khan had been smoking opium as long as he could recall but when he turned up at mission control looking somewhat crazed and paranoid i wondered if the heat were closing in. 
'i need to talk with you sir.'
'khan, what a pleasant surprise, come in.'
i offered him the tea he enjoys and added the extra honey as i never keep sugar in mission control. he enjoyed oriental teas and i was able to brew him some white tea from the far east. he was wandering around the library glancing at my books in a frenzied way. 
khan always dressed in his traditional robes and sandals, kashmiri style looking like an exotic prince in trouble i persuaded him to sit with me as i poured him his tea.
'kahn, come on man, i've known you long enough to see something troubles you.'
'yes, indeed i am troubled sir and i beg your assistance.'
i was not only surprised at khans instance at calling me sir, a formality i found uncomfortable but the fact he felt he needed to plead for my help.
'khan. we are friends. you know i will always help you if it is in within my means so i think you should relax, enjoy your tea and start talking about the nature of your dilemma and when you finish i can offer my perspective.'
nervous smiles, twitch in the corner of his mouth and then i see something, the eyes. not only were they sunken back dramatically, his whole face looked so haggard and devoid of colour, almost grey. his exotic brown tone washed out completely by a sickly silver.
'six months ago i returned to peshawar thinking i would take the cure, my addiction was beginning to take it's toll and i had heard there were many treatments that were effective. the cultivators themselves require short term solutions to opiate addictions and i hoped i would benefit. in hindsight it seems stupid to think the source of my sickness may be the cure, a little homeopathic madness. there's a place there a certain restaurant it's quite famous for its kebabs and  is always filled from dawn to dusk, very difficult to get a seat so i found myself eating a meal next door where i met a scorpion vendor who i spoke with. he said to me, nasha pa nasha khatmege which in english translates as drugs are beaten by other drugs. off course i disagreed he had never travelled outside, he had little knowledge of the world but he was very convincing when he told me he had a cure for opiate addiction. i was weak, foolish and i listened to him, and i wanted to believe.
it was late, the restaurants were emptying out and we drunk a lot of tea and i was feeling withdrawals, my body beginning to crave. he knew certain places i could attain treatments, some varied in method and style but he said he had a cure that i should think about. he was very fatalistic and spoke of how it was fortune that brought me to him, you know how we are about things like this, it's seductive and i was seduced. 
he closed up his shop, it was tiny and i'm not really sure what it sold except for tea and sweet cake. he lit a candle and pulled out a large jar from the darkness. at first i thought it was filled with a black ink and then i noticed the ink moving around never retaining a surface tension, perhaps it was alive, i looked harder. giant cockroaches perhaps, but but on closer inspection it was scorpions.
He plucked one out by the tail, it was huge about 8", hetrometrus is the latin name he informed me. 
the vendor said that he normally dries them in sunlight but he would burn this one on coal. he threw it upon the white hot coals of his grill and we watched it wither and curl as an awful smoke rose and it's body curled and cracked. i have witnessed many strange things sir as i know you have. but this sir, was the strangest. watching it suffer, the preparation, it was quite insane. but in the prison of my addiction the prism of morality distorts and what was insane becomes quite acceptable given the circumstances. i was very sick.
after ten minites of burning the vendor removed the scorpion with a pair of tongs. it was a black lump with it's tail still retaining the shape but fused around the body, the vendor placed it on the bench and began opening it out. the smell was awfully thick and unpleasant. he cut away the tail and then ground it into a powder in a pestle and mortar, very methodically and with great care. i watched his preparation in silence as though in some strange religious ceremony.
the vendor placed the powder in a nacha, a pipe, in a mixture of tobacco and hashish. 
we smoked it together, in darkness and silence and then when it was finished he said, the western world will stop the opium trade eventually but it will be replaced by something much worse. the scorpion cult is ready, it grows, it is everywhere and now it is inside you. did you know, like heroin is used in medicine so is the scorpion, it is used in many western medicines, to combat aids, to treat cancers and tumours. the scorpion in ancient egypt was the symbol of magick. here it is the symbol of death. a certain type of death, the death that comes unsuspecting. if you watch a scorpion hunt it dances around it's prey, it draws the target into thinking the claws are the weapon and then when the target is focused upon the pincers it is stung with the tail. when you return to the west, you will see them panicking from pandemonium, their governments are weakened with fear of an enemy we sent, our pincers. the sting is coming my friend.
sir, i was half hearing his words, my eyes were betraying me so i cannot account for accuracy of what i heard him say, everything danced before me, there were auditory hallucinations and a surge of energy, it was beyond anything i've ever experienced. powerful and terrifying. words seemed to continue even now i hear them, there is no treatment from the scorpion only addiction. 
i left immediately, flew straight home, and to you sir, i know you have some experience in these things being an exterminator.'
'kahn, the scorpion cult are unknown to me, i am aware that there are a few bug cults on this planet but it's impossible to say how far and wide they reach but one thing is clear. this cult means to do us all harm.'
'yes, and i am very sick sir, very sick from withdrawal. i came here, risking my own life to warn people, to warn them all to what is coming.'
i watched him intently, his skin was beginning to crystallise, it was becoming darker, and breaking out into faint patterns. intuitively i knew that this was the end of the line for mr. kahn. 
i had the olmec blade at hand, it would be a simple swift movement to put him out of his misery and stop any transformation that was occurring but i'd still have to deal with the body.
in the warehouse where burroughs worked from and i was trained under his tutelage was an industrial freezer. as far as i knew it was empty but was in working order. 
it didn't take kahn much convincing to accompany me, he was aware time was running to a standstill and as we drove down in the truck he began blabbering. one of the headlights didn't work but we were lucky, using the back streets avoiding the heat i listened to  
kahn as he shivered and shook in a delirious fever. occasionally he would relay parts of the voices in his mind. 'they want me to detonate in a sports arena, in a shopping mall, they want me to become dust floating in the air, breathed into lungs, that is my mission sir and there is no way out for me. i am fighting the compulsion, what's happening? please help me, are we there, we must be close i can't breath' he pleaded before shutting down.
burroughs kept the main gate shut with a big old padlock and as i stuck the key in and turned it kahn's flesh started solidify, strange liquid poured from his mouth and his hands were changing structure. i carried him through and stuck him inside the freezer, it was indeed empty save for some vodka, i opened a bottle and poured it into his mouth hoping it would take the edge of whatever internal chemistry was occurring. there were two milk crates turned upside down. i sat upon one watching him on the other, his body was now completely black and i could see the lateral eyes widen across his face, he fell to the floor and his arms became thick pedepalps as pincers replaced his hands. i watched as legs burst from his torso and his human legs fused together and changed by stages into the tail. the thing was huge, and although we had only been in the ice room for a few minites it was beginning to freeze. i began to pump my three hearts, circulating my blue blood through my body, this would keep me from freezing and allow me a spectators seat at the transformation. 
kahn was gone now, any traces of him obliterated in the metamorphosis. 
the body twitched and then stopped. the black eyes fixed upon me were the last to freeze.

i shut the door sealing him inside and locked up. instead of going home i went to the beach and took off my clothes leaving them in a pile inside the truck. 
it wasn't particularly warm or cold but as soon as i walked into the water the boundaries of my human body shed and i swam in my natural form further out and deeper down, into the darkness. 
the threat of the scorpion cult was clear now, imminent. i was trained in infiltration, my mission was to save the humans. i was undercover in deep, running a business. an integrated member of society, i was blending in and doing my job. exterminator. but even the best spies need support and back up. 
instinct took over, my travelling speed was very fast, i would reach our command centre in a matter of hours. there would be no predators down here, even the sharks know to stay away. the cephalopod council would have received my light message a spectrum of deep reds and purples, they would meet me for a debrief and to update my orders.i required their instruction on the scorpion threat, for they would be a formidable foe.
i shut down my system, all energy rerouted to propulsion as i made my way deeper down.  


     

still sick with the whooping cough plus a cold as my immune system fights back but my sleep deprived nights keep me in a grey area of permanent suffering. chest pain, coughing fits, blood. let's face it i'm a biological weapon at the moment, a walking hazard. the doctors don't know what to do, do they ever. it's all just infection management, that's what doctors do these days. 

i do have a strange interest in the narco culture of mexico and i was wondering where this strange thing came from so i looked in the mission library and found the source, 'power of the dog' by don winslow which i read about 10 years ago and picked up for a re read. jesus it's horrific, uber violent and gritty but so well written i'm devouring it. what a story, from the 1970's to 2004 it tracks art keller the protagonist against don miguel angel barrera. they actually start of as boxing / drinking buddies but as art progresses he sees his policeman friend is not quite what he seems. 
while the novel packs a punch and moves at a terrific pace it is accurate and based upon a true story although names are changed and this shines through as the characters are written so well. fuck man, it was /is a good book, i'm really enjoying it a second time around.

i guess also that my time in mexico was very impressive and impressionable experience, such a friendly warm and cultural place despite the poverty. i never saw the el narco side thankfully, it was mostly weed and peyote and by their nature these substances never brought much heavy karmic energy, however cocaine, changed everything. and from then on as the colombians moved in they pre date anything IS would do in barbarity. 
i was quite amused when i read recently IS had interfered with a smuggling operation by el chapo (guzman) who is perhaps the most infamous drug barons. he sent them a letter 'my men will destroy you. your god cannot save you from the true terror my men will levy at you if you continue to interfere with my operation.' 
i think they got it.

time for a new god. snake serpent, falcon or hawk the all seeing eye, the passing time. be it brother death and sister rebirth, the legion or the scorpion. burrower, ground dweller, air or sea, the influences cast upon the many. it is the age of the squid, the ouroboros as we eat ourselves in an act of political cannibalism.
who do you vote for?
i personally wouldn't recommend it as it only encourages them. don't buy that guilt trip or social responsibility, the games afoot. don't think about the value of your vote, it's rigged, the dead have just as much say as the living. just look at the electoral roll, people vote more than once, clusterfucks abound.
left or right involves marching somewhere. one foot in front of the other. do what we will you to do is the only law in the political maze. 
should the uk exit europe? it's a done deal, it don't matter how many anti establishment people say we should stay in, very few will notice that they are actually the establishment now, on the same side as the banks and big business. very few will notice that there is more freedom in independence than brussels unelected bureaucracy. eat your self now, save time. the game was rigged the moment you thought you had control.
  

i have just finished one of the best books i have read, not quite a fictional narrative but speculative, philosophical and natural history, plummets us to the world of the vampire squid and our relationship as humans to this incredible alien creature. man, it was a challenge to learn all those new words but i absolutely loved this book. not because it was an outstandingly interesting read which it is but because the writers have used their imagination and applied it so surgically towards a slice of reality we would never expose no matter how closely we look. it's an almost political treaty. i fucking love this book and i'm probably going to have to read it again a few times as theres so much information and ideas within that one single read is impossible to absorb it's richness. 

passed my first aid exam, lookout, i may just save your life.
i got hooked over the last month on an old show called 'northern exposure' it was on during the late eighties, early nineties. it's focused upon a new york jewish doctor who gets sent to a small alaskan town to work off his university fees, he's there for 4 years and although it looks at his culture shock it's also a meditation upon humanity. the characters are amazing, the script is so far ahead of its time it's only analogue is MASH despite being completely different. 
the dr. is the least likeable yet he's the person we would all relate to the most, being from a modern city and used to what we call civilisation he is riddled with insecurities and neuroses. but as all good stories his arc follows his change and gradual shift in nature.
man, i love this show, so many wonderful characters and ideas run through it, and despite being old it's subtext is as relevant as ever.  

i'm still ill, the whooping cough has a grip upon me, i have used various treatments the most effective being raw garlic. i eat massive amounts of organic garlic each morning, and it's really helped. 
i also managed to get a new car, my dream car the new XV which is a small miracle considering it came about in a strange yet typical way for me, on the very day i had to register my old car. anyway the XV has all mod cons and i'm really happy with it, except it is automatic not manual. 
so that's my story.

the church- so love may find us

the western civilisation 

superseded by the eastern illumination.

living on the fringes, eating radioactive cheese and dandelion soup, we were casting the i ching down in the crystal caves. i was listening to some 'jack frost' on my headphones, it was the third album, 'lost frost' a collection of found songs unearthed by the remaining member steve kilbey, it was the only music we could play due to a large magnetic storm that wiped out all digital information in 2019, somehow i had one album left on my device that would play without any interference, it was a miracle. the rest of my music had been reduced to short bursts of distorted song parts but mostly static, hiss and crackles, unlistenable. 

i was in my own world enjoying this soft escape but around me shaman and wizards were concentrating upon the castings and filling the cave with blue smoke that formed strange patterns in the air.

the old wizard with his long beard consulted an old book and passed me his burning spliff, 'hexagram one, the creative' he muttered. the shaman and his assistant seemed to confer but everyone knew it would end in a kiss, those crazy lovebirds couldn't help it, they were madly in love and were not ashamed off it. it was cool, we loved them for it.

'creative,' the old man whispered, he passed me the book.

i scanned the writing, and found the words, 'the movement of heaven is full of power. thus the superior man makes himself strong and vital.'

the cave fell silent, someone asked me what it means.

i considered the best way to answer, i cleared my mind, and let the words come.

'it means, success will come from the primal chaos of the universe and that everything depends upon us seeking 

happiness by perseverance in what is right, but we must maintain our 

spirit, keep it vital and healthy, free from contamination, 

we must be free from our mental conditioning, physically strong.'

i stood up and did a little jig, that baseline always makes me want to dance around. i walked out to the edge of our camp and looked out at the valley. dense jungle stretched down along the ravine and on the other side the wreckage of a city. mostly derelict and abandoned by bipedal life, it was said great slugs now inhabited the relics, slugs, worms and centipedes. we had seen many centipedes, bright coloured massive strange things, some covered in spikes and some furred, others were shiny and reflected light in a dull sheen of black. our hunters had brought back a very large carcass of one they had killed. the people that ate from it's flesh died awful deaths, long and endured suffering and vivid hallucinations tore the mind apart before the body. that was almost forty years ago, no one had ever returned to the city after that, and the wise ones said it was an evil place.

we cultivated fruit and vegetables, we ate no animal flesh except the occasional fish the watermen caught. 

i had eaten fish once, when i was a child, my uncle fed me a strip of smoked fish. it was salty and slightly strange, not something i would repeat but the lure of seeing the ocean was very strong, all those years i felt it, a gravitational force pulling me t the perimeter. the shaman said i could not leave the safety of the community until i had passed the elemental ritual. 

i had been given hexagram one, the creative. it was time to face the elemental. i inhaled the spliff and let the plant spirit guide me.

that night the community watched as i was prepared. bathed by the women, dressed by the girls, painted by them in black and purple, i walked out to the tribal elders, the chanting and drumming echoing out down into the valley below. stars held in place by the thick textures of night. it was perfect. i had no fear within me, only the need to complete my ordeals and take my place and title. 

the elemental rituals decipher ones place within the tribe and i had set my heart upon being a waterman which would mean i could explore the oceans, rivers and waterways. i knew i would not fish but i would discover new things, new possibilities for us. perhaps a new land. rumour had it there were floating land masses out there, places undiscovered. i would seek them and claim them for our community. 

the drums stopped and then the chant. i stood in silence and the shaman approached me with his crystals and smudge sticks. then he gave me the medicines, and i fell to my knees. 

first the wind came, it blew through my skin and lifted me up above the ground. i hovered there and when it stopped i fell upon my back.

then the earth covered me, ate me whole and although i struggled i knew resistance was futile as it filled my mouth and worms ate my flesh down to the bone. 

then came the fire and i was ash. it consumed everything i was, leaving dust.

and finally the water.

but it was not over. there was another ordeal, another element they called ether. we had very little knowledge of it, the wise people said it never manifests in ritual, it is elusive and reluctant, it is mysterious and unknowable. the last tribesman who had served the ether was lost in mythology and song, we sung his song sometimes but it was in an unknown language and no one really knew what it meant.

my flesh started to spilt apart, i could feel my atomic structures dissipate and the random natures of chaos tore my soul apart. i was everywhere, and nowhere, i was all and nothing. lightning bore down upon us, the heavens fell upon us, we were rendered in fear at the unknowable. even the shaman looked wide eyed and shocked. when i reassembled i was no longer myself. 

everything was silent, they walked around me as i caught my breath, they looked at my eyes, my teeth, my skin, my face, my feet and hands. i was panting, but my breathing was regular and became strong. i could feel my lungs engulf the air with a new vigour, my body pulsed with strength and power. the shaman approached and i asked him, 'am i a waterman now?'

'no. you are something else. a spirit of chaos.'

'chaos,' i said the word back, what is my role in this tribe shaman?'

'to destroy it.' he looked upon me as though seeing something for the first time, his face looked certain as though faced with an ultimatum from which there was only certainty.

    

i'm approached by an agent, they have been scouting for two days, cat and mouse, octopi and seahorse, they elude the obvious and therefore i have already made them.
i'm processing information, advice for the agent, 'hide in plain sight, never wear a primary colour, to make yourself invisible you must do much more than blend in, you must blend out,' but the advice fails to be uttered coherently as i am disengaged by her smile, it's very appealing and magnetic.
'you are very observant mr. mission.'
'it's just mission.'
'i took precautions, used all my skills,'
'i'm sorry, i have enhanced perception.'
'is that from magickal training?'
'no it's probably from psychedelics.'
we are in the street, face to face, she's starting to get nervous so i suggest a coffee shop i know.
inside we make ourselves comfortable, order our drinks. i lean in, 'you may as well just be honest with me.'
'yes i may as well be.'
'i work for humanitech, it's an artificial intelligence company that has the technology to upload people into a new body. we transplant their augmented brain and use nano technology to keep data stored inside it.'
'data?'
'yes behaviour patterns, thought processes, information on how the subject thinks. we do this for about ten years prior to death.'
'my brain is quite happy within this body at the moment.'
'ah. forgive me mr. mission, err mission, that's not why i am here.'
'oh. i assumed you must have been surveilling me to gather information?'
'well yes, but that was just to understand you beyond the dossiers i have read.'
we exchange a glance and she adds, 'interesting reading by the way.'
'so, what do you want?'
'help. we need your help.'
'how?'
'humani has been working for a decade, the team although small is incredibly powerful and has made great progress they are the best in their fields but we have hit upon a problem, a dilemma. a spiritual quandary mission. we have not considered two areas of the human experience in our planning.
'one would be karma.'
she leans back, surprised.
'yes, yes what are the implications?'
you would have to ask a buddhist monk or hindu mystic.'
'we have, they just smile but offer no solution.'
i smile. 
'please mission, what do you think about this?
'there are karmic issues involving the subject, personal karma, your intervention may be inhibiting the subjects path to enlightenment, but then again maybe it is the subjects path to become reborn as an artificial intelligence or replica, it is not for me to say. you can apply the same rule to your own karma, one cannot begin to comprehend the delicate machinations of what is right action with a brain that has limited understandings of such cosmic designs.'
'mmm, so the answer is you don't know.'
'no the answer is you don't know.'
'that will not help us at all.'
'your second enquiry is how do you map the subjects metaphysical intelligence. mapping consciousness is comparatively easy up against mapping the area of unconsciousness which is impossible no matter how much nano-tech you have at your disposal. but there is a way.'
'how?'
'transplanting the brain only gives you one single intelligence, but if you transplant the heart and the guts, you will have the three intelligent aspects of human beings. the heart is part of the intelligence system, our unconsciousness is connected to our heart which is why the electrical discharge of the heart is equal to the brains. but the gut, that's where we are all really controlled from. the gut is where various bacteria organise create colonies that also regulate the health of the entity and act as an instinctive intelligence,  therefore until you have replicated these patterns and intelligences one can conclude humani is a long way from creating immortality. however it may be limited to manufacturing cyborgs.'
'i don't think of them as cyborgs, they are more accurately described as facsimiles.'
'whatever they are, they are not real and therein lay's the problem.'
'you can say that about any art form.'
'art is an expression, you express less than the original with your facsimile's.
'so, you think the exercise is pointless?'
'no, i think it's worthwhile but you should be aware that what you are doing is diverging along a pathway that deviates from natures and therefore cannot be valued as real unless it is enhancing the divine and cosmic agendas. you invest belief in a science that is man made, reduced to our level of understanding through technology, but technology and biology are two different components.'
'but biology is a technology.'
'that's like saying a car has personality.'
we sit in a moment of silence, i can see her mind working behind her big open eyes. she sips a straw half submerged in a green drink made from vegetables.
'why didn't you order a coke?'
'i don't like sugary drinks, besides they are really unhealthy.'
i smile, and as i gaze between her eyes, clouds part, the grey fog of incomprehension begins to clear and light shines through.
'do you believe in god?'
'yes,' i say, i don't claim to know what form a god takes but i do believe in a principle at work within everything that has intelligence and direction. it has given us freedom and we create prisons.'
'like belief?'
 'all things are prisons unless they set you free.'
'are you free mission?'
'no more than anyone else but i can see the bars of my prison and that's something that offers me a different perspective.'
'do you remember what it was like, to be free?'
'yes, william blake describes it well. it was like being innocent.'
'child like'
'similar but with a wisdom. a kind of love for all things and less complex thinking processes.'
'we evolved.'
'yeah well evolution is basically being set free within our environmental limits. free will or determinism.'
'and i thought it was radiation effecting our genome.'
'through the prism of science i guess you could claim that to be true, but science has limits which is why mysticism is closely related to it. one day science will reach a point where it cancels itself out, scientists only speak in terms of mystics but with different words, different languages.' 
'it's been interesting talking with you, i guess i better make my report.'
'yes, i have to make mine to.'
surprise crosses her face, 'are you an agent as well?'
'yeah but i have know idea who my employer is. i just file my reports.'
she smiles, a little uncomfortably and leaves me sipping my coconut water. 

slow crack seeps light into my morning, spilling from the horizon across yonder oceans. my penultimate blue circumstance finds me down on the shoreline, wading in shallow water in exultation of the source of light in this universe. it's dawn and the day is breaking out into perfection. colours bleed away into one another, the sound of the sea is the sound of living, blood circulates through my body, the ceaseless pulse as flesh meets spirit.

for a moment i inhabit all dimensions, if only i could stay like this, everywhere and nowhere, a vast explosion of now.

snap back mission, the elastic surface of consciousness pulls me back into another day. i wanna just escape but newtonian physics is such a drag.

back on the shore people are moving around, joggers and dog walkers, fishermen and paper delivery boys. some yoga women stretching in the sun, silhouetted against the water, it all looks pretty as a postcard.

i walk up the hill, to the lookout, not really for any other reason other than to look out. i see up the coast, the entrance in the distance. i asked someone what the entrance was the entrance to. they gave me a good answer. it's the entrance to the north coast.

i gaze out at the ocean, remarkable patterns of waves down below, a few boats rocking gently in the harbour. some pelicans follow a fishing boat into shore, it's a beautiful thing to watch, simple and real. my head starts to de-clutter. 

the phone call from work, i can't really talk still, splutter a few words and then cough. they apologise and hang up. i wonder what that was all about.

i'm decompressing from work, it's good, my bones begin to relax, another week and i'll be almost normal. i go drink some japanese tea at the taiwanese organic place where the vietnamese girl works. i'm not sure how but we end up talking about schools and education, how when we went to school we didn't want to but now kids love it. i say i never learnt anything at skool, it was a waste of time for me. they laugh and i take my tea and sit on the bench watching the waves and listening to a guy playing mandolin. his song wafts across the way like a wonderful soundtrack to the morning, a harmonious synchronisation of sound and colour. the days are slow and simple. i am enjoying this time free from working, free from everything. it's good to just relax and smell the flowers. let my head empties out a trail of junk. 

still coughing and sweating, chest tightens like some awful heart attack type symptom, my head spinning as i'm literally on the verge of passing out. i make my way to the doctor where they say i am suffering from asthma, make me buy ventolin and a spacer. my initial attempts make my teeth feel weird, metallic and heavy. i don't like it, but the cough gets worse.
seven days later i am with a client in a doctors getting his flu shot. the doc says to me, 'have you seen someone about that cough?'
i tell him i did and i was diagnosed with asthma. 
'no,' he says, 'that's not asthma.'
he writes out a script and says take this antibiotic.
a week later the cough feels slightly better but soon returns in full. i can't work and need a sick cert. so i cruise down the local medical centre and the doctor there says he wants me to take some other pills and writes me two scripts. 
just to be sure he wants a blood test. 
i don't bother filling the scripts as i'm over the drugs, i'm over the medical model, these cats don't know what they are doing. they are all just pushers for the pill companies and we are the dumb cash cow that pays up all the time in our ignorance. 
the weekend is spent with me coughing and sweating and generally feeling like my time is up. i casually mention to someone if i do die it would be weeks maybe months before someone found my body.
monday morning i go in for my results. the doc says they are not in yet. tuesdays morning i return, only the receptionist tells me i need to see the doctor urgently and i have priority so don't have to wait.
it turns out i have whooping cough. something that plagued me as a child has returned. i get some new drugs, i have two weeks off work. gonna rest, bake some cookies, maybe write some tunes.
i'm exhausted, i need a break.

things go from bad to worse depending on the observer, of how you choose to experience it, she said as a matter of fact. i was impressed by her confidence and the non negotiable power in her idea. besides i know that it's perception and processing. she was right but in a sexy way which makes her more interesting and thus more attractive.
i wished my brain would switch off and stop, just for a moment so i could say something back but it was a turbulence of information in avalanche. 
let's get a drink mission, i like rum.
i was following, still unable to say any words. speech just wasn't happening for me right now.
she pulled me across the road, four lanes of traffic, cars honking and windows rolled down exposing angry drivers yelling angry words w but all i could do was take it all in like a amazingly detailed photograph that i could loose myself in. but this was real, reality, i was hyper alert to it, but limited in responding in language. it was like the language centre of my head had been changed. the information in the words were heard, they went through a processing of my internal knowledge of quantum, my experiential understanding, my education, beliefs, passions, poetry, various mental filters and then i find myself in complete agreement with the fundamental truth of the statement, but that information then changed into me observing reality but outside it. in a different reality. process process, mission process... and i couldn't communicate into it in language, but i could navigate through it.
the shock of such a thing is breathed out through my disciplines, all the while negotiating a busy street full of night life, bright lights and open storefronts luring people in to neon basements and doorways. people were dressed in bright elaborate costumes, circus performers, it was a carnival of a street scene. it wouldn't be so far removed from my own reality, a slight exaggeration of it perhaps.
her hand around my wrist felt real enough, she pulled me gently through a horde of people and into a bright white neon doorways and up a flight of stairs. 
this is my favourite bar, it's a nice, you'll like it she smiled back at me while moving forwards, and they make the best mojitos.
suddenly we were standing in a very elegant and dimly lit area. it resembled no bar i had been to before, more like a tea house with good lighting. we took a seat in the corner and she waved a hand up, at which a waiter appeared and took our orders.
no listen, i know your freaked by everything, i know you wondering why you can't communicate but its okay, its not permanent. and mission, you are right. this is a different reality from the one you inhabit, it's almost the same but it's slightly different. okay? are you okay with that?
i nodded, yeah i thought, yeah i am okay. i was okay.
she said she wanted to wait until we had our drinks and then she would explain why she had brought me here. i smiled and nodded, i had nothing but time. 
the drinks came in tall thin glasses, a fresh mint sprig freshly decorated the rim and a perfect circle of lime floated upon the top and i could see vibrant brown crystals of sugar dancing in the drink. i downed mine in a couple of sips and ordered another two for our table. 
i read your stuff, the stuff you write. i like it. i want you to keep writing so i can read it. her eyes sparkled, that's all. and i wanted to have a drink with you to. it's sad that you can't talk back but it's okay we can have a drink together. her eyes lit up and she smiled. it was an extraordinary smile something it would take an alternative reality to create and those eyes where vast, like there was a whole other universe inside. i could see it, vast and filled with lifetimes of wonder. she was still smiling and we sipped our drinks together while she just smiled. and it made me smile to, so we sat there drinking our drinks and smiling at one another. 
  

somewhere in the far east, i am covered in sweat and guts raw from dry retching. there's mandi nearby wiping my face with a wet rag, she whispers something in tibetan, soft words from soft lips. how is it possible to be so soft in such a harsh environment i wonder.
my skin feels hot and cold, it's impossible to tell. i can't be certain if i won't die, i always wanted to have an unusual life, i guess that includes an unusual death. 
for a moment i see mandi's face leering down at me, her elegant features and care, she cares i think before my eyes close. that's gotta count for something in this crazy world.
mandi has given me some opium, it eases the pain and helps me sleep but my dreams are vivid and i get confused. my son appears, 'don't die dad,' he says. 
i'm nailed to a cross, the surf is at my feet. the tide rises. i'm tied to a post, the flames lap below me. i'm floating in space, running out of oxygen, i'm nothing in a vast something i cannot perceive. beyond scale, beyond imagination, beyond science, defined in pure mathematical terms. some equations flash by, suddenly the light surrounds me, a white light blinding white. have i lost my vision, i can't see anything.
mandi vanished, everything white. i stare into the brightness, it's everywhere, goes onwards spilling into my future. 
i'm engulfed within whiteness in all dimensions my minds thoughts spilling away as whiteness leaks in, go to the white light, that's what they say, i swim deeper into it , it swims into me until i fall into deep sleep again, the dream fades away. 
i wake gasping for air, my lungs sucking down oxygen in deep breaths, my skin sticky and hot. i'm burning up, burning, but it's so very cold. 
mandi whispers, 'it's okay, it's okay, just keep still, lay still.'
i wonder how many days have passed us, it's impossible to say, all time itself has become immaterial to me as i pass from state to state, moments of vivid dreamlike reality to fractions of painful suffering. 
some water passes my lips, a hand wipes sweat from my forehead. mandi chants some incantation and i drift away the white brightness replaced by nothing at all.
much time has passed, i'm sitting down but my legs to weak to stand without support. i'm eating small pieces of something, crunchy, chewy unrecognisable. insects i think. mandi encourages me to chew. her concern touches me. 
when i try to speak it's just a moan, i can't say the words just a strange guttural noise. my throat actually feels sore and awfully dry. later i drink something that tastes like warm bitter thick milk. 
mandi gathers some wood and puts a large log upon the fire, it crackles and pops in an explosion of noise like a firework display. small sparks fly around and rise upwards into the darkness, while momentarily showing me the interior of a cave.
i ask mandi if she has my pack, she says nothing was found near me, just the clothing i had. she brings me my jacket and i search through the pockets. in a matter of moments i have a small pile of items. a passport, a wallet with three currencies, a drivers licence and a photograph of jake. there's a flashlight, swiss army knife and a map of the himalayan mountains and a detailed ordinance survey map of annapurna 3 which mandi points to excitedly and in broken english says, 'here, we here.'
later i manage to stay upright with mandi's assistance, i put my arm around her and she supports me as we walk along the cave corridor out towards the entrance, taking two sharp right turns. a small tunnel of light around the corner leads to a magnificent opening, a hole about 2 meters exposes us to a breathtaking view. 
snow capped mountain tops as far as we can see disappear over the horizon to the left of us but a massive wall of rock blocks the right as a mountain face looms upwards as far as we can see.
the sunlight offers a glimpse of detail at the rock face, it's a structure of chaos i think. the wind makes it difficult to stand on the ledge but we look at the view from the protection of the walls and i wonder how i would have ended up here.
mandi points to the mountain opposite and i follow her finger to the ropes, and there in the rock are the remnants of an expedition. 
i scan the area cursing i have no binoculars but in the jagged rock opposite i see some spikes and ropes. i ask mandi to take me further out to the ledge. 
we are exposed here, freezing wind howls around us but i can see the ledges below clearly, no sign of life.
back inside the cave i try to remember whom i was with and what we were doing. nothing comes, just a blank area. 
i've given up asking mandi she has no answers other than she found me and saved me.
i make a small shrine from the few items i have salvaged from my pockets and watch as the flames dance upon the wall.     

i've taken three days off, my illness has forced me to rest up so i went to the beach and walked along the sand bare feet, the surf flat and gentle sun warmed my skin. i felt good out there, clearing my head from all the silly nonsense stuffed inside. i stopped for lunch and enjoyed my food chewing down slowly savouring the taste like some mindfulness exercise. the light is kind, soft light filtered and gentle, ah i do love my terrible beach. 
later some terrible pains in my chest seized me, i don't know what caused them, coughing fits maybe. i couldn't tell if it was a heart attack or what, how do you know? anyways i breathed it out and somehow managed to manage the pain, although it left me quite disturbed. i don't get ill often, but i am psychically responding so my issues at work, stress manifestation. days off and away are what i need, perspective. i'm going to start writing about my work soon, just kinda a few short chronological tales, charting my history as a social worker type. it would be compelled into a single volume, a thirty year history of what i have experienced. think i would call it 'the truth is stranger than fiction.'  

signal to noise, white light white heat, random filters on sun, flat ocean mirrors the skies, but these skies have eyes and so do i. 
seeing all and everything, the trees glimmer away. knowing more and knowing less the trees have something to say. listen.
we came in slow time, seeking out light for energy, we have deep roots and architecture like electricity, and we keep on a wavelength you can't perceive. water and light, photosynthesis in atomic structures of the leaf, it's all free energy.
water and light. home for life, saviour of the wild and shelter from the storm. when the sun gets to much stand under the branch and cool down man. relax a while and close your eyes, have a dream with me, seek sanctuary. my branches spread like the synapse in your head, seek enlightenment. find some peace.
  

classic old street, the graveyard of a lost neighbourhood. it's nowhere near as big as you remember it, the streets seem smaller, the houses not as big, the pavement narrow and look at the corner shop, it's tiny yet you remember as a child walking into this treasure trove and looking at the counter display of lollies and sweets, a kingdom of colour and wonder. 
memory itself shrinks, in time, things fade away, warp and shift like the landscape itself, nothing is exactly like it was. the things we think are fixed in memory change when we speak with others who were there, their perspective changes everything of your perspective and how can you trust theirs. where does that leave you?

'remember the time you did that?'
'no, i don't remember much at all, it just comes up to the surface and i record it, my memory is an ocean filled with memories swimming around, occasionally they are present and sometimes i need to submerge myself to find them, others are lost deep in the depths. but i know i remember everything, that's very clear. my ocean is clean and pollution free, memories swim around uncontaminated and polluted by plastic or bits of trash so i'm not to worried.'
'you confuse memory with recall?'
'nope, i just don't try to recall, things surface when they need to or i don't stress or panic. i trained my memory with a few mind hacks, i have it all sorted. in fact you worry more about my memory than i do.'

the ancient ones used interesting techniques for memory, buildings, elaborate palaces or cathedrals they could use as astral holding pens, mine just happens to be an ocean. 

'what about the childhood memories, how things are smaller now your an adult?'
'light distorts in water, it's called refraction. you have to accept that memory is relative to time, the time it happened and the time you recall it. refraction is light, memory is just light from the past reaching us now because we want to receive it.' 

  

the bar is packed, classic america mid western place in the middle of nowhere, accessible only by car or bike, it took wendy and i three hours walking and hitching in the twilight hours to get there but here we sit listening to some boogie guitar from z z top and drinking shots in the middle off a wet tee shirt competition as everyone shouted and cheered, 'skin, skin, skin, skin,' and i looked around me in my englishness and saw americana. i had been here before but never alone and as a teenager, i was filled with hormonal intellectual and spiritual thirsting, i wanted it all. 
at the time amongst my peers it was incredibly unfashionable to have anything to do with the usa, in fact i was bullied a lot at my stupid skool because my family had taken me there many times. but then looking back i was completely isolated at skool, even the few friends i had were vicious nasty, backstabbing bullies who's envy had no bounds. although the girls seemed to possess a different idea about me, very protective.
so wendy and i are very drunk, the smell of sex hangs heavy and everyone is wandering around stoned on that beautiful weed or staggering around from to much beer. the wet shirt girls are all stunning and disinhibited, there's a lot of flesh. 
i don't know how i met wendy, we just gravitated and she stuck close to me for a while. she was younger than me and i think bemused by my accent and choice of words, particularly 'brilliant' which i used to describe everything i liked.
she was typical new jersey, really cool. i liked her chilled out attitude and casual approach to everything and was not surprised when she mentioned she had booked a room in the bar so we could crash out overnight. i think around 3am the place seemed to close but we ended up retiring about 1am and even though the room was not huge i was surprised to find it included a tv.
i flicked through the channels while wendy rolled a joint.
in the time i had known wendy she was always listening to my description of the bands and music i liked, london punk, post punk she had never really heard off. i told her enthusiastically i liked the american bands, television, talking heads, patti smith but she was a springsteen girl. the only band we both seemed to have a great affection for was 'the stones.'
wendy was telling me about a new guy, a black dance act, she described him as a cross between james brown, hendrix and little richard, she said he was going to be the biggest star on the planet once people discovered him and his name was prince. i had never heard off him.
but that night, in pasqualie's bar in wisconsin i flicked through the old tv and stopped on a channel where i saw a grainy fussy picture of a guy singing a funky song and dancing with his band.
'that's him,' wendy said, 'that's prince.'
it was 1980 and i was just discovering my own paths through travel, books, music and life. i shut my eyes and smoked my joint and listened to some song from 'controversy' and i liked the future. what struck me right between my eyes was the weird wild gregarious sexual outrageous in your face, the dirty funk. it was sexy man. it turned us on. 

when i returned to the uk i told everyone, watch out for this groovy black american cat, man he's jimi hendrix, james brown, little richard. yeah yeah mission, they all said. 
a few months later i met a guy called anthony robesbottom, a black american from oklahoma who was a prince nut. he had moved to london and i hung out with him listening to his prince tapes. he was impressed i knew prince and said, it would only be a matter of weeks before prince went global. he was right. 
i always liked prince, yeah a few cheesy songs, some lyrics are questionable and some of his films are disposable but, and this is a big but, he was a fucking genius. he made it look so easy. 
tony had some amazing twelve inch singles we would listen to, songs like, 'how come you don't call me no more' and 'erotic city' and 'god.'

the last time i saw tony was at my wedding, he turned up in a rolls and told me he was going back to the states. i never saw wendy again either, but when ever i hear prince those two people come back to me. wendy and her wicked ways, tony who was a great friend.
then when i lived in west berlin, and frequented the infamous jungle nightclub gabrielle and i would always dance to the song kiss which they would always play at midnight, i'd do my jungle stomp and gabrielle would just do here exotic sexy stuff. 

prince is gone now. bowie is gone. they made a mark upon me. their music touched my spirit in some way, bowie especially but prince in another way. i guess it's sad but reassuring they have both left us a considerable sum of work to enjoy and the promise of unreleased songs we may get to listen to when the record companies need some cash. but one thing is sure, for me those two musicians are as much a part of my life as my family. not just for their music, but for the way they lived, integrity and commitment to their art. respect!

walking along the beach at twilight in autumn,the sunlight filters last rays through dramatic clouds and for some strange reason the normally quiet little beach town i have called home for the last few years, terrible beach is packed with hordes of musicians, troubadours and entertainers. crowds of people wander around, restaurants spill over onto the streets with queues and hungry crowds. the cafes pump out beer, coffee and cakes, even the lifeguards are out and it's nearly 1730, sunset. 
i gaze out at the waves, almost perfect form. i could jump in now if i were not so sick. and if there were not so many sharks at this time of the evening.
it's the first time in a while i've been into town, it's beautiful.
while i was sick i watched the two series of 'orange is the new black' and fell in love with it, what great writing, it's a comedy set in a women's prison. it's got it's fair share of drama and sadness but the characters are all fascinating constructions and very real. i'm in awed by the ex junkie who fucks her way through her time. her sense of spirit is mesmerising. i also find the red neck meth born again christian freak an incredible actress. she is fucking brilliant. such a demanding role and convincing.
tv at the moment is where the writers are. it's good, about time we had tv that don't insult our intelligence. orange is definitely the new black.   

old captain mission succumbs to some kind of illness, some awful days of feeling wretched as i drink lemon tea and honey, eat garlic and wait for it to pass. my weekend off fades away to watching a series on blu ray, 'the arrow' cheesy comic book rubbish. stupid plot lines but after a few episodes i must admit i'm hooked.
not only is the parallel story of how the arrow survived five years on an island a good story the way the lessons he learns comes into play in his return to his home very interesting. the people from the past catch up, the ghosts that haunt him, the love that thwarts him. in many ways this is what i loved about comic books as a kid, they were filled with crazy stories but there were also interesting lessons within the sub text. the last confrontation scene in season three is brilliantly executed and surprising. 
i was never a green arrow fan as a kid, i loved the silver surfer, he was my man, norrin radd although i flirted with superman, spiderman and the fantastic four it was always the surfer for me, not only did he have a cosmic surf board, he had the best origin story ever. one day they will make a show or movie out of the silver surfer and if it's done with the correct attention to detail it will be incredible. it's the most spiritually moving story from marvel, jack kirby and stan lee had put a lot of thought into his journey.
and here's the thing, watching the arrow i realise how these comic stories are new mythologies, the hero updated to become a superhero.
i guess being sick entitles me to watch some trashy shows and kick back a bit and the arrow was a good distraction. three series, healing time, one weekend.

go down to ice man to score some deep freeze, outside it's hot and sticky, the scenery is melting, walking  passed those nice homes that families live in behind collapsing walls just like old gods used their swirly distortion tool. once those walls were straight lines, now they kinda look like homes from a smurf kingdom. gardens stretched out like fractal frontiers, flowerbeds spiral out in curves a psychedelic pattern of colour and smell, look at that bee, it's the size of a yorkshire rat.
i get down to ice man, he's wearing his green suit and deerstalker hat, looking like a jaded time traveller from victorian times, he's slumped in his armchair reading the 'atlantian book of the dead', drinking from a china tea cup, 'ah mission, let me just make you some darjeeling old chap.'
'okay, thanks,' i look around nervously, 'i hope i didn't disturb you.'
'no, no, it's always good to see you, always a pleasure. now, do you take milk, and sugar? i can't quite remember.'
'no, no thanks, black and hot is fine.'
ice man returns and hands me a cup while he carries a huge purple alice in wonderland tea pot in his other hand. he then gestures to a chair, 'sit down and i will pour.'
i sit down into a fine leather armchair, my body eases in perfectly, it relaxes and sinks deep into the plush fabric.
i sip the tea, 'why, this is splendid tea.'
'yes, yes i have it sent to me from darjeeling directly, ever been?'
'no.'
'really, you have never been to india old chap?'
'no, i got to sri lanka but never india.'
'sri lanka hey, did you know that was called ceylon. a fine tea growing country. did you sample their virgin white tea, it's one of the most expensive tea in the world. it's sublime although acquired.'
'i've never heard of it, i usually drink a mint tea or ginger and lemon.'
ice man makes a face, so i quickly add, 'fresh ginger and mint.'
he's not impressed, i can tell he's a purest, 'well this is nice,' i say, taking a sip.
ice man and i share a moments silence, 'i suppose you want some deep freeze, i have some fresh stuff in the freezer if you're interested in quality.'
'sounds great.'
i buy a small pack.
i make small talk,'so, you enjoying that book?'
he picks it up and shows me the cover, 'this is the most incredible book mission, do you know about it?'
'yes i do, i wrote it with a friend.'
'what, you wrote it!'
'co wrote.'
'who...how..., my god mission, you are full of surprises.'
'ah yeah, i even surprise myself sometimes.' 
i lean into the chair, the tall back is comfortable and i bring the cup to my nose and inhale the strange smell. my eyes feel heavy and close briefly. 
'i had no idea you had such an interest in the occult.'
'yes, it's not something i advertise, that's why i published under a different name. people get the wrong idea about these matters.'
'yes, quite. well, i'm still reading your book, up to the part on sigils, very interesting, informative.'
'well i'm glad your enjoying it.'
'i say, can i show you something?'
'sure.' 
ice man smiles and stands up, walks into another room and returns carrying something wrapped in a scarf or shawl. he places it upon my lap and sits back in his chair smiling, 'open it up.'
i unwrap it carefully. it's a black mirror. 
'ahh it's in good condition, looks pretty new actually, how old is it?'
'it's new. i had it made but i don't know how to use it and i was wondering if you could show me, seeing as though it appears you are something of an expert.'
'well i can't claim to be an expert but i can show you how to use it. it's quite an ancient technique. it began with water. the surface of a dark pool was used, then stone usually obsidian. now i think mirror is the preferred technique.'
'i have never used it, do they work?'
'well i will need a stable base on which to place this.'
'ah yes come, let's go to my study.'
we return into the room from where the mirror came, it's not a huge space but it is enough to work in comfort and the desk makes a good platform. i position the mirror and draw the curtains. i ask ice man for a candle and he lights a small tea light.
i position ice man in front of the mirror and begin to talk him through a relaxation technique, part hypnotic but mostly creative visualisation. 
in his mind he relaxes, his body follows suit and his breathing takes a nice rhythmic flow.
he must be looking into the mirror now as everything is silent, and a stillness unfolds within the apartment, even the gentle hum from the fridge fades away in the void. light from the single candle just flickers across our faces and for a moment it feels like we are in a giant floatation tank. i look into the mirror as well.
a tiny gasp, as dark clouds form somewhere behind the mirrors surface. does it even have a surface, it feels more like a depth.
the clouds move faster now, floating across the mirror in blackness. suddenly one big cloud appears and swirls around, slowly taking the shape of a face and then it fades away replaced by a unicorn in the distance galloping towards us, it gets closer until we see it's eye filling the mirror. it's gone, blackness remains. whatever vision we have been granted is over.
'did you see that?'
'indeed i did, it was intensely real.' ice man needs reassurance, he's suddenly become aware nothing is as it seems, 'was it real?'
'it's the same as the cat in the box, is it alive or dead. you saw something, therefore it's real.'
'let's go sit down again, i'll make another tea.'
we return to our seats in the lounge room, a lamp gets switched on. a few moments later we sip from our cups and begin deconstructing.
'it's a projection right?'
'i don't know, isn't everything?' 
'mission, you are an obtuse bastard.'
'i don't think everything is accurate. our perceptions are just fractions. that horse...sorry unicorn seemed real to me, yet perhaps it was not a unicorn at all.'
'unicorn!'
'yes, that's what was in the mirror, a face that became a unicorn.'
ice man laughed. he sipped his tea and smiled.
'i saw a ship not a unicorn.'
'ah, well that proves my point.'
'it was a huge old clipper ship under a full moon. i seemed to fly over her, looking down passed the mast and rigging and then it faded away.'
'so we each saw completely different things, our mind must have projected them upon the surface.'
'then what was that face, we both saw a face and clouds.'
'yes, that's true, the face flashed there after the clouds passed away.'
'maybe the mirror has a face mission.'
'maybe. i didn't see much detail but enough to know it was a face.'
we sit in silence for a moment.
'the unicorn, it was white right?'
'yes, very white, with blue eyes.'
ice man gave a slight sigh, 'oh. oh my.'
'my grandchild, madaline, she died aged 6 in a car crash. i used to call her my unicorn. she had, big blue eyes. oh my.'
'jesus, i'm sorry man, i had no idea.'
'it must be her, it must be.'
'it just ran passed me, big and bold, right up close to me, big blue eye filling up the whole mirror. although it felt like the mirror was not even there anymore.'
'oh maddy, poor maddy.'
there's not much to say, what can i do. let the old man weep over his lost grand daughter. leave him in peace. i take my cup and saucer to the sink, prepare to leave.
as i walk out into the corridor ice man whispers, 'the black ship, it means something?'
'i don't know, don't upset yourself thinking about it, i should never have showed you how to use it. put it away, seal it up and get rid off it.'
'i saw the ship, it was a big black thing, and the moon shone down upon it. i saw them, the crew of the liberty, that's what the ship was called. i could see the name pained in white upon it's side. it flew two flags the white blank flag and the pyrate flag mission. it was your ship wasn't it? we must have seen each others visions.'
i leave him alone with his thoughts, and outside feel a cold wind upon my face, and it's whisper calling out.