrysanthemum tea flooding his body, his head began to feel very hot and beads of sweat formed around his brow.
'come chungg tzu, i will show you the inner temple.'
chungg allowed himself a moments pride, the temple master was going to admit him into the inner sanctums, the secret school, the mystery school. he had spent two thirds of his life looking for it. and now finally he was here, in the mountain tops of cloud city.
chungg followed the temple master from the pavilion, they walked through the gardens where the snow flowers were in bloom, immaculate patterns of white flowers in the shape of the swastika, the original sanskrit one. they passed through the passage ways chungg had become familiar with, the tibetan prayer wheels rotated with the wind that echoed along the corridors, some mantra flags hung from the door ways flapping in the breeze that also carried a chant of some of the monks in mantra. they walked towards the end of a winding corridor lit only by a small candle until the light just seemed to run out. they walked further into darkness and then stopped. the temple master knocked on the door three times, a panel slid open and some words were exchanged. then a stone doorway slid open and chungg found himself in the presence of an old man, he had long white hair and long fingernails but his skin was pale like the moon. the door keeper had been inside this room for most of his life, never seeing sunlight, never talking, eating only the small bowl of soup he was brought each day. his was a great responsibility, keeper of the inner sanctum. he offered us passage into the sanctum, the temple within the temple. chungg knew none of the monks would have any idea about this architecture nor the existence of the hidden temple, for this was for the masters. he saw shadows flickering and gradually candles illuminated a library, books and scrolls, a few monks sitting at desks, some seemed to be sitting cross legged slightly off the ground, some were in yogic poses and others appeared to be in deep meditation. no one spoke. he walked past these people, and then into a small room where he was asked to sit down. the temple master whispered, 'are you sure you wish to continue?'
'yes, i have come a long way.'
'the temple monk lifted a curtain, a mirror was revealed, it's surface was black, a deep black.
'this is the mirror of revealing chungg, if you gaze into it it will reflect your fear.'
chungg stood in front of it and braced myself, he looked into the mirror and saw himself in a black pool of endless night. his reflection was faint and seemed to flicker, and then suddenly it was gone and in its place was the most beautiful face he had ever seen, a young woman laughing, her eyes ablaze and her teeth glinting at me, perfectly. she had rich deep eyes that looked into mine and she had red hair. then she faded and was replaced by chungg.
he turned to the temple master,'who is that?'
'the face of fear and love,' he said.

2011-11-14T21:46:00.001+11:00

up the central coast to the paradise recording studio, the heat burning up all the oxygen in the car, i got the windows rolled down, the air con don't work but we travel along listening to some cool jazz beats from oslo, seductive and soft sophisticating sounds. gosford is a tiny place, i was expecting something slightly bigger but it's very small, we have the wrong address but it's an easy place to find. i meet some cool jazz cats and a australian legend i have never heard off but his name is billy field, he's okay, anyways his studio is kinda like some ones lounge and the jazz cats are very cool professionals, who get straight into recording my friend justine bradly the jazz singer. i take some photographs for them, fall asleep on a bed and start snoring.
on the way back justine buys me some sushi at a sushi train restaurant. i watch food going around and around, the place is packed, the food is good but all i wanna do is fall asleep, my dreams are spilling out from my head, justine invites me to a wedding, she says it gonna be funky, it sounds like a nice way to chill out, a bunch of jazz people, maybe i'll smoke a jazz cigarette with them and go for a swim. i like these hot days, hope we have a few more before the next rain instalment.

2011-11-13T19:50:00.001+11:00

don't give me your time displacement theory, religion and science are the same sides of the coin, spinning along human understanding, like a flip switch upon on which we wait.
i lived that movie thrice, once when i was younger, a sparkle in some one's eye, then i lived it now in the blink of an eye and tomorrow never dies, i lived all my possible futures, when six becomes nine, zeros and ones, eleven eleven, seven by seven.
the ending never comes, just seems like one endless sequence, a loop of suffering with intermittent joy if your lucky it may last a while.
anything less is no surprise, you don't have to count your blessings, 1 2 and 3 but they are precious and worth knowing especially when the heroine surrenders her beauty to some lesser concept and the the hero sacrifices truth for compromise, it's the safe option but it's not for me, yet that's the reality sandwich, that's the come down, that's the freaking bottom line.
the audience suspends disbelief. why would they invest in something they care so little about, truth, beauty, the unknown when they can plug into the shopping channel or e bay or some soap operatics. you're cursed because you followed all the clues
and in your edits and your juxtapositions relationships that never quite met or reached potential, dissipated, they return to source only to return again in that endless cycle of mundane stagnation.
i hesitate to see the sequel, lived it, imagined it, i played the main protagonist and she played me, it's not that unique. eve ate the apple, adam followed, we been unravelling our dna ever since.

SNUFF MUSIC

2011-11-12T20:42:00.001+11:00

2011-11-11T21:27:00.001+11:00

11:11:11 11:11pm
snuff music is released today, available from red eye records or from
THE DEEP FIX
PO BOX 554
AVALON BEACH
2107
NSW
send $25 or $30 to receive a copy, there's a limited pressing so put your order in.

2011-11-11T11:13:00.001+11:00

11:11:11 11:11am
er by guilt trip playing and all i wanna say is i love everyone right now, it's a good space to be in, the cosmos knows and understands this, it's a feedback loop and sometimes it throws weird shit at you, but that's just reflection of your own weirdness, only possibilities left are embracing it, working out your own stuff, understanding it and letting it go with the love you can give it, for this universe is a strange mysterious woman that you have to love unconditionally and embrace, she don't care about the details.
anyway what's to say, guilt trip says it for me, this is the soundtrack for my lives, all of them. it hits me like being drenched in sunlight for the very first time, and then bathed moonlight to cool off. it moves me to something i can't quite capture, there are no words on this album, there's no need for them, the sounds speak for themselves and they say more than any word. it's a beautiful elegant piece of music but it contains so much more than beauty.

eventually a friend rings me, i have lost a few over the latest episode in my life, i understand this but they can't even begin to understand me i guess which is sad but a fact, of course i am living in an illusion, that is not a delusion sister, the issue is i don't fear it the same way you do. to live in fear of people is to be a slave. i find it irritating and disappointing but there is no free will to choose, only the illusion of it, the fall of man is written in the old testament and we still are falling, we think intellect is the answer yet look where we are, filled with fear hate and control and power, nothing has changed just the illusion of it changes and by default our delusion that we are advanced. as i have said before the only way to live is to create art and find the true self, everything else is just a distraction, your spiritual frame work is a form of fascism if you think it's better than mine, mine don't need to play those games and it don't care if it is judged by yours. it is strong enough to withstand all of the nonsense it contains, in fact it readily confesses to being completely false, and encourages disbelief, such is it's indifference to criticism. baby it has a sense of humour and it's sexy enough to laugh at itself.

so hail the 11:11:11 may all your syncronicities set you free.
my friend is a wise man, we make an unlikely alliance but we are similar in our understanding of everything. we have reached the same conclusions, we are free, as far as one can be from the human condition, yet we are sad to watch events transpire and mankind repeat it's endless cycle of mistakes and hubris. myself included. 11:11:11 only has significance to those that know, yet the secret of knowing is not attaching significance to it, for like all things in that realm it is a paradoxical equation, not for the brain or the mind. my intuition is finely honed, it knows stuff and i trust it, that's good enough for me.

2011-11-10T21:38:00.003+11:00

oxford street where the junk is cheap, morning sun baking the tar, sticky ambient chaos and residual heat closing in, i'm wandering past the sex emporium, drinking coffee on the run, my moon powered zap gun is depleted, gazing at the people who pass me by indifferent to my purpose, a silent knight on a quest, in a kingdom of tears, a man with a mission, depleted of magicks, lost for words, world weary and heavy wearing a fashionable hat looking for his maiden but only finding chimeras, taming the dragons, redistributing karma and healing old wounds. he took a hit, a big one, it damaged his aura and fucked up his code, he's in need of repair and there's only one witch in the kingdom who can fix him.
she waves her crystal wand, opens a portal, rips out the fucking glitches and messy configurations that infect and corrupt, ah it feels good but any feeling good is short lived for there's no gain without pain, every knight without a day knows that. truth hurts, illusion and delusion have me on hold, i have to crack open my own head and let it leak away. thank you wendy for at least being a lighthouse in a game of storms.

2011-11-08T20:44:00.002+11:00

red phase shift, tranquillity hit, bounce back status, instruments are of the dial, warning lights indicate everything is safe, i am back with no beast, i am forward within and backwards without, i am everywhere and nowhere, the surface is under the current, i'm the zoo keepers daughters son, i am the wildest tame one, i am hip to your lip, i am hip you your cosmic gun, i am hip to the atomic eye flux of beauty, i am hip to the word virus of mind, i surf the cosmic wave, i love my enemy though verily they will kill me, i can forgive them because they know not what they do. i get it now and that makes me happy, i am ready for fate and destinies kiss.

2011-11-07T17:14:00.001+11:00

a few days ago i noticed a glitch in the space time continuum, specifically for you heretics a vital piece of music was missing from my collection this sent shockwaves through this sector of the universe, as you can imagine.

the cd is 'egyptian register' which steve kilbey made with his brother russell kilbey. verily it was ordered with haste and promptly arrived with a very lovely piece of additional artwork which i have on my desk and will frame asap.

now, i am playing said music, it booms out across the suburb from mission control where i have turned the volume up loud and smoked a spliff to praise jah and the people responsible for this gift, the music is regal, it is indeed majestic and transmigratory and i really do recommend this is acquired for your own collection for herein lies many sounds from cross cultural antiquity and possible futures, this is the sound of trans-dimensional music, it's
inspired me and will you.

you will be pleased to know the rift has been repaired, the gods rejoice and tranquility and equilibrium restored.

2011-11-06T13:54:00.001+11:00

new look for mission control, hope you enjoy it, i was having trouble loading older posts but the problem is fixed thanks to a nifty piece of source code i hacked, it's taken a lot longer than i hoped but i plan to continue with the 'novel' i started a while ago, called, 'rites of passage.'

2011-11-06T11:22:00.001+11:00

touchdown, another sun drenched beach, brown skins against fluro skimp bikini, the fruit cocktails clash with the pastel ocean waves, convertible laughter, all pretty young things, hooked up to the sunshine states, white flash of teeth, perfection in form, someone throws a frisbee and a brazilian boy dives in slow motion across the blue cloudless skies almost landing at your feet in a perfect arc, sand thrown up as you pull the plug from your white skinned ipod, and that chill out sound of easy lounge thrills ceases and all you hear is the shrieking of the beach culture.
the boy stands and brushes sand from his legs, he has a good body and shaved head, you like his smile as he stares at you drinking you in in the most obvious way. he stands there while you rearrange a little space for him, knowing he will be defenceless.
he says something but it's portuguese, the sun catches behind his shoulder and you gesture for him to sit with you but he gets shy and runs away, he throws that frisbee hard and you watch it swerve as it glides towards his friends. he looks back at lost opportunity.
you stick that music back in your ears and cut of the frenetic beach noise, you take a sip of the iced watermelon drink and lay back, enjoying the last few rays of the evening sun. your skin feels alive and your body aches with hunger for touch of the most sensual pleasures, you don't like being denied, it's against your nature and you feel a hard edged anger shard in your heart, a bitter pang towards the stupid boy. you close your eyes and sigh to yourself, life is to short for regrets you think, there will be others, why the beach is filled with youth and vitality in male form, the hunger of desire aches deep inside you, yearning it begins to spoil your mood, you want what you cannot have.

the beggars code

2011-11-05T20:42:00.001+11:00

there are insights into arcane mysteries i have been granted through my experience, mostly dismissed as unbelievable fantasy from those that don't know me well, and there are many, but those that have seen through my personas and know my soul know i speak the truth, the strangest of which i will share with you now, so sit back and breath deeply, in and out for letting go is the lesson and it begins with ones breath.

by chance i was walking through the back streets of china town, it was a hot spring night and on the main street a feast of entertainment. market stalls, food vendors, trinkets and glitter from the manufacturing empire of the yellow emperor. i preferred the side streets away from the crowds who jostled their way along the sideshows and restaurants. i could feel the energy of the night upon my tongue, it seemed to tingle upon my fingertips like a invisible current dancing down my spine.
i had just eaten, a pear salad across town and was walking, looking for the chinese cake shop i liked to indulge in, they made the most glorious lotus seed cake but the crowds and bright lights had forced me away from the main street and i was looking for the side entrance when i chanced upon a beggar.

normally i don't take any notice of people who beg, it's something that occurs and is blocked, i have no response, i have no compassion, i have no anger, i feel absolutely nothing but an indifference. i never give anything to beggars and i never engage them in conversation. i can't even tell you why, maybe it's to confronting, maybe i just don't care, maybe it would break my heart and send me into despair if i found myself seeing the human face of these people, besides most western beggars where just alcoholics looking for a way to continue their addictions and i didn't want to encourage that.

but on this night, at around midnight i had an encounter that changed everything.

i noticed him because he was kneeling down praying. he had his hands gripped together in a mantis gesture and looks to be mumbling his words and his eyes shone with what i can only say is utter conviction, they were wide open staring not at any passers by but at space itself, he was praying with such powerful intent it nearly knocked me of my feet.

reaching into my pocket i found myself giving him all my cash, save for the $5 i needed to get me home. it was not a great amount,, maybe $15 or $20. i placed it in his hands, near a small bowl with a few loose change inside but he never seemed to notice anything at first, just kept mumbling and looking up to the heavens, it was all very incoherent yet he looked so fixated upon the stars and i could feel something about him, intuitively as he slowly turned his face and for the first time acknowledged my presence. a strange look passed between us and then i found myself looking into his eyes, locked in a gaze.
i broke it in a swift single movement, almost like a ballet move, i twirled away and continued walking. it was quite strange and unsettling, as now my thoughts seemed to focus on this stranger and my uncharacteristically generous donation. i knew he would not spend that money on alcohol, i was certain of it, and somewhere deep down i began to look at my life in a perspective which i probably lacked before, i was lucky, i was really lucky because fate had never placed me in a situation where i was reduced to begging, although i had some pretty rough times, i'd found the resources to pull myself out.
devouring my lotus seed cake i now turned onto george street and wandered up into the main throng of sydney at night, masses of people wandering around, many drunk and shouting recklessly at one another, traffic gridlocked and the chaos of friday night hedonism as people moved from one escape looking for another. i was heading towards the night bus service when to my left outside a church i glimpsed another beggar. this one was not praying but he did look at me as i wandered passed him.
i reached into my bag and found some coin, which i tossed his way without stopping, i didn't want to engage him in any way, he said 'thanks brother' and i hurried along, again beset by thoughts about beggars and begging. why would someone beg, what kind of person does it?
perhaps they had been dealt a hard blow, a blow which had made them relinquish everything, god knows i have come close, i really have, maybe they were just mad people in need of medication or perhaps they were just working the system, milking compassion for all they could due to an extremely lazy disposition. they may even return home to plush inner city apartments and drink expensive wine with their dips for all i know. the thoughts circled my head until i realised i needed to get an answer.
i doubled back.
when i came to the second beggar i noticed he was wrapped in blankets, he was smoking a cigarette someone had given him and he seemed to be smiling when i came towards him.
'hi' i said, 'do you remember me?'
'yes you gave me $3 and some change, you didn't stop to hear my words of thanks but i understand, you're in a hurry, the night is late.'
for a beggar he seemed to have quite a good command of english, i mean why wouldn't you. he was educated, spoke very well, i was surprised. 'i'm curious as to how you came to be a beggar, i know it's a strange question but i was wondering if you could tell me. i'd be happy to buy you a coffee while we talk.'
'ah it's very kind of you to offer but i don't partake in hot beverages, i'm more than happy to tell you my tale though, although it may surprise you, a man of your sensitive disposition and status.'
so he began his story and i listened and it was surprising, for he started life as a very wealthy man, heir to a family fortune in the scottish highlands. he had studied with the university and gained three degrees, classical history, philosophy and comparative religion. after his education came to a close he travelled the globe, explored politics and quickly grew tired of it, reverting to religion he went seeking enlightenment in india where he encountered the sadhu or as he translated for me, the good man. he explained it is the path of renunciation, a very holy path associated with hinduism. the sadhu assists burn away mankind's karma and are sometimes valued as powerful and respected individuals who contribute to a community. he confessed a slight discrepancy between the western perception of the sadhu and went on a little tangent concerning his trials and tribulations in sydney but he never lingered on this, returning to his belief that he was on a spiritual path. he said that he had studied in his youth, then married his childhood sweetheart and started a family but left to travel the world, he said he was on the fourth stage of his hindu incarnation. this is a tricky path for the individual must first acquire viragya, which means desire to achieve something by leaving the attachments with family and society and finally the world.
when he realised this was what he needed to do he sought a guru, which he found the very next day. i watched his face light up at the mention of his guru, as if some inner light had been flicked on and shone out. he studied for many many years with his guru finally achieving liberation, he was given a new name and his own mantra and cast into the world as sadhu.
i asked him about the lifestyle and he looked at me quizzically, 'it's not a lifestyle, it's my blessing.'
we spoke for a long time, i had missed my bus but found the conversation so interesting i remained. when it was over i shook his hand, and immediately regretted it, some strange neurotic pathology reacted and i was certain the beggar knew, he said nothing but took his hand away slowly and nodded smiling, he muttered some words, a mantra i guess and i left him wrapped in his blanket, smoking what i thought was a cigarette but was in actual fact a joint.
i was amazed, what an incredible thing to do, become a beggar for spiritual reasons, it was mind blowing. i followed the streets back towards china town, hoping that the first beggar would still be there in his spot, i'd got this idea in my head that i should ask him about his history and more importantly, in reference to his prayer, what kind of god he believed in.
he was there, in his mantis position, staring into space. as i approached i realised he may not take to kindly to me asking him questions, perhaps even react violently, i proceeded with caution.
as i stood near his eyes opened and he gestured to me to sit down with him.
'i'm sorry to interrupt sir, i was here earlier, i gave you some cash.'
'yes i remember you, thank you.'
'i was hoping i could ask you some questions, you seem so, unusual.'
'feel free to ask whatever you wish but i cannot guarantee you will like the answer.'
'well i wondered if you can tell me your story, why you are a beggar, what events led you to this point?'
'ah i understand, you want to know. but have you asked yourself why?'
'no i can't say i have really, just curiosity i think.'
'curiosity.....? no, it's not that,' he said answering his own question. then he said, 'i will tell you.'
and he began to tell me.

'you may look at me and think i am like you, part of this, part of the ocean of humanity but i am not really, i am something different. you may look at me and think my internal mind architecture is similar to yours but it is very different. you may look at me from your perspective and assimilate information based on your observation and experience and it would create a picture about me but it would be vastly misinformed for i am not like you at all. i am an avatar of the thing you call the cosmos, my domain is not here, it is there.'
he looked up into the night skies.
'are you saying your an alien.'
'i am indeed an alien, not human at all.'
i thought that he was a psychiatric patient, that was my first thought, i mean it has to be doesn't it?
'i know you doubt me but this is the truth. i have been here for twelve earth years, living amongst you and watching how you live. you are humanity and i am not. i watch how you struggle and attempt to deal with your place as dominant prime species on your world. it makes me very sad. so i decided to stay here amongst you and help you by restoring your humanity. every act of compassion i receive is restoration. every act of restoration is a victory to consciousness and every victory of consciousness will take me home.'
'how does that work' i interrupted?
he smiled.
'for each little act humans demonstrate by donation or kindness i am able to adjust their karma, eventually i will transmigrate and my spirit join my own race but i have many years left here.'
'so you're saving humanity?'
'i'm saving myself but as a side effect i am saving humanity yes, it's a kinda feedback loop.'
'some would say that you are an angel.'
'yes, i've been called many things.'
'are you here alone, is there others like you.'
'yes, there are many here, all over the world.'
i offered to buy the beggar some food, i said i would withdraw some cash from the atm, he could have hundreds of dollars, i offered him a room at mission control but he declined all, saying he did not want to take anything from me. he bundled up his papers and a jumper and a hat and walked away.
it was the strangest encounter, two individual beggars with two different philosophies but they had the same process to achieve their goals.
i caught the late night bus home, all the way i thought about the beggars and like a strange caterpillar in my head the chrysalis began to form and by the time i returned home it was emerged as a butterfly. i would join the beggars, renounce everything and test humanity to the limit, for i to would be liberated, i to will be freed.

2011-11-04T13:41:00.000+11:00

in darling harbour, at the edge of the world, in big complex labyrinth i found myself walking solo into hell wind and aggressive rain, a reckless wanderer, dressed in black with red om shield for protection, he came seeking refuge and shelter from the storm of swords and world wind of elemental fury. drenched and waterlogged i moved along following my nose, entry through the plush gates of the city corporate into the exhibition halls, past vacant chambers where nothing but space lurks, all this wasted volume i thought, just waiting for content. i shambled like a wounded solider, weaponless and defenceless save for universal vibration, shell shocked and shaken, behind enemy lines and then i find a trickle of people entering a doorway and i wander in drawn by the flow, attempting to blend, a doorman looks at me kindly and lets me pass, payment reduced to gratitude elevated by default.

and verily captain mission walks amongst the mind, the body and the spirit. greeted by strangers who recognise him he is offered a feast as vegan delights are brought out by elegant women, berries and vitamin drinks, elaborate chocolates and health supplements, yoga, aura cleansing, crystals and angels, physics and psychics, channelled intelligences and animal right activists, it's all here, friendly faces, things i understand, people i know.

my archangel raphael channelling friend asks me to mind her stall, she has had no customers all morning, i sell some books, candles and a few packs of incense, i dry out in this little cubicle watching the shadow people pass me by, an endless parade of quick fix people with the occasional bright star.

i see wendy the witch, i'm so happy to see her, a beacon of light in my otherwise strangely darkened world, she is indeed a bright star. she knows the score, she's been filled in on my circumstances by the aether net, she says in her wise old mischievous way that i have to listen. she tells me to forgive myself for allowing this to happen to me and she's right. i do have to forgive myself, i made a mistake, everyone warned me and i trusted that things would be different. there's nothing wrong in that. i didn't do anything wrong. i forgive myself for getting into this mess. it feels good to be lighter.

i move onwards and meet mishka, she's admiring a ouija board made from marble. she looks soft and smells good, she and i engage in a long conversation while coveting that which we cannot have. these ouija boards are fantastically made but very expensive, way beyond my price range, besides i have a radio i made that can tune in to the dead, a ouija board is for groups of teenagers and neophytes, i wander off finding myself chatting to a yogananda man. he's a rocker with a philosophical bent and offers me a gift. a book he seems to think is better than 'autobiography of a yogi' so i humbly accept and verily trade a cd with him. moving onwards i come to happy highs where i engage straight away with mr. happy high a wonderfully sincere man whom i instantly connect with and his most beautiful assistant whom my base charkra wants to connect with while simultaneously my crown smacks me across the face hard for thinking such thoughts in a spiritual context but what the hell i think, it's a sexy universe. so we cat about vine medicines, and we exchange south american herbal hearts i'm told will rock my world for a snuff music cde which i hope rocks their world and would be fair to say has a large amount of south american vine spirit in it. a most equilibrium bringing experience. i honour both these souls and move along to my next point of call the infamous vibrating machine.
a few years ago i considered buying one, they have very good healthy beneficial properties and can be fun when used creatively but i have no room for it, so this time i jump on and set the controls for the heart of the sun, the vibration rattles my bones, my organs and internal structure begins to dissolve and after ten minutes i come apart. every atom strewn across the room, most of me ends up in someones acia berry drink and i'm sucked through a straw into a very nice man from india who claims to have been a descendant of prince arjuna.

2011-11-04T13:17:00.003+11:00

the deviant moon

the deep fix

night brings a face

out from the stars

looking mysteriously

at venus and mars

planets alignment

gravitational pull

invisible smile from

the deviant moon

jokers are wild

aces and spades

here comes the fool

with the idiot in trail

we cast our wishes

intricate spells

for every heaven we reach

surely a hell

no light can reach

the distant dark

save for the love

that starts as a spark

infinite cosmos

aura attuned

blessings reign down from

the deviant moon

2011-11-02T18:31:00.004+11:00

the if you like your science fiction old skool golden age adventure with an awesomely inventive adversary you can't go wrong with 'leviathan wakes' by james corey the first in a trilogy called the expanse.

it's characters focus upon the detective miller who is investigating the disappearance of a young heiress to an industrialist millionaire, and the captain of the ice hauler 'the canterbury' who investigates a derelict space ship responding to a signal.

it's a pretty action packed chunky novel but the last third is when it gets interesting as the enemy is revealed against a backdrop of politics and mad scientists.

this is american science fiction, and i can see it's heritage, very different from the contemporary english science fiction, but it's good and worth reading if you need an easy escape route.

2011-11-02T12:28:00.002+11:00

high frequency low frequency, the message comes through on all bandwith loud and clear, it's halloween time, streets are a dead zone, see movement and it's just the wind blowing remnants, no signs of life, no animals making noise, just that cold wind, some kind of tempest. not even an insect left, a few scattered corpses, a frozen dog, some birds dropped out the skies, half skeletal remains. you do a quick scan, get a fix on some kind of transmitter.
your pressure suit is state of the art, technology from anteries 7, semi organic, grown designed and compatible for you specifically. it's homed in on the transmitter, the display lights up, some information hits your neural net and you head towards it, lock in, the camera starts recording automatically fixed to your vision. you scan the area, just like they trained you, you report back, feedback to the mission control, all data will be significant, your body is argumented with some serious software, electron proton and quark drive power your suit. the organic skin has chameleon like camouflage, nothing looking at you would see you, it's anti spectrum field makes you invisible in most of the spectrum, unless the observer used the extra visionary blue, then it would pick up on your emotional energy. you crave a cigarette, but the suit releases some anxiety reduction chemical into your blood, it takes effect immediately.
as you head towards the transmitter you can make out the black cube, it's on a mound of rubble, a visual scan indicates the electro magnetic pulse. it's an sos, standard warning code. you consider all options, move forwards carefully.
each step takes you closer, you find it hard to concentrate, because your frightened that it could be a trap, something you have not picked up on, waiting for you, lurking in the shadows, your eyes scan everything.
the box itself is small enough to pick up in one hand, it's chinese, not the indian ones you're familiar with. you slip it into a pouch and walk back to the pod where you can investigate further, your team await. they power down your suit and get the lab prepared, they access the main computer network and run a technological autopsy program that's suited to decoding the transmitters memory.
an hour later after you have showered, you sit with a coffee amongst your team awaiting a result. the medic checks you over, the navigator is smoking a joint, she looks grimly at you.
'come o, lighten up, it's going to be okay, just some kind of warning that's all.'
'i gotta bad feeling about this whole thing captain.'
'it's nothing, it's just a warning signal that's it. nothing to get suspicious about.'
'it's the only fucking piece of technology on the planet captain. it's not nothing.'
she was right, i reached out and took the joint from her, inhaling deeply.
the mainframe interrupted whatever peace we had, 'final analysis ready, all personal return to command centre for briefing.'
we stood there looking at the screen, the five of us in dim light as we watched the information roll down through, static, a mass of millions of random noise, the computer focused on eliminating the layers of noise, until it reduced the sound to one layer, a single entity, downloaded from the dead. we trawled through each layer of information, the whole planet was here, in this box, whatever had befallen this world the humans had managed to download their consciousness into this cube. they had survived but not in human form.
i asked the mainframe what the cube would be worth on the market, the team seemed to think we could at least make some credits from this salvage mission. the mainframe said the cube was worthless although it may be of value to a collector.
'okay, prep it for storage, we can keep it onboard until we need it.'
it had been a long day, i needed a bath and a drink.

2011-11-01T11:11:00.002+11:00

damm that ghost, it's see's everything, follows me around every night, won't leave me alone, all my secrets are exposed, it haunts my files as it trawls through my computers deleting word documents and writing strange cryptic messages searching google for music videos and pornography and it trespasses through my library. in the morning i can see the books it has been reading, they lay open abandoned on the floor, sometimes pages torn out and stuck on the wall.
the spook has a prevalence for gothic romance and poetry, it's ripped up my hp lovecraft volumes and poe, it's torn pages from blake and byron creating hybrid stories and strange musings. some just seem random but mostly the narratives read of bleak romance, unrequited love in scandinavian castles and still crystal lakes, mystery and death and some opium flavoured words.
the ghost hovers, it shimmers and shines, it floats through walls and through me, many evenings it passes through my flesh, momentarily our hearts connect, it's not a pleasant experience for the heart of this ghost does not beat, it is long dead.
when i light my candles it blows them out with its cold breeze and creeping wind, it pushes me into things and makes irritating noises, whispers and pleas, i sometimes feel my skin involuntary crawl when it's near.
as i clean my teeth i see it's reflection in the mirror, this is the only time it communicates i have discovered, through mirrors. i only have one in mission control, in the bathroom where a single scented candle burns, flickers and eventually extinguishes as the ghost is revealed, strange luminosity, unnatural glow, the bathroom temperature drops and my skin shudders.
standing in the cold room, darkness engulfs and in ambient light i can make out her shape and form, almost human, she's trying to tell me something, her lips are attempting to form words but instead some weird unnatural and pained sound escapes, like enochian, the words are shrieks and wails sometimes drone, short stutters and staccato bursts, with the occasional random coherent word. i piece it all together, 'is end uncertain future near always.' she repeated the words often out of pattern but these six words were the message, repeated in some anti symmetric loop for half an hour until i cracked it. she fades with a trace of a smile.
i rearranged the words and made the jim morrison line, 'the future is uncertain the end is always near.'
she had long departed never to return leaving me with this line to muse upon.

2011-10-30T19:23:00.002+11:00

the rain brings serenity, the cold turn offers a moments peace, the sunlight kisses the skin, the wind caresses the mind and for a moment all is zen then the birds appear over protective, their song sends out an alarm, even the bugs are uncertain, dogs pace and cats dart for cover, something shifts in the air, a new danger. i attempt a journey but end up staying home, i attempt a letter and end up sending a monologue, i attempt to move forwards but take a step back. i attempt connection but disconnect, i attempt detachment but end up sticking, i attempt concentration but end wandering. nothing penetrates the throb of the day that has turned 180 degrees upon you. it's like the friend that you lost, it's like a bad investment, a road trip going bad.
but it don't, the sun comes out.

i stand by the beach yesterday at dusk, i'm with a friend and she's sitting down contemplating the life she has, a man walks towards us, he's a sikh and he wears a beautiful purple turban, it's so regal and lush it stands right out like a jewel. as he walks towards me i find myself standing and i find myself walking towards him and i find myself smiling and saying, 'good evening sir, it's a pleasure to see you again.'

he looks at me, smiling as well, it's all really quite strange and he smiles and says, 'it's a perfect day.'

lust anger greed materialism and ego dissolve to gods grace in truth equality freedom justice and karma.

"there is one supreme eternal reality; the truth, immanent in all things; creator of all things; immanent in creation. without fear and without hatred; not subject to time; beyond birth and death; self-revealing. known by the guru’s grace."

i know i have lived as a sikh before, perhaps i wore a purple turban like my new friend, maybe i killed the english with a jewelled dagger and rode upon a majestic black horse named, ajab.

later in the evening i speak on skye to my very good friend tez who also plays some mean guitar on 'snuff' he thinks i may a have phoenician heritage, something i will investigate.

we have a lovely discussion about my fathers obsession that he came from 'atlantis' and tez sends me some information that the greek philosophers wrote on atlantis. it is good for me to know there are people out there who understand this type of knowledge, i often feel isolated and i am aware how different i am seen by those around me, i guess i am weird, but i am in good company and that's very reassuring.

the night falls hard, i feet like the detective halfway through the novel, halfway through his case, head filled with all the information he needs, head empty with data and no idea as to how to find the pattern that solves the crime. maybe that's the crime. sleep brings a reoccurring dream, i tweak it, lucid yoga, i push it a little farther but the ending is always the same. i always wake up in my life.

NO AGENDA

2011-10-30T12:36:00.001+11:00

how beautiful is this?
it is beauty in the platonic form.