i write, i don't know why or how, or what. what is a blog even? i just right my reports and send them out there and when i'm not writing i tend to read quite a lot. i started with the moomin and ended with 1984, that's kinda sad but inevitable in a william blake kind of way, it's connected to the law of entropy somehow, that's what i reckon but i'm just a stoned immaculate messenger.
there are so many writers i love to read, many books inhabit mission control but if i had to nominate one, it would be orwell's novel because it's so powerful and david bowie liked it enough to try to write a musical based upon it which resulted in 'diamond dogs' which happened to be close to me as a young mission man. it informed me so profoundly and deeply at skool, i saw the worst human beings could become and it left a bitter taste. if i imagine hell, it's  winston and julie's fate. 
that novel is the death of humanity and love, its control and power, it's the result of fear.
orwell wrote that while he worked in the culture of the bbc, he saw the future and now we live within it as if immune. 
not me though, that book lives under my skin.
i love william burroughs, he cut it up, progressed the art of writing into another future, and he hacked away at convention, taste, excess, sex, drugs and...well i guess rock and roll although it was jazz first back then. burroughs was a very peaceful man, a gentleman who knew the pen was mightier than the sword, yet he loved shooting paint from a gun into a white virgin canvass, he loved animals and knew quite a lot about everything forbidden, he was a member of the chaos magickians, he was IOT, he reached into my brain and helped unplug me from the zombie factory, reading 'cities of the red night' set me free from convention, it truly blew my tiny mind. 
then i turned on to philip k dick. 
i mean if you don't ask yourself who are you after reading any of his novels then you never will. 
his novels of identity made me inward looking, what is science but outward looking, and what is its opposite, spirituality, inward looking. 
so there began my journeys into mysticism and magick and all that jazz, started to listen to the words of the church (the band) as steve became more and more adept lyrically and poetically and over the last few years reading steve's words i realised he was also one of my favourite writers, it was through the songs, their ideas and the words, that evocation. 
i only started writing a blog because i had to join up blogger to comment on his, so i just wrote a few lines and now it's this.... but, steve is a kooky genius and he can write man. i been collecting all his poems for a long time and now he's branching out into other narrative forms i'm discovering the man is a very very good writer.
so basically i just wanna say he's published a fantastic book of his writings and poems, called uncollected and if you are like me, a lover of literature in its many forms, read these books.

i'm half way through alister reynolds, 'on the steel breeze' the second in his africa trilogy and we have enhanced elephants in space, humans genetically engineered into whales, mer people and of course the continuation of the family history of the akynya family. it's a brilliantly executed novel and filled with inventive ideas and excitement, in fact reynolds is the maestro when it comes to science fiction. my only complaint is it's been a long time between readings the first in this series and this one, therefore some of the intricate plot lines are faintly distant in my memory and i'm having to tap into to some total recall to remember the bits that link the novels, even though they are stand alone, this is a continuum.

early morning i swim, catch waves once again down at avoca beach before every man and his god are even awake, the glorious negative ions fill the air, beautiful saturation of life affirming energy fills my skin, lungs grasp the sweet air, heart pounds with the life vibration. 

an hour in the water i start to feel washed out, surf saturation, i clamber out feeling the sunshine upon my skin, it's stinking hot already. driving home in time for coconut drinks with kale.

bursting with vital energy i fill a refuge bin with fallen branches from palms that litter the front garden, then wash pan in the back garden, the hose proves to be troublesome as i get drenched once again, pan looks on in bemusement, mmm kale and coconut juice the nectar that sustains me gets me through a busy morning as i fall asleep unwittingly upon the lounge.

libeteria takes shape, the garden will reach the canopies of the tree tops, the flag will fly high, like a madagascan spring day i remember, in the islands of azure oceans, the hungry forest and the lemur eye, the river still, the hum of the insect nation, the shade fans out on the beach between the palm trees, a pile of young coconuts someone has stacked in a pyramid. 
the women are swimming in a lagoon, a few children play, they catch fish with their hands and laugh as they let them go, unaware the fish swim quite willingly to the children. a faun and a young lady play in the lagoon and a dog sleeps under the shade of a banana tree.
at night the ghosts appear from the trees, their big curious eyes, kind and knowing they clamber down and rummage for nuts and seeds, pieces of freshly plucked paw paw and juicy busted open mangoes. i've watched them for many months now, the family, their soft hair and long dexterous tails, the fourth limb agile and strong enough to support their weight when they hang down upside down picking fruit from the trees. curious about me they edge ever closer towards me each evening as i sit outside smoking my herbs, drinking my teas. 



  

war machines.

lamassus also known as 'the last guardians'
an assyrian war machine that uses evil against evil, the fog of war. 
'the truth of war lies beyond battlefields'

pazuzu, the sumero - assyrian demon of epidemics, found in the form of dust and extreme weather events, pestilence (seeded via an extraordinary long reptilian penis uplinked to alien currents flowing in the universe. 
'make yourself many like the locust'

glitches in mind, physics studies itself, does time flow or is that phycology, for the philosopher there is no distinction between boundaries, disciplines are for tiny minds. why do physicists embrace time as a dimension relative to space, when the present is the action that slices both. 
three events, past, present future. is now now, or is it anew, are these things fixed, the past locked in, the future not. does the mind cast itself forwards while looking backwards, is it just a matter of revealing, some cultures have different ways of perceiving time. 
the now updates to a flow, past behind, future ahead, unless your an aborigine who has a totally different spacial direction of the future. in png spacial gesturing is tied to a river, pointing to various positions. the source is one direction, the upstream a future, yet there is no culture that does not think the three are unique to one another. yet manifest time comes to the conclusion that there are many types of time, in exactly the same way the mayans have charted time according to 8 division sky place.

id like to wander the globe, certainly asia, the far east, maybe an island place with coconuts and cool drinks, just swim in small waves, bodysurf and sleep under a tree in a hammock with some good music a few books and some great company. get to the point where i can just relax and laugh. laughter has to be the answer to all the strange human stuff, financial systems and banking, governments that just come running to a standstill cos some idiot has a grudge against another idiot, polluting and radiating oceans and all life with some weird energy byproduct, killing innocents and living in fear of your neighbour cos they worship differently, ain't it the same god?
he's a loving kind god with a vengeful streak, he's a father figure, a son, a spaghetti monster a blue skinned vishnu a galactic spore cloud, who the hell cares what the details are, he says the same thing over and over, be cool to my creations.
love your enemy, fuck i love that line, how hard is that one? 
god gave us lovely spirulina and caco, coconuts and bok choy, he gave us honey and milk and a variety of seasonal fruits that are rich and diverse and tasty. 
he's a provider, our father, but don't fuck him over or he'll send ya a plague or kill your first borne or something horrid, that's what they say. i think he's okay in a way, you know as long as you follow his rules. 
however to know that you have to really break them. the universe knows this, it teaches with some karma thrown at you, here the mind has to work it out on it's own in it's own way, the brain can't, it's trapped in time only seeing events in causality. you gotta not see causality. that would be like looking at sheet music. you gotta hear the symphony, the song, the music and then decide, are you really free to act as though you own the universe, or are you okay about accepting it's shared. are you willing to push the limits, the universe wants that, it says to me, 'push mission, crack the codes, fuck with the mix all you want but ultimately there's only one point you can get to, acceptance that there is a design and a designer.'
i pushed, broke the rules, i say break all codes, especially break your own codes, but listen to the symphony when you do this, it gets outta whack, drama unfolds, street hassle, sorrow and pain quickly on it's heels. 
follow the music with your open heart, join in, contribute creatively and that jealous god or sexy jesus or whatever you pay homage to will play you a great song, and you can be free within it. 
i really want to be a vegan, i feel very much a pull in this direction these days but it's a difficult path for me, i like honey, eggs and i wear cotton t shirts and leather shoes so i can't really commit, but i feel saddened by this contradiction within myself, disappointed.
my friend lilly needs a place to stay so she is here, i made up a sort of area for her, orientated her to liberteria, she knows i don't use electric lights, she makes me a kale detox drink, it tastes better than i anticipated. i don't like people staying with me, i can't function well but i guess i'm happy to help if a friend is in crisis and i can offer a safe place, i think it may be for a few weeks so i will have to learn how to manage a cohabitant. at least she can teach me some yoga moves and to improve my lazy eating habits, ice cream and chocolate out the window, raw juice and fresh salads rule libetaria. 

i'm driving through tropical central coast with my friend lilly who is looking for two beaches, one is called copacabana which i can't pronounce, instead i say cococabana or coco -banana, it's just a brain glitch, can't fucking say it so she starts explaining it's 'cope' as in can't cope.
i say, cope, as in julian cope and proceed to tell her a story steve once told me, probably my favourite steve kilbey story ever and it involves julian cope when first meeting steve asking, 'what does it all mean steven?'
steve say's in his soft warm voice, 'what does what, all mean, julian.'
julian replies, 'everything'
so when we found copacabana i decided to name it julien's beach in honour of julian cope.
strangely the other beach we were looking for was called mc masters beach so i named that steve kilbey beach as the two beaches were attached by a little strip of land to form one long beach.
both fantastic beaches so i hope they don't mind.
anyways, as usual coincidences abound, when i returned home someone had posted a julian cope video on facebook, that's life in the post 2012 world of new connections, new ways of language and communication, travel by thought, that's how it has to be.

i do swim every tuesday, i take one of my clients to the pool and he does his laps while i practice diving and do a few laps myself, not many as i don't like the chlorine pools. so it was with much joy that i had my first surf in the ocean today, at avoca beach with my friend lilly who is staying until she sorts herself out. we jumped in, splashed around, i attempted a body surf but conditions were not good, the waves were big and i was apprehensive and cautious. 
there's something inside me deep and primal, it really is so deep and instinctual, that connects me to the ocean, to water, not just biologically but spiritually, i felt the lure today. body surfing has always been a deeply spiritual concept for me, it's the only time you get to be a 'particle and a wave' at the same time in this duality. thus experience the true nature of reality.
the condition always brings me back to three prime thoughts out there i like to hold on to:
keep breathing
which way is up
are my shorts still on
the rest is zen, no time no space, though you move through both inexplicably, you start in one place and end in another, life baby, but also something close to union if not communion. neptune loves me, i feel that love, it's healing and beautiful and my new persona is familiar, it's esoterically simple. love, gratitude and health. that's what the season holds, a rejuvenation, for as i enter an older age i shall become younger. 
anyways, back to the beach, lilly and i played in the surf, it was pretty good, i always wait to be invited in, i wait until it just feels right then just run in but it was freezing cold today and required a little convincing. however all things considered i rushed in and let the cold have me, my body adjusted fast and the next thing i knew i was on a wave.
lilly makes raw juice and does yoga so i'm basking in that energy and its great, i had kale juice each morning and it tastes great, i'll give you the recipe.
all organic.

bunch of kale (3 big leaves)
all the water from one fresh coconut
some coconut meat
splash of coconut oil
peruvian macca
heap of australian spirulina
chia seeds
hemp seeds
cinnamon 

drink two glasses, tastes great, gets you through till lunch. for lunch we eat salads with buckwheat and goats cheese and have good alkaline water. we usually have a late lunch and by evening we are still feeling full so we may just nibble on some trail mix, corn chips or dip. drink a hot coca before early nights. thats how it's going to be this spring at liberteria.
rejuvenation. 


  

my first and last trip to amsterdam, i stayed in a strange hotel, it's not in the guide books but it's known in travelling circles, the hobo hotel, it's basically a run down hovel with paint peeling of the walls, horrible stained linen and awkward rooms. the corridors are narrow and barely take a big guy like me, the lights very rarely work, most often or not they flicker randomly so everything feels like a lonely disco for the miserable. the stink of the place is, wet dog, some sort of damp mould permeates the surfaces but there's also an industrial strength  bleach that wafts out of the bathroom straight into your nostrils and brain and you're uncertain which direction to walk into as your direction faculties seem to go out of whack.
i was meeting a girl, yeah romantic huh? it was her idea, she raved about the place being kooky and filled with interesting characters. i hadn't met any kooky people yet, just a strung out junkie looking to score, a transexual prostitute who offered me her services for free and a couple of american youths who looked very nervous as they checked out at the same time i was checking in.
i booted up my computer and hooked up to the free wi -fi, checked my e mails, looking for naomi's name.
ah, there it was, i opened it and scanned the words, she couldn't make it but would be here in the morning. i stretched out on the bed and pulled out a half smoked joint. 
'fucking hell naomi,' i said with a hint of bitterness, 'so this is romance.'
i must have fallen asleep but when i woke the joint had burnt down to the roach and a strange shadow seemed to flash across the wall. it took me a moment to work out it was the light globe strobe from the hallway blinking away, my trench coat hooked over the wardrobe was casting a curiously human shadow on the wall, like a detective hiding in the darkness. i settled down into some deep breathing and settled my anxiety. 
it crossed my mind to get up and clean my teeth but i feared leaving the room so i just stayed on my bed, my body weary and still.
the bed was very uncomfortable, the thin mattress, the spring bed was unsprung in areas, i like a firm surface for my back and decided i would move the mattress off the bed and sleep on the floor. it would offer me very little space as the room was tiny but it would save me a lot of pain.
i pulled down the mattress and lay it on the floor, and as the strobe lit the room i noticed something under the bed, through the network of broken springs and circles and spirals was a dirty old shoe box. 
i pulled it out and sat with it on my lap, a thin band of sticky tape sealed it shut so i carefully located the end and peeled it away. i felt a pang of guilt as i wondered if i should have just handed the box in at reception but by then i had lifted the lid off and seen a rolled up parchment of papers, and a black pouch. i lifted the pouch and opened it up. a fob watch feel into my hands, it was silver and black and had an inscription written on the back. the hands had stopped moving and the time read 11.50pm. there where various buttons and dials on the watch, it seemed intricate, hand crafted. i couldn't make out the inscription so i returned it into the pouch. i went back to sleep the shoe box by my side.
i slept dreamlessly, awakened by the traffic, outside a car alarm was sounding through the neighbourhood. i felt groggy, still tired and lay there staring at the ceiling on my back.
i looked at the box, it was there where i had left it. 
after a shower and some coffee i returned to my room, i went straight to the box, opened it up and took out the watch, it felt perfect in size as it sat in my palm, the hands were now moving, and it appeared as if the indicated time was actually correct, i checked with my mobile phone. the inscription read, 'he whom holds this watch, holds time.'
i opened up the parchments and saw that there were a number of photographs inside the roll, i put them down and thought i'd take a methodical approach to investigating this shoebox mystery.
so i started reading the parchment.

reader
if you are reading this then it would mean i am trapped, and therefore long gone. for the record, my name was joseph delaware, i'm an american by birth but at the age of 30 decided i was a citizen of the world having travelled across the four corners of this fine globe and lived amongst many different cultures.
at the age of 50 i found myself living in london england and happily married, a family man, and successful entrepreneur, a shipping line, black star, you may have heard of it.
i considered myself a responsible man and one whom liked to know his business and the people that ran it, and i liked to often work amongst my employees disguised as someone else, to gain insight into their conduct and duty, to then make whatever changes i saw as important. this was the secret of my success and also my downfall.
on the cold winter of 1795 i was en voyage to the spice islands, working as a rigger, living in the bowels of the good ship 'destiny' when a mutiny occurred. the captain wanted to sail through a storm, the crew were nervous and refused, and the result was they captured the captain, tied him up and put him on a raft. i stepped forwards, it was my duty to reveal myself and put a stop to this accursed action, but the crew mocked my claims, they sat me in the raft with the captain and said, i would be his rower and first mate.
as they lowered us into the dark waters i felt certain we would capsize and drown, the angry sea forged waves the size of mountains, troughs like canyons. i untied the captain and he thanked me and looked in my eyes and i will never forget his words, 'do not be afraid of death good man, for one who is afraid is already dead.' he smiled and gave me a strange look.
rowing was pointless, when the storm hit us we were tossed about, at the mercy of the seas. as each wave sent us rolling in a new direction, we tossed and turned the captain laughed and laughed, he shook his fists at the black skies, rain hitting his face, 'is this the best you have, it's not a storm it's a teacup, i'm not afraid of you, take me neptune i'll spoil your daughters and drink your wine.' words to that effect.
as he raved i was scooping water from the boat with my hands but it was a self defeating exercise. a huge wave lifted us up and my last glimpse of the captain was his look of surprise as he was snatched by the mighty hands of an angered sea god and taken down to davy jones locker.
for myself and my sins i survived, washed up on a shore. 
i was grateful to be alive, i felt the sweet sun, the gently lapping of water as waves broke, the breeze skimming off the water, hear the sounds of birds and insects in the deep green jungle.
i pulled myself up and stood on the land, a strange feeling after being aboard an ocean vessel. my stomach felt wretched and coughed up some water which fell at my feet in a foul splash.
i wandered around the shore line, maybe the captain was washed up, if not maybe items from the raft, i knew there would be water rations and food supplies on under the rowing arms. i needed water, i felt dry and thirsty. i wandered for about an hour following the sealine, looking for any sign of debris. i retraced my steps and did the same thing on the other side, and again nothing, so i decided to head into the jungle and search for water.

the dense jungle formed an outer ring against what was a valley under the shade of a massive mountain, from which a massive waterfall fell, branching out into three smaller ones, in turn branching out into various smaller ones, one of which was about a mile away. i started towards it, clambering over what seemed to be huge glass crystalline forms, that sprouted from the land. 

i could see the mouth of the lowest and nearest waterfall high up but before climbing i found myself standing before a river, i immediately fell to my knees and drunk in the clear fresh water and then somehow i was inside it, splashing around, feeling it's soothing currents and invigorating side effects like a tonic. 
it was a beautiful looking river, for i could feel it's flow but not see it, for the surface was completely still, there were no under currents, just clear clean waters that seemed to move downstream and then i realised that the waterfall was actually not falling at all, it was rising from the river and flowing upwards against the side of the mountain, against gravity, i floated on my back looking at the beautiful jungle and tree tops, the waterfall roaring in my ears behind me seemed to suck me upwards, i found myself being carried by the water up the face of the mountain, against gravity.
as i ascended i saw the beginning of a ledge, and i leapt across onto from ground where gravity seemed to reassert it's control. i jumped into the opening through the curtain of water into the mouth of a cavern.
there were yellow fruit hanging from vines that were growing close to the side, i tore them open and ate the flesh, succulent sweet and invigorating, i could feel my body reviving. if only the captain had made it i thought, the wonders he would have seen.
the climb down was not so challenging, the rocks were spaced evenly and my descent was more laborious that dangerous but i was going down deep into the bowels of the mountain, and light was now fading. 

i was in darkness, complete darkness when the bats swarmed and flew past me, thousands of them, i could see their white razored teeth and their blood red eyes, i huddled down low and waited for the swarm to pass. when i stood up i felt out the wall and followed it further, then i came to a long circular set of steps which i followed down to what seemed like a small chamber, i stood there, perplexed. i was never sure what i would find but nothing would have prepared me for what came next.
i felt the hands around me, my throat suddenly constricted and i could hear the sound of a man sized being, feel his fingers and sharp long nails digging into my neck, my body twitched and shuddered and i knew i would die. i never saw who my attacker was, death came suddenly and all i saw was a shape, a dark long elongated fleeting shadow maybe. i saw those eyes, the eyes of a bat.


i came shooting out from one of the other waterfalls, this time i fell down into the river, as i fell i looked downwards at the beautiful river winding through the jungle. it was nightfall, the sun long disappearing over the soft horizons and there seemed to be two moons in the sky, one a red one reflecting the sun and almost at 160 degrees, another darker one with strange pulse emitting circle of cobalt blue light. i hit the water.

i will not bore you with how i returned to london, suffice to say i did, and i found that my fate had taken a strange twist, for my company had been sold off and i had inherited a vast wealth which i put to good use but after several hundred years i grew bored and restless, for what can an undead man do apart from feed of the living, i found love many times but fleeting as they aged i stayed young, i refused to take them to the island, although many begged thinking it offer some romance but there was nothing left inside of me that thought of romance, romance became flowers wilting and the mark of time hunting down beauty, i saw everything fade away, everything. 
as written by joseph delware 

the watch in my hands felt good, the way it ft so snuggly, i opened it up and read the inscription 'how did it get late so soon.'
i saw the day had passed, it was nearly night time.

mix tape

side one

preist = aura

lost my way

don't bang the drum

savage earth heart

the keeper

you gotta serve somebody

looking for atlantis

side two

political world

all lined up

all along the watchtower (xtc)

hounds of love

how to be invisible

private revolution

sexy motherfucker

i love you goodbye

the memory thief, a tragic figure, head filled with holes, and mystery. the memory thief, an unknown force, lives in the shadows, waits in the wings, some may say he's a conspiracy theory that no one knows about, others say he's a myth. 
he will come in the night, in the mid afternoon,morning will break open, he comes when you close your eyes, he takes your past and when you awake you don't even know who you are. he haunts the future and feeds on your past, he's a night dweller, avoids the sunlight because it reveals him.
the memory thief will take everything you hold dear, treasure intangible, even that, can be stolen by sly wire hands and long spidery fingers, he traces a line over your skin, a pattern, a mandala that opens you up like a spam tin as your secrets pour out. 
vast holes everywhere, lost keys, family day trips, precious words a lover once said, holiday vistas, childhoods, relationships, children's memories, fleeting and lingering, it all spills out and he drinks it up like a greedy beast who could never be satisfied.
yes his hunger is endless, it spans aeons, his thirst unquenchable, almost eternal. when i first met him he requested one favour, he fell to his knees grasping my hands in his, he cried like a baby, howling and blubbering and begging me to kill him i looked down into his darkness, his eyes like portals forced open, you could smell his torment and i felt merciful so i agreed to offer him an oblivion but there's always a price for my services, a toll, a trade of sorts.
i filter through his massed memories, what has he got that i could use. thousands of years here, cultures, histories, geographies...fleeting memories, long epic memory, pain and joy, suffering and ah.. sweet redemptions, glimmering flickering emotions, an ocean of grief, humans know how to suffer, they perfected it.
it flows through me, like a vast movie, wars, conflicts, blood, tears, loss, nothing i can use though, random white noise, i seen all this before, it's junk, scrap heaped garbage. 
i trawl further, a psychic fisherman, in this deep ocean where there's nothing, no light penetrating, sunken buried treasure hidden away in the subterranean void. 
the memory thief hangs his head, slumped in my two hands, on his knees in a deep delta, i shift him to the gamma state, this is where i will find it, buried in the memory thief's unconscious, the glimmering prize, yes it's here, i can feel it, something worthwhile and true, the spark, fragment of the creator, the original divinity.
his body slumps forwards lifeless, and i must move again, an angel of death, sweet releaser, my love will set you free. 

CHECK THE MEANING

check the meaning

once upon a time i was a bit broken, i was living with justine bradley a jazz musician, she was a bohemian lady and she kinda got me, so i shared a big old palm beach house with her, a place with an amazing veiw. we watched thunderstorms, birds, whales, boats, surfers, birds, washed up debris, white caps, mist, sand, sunrise sunset, the twilight.
it was a good place to heal, i started getting into some different modalities, like of the richter-scale ones, she had some cosmic acquaintances, people whose company i connected with immediately. i remember doing some course called 'harmonics' with a john lilly guy and we talked about float tanks for days, he had one of the first ones in perth and it was made of wood!
anyways justine and i did this workshop in harmonics, and it was fine. i get all that stuff intuitively, and justine does to, we are both poisson, ruled by jupiter and neptune.
i even remember getting a certificate, that allowed me to practice this modality of healing, 'harmonics' which like most things i have learnt involves opening some sort of dimensional portal. we can all do this, it's a matter of training and belief. it's a process everyone should try to pass through, you do it all the time in life naturally, once you learn to do it it just seems supernatural. there's nothing super about nature, it's just nature, and it's everywhere, it knows everything, it is intelligent and it just wants you to play within it, and to play you never use your brain, you never use time, these are the conditions for play. play is unconscious learning, it is never and should never be confused with fun. and this is a good way to live within life. play gently within it, appreciate and respect it, fall in love with everything, open up the heart charkra. that's gotta be a good thing, even if your some scientist man.
i appreciate a healthy degree of scepticism but an offbeat mystic with no attachments to anything that flows through his mind apart, from that, to those i love, a heart to heart connection. so, yeah the heart breaks to heal, you can thank it when you listen to it. open it up and tune in to radio heartlands.
anyway justine is a cool lady and she and are tuned in, same as my fatebook friend brian whom i think about a lot, he is a compassionate man, and as soon as i read him on the time being, i loved that guy. 
heart stuff, opens a portal, it did tonight on fatebook when i connected with justine and brian, and fate did do the rest, amazing nature would maybe work better than super nature!
anyway that old palm beach place had a healing vibe, people came there a lot to stay over and just nourish their souls, and justine was the perfect host. she would always sing, play piano and make people laugh, and she and the house just were the same thing. 

captain situation turns up, heads straight to my fridge, 'fucking starving man, what you got in here.'
i start to speak but he's already munching into my watermelon, red juice dribbles down his chin.
'you look like the walking dead.'
'thanks mission, you look like a fucking aboriginal, you gone native on me, what's going on? 
'i went native a while back, look can i get you a plate?'
he shakes his head, slurps up some excess juice and wanders around, 'jesus man, what is this place?'
'home, it's home.'
he nods his head approvingly, 'nice, very nice.'
'want a drink?'
'what ya got?'
'coconut water, basil seed drink, water,'
'no rum?'
'no.'
he makes a strange grunting noise then shakes his head. 
he pulls out a bag of powder from his coat, throws it at me.
'what is this?'
'it's yer top shelf gear innit.'
i chuck it back.
'what's the deal with you man?'
'no deal. got any weed?'
so we skin up, he does what he calls a north london four skin, four rolling papers joined seamlessly together for one huge spliff. we sit and smoke it in the garden, 'it's chilled out here man, peaceful,' he leans back and lays on the decking.
'yeah well i like a little peace.'
'i could get used to this, maybe it's time to settle down somewhere.'
'well, it's working for me.'
but captain situation is sleeping in the sunlight, tranquillity faced and a slight smile on his lips.
it's the first time i ever saw him so relaxed, he's usually deranged and manic, like some sort of weird actor playing all the roles, he does to much coke, he drinks and is ruthless with his women, i don't like him much but at the moment he's at peace.

i woke up after years in the dreamcatcher, i had so much mail left at the front door, the grass was overgrown and the garden gone wilder than ever, my palms and ferns stood like mighty ancient forms spanning across the garden, leaves piled up and branches everywhere, spiderwebs masked my doorways, windows and unfortunately the high ceilings of the interior. i had no power, disconnected, no water, the putrid stink from the fridge nearly knocked me over, it was disgusting.
i ran for the bathroom.
i grabbed the broom and dusted it off, then used it to clear the hallway and entrance from the spiderwebs which were so thick in places it was like a network of cotton wool. it was like wrapping candy floss, the broom end became clumped with webbing. i cleared myself a pathway, chucked the broom away and looked at the fish pond. my fish had gone, long dead and broken down into atoms, reincarnated into birds and reptiles, a wild bush turkey and cat. 
the pond was indeed filled with debris from the trees, the motor for the pump long dead and covered in dead rotting leaves, there was a strange stink hanging around, and a few ferns sprouting. the water dragons were sitting on a nearby rock, sunlight glistened off the belly, vibrant and red, it's beady eye upon me.
i look around at the street, everything is as it was, except the road has been resurfaced, my car sits in the driveway, it's tyres are flat as i imagine is the battery.
i return inside, dust layers everything, even my posters are covered in dust. i walk over the rug to the kitchen, my legs feel unsteady and weak, i open the cabinet and pull out my bag of weed, roll a nice fat spliff, luckily the matches still worked.
ah sweet tasting spirit, i missed you, i close my eyes, yes i did feel sleepy, tired, the world looked bright, it was doing okay without me, poor fish i though, i felt a pang of regret as i thought of pan my companion in that life and imagined his bones somewhere out the back. i found myself wandering up to the bedroom, where i lay down and closed my eyes. the dreamcatcher hanging above. 






  

i made certain calibrations to my suit, the adjustments would offer me an glimpse out of the time stream at some events from the past. they say that empires fall over a few years but the cities of the west fell in a matter of milliseconds, no one even had time to register the event, say goodbye or make an escape plan, it was a beautiful aesthetic, blink and you missed it, eyes wide open and you wouldn't have seen it coming.
the suit had a tachyon inhibitor field generator, a sort of temporal force field, with some added tweaks one of which was the camera systems and recording devices. these allowed a good panoramic mega high resolution, synchronised with the eyes anything i saw would be up for the lab people to enhance, i record as much as i can close to the epicentre, they look for the anomaly. they could zoom in to any zone of the event, microscopic resolution, so if i didn't get a visual on the saboteurs, some of the lab geeks would.
as i suited up i watched the rest of the team running around the lab, huge monitors and panels checked my life support systems, there were teams of personnel for each of my senses, but the one person who stood out from everyone was the sexy redhead elenor gaye, the clinical physiologist who had prepped me for the event.
i watched her going about her business, leaning over at people hunched over monitors speaking in some techno babble code, making certain everything was safe. it was easy not to like her, she was smart and clinical, had nice natural features, no bullshit.
when she came over i looked down as i was still strapped into the suit and hoisted up on a kind of metal structure that supported the suit until i went virtual.
'how you feeling mission?'
'i feel fine up here, it's like being on a crucifix in some weird science fiction future.'
'mmm, interesting analogy, do you think you are being crucified?'
'i forgive you all, i hope you know what you're doing.'
'it's not a joking matter, how do you feel?'
'i'm as ready as i can be. how long?'
'we will start countdown as soon as i get the confirmation, i'd say under 5 mins.'
'time for a kiss then?'
'when you get back, now... be professional.'
i smile and try to return to a theta state of relaxation somewhere i hear the faint countdown....
the sound is like a muffled 'whump' and suddenly i'm over the city of new baal, instantly recognisable from the archaeologist museum, i can make out the sandstone brickwork, the twisting turrets and towers, that dmt type architecture, the domed rooftops of mosques and temples and the layer of heat that hangs over the city like a thick blanket. i see hordes of people, mostly walking under shaded canopies and through the market ways, small narrow streets, a few cars but mostly pedestrians and robed holy people, a few police and military folk, uniforms stand out dramatically and when my display lights up running a list of figures and statistics, i scan around looking for a place to move into.
i'm on the street now, the smell of food assaults me, cooking sizzling flesh fumes makes me feel sick, the strange aromatic herbs are enticing, there's a whiff of salt in the air and then there's a scream and then everything goes white. i'm blind for a moment only it's not dark, its light, to much light.
i'm back, people fuss over me, disconnecting me from the suit, someones taking of my boots and i feel like i am slowly being peeled free, i fall into peoples hands and for a short time they carry me to a chair where some one is shining a penlight in my eyes and another inspects my gums, 'alright, alright, i'm fine, leave me alone for a moment, i just need some space.'
enola comes towards me, she kisses me on my lips, 'welcome back'

after getting cleaned up i walk into the video labs and watch the huge screen where my visual feed is displayed. it's amazing, cinema sized film of all my video lines, being played out before me. a small team operates the controls, they are looking for the source of the explosion.
it takes a few white screens before we see an event, the screamer. she's a young woman around 20 years old, nothing remarkable about her excepts she screams and points, we track along, following the direction of her finger while the frame is frozen and there it is, hovering in the air another suited figure like me.
enola and i are running some tests, she's checking out my emotional state and the results are not good. 
'you're different, somethings happened to you.'
'i'm the same elona, it's me, i'm just a little shocked i guess.'
'mmm..' elona is unconvinced.
the geeks in the lab call us inside, they reckon they have pin pointed another event, this time the other suited guy seems to be holding some sort of trigger device. they zoom in and we can see it's a triggered pad, obviously activating something. i suggest its a device that sends him home, much like the one in the control room here. 'whomever sent him or her must have wanted their asset returned before the explosion.'
'maybe that was the explosion trigger, a suicide mission.'
later elona calls me back to her offices, 'sit down mission,' she says.
i look around at the photo's on the walls, pictures of her achievements, meeting famous scientists, military men and some world leaders, quite a highly regarded doctor.
'what's up doc?'
she holds up two cardiograph charts, 'see these?'
'yeah, heart monitors, they mine?'
'yes, both are yours, one taken before and one after.'
i nod.
'problem is they are different.'
she goes on to explain the discrepancy, something about one chart having an arrhythmic difference to the other. 
'so what are you saying doc?'
'these are two different hearts.'
'could one be a result of the trip?'
'no, these are two different hearts.'
'how is that possible?'
'the only suggestion is your another captain mission. the other figure we saw on camera, from another time line, sent back at exactly the same moment from that timelines future and we pulled back the wrong captain.
'but it's me, i know you, you know me.'
'yes it would seem that way but there are slight differences, the other captain mission was slightly different than you, i couldn't put my finger on it at first but you did feel different, you are the same but different.'
'i do feel slightly out of whack but to suggest im a completely different individual from a different time is extreme. where is the other captain mission?
'he must have been pulled back to your time line, or else he died in the explosion.'
'what about the trigger device, what was that all about?'
'two time lines send both their captain missions back to a catastrophic event to record the event. one captain mission has a trigger device to return to his time line, the other is controlled by his team who are not displaced in time. the other captain, you, activate the trigger device but it returns you to the wrong timeline. when we simultaneously activate our trigger our captain mission returns to your original time line.
'but why? what would have caused that to happen?
the boffins think it just transgresses the laws of causality. the two captains should not exist in the same timeline, even if it was not your own, the fact you both got within proximity may have even caused the cataclysm that we sent you to record and the result to you is a cross wires effect, but with time not telephone lines.'
'fuck, enola, that's a fucking guilt trip and a half to lay on me.'
'it's not yours to take personally, we all did this, both timelines destroyed a third timeline.'
'are you certain this is the only explanation.'
'it's the only one that makes any sense.'
'then i have to make it right, you have to, we all do.'
'i don't think we can, how?
'by sending me back, i can warn the other captain mission, perhaps if we are there for just a moment it won't cause a glitch,' then as an afterthought, 'maybe filming another timeline and then taking that time line out of it's line effects the causality of the time line it is returned to?'
'yes, there's so many variables, it's far to risky.'
'i have to do something, let's try it.'
their lab is almost identical, the people all the same only i am different, a man out of his time. 
i clamber up the steps and hook myself into the suit, wait for the team to run the diagnostics and make whatever calibrations were necessary.
i hear the countdown start from 100, elona runs up to me and wishes me good luck, the helmet lock is activated and i can now only hear my own breathing, 'whompph...' the sound makes as we pass through the temporal shift and suddenly i'm over new baal.
i look to my left and see him out of the corner of my eyes, he pops into existence but almost immediately is followed by another, and another, and another...soon the whole sky is filled with versions of me all sent by other timelines, i'm everywhere, just hundreds of me in my temporal suit filling up the sky, one by one, until the sky becomes filled with various versions of me. 
my brain can't process it, it's to much, like a strange horror film where the end is the big twist you never saw coming, i see the skies darken with figures, and we all scream.   





     

my thoughts are with 'nexty' an on off pixie girl i know whom is ill and awaiting surgery, she's a great lady, i don't spend much time with her but when we do it's playful and joyous. when i first met her she sprinkled me in some sort of fairy sparkle dust and i've always been a sucker for those types, anyway nexty i know you can do this, i know you can. 

wind comes through libertaria, sweeping through the trees into mission control, it flies in on an underbelly of heat and a backdrop of distant traffic, other sounds are, the leaves rustling, dog lapping up water from his bowl, the croaking of a frog, the humming of a fan.
i been on a little high after the bard of bondi gig, it was so lovely, i don't have to go out if i can just have nights like that once every six months, i'm not missing anything out there.
i watched a little tv today, thought i'd watch the news but ended up feeling bored with humanities dramas so i went down to the dvd shop and picked up baz lurmans sydney filmed epic remake, 'the great gadsby' and i watched it completely transfixed. i hadn't read the novel but i always felt i would and now i will, because the story is brilliant and the dvd although visually spectacular and innovative, contains the integrity of the idea and it's as relevant now as it was in the 20's with some great narrative which the director poetically writes into the film itself. 
gadsby was indeed great as was nick carraway who saw his greatness, a beautiful film, go see it and then we can discuss weather gatsby was great. 

i missed my breakfast date with hannah and her sisters, mmm, slept in, dreaming of coconut islands, big king parrots that speak like humans, i'm chatting to a beautiful bright red bird about something whimsical when i awaken suddenly by hannah calling me. 

we have to rearrange the meet.

outside a big bright old sun hits me, light explodes everywhere, it's splendid, the fish are looking happy and the birds chirping away in the canopy, all is well in the world captain mission, then i make a slight adjustment to that thought, all is well in my world.
yeah i'm broke but i'm healthy and happy and that's gotta count for something. count your blessings i say,  be grateful for them, beautiful people come into your life, beautiful animals, it's a beautiful day and everything is beautiful. take stock and breathe, yes keep it simple today, think i'm going to read stephen baxter new novel 'proxima' or aliester reynolds 'on a steel breeze.'
a decision like this can take all day such is my brains capacity for making these types of book decisions.

  

  

'naughty mummy' down in bondi beach road, host to a groovy little happening where solo balladeer steven kilbey plays some of his songs to some of his friends, recites his poems and tells us a wicked story about his most famous best selling and well recognised album, including that star of a song 'underneath the milky way'.
he's reading passionately from a new biography, impersonating all the voices of the american producers, and there's special guest stars that make an appearance from steve's history, he's got all bases covered on this one, it's feels honest as a biography as you could get and well written, because that's what i like about him, he's honest and its beautiful in these here dangerous days of human fakery. he has the audience laughing, he sings, dances, composes, raconteurs, jams and jokes and holds a small audience spellbound, plus there's a lot of love hanging in the air, a good good vibe, you could smell it, some great people in the audience, i didn't meet everyone but i felt it, it feels like walking into a close family, and warm friends and the set and setting amke a nice impression, its intimate and perfectly lit and unobtrusive, slightly kooky, diverse and interesting. it's steve kilbey.

a post birthday celebratory gig and although we arrived slightly late, due to a glitch in time at bondi junction (these things happen around big shopping -transport centres) the wonderful samantha mayfair had saved us a lovely sofa right down at the front, she always makes us feel so special but i guess she's just one of those special people you cross paths with in life, which is why i think she is so perfectly matched by my artistic hero, mr. kilbey, her man! 
steve introduces the 'latecomers' to everyone being the perfect gentleman, says, 'it's captain mission, and wilde childe' and as we sink into the deepest sofa i've ever sat in steve starts to sing 'keeper' from dabble.
now this is a brilliant song, and i was in all honesty secretly hoping he may stick it into his setlist tonight. 
so while i was waiting at the bus stop for wilde childe who was on her way over i even thought i should send sam a text, 'please ask him not to play keeper until i'm there,' but... who am i to make such a request, yet here it was, special delivery, first hand to the heart.

steve played some great cover songs, 'life's a gas' by marc bolan, 'is your love in vain' by dylan, remember that one from 'street legal' and a rich assortment of his own songs, yeah it wasn't perfect, some chaotic impulse at work crept in a joyous way but this is what we love about these shows, steve is an open book, you couldn't see a more authentic performance, not in this day and age, not anywhere i know, there's no showbiz here, it's all one guy playing his songs, telling stories and making you laugh and there's more soul in that, more genuine feeling and depth of emotion than any fucking stadium band, any pyrotechnics and more honesty than i've seen in any other musician or artist, please someone give steve his own tv show, try it, give him one hour a week and let him do what ever he wants. brilliant!
then i travel home on a sort of 'high' and i hadn't even had a spliff all day. 
i'm home at 3am watering the garden for my thirsty plants looking up at stars. when i get out of the shower i sleep and wake up almost immediately, do a few chores and set of to the beach. later i snooze when the wind picks up and suddenly i realise i'm in the bush surrounded by trees which are swaying and bending over, what a wind it was. massive branches started falling down cracking as they hit the deck, pan and i were running for cover, all these sticks falling out of the sky, like arrows in a castle battle, past life flashes through my minds eye, we dodged them and hid inside watching. 
the whole thing lasted about ten mins then the wind stopped. it was stinking hot for a spring day, not a sexy heat either, the kind of bushfire heat. 
i step outside, back into the surreal aftermath and feel the burning sun on my skin. 
picking up branches and bits of wood, fallen debris, clearing the area, removing tiny arrows that had been caught up in the fronds of the ferns, it takes about 30 minites and then i go back and lay down. i close my eyes and suddenly the wind howls up again, another bunch of branches fall.
later, i watch 'derek' a ricky gervis tv series that i think is one of the best shows ever. derek, a guy with an intellectual disability? or is it?
i love this show, its similar to an idea i wanted to suggest as a tv show based on my own experiences in the disability field. i had it planned, 9 episodes, each one alternating focus on client and a staff with the finale bringing them all together with the one thing i had learnt in years of work, 'everyone has a disability, it's just some people can cover it up better than others.' the show would be very funny, to start with and gradually become more and more tragic. derek is perfectly attuned to the idea but better, only it's harmonious equal balance of humour and tragedy, ricky gervis is master of pathos.
in the evening i catch a snippet of the news, did you know america runs out of currency on monday. what happens then?
i had to go and smoke a spliff after that.

in the early hours of the morning i woke up from a very deep sleep, i wandered down to the garden to check the light, the birds were just starting up, cacophony of rainforest type sounds, these birds are there, they come out one after another, revealing themselves from the thick forest of leaves and trees, but you hear before you see. some sound like monkeys, i imagine myself in my madagascan utopia, libertaria feeding the lemurs, bananas and slices of coconut meat, i see myself incrementally building a bridge to the lemur heartland, a frontier man making first contact, they come out at the edge of night, the ghost lemurs and their big eyes.
a unique australian sound snaps me from my dream, kookaburras are the punk rockers of the bird kingdom, i see one sitting on my gate, several parrots appear, a black cockatoo swoops down, suddenly the bushland is alive, sounds dart across my local atmosphere, unpredictable noise shift, colour flashes, the activity begins, pan wanders over to sit with me, as we watch the birds morning rituals, still the sun has not risen but it's coming, you can see the in between time, the time to feed in the first light, drink it down deep like those gurus who never eat food, but they live on light, like a plant. amazing. spoilt by a demanding dog who needs his breakfast and the idea of a bowl of porridge and some mashed up banana with cinnamon.  

cyclonopedia is perhaps a modern version of the infamous necromomicon, negarestani another mad arab, an insane iranian genuis and i'm really loving what he has done in complicity with anonymous materials, although very dense and somewhat phantasmagorial the book shifts and turns from grimorie to the art of desert warfare, a hybrid of renegade archaeology and philosophy of oil populated with jihadis, oil smugglers, delta force operatives, heresiarchs, corpses of ancient gods and various puppets of the underworld. 
there's an inscription on the inside cover from a graham harmen that sums it up nicely, 'reading negarestani is like being converted to islam by salvidor dali' and i can dig it.
although not a convert i have nothing but respect for the conceptual brilliance of this book and i believe negarestani is a kind of writer like william burroughs whom has revolutionised the word.    

planting trees, clearing land in preparation for the lemurs, my palm trees and huge ferns will offer some cool shade under their canopies. for these lemurs like to chill out drinking coconut drinks and playing banjoes, harmonicas and singing songs about lost lands and underwater civilisations. i like the way they live, just relaxed and natural, not quite philosophical but whimsical. my brain is tired and aching after reading iranian philosopher and contemplating hyperstition ideals and forms, i put down my book on ancient and modern warfare, the dust weaponry of the desert tribes was making me somewhat yearn for a frolic in the sunshine, so i grabbed my digging tools and planets some palms, removed a few weeds and picked up loads of wood from the garden.
later i smoked a spliff and watched the sunset, pondering a life in seclusion amongst my lemur friends.

the planets arteries form a network from the core to the surface, in between layers of strata lay vast amounts of shale gas. the subterranean landscape is indeed a vast network of intelligence impulses that emanate from within the core outwards through various dimensional pathways, on a planetary scale these impulses are transmitted to all living beings but in the last fifty years a corruption has occurred and the transmissions mutate via excavation, deforestation and as rapid industrial growth intersects with the function of this central nervous system the earth must align, correct the error, hence the adversity of dramatic weather and climate shifts which contrary to popular belief is orchestrated by the sun.
black sun however operates in the war machinery, petro-chemical peripheries of the middle east while the shale expunge their toxic assault from the west, through fracking technologies and the acutely cynically mis-named 'natural gas' industry. yeah the gas is natural but its extraction is based around hundreds of toxins that enter the water supply and kill any vegetation in proximity. between oil and shale there are no winners, neither is clean, neither is free, both leave a large karmic debt that the planet must consider.
the warmachine is an independent entity, evolved to exist as an autonomous machine spawning other warmachines in order to hunt them down, war uses it's own weapons against warmachines the same way warmachines employ their weapons against each other.
the cuneform lamassu, a winged bull with five legs and human head is an implement of desert warfare, in the xerodrome the warmachine takes on bizarre forms and employs unusual tactics, spore warfare, sand enigmas, djinn's they become stealth like in their ability to camouflage themselves, often within religious cults and occult groups, in the service to the state and insurgent forces, thus emanating into adaptation and adoption of different tribes.
the war hungry assyrian and phoenicans, created their own war machines to hunt war machines, evil against evil, often referred to as 'the fog of war' the iranian philosopher reza negarestani who has written the details in his book cylonopedia, which this material has been based upon.

in assyrian military doctrine, warmachines are always incinerated or consumed by war, the process is twisted but the return to life is abrupt and never recorded. war resurrects the disintegrated war machines and bring them back to life from the other side of the battlefield, in the form of a cimmerian haze - the fog of war.
the assyrians believed that these particles or necrospores of dead warmachines huanted every aspect of the middle east on behalf of war, they were generally understood to be a demonic dust, dry spirits capable of possessing military programs, political sytems, and people. assyrians called them relics, or diabolical things, more radically warlike than the warmachines themselves.

negarestani says, 'lamassu stand in pairs at the gates of assyrian temples and palaces, they watch what comes in but not what exits. from the front they look alert, firmly standing in place, from the side their winged bodies confidently stride forwards, the marching movement of a quadropedal beast, lamassu the desert hunter, it takes flight defending the skies, a weapon of diverse tactical responses, they attack, defend, hunt and scheme, standing at the gates they can be present everywhere.
the babylonian's called the assyrians' bizarre obsession with these creatures 'lamassu complex, in an allusion to the belief that war has a life of its own.'