the vision the voice
by
the deep fix

i'm the precious secret, the whisper in the air
i'm the ever present deliverer of your torment
the one who does not care
i'm the muse in the making, the sister you never had
i'm the guy that leaves you bleeding
the one with the base ball bat
i'm snug and unconcerned, i couldn't give a fuck
i'm the master of my own destiny and fate 
i forge my own luck
i begin when others finish, end where they start
i'm the inconceivable mayhem 
that tears your soul apart

i'm the vision, i am the voice
let's not forget the vice
i may appear as reasonable but
i'm not really that nice

i'm the manipulating moments, pulling all your strings
i'm the bone crushing defeat
that's waiting in the wings
i'm the perpetrator of your sufferance, draining your supplies
i'm the torturer of the guild baby
you can see it in my eyes
i'm violent revolutionary, an agent of change
burning up your oxygen
replacing it with rage
i make the internet and media, thought control hypnotise
everything you think is true is really
just more lies

i am the vision i am the voice
let's not forget the vice
i may appear as reasonable but
i'm not really that nice

kerry miller thank you very much. bless you for your kind words.

okay i ate some weird asian food, some sort of jelly like seaweed, it tasted of the deep, it could have been anything, it may be radioactive, it could be a creature suspended in some kind of ectoplasm, maybe even just a cake of obscure plankton, i have no idea but whatever it was has laid me low. 
often when i am in an asian supermarket i see products in asian packaging, i have no idea what they are, the wording is korean or vietnamese or it could be tibetan or even from somewhere like exotic butan, it's a wild guess every time. as for the product, a total mystery and sometimes the taste is alien, it's unknown territory an adventure. i know it seems ridiculous really but i like putting myself through these experiences, they are usually harmless.
i tend to go for the weird seaweed stuff, dried or wet, it's all good as i feel my body absorbing the nutrients, defining the taste and flavour into some kind of category, but just this once i have bitten into something that has reacted very badly, something my system cannot define or assimilate. 
the package was translucent with black writing and a picture of what looks like a toadstool or mushroom, there are small little people with big heads pointing at it as they dance beneath it's head. it feels soft and cold as i handle the package and when i opened it i was uncertain wether it should be cooked or eaten raw, it kind of oozed out onto the plate, and then it expanded into a white jelly type shape that took up the whole area of the plate, it did look like a super mushroom, very large covered in some sort of viscous slime. 
i attempted to smell it but nothing registered, and i turned it around suspiciously, looking for any signs of a face, again nothing, it seemed reasonable to assume the blob was a sea vegetable of sorts. 
i couldn't eat it with my hands, it had swollen now and was the size of a watermelon. i'm not sure how they squeezed it into the tube, which was about the same size as a pack of 20 cigarettes.
grabbing a knife and fork i sliced a piece off, the slicing felt easy, like cutting through the inside of a watermelon, only a strange black ink started to leak out. on closer inspection it was blue, a deep cobalt blue.
dipping the flesh into the liquid i brought the slice up to my lips, there was a moment of anxiety, i don't know why i didn't stop then, i should have trusted my instinct but instead i slipped the piece in and suddenly the most strange effect occurred. i found my mouth warming, my lips burning and my tongue began to swell up. This all happened fast, 10-15 seconds, i found myself swooning, the colours seemed to explode, mission control began to expand, i immediately thought of alice entering wonderland, shrinking or was it rapid growth, jesus i could feel my body heating up and then i must have passed out. 
the weight of my body was unfamiliar, as though gravity had shifted, my eyes couldn't function correctly, blurred shapes loomed and then receded. my skin felt so wet, i was drenched in sweat i realised.
i attempted standing but i was already standing, or floating, i was floating, my body still lay upon the floor, i could see it there, laying still on my kitchen floor, only it was no longer my kitchen floor it was the ocean floor, a sea bed. 
i seemed to hover for a while, and then some shapes flashed by, small shadows, slithering in my peripheral vision. but there was the tentacle, it came out from nowhere, unfurling itself, a huge immense thing from the darkness, it swept past me and i could feel the swirl from it's force, i could see the saucer like suckers, the size of dinner plates. there was a lot of turbulence and i could feel the terror creeping through my skin, bile rose from my guts, i was shaking and then suddenly i was laying upon the floor gazing up at the kitchen ceiling.
i calmed myself and wandered into the kitchen. it felt strange to use my legs, i looked at the jelly type thing on the plate, god knows what it is. i wrapped it in plastic and was about to throw it in the bin, but instead i stuck it in the freezer. 
you never know when something like this may come in handy.

vale maime
champagne always flowed, laugher abound, and children always running around us exploring the big house, splashing in that big pool, man, those were happy days. even when i was freshly divorced i always found joy in that pool. she was a matriarch that's for sure, possibly in a family of matriarchs, bigger than life, an abundance of joy and positivity. lot's of love floating around that place, a sanctuary for kids, adults, people in need, and family and friends. 
when i worked with her she was straight up, tough and real. we took in many troubled homeless kids, kids on the gear, kids abused, kids who were no longer kids. we took em down the beach, surfing on boogie broads and we would spend all day in the water, in the sun, just playing. no fucking talking, no fucking deep heavy shit, just play and slowly after three days man, those kids would smile again, their fucking faces would change and they would look like kids again. we were a crisis service and this was our solution to crisis. maime understood that. a good feed and a surf. get these kids back to whom they are not what experience forced them to become. it was a simple and elegant solution and a cure for all crisis. even my own, the surf has all the answers. it's basic.
cancer, fuck cancer right of the planet. 
wherever maime is she will be smiling, glass of champagne in hand and the party will be just kicking off.

saw t2 the trainspotting sequel, i have read the book but have to confess the film is better, some liberties taken. 
surprised by it's emotional impact upon me, i think i shed a tear in there somewhere. 
it's seamless despite the twenty year gap between the first films narrative yet it fits perfectly and there are some very cool references to the original  the soundtrack is excellent except for one queen song which was out of place.
it was very funny in parts, violent and graphic and surreal. 
choose captain missions blog.

H. P. Lovecraft The Call Of Cthulhu

certain outlines of trees in the twilight offer a glimpse into shadow lands, the way they branches resemble hands and fingers curling outstretched and gnarled. the rising moon just peeking behind horizons painted by blind deranged men, the way light sucks back to whence it came, the remainder is a paler shade of nocturnal expectations.

certain trees represent a grand idea, a time where form meant something deeper than mere lines. the brain endorses this in tales and myth, mystery surrounds some trees.

when i was a child i recall wimbledon common, opposite my grandmothers house. the trees came out to the edge of the road and leaned over my bedroom. in those early days the streetlights were gas, and the light itself had a shimmer and aura of uncertainty. 

it happened one evening, i couldn't sleep, was not allowed down stairs where the adults were. i looked out from my bed at the strange light shining through the gap in the curtains. 

it was softer than normal light, changeable and watery. i peeked at it from the safety of my covers and wondered why it was.

in a tiny body things look different, altered. 

i clambered out from the security of my bed and went over to the curtain. outside i could hear a wind howling. 

there's inside where all is safe and sound. and outside is another business. every fear awaits, all the dark imaginings of a young mind are beyond that thin screen. 

i must have looked. eventually. i must have opened the curtain and seen the big tree.

only the tree was not a tree, it was a face, a huge face, angry and moving wildly in the howling wind, roaring at me, bending right over across the street, leaning towards me, with a mouth of leaves wide open screeching silently, it's big eyes hungry and violent. it swirled and moved backwards and forwards, all the while that big mouth raging in the wind.

i'd never seen an angry tree before, i had never seen one so violent and hostile. it seemed to leap towards me and then rear back.

i was scared, a tiny kid in a dark room, looking at something that was terrifying me and i realised at a young age, some trees are just bad.

sometimes the past just drags you backwards, kicking and screaming. i loathe that imposition, yet here i am being compromised to do something i really don't want to do. fuck it!

the sudden life movement formed in 2018 after the nihilism of the previous year. it's founder captain mission, a fucked up freak strung out on powerful entheogens had the satori moment while communicating with several alien lifeforms through deep meditative practices.
they had been engaged in a dialogue over several months and the problems they encountered were based in the human central nervous system, although very advanced it was limited by the laws of the physical universe it inhabited. the aliens understood out there in the quantum foam each universe functions under different laws. newtons thermodynamics don't apply in most of them despite their irrefutable reign in ours. alternative universes have their own laws and rules, some where sound travels faster than light, some where time flows backwards, some where there is no time, some to alien to describe, bizarre worlds, an infinite number of them. 
each life form is designed to inhabit the universe it resides in, most obviously a localised one. humans lived on the earth and were limited by natural laws, just as natural laws would not allow them to flourish on jupiter it was possible to one day create a safe environment upon that particular planet. equally kepler 424 could support non human life but whatever form that life took it would have to obey the laws of the universe just like humanity.
during the discussions which some of the extra dimensional life forms mission learnt how they had transcended their own universal laws by learning how to use black holes as a gateway. although the black holes sucked all gravity inside itself it went somewhere, and certain holes are pathways in and others out. 
for the human mind it would as though swiss cheese was the fabric of reality, but it was slightly more complex. the swiss cheese may be our universe but if you took one of the holes as an exit and left through it you leave the swiss cheese behind. the hole will still be there, only it's an exit not an entrance and return is not guaranteed unless another gateway is found that returns to the universe you originated from. 
most aliens who have managed to cross this divide did it by changing their central nervous systems and brains. the safest way to do this is through meditation and breathing techniques however it would take a lifetime to reach anywhere close enough to do this in a meaningful way. there are plant medicines that will do this and then there's magick. 
students of the occult would indeed know lam was one of the first aliens to have made direct contact with a contemporary magickian, alister crowley. although crowley fucked himself over with addictions, ego and trappings of his age he did at least record his communications for prosperity. since his time the aliens have always been there for us should we require assistance. over many centuries humanity has struggled to define these beings, often relegated to folk law, mythology. now at least the age of global consciousness allows us to expand out into the reaches of inner and outer space and invite assistance. 
mission was working on ideas when first contact transpired. although versed in the forms of schizophrenia and mental illness mission conducted several self diagnostic assessments before committing to the inevitable.
using sherlocks deduction techniques all that remained no matter how improbable was the impossible. 
eventually two minds were joined by others, and the network began. 
the explosive inter dimensional leap was known as 'sudden life' as life as we had known it since the birth of consciousness now took on a new meaning. the evolution we had assumed started with single celled creatures joining other cells and specialised groups to form thriving efficient organisms had catapulted to a new kind of life. life that crossed universes, life that crossed and lived under different physical laws. 
the sudden life cult's main mission was to find other seekers and connect them, and when the time was right collectively begin to access the black hole networks. we were all just cells in another organism, despite this idea we were seperate, we are just bits and bytes in a larger life form, and it was waking up.
humanity is an organ, part of a vast intelligence, perhaps but most probable another being that spans dimensions and universes. 
on the 1st of march 2017 the sudden life cult movement was challenged to prove it's authenticity and validate it's claims to a skeptical observer. 
suffice to say the proof lay in front of their eyes all the time.
since then several networks have established themselves, many with direct links to alien intelligences and inter-dimensional beings. networks link with networks and a framework emerges of just how large the host organism is, perhaps that to is part of an unimaginably larger being.  

   

about 5pm the massive darkness blots out the sun and i find myself in a car park loading up on supplies. as i'm transferring coconut water into the boot i stop momentarily and take in the landscape above me. the blue skies have just become one mass of pulsing throbbing black, dense with electrical activity, i can feel it on the ends on my fingers, somewhere in the brain a reptilian circuit flips on, and i know i need to get home fast.

the drive is congested and a few massive drops of rainfall hit the screen, a bolt of lightening streaks down followed by hideous thunder.

i watch the lightning, it's not just impressive, it's awesome and having once been struck by it makes me fear. logic dictates i am very safe in my capsule but none the less i can't wait to get home. 

massive vibrations of sound, war zone above me, the situation is grim. the bolts now are a few seconds apart and light up the valley, searing their way across the skies and downwards, searching me out. i put my switch on my thrusters and find my way home. 

transfer the goods before the deluge, light candles, lock doors and windows and wait. 

the disruptive climate oppressively pulling us all down with it's heavy gravity, my capsule is cool, the air con pumps out cold air and the cd player spits out flaming lips electro trips. that new album is incredible but far out there. it's drug simile songs for a new generation of pop people. 
the surf conditions are not hospitable, a messy whitewash of disunity. i can't even get wet in water that angry. 
just chill out, read, relax under the fan, smoke my purple haze and drift in and out. 
prey for the rain to come, the garden needs it, the fish need it, we all need it. rain, rain rain, here comes the rain.

anti social misanthropic mission attends a big ho ha down in the city outside parliament house with a whole bunch of other nutters demanding things from people in big homes and nice suits. man, we just want to keep our paltry wages, we just want to keep our security and all that jazz. the fat cats look upon us with scorn, a water drenched rabble of fucking plebs, the citizens. 
i scan their minds and this is what i find.
we don't care about you as humans
we only want your vote
we only want your tax dollars
you are all expendable
we have the power
you do not
we have the authority
you do not
we have it for four years and we will milk it dry, every ounce, until we are set for life and you will pay for it.
some one shouts out 'what do we want?'
another yells in swift response something inaudible and i join in by yelling out, 'free lunch.'
these fat cats won't listen to us at all, they have their heads buried in the sand, journalists won't even ask us a question. they watch from the shelter of their big building and look upon us with scorn.
suddenly the riot squad arrive, they clear the streets and block the traffic. 
about two hundred aboriginal people march passed us, demonstrations clash. good timing, as usual the union fuck things up. these people want to stop black deaths in custardy. i swap sides. i ditch the fucking unions because they are the pigs who wheel and deal along with the pigs who look down upon us. i can't see the difference in the animal farm. all i know is 30 years after the royal commission into black deaths these people are still asking for a basic human right, to stay alive under police protection.
i care about wages and conditions but you know, i 'd feel a sense of shame if the right to stay alive was not a priority. 
this is australia 2017.  

this heat, the killing kind, sucking the juice outta bones. it's to hot to spontaneously combust, i gulp down my coconut drinks like a wild beast at the watering hole. even the fucking surf is exhausted from the heat, waves can't function, powerless and like lethargic attempts fail before they even start. i splash around and find some sanctuary in the shade.
meet nicole for some sort of breakfast she has arranged in some sort of cafe i would never ever visit or return to. i wait one hour for my coffee, several young waitresses seem disinterested in my needs, although i am quite happy chatting to nicole about europian cinema and magic tricks. 
i make several jokes about the long wait, i guess at least the place is chilled as the air con is turned up high, things could be worse, i could be waiting for blood in a make shift hospital in nigeria. sometimes a little perspective helps, sometimes you just gotta fight the impulse to demand efficient service and just know not to return rather than cause a scene. i won't return, it's not my sort of vibe anyway, far to middle class. 
tomorrow i think i will do some major work around the mission, if the temperature drops and i have to find some suitable colours to match my inner vision, a trip to the hardware store maybe, a place i am completely out of place in.

the days have melted away, the nights drift into heatwave, you try to find a happy medium but the only ones i find are jaded old gypsies with chips on their shoulders and broken teeth from uttering to many curses. 
my cards all read good, my hand is an example of happy daze, my aura is a happy ending and it has the old hag bamboozled .
she spits on my palm, puts her finger on my forehead and asks if i need the crystal ball reading. i nod, i like the cool of her tent and it offers me sanctuary from an abusively hot day. 
she stares into the ball, throws her head under the shawl and her eyes just peeking out look puzzled, her wiry hands and elongated old crinkeled fingers form a shield around the balls circumference. suddenly her iris expands, eyes open, her hands withdraw, the ball shatters and implodes. 
i look at her puzzled face, 'did you get anything?'
yes, i saw your future. it said, nothing is true everything is permitted, but i don't understand it.
i hand over the silver, 'it's not for you to understand.'

collection at the vet, a small deceptively heavy metal box. it's sealed tight and contains dust from whatever is left of pans corporeal form.  
ashes they say but it may as well be dust.
i transport it home and place it on my table. 
maybe i'll just bury it in the garden and plant some pansy's around him, a memorial. maybe i'll unscrew the screws that seal the box tight and let the wind carry the scattered ashes where it will. it's a strange business, i feel like pans still with me, standing by my side, i still wake up and go to feed him, i still check out the back to see if he has water and see if he is snoozing in his spot. i still sometimes go to call his name, i still keep all his things. i gotta let it all go, ghost dog pan can hang around but i need to let everything go.

the hottest night and not in a good way, way to hot for clothes, sheets i lay naked on my bed under the fan which is on high speed and manages to push hot air downwards, so not much relief, it's impossible to sleep. 
i've had a big night, city rendezvous with val and olga for hash cookies dinner and ice cream and our usual ramble through the strange worlds, but the hash cookie has been over cooked in the heat, it's burning up my blood stream, frying my neurones. 
laying on my bed i have already drunk two litres of mineral water and immediately sweated it right out. when i stand up it's like walking through molasses as i make my way downstairs for some relief, i open the fridge door and want to climb in.
we used to get days like this in the late eighties and early nineties and they were glorious because around evening the southerly would kick in and a cooling wind would blow in, great for beers on the balcony, an evening meal and some friends to sit back with and share a joint, these days the change don't come. it just remains oppressive. i drip all over the place, no relief from this, no where to go except the car which has incredible air con. 
i throw on a pair of shorts and nothing else, take the module down to the beach, in a few hours the sun will rise. 
i wake up in front of pure brilliant orange and red as the flame burns through space and refracts off the water, the sunrise offers no respite but the water does.
surf conditions are immaculate, wave structures form for me, as i swim out, fin in hand. the heat fatigue fades, the cool joy of bliss  explodes in my heart. catch waves, ride waves, banish everything, except the wave, zen moments bring elegant satori. 

vale the great dog pan

part dog part god
visitor from the dog star 
the dog who fell to earth
the diamond dog
taoist sage and salty old sea dog
loved dog
beloved dog it's the end of an era, 
i sail alone
and you wait for me in a better place.

a celebration of david bowie, or a david bowie celebration. sydney opera house, bowies backing musicians from all periods select five cities around the world and without any rehearsals offer a few lucky people the chance to hear them play to their comrade and leader one last time. 
he was there, you could feel it, we invoked his spirit, the packed audience on their feet for the whole three hours, dancing, crying, and yeah celebrating the last great icon. lot of joy in the house. a lot.
mike garson told us a story, he and david were in japan and met an old zen monk. the monk said that world religions were meaningless as the message had been lost through their corruption and now it was up to artists. mike garson said, we are here to heal and heal with you. celebrate david and  then they played an amazing gig, three hours. i danced sang along and watched, having somehow managed to buy the last seat left, right at the back, in the corner where i had plenty of room to enjoy, fashion, boys keep swinging, sorrow, aladdin sane, lady grinning soul, where are we now, fame, win, golden years, five years, changes, life on mars and space oddity, loving the alien, boys keep swinging, stay, wild is the wind, rebel, diamond dogs, heroes, suffragette city, under pressure, moonage daydream, sound and vision, life on mars, ziggy, starman, china girl, let's dance and the rest....

a celebration. 

rain falls, seaside town in summer, plants on the side of the street  rejoicing. i'm driving along in the module through time. i watch a few rainforests pass by, some strange buildings rise and fall like the tidal movements, temporary things come and go, chromosomes mutate strange evolutionary dead ends slip through the cracks, escape from the prison planet, religions are born. 
more news from nowhere. 
static eats the airways, i see strange scenes outside the mind mine, a slippery shaman like reptile with temptation lullabies offering me some sexy knowledge but i'm immune to the 21st century blues, got my immunity aura mojo working. serpentine and crystalline time, don't mix in the particle accelerator with out some kind of fall out. i see creature features slide through cracks in the skies, a misfit population hiding undercover like chameleon sleeper agents waiting for their cue, brains washed and hung out to dry by authority...man.
big flaming birds fall from the sun, ignition and fire, a burning desire just to have one more day. yeah i'm witnessing butterflies, ah it's all to much, beauty is tragic, but only if it's true. 
nuclear and atomic, spirit and demonic, it's a clock stopping era, the suicidal monopolies their truth, it's not for sale baby but everything has a price. i'll take a life for a life, so sayeth the great sayer. oh baby i ain't soothing you with promises or kind words, romantic fucking lies or mysterious truths. 
elephantine, airborne mermaid shapes bloom from mushroom and vine. gigantic insect devastate cities that appear like a future tokyo, all neon and over population, hack shops, body mod specialists and cut price gene slicers making deals with desperation. 
for a moment i think about picking up a dolphins sonar but if i leave the module i'm bound by psychics to join the linear flow and i could never return to the module.
i sit back and close my eyes, there's only so much time a man can live in.

BOWIE IN BERLIN - CONCERT

Bowie in Berlin from Göteborgs Symfoniker on Vimeo.

the furnace starts early, i've had a sleepless night, air to hot, my ceiling fan is on the high speed but it's fighting a loosing battle as it can't even cut through the air it's like thick liquid sky. all i can do is lay there in the dark breathing shallow breaths and trying to stay alive. even my blood flow is sluggish, synapses just refuse to fire. thoughts can't even be bothered to be born so they lay there melted down to some half formulated idea. around 5am i get up, clean my teeth, i sit down and watch the sun, and half hour later as it pierces the day the heat begins to burn. i drive down the road, the car is the coolest place and my body enjoys the reprieve. 
on return to mission control i languish on my lounge like a worn out washed up hollywood scarlet and can't even be bothered to roll a spliff. my garden looks more yellow that green and my fish are hovering slowly, expending minus energy seems to be on all my beasts mind. 
i flick on the new tv, its much bigger than the one i paid for, there was some kind of mix up which worked in my favour. however it's far to big, i can't watch it for to long as it feels like i'm at the front row in a cinema, it's to immersive and for most tv that's a quality i think is unhealthy. however there are advantages. 
even the sound takes over the whole space, it dominates the room. 
i lay back and close my eyes, thinking of a different time. 
my business head flicks through some ideas but no single one cuts through, just write a random thought says. write and write and see what happens. so that's where i am at.

i have a dr, he's a tall chinese chap straight out of william burroughs, i call him dr. lee but he he may be called something else. dr. chang perhaps, the receptionists all think i'm crazy.
'there is no dr. lee here, you mean dr. chang.'
'to me he is dr. lee.'
'take a seat mr. mission.'
'it's just captain, no mr. or mission.'
i get the look that says, 'he needs a different type of dr.'
well it's been a long time since i seen a dr whom i trust and dr. lee is my man, he looks like he's got the keys to the medicine cabinet and helping himself, he's got the shakes and speaks in a raspy oriental tongue. needles everywhere, syringes and pills spilling out over his desk. the book of change lays open on a side table.
he has very thin lips and narrow eyes, black eyes pinned like a nasty chemist. he sits down and suddenly looks like a preying mantis. i love this guy, a strange fantasy pops inside my head as he chops up a couple lines of bug powder dust and offers me a medical tube. 
in reality i have to tell him about some issues for a sick note.
he presses a keyboard which is hidden under the cluttered desk and a printer kicks in, then he hands me some straws to pick, i'm directed to pick six. 'ask question,' he says.
'am i in good health for work?'
he arranges them on the floor and consults his book, he shows me but it's in chinese pictogram. 'hexagram 22,captain, says you are now in form not function, the environment is not one of depth, you are appreciated for image not essence. you perfectly fill a roll, no one sees the genuine you. still, you are being listened to and watched. use this influence to further your goals as much as possible, even if you don't understand you can connect with a few isolated hearts.' 
he smiles and read's last line, 'relax, enjoy attention.' 
'what's hexagram 22 called? i ask.
'pi or in english grace, you feel better now?'
  

step out of the shower into the furnace, my skin seems encased in a layer of second skin, an invisible ultra thin sweat suit. i can feel my body slime through the thick viscous air in mission control. 
if you have never been to the tropics then you couldn't appreciate this oppressive heat, personally i love it, the way my reptilian brain just wants to find the most attractive girl in the room and get naked under the fan. pull her into some sensual twilight sultry contortion of pleasure until our bodies meld into one wet slime covered slug like slow moving love making creature. the heat pumps through my atoms, blood on the slow boil. 
i wake up under the fan alone, it's night, still ridiculously hot. somethings wrong, the fan no longer rotates. i check the time, it's midnight, i must have drifted off.
i look out at the street, all lights are off, i check my bedside lamp, there's no power. the temperature is rising. 
i wander along with my super slimline flashlight, it's a high performance  swizz army knife of a flashlight, perfect for any extreme situation, any dark environment.
my body moves so slowly in the heat, i avoid the towers of books and  a few cd's on the floor, make my way down into the studio where i look out at the garden. 
pitch black outside save for the slither of moonlight that casts peculiar shadows across the garden, particularly at my palms. there are some strange clouds up there, very dark with splinters of light. a crack in the sky.
my body is dripping in sweat, it's pouring from me, ridiculous. i don't know what to do with myself so i sit down and watch the night pass by. 
it's far to hot to fall asleep, i can just about breath. there's no longer a sensual feeling in the air, in fact i feel somewhat nervous. i run a self diagnostic, yeah, breathing is about all i can manage. i peer outside into the night, the terrible oppressive atmosphere, the heavy presence of things in our world being just slightly out of whack. it begins to 'clunk' in as i look deeper into the night
something moves across the night, a silhouette. involuntary i take a step backwards into total darkness. am i hiding?
i can't keep my eyes from looking at the long inhuman shapes that flutter by, in and through the black skies pass terrible shadow like feathered bodies. my brain so slow to understand, synapses misfire and make the wrong calculations, these are no angels. in that alien heat i tremble as a cold shiver starts along my spine. 

today was the first day i actually felt okay, like my energy was good. i think my reserves were depleted and although the surf recharged me it didn't really kick in till this morning when i jumped on the train and made my way into red eye to pick up some stuff i had ordered. two immaculate bowie boxes, although i have everything except one track, i sort of thought it would be nice to hear the remastered versions. i also picked up some cuban science fiction. then i quickly made my way home for an afternoon surf.
the beach was packed out, today being the last day of the holidays so every woman and her cat was down there soaking up the rays. i didn't like the look of the surf, big chop but when i went in i found myself engulfed by seaweed, it wrapped itself around my, getting everywhere. i tell you, there is not much worse, it feels so weird. i soon realised i was the only one in the water due to the amount of seaweed. every one else stayed on the shore. i was in there for under five minites and couldn't stand it any longer. 

captain mission has breakfast, a surf and an interesting conversation with a very intelligent redhead this morning, attractive to, and a sort of successful business woman type. she rolls up in a nice car all the way from sydney to see me. i must admit i've already had two coffee's and am in full rave mode so as soon as introductions are over i start, blah blah blah blah i go, like a talking robot waffling on about this and that, my rants take no prisoners, she looks somewhat bemused as i challenge her own thoughts, but then suddenly i withdraw, rant over. 
at the beach she stands out from the horde with her red hair and pale skin and i imagine we would look pretty odd together, a dark skinned fish man and a red headed wraith. the water is beautiful and the waves although not perfect make it interesting. i offer her my fin which like a trooper she tries.
on shore we talk about various yogi's and religions. dmt and ayahuscia and she perks up. my type of girl. 
it's a glorious day, sun shines down skies blue. she drives back home, and i return to mundane life and bake some muffins. 
it's a strange thing to contemplate, a relationship. do i really want one, if i did it would be with someone like her, interesting and self made. 

'om sri rama jaya rama jaya jaya rama.'

 'victory for the spiritual self.'

agent speedsexy thought projected her self into my day. it was quite peculiar at the time as i was driving along the freeway after getting away somewhat early from work. one moment i was changing lanes, the next she's telling me to overtake the cars in front. i give her a quick look and see she is deadly serious so i put my foot down.
agent speedsexy is not some one you mess with. 
she plays with my radio, turning off the talkback host and presses a few music stations, nothing catches her fancy so she's rummaging around opening hatches and concealed compartments until she finds a stack of cds. she flips through them seriously, and sticks on into the slot. 
'that's better.'
i smile, she has good taste in tunes.
'now mission, where you taking me?'
'i was going home, where would you like to go.'
'surprise me mission.'
i nod, my mind flicks through a serious of possibilities and arrives at the inevitable. i steer the car down the road, and take a turn off, 'this is the road less travelled. this is where we are going. you and me.'
we settle into some excellent driving conditions, no traffic, no signposts, no traffic lights or junctions, along a narrow coastal road and eventually follow it uphill to a lookout where the car comes to a rest. i leave the motor on and we look out at the ocean, waves breaking into the rocks and a few determined surfers catching waves.
we smoke a spilff, watch the sun sinking. then she turns and says, 'good call mission.'
i want to say something but it's to late. she's gone.

the spinning blade in my head works harder today than ever before, it is now a silver pole with it's multi bladed attachments slicing away, chopping at the remnants of stupid forms i cling to, occasionally something will just turn up and the blade automatically goes to work. it's far to powerful for me to even attempt to control, it just works and works, powered by some endless frictionless energy, perpetually aware independent of my own abilities. it does not work for me, but it works for me.

down before dawn, catch magnificent waves, they crash and explode like the birth of some universal event. for some reason (cold current) the water is considerably colder today, but it's invigorating and i'm enjoying riding some mighty powerful waveforms as my void claims me. 

you can't explain this stuff, it's beyond zen, it's some sort of hyper gate, transcendental.

later i have a coffee and get stuck into my osho book, i like the way the man talks, he makes some great observations about religions. i like mischievous. 

he talks about how happiness is something which is found from something or some one else, it's source is outside the self. he says only when you are creating something can you find bliss, which comes from within, it is not dependant on something external. i know all this but it's a pleasing confirmation especially as i have been so unhappy for a while, yet my moments of bliss are frequent.

the sun seems to burn through the clouds, and now as i drive home the sun is blazing the day away, intense and penetrating, it begins to get very hot and i turn on my over head fans and smoke a left over spliff, i think about sonchia, my mentor in jail, ponder over the conclusion to 'asset.'

it certainly was an unexpected ending, yet it was the only possible conclusion, i mean it's exactly what i would do, oh maybe i'd chose the enhancements but i am not a buddhist.  my mind wanders to ideas and ways of living that are hundreds of years old, the human brain was different back then, things were nowhere near as complex. buddha left instructions on how to follow him but our brains are very different now than back when he was daydreaming under trees, we can't possibly apply his techniques to our brains and expect the same result. we need enhancements. yes, i conclude, i would not have locked myself up, but i would have smoked that last thai stick and taken the upgrades. there is no going backwards sonchia my friend. 

a quick surf as the town is packed and i'm parked illegally, but the waves are tremendous, i catch a super powered one that blows all my illusions into the vastness of nothing. it's that one single one, the obliteration every soul searches for, outside the time space dimensions, i ride it to the core of my own void. it's beautiful and terrifying, it's sublimation. 

outside i deal with the horde, all plugged into the town for a long weekend, shops spilling over and walkways packed as i shuffle through. i wanted to go to the bank but it's to tricky and inefficient. i count my blessings and slip away back to mission control.

i check my mail, a card from an old friend, a friend of my ex wife really. i don't know what to do, it says she wants me to call her but i'm sort of unconnected to that past and don't see a point in reconnecting, i'm sitting on this one.

a card from my union thanking me for working on xmas day. i didn't suckers, i had the day off. i hate that union, total bunch of dumb zombies who have never helped me deal with any of the masses of abuse i encountered at work yet somehow manage to deduct $30 a week and send me an xmas card for my troubles.

i get a card from kate, bless you kate. it was so lovely for you to think of me. i get some messages from people via text, all wanting me to get in touch. i ignore them, just not in the mood right now. 

the light fractures as late afternoon sinking sun streams across the horizon through the big tropics and into mission control where i sit pondering my own disillusion into the void. 

wake up, weather changeable and my time seems to slow down as the morning catches up. i grab a coffee, walk around looking at colourful birds, my dog missing in action i wonder if he has found a better home to hang for the day. leftovers and exhausted children would be infinitely more attractive than an exhausted and left over man.
i read for a while,  stop and think about my own compass, is it fear, indifference or lust, it's really all over the pace this morning. 
fear. i have jehovah's witnesses coming, friends that found jesus. although i love them i hate their company, it's a dead end because there is no way i would become a witness. it's the ultimate detachment  and yet it's just another attachment to something quite ridiculous. however i respect their enthusiasm. i have to hide all my weed.
i smoke a little spliff before they arrive and my compass heads to lust. how do i know this? i go out to jb hi fi and buy a new tv. it's a big sexy one. a dumb impulsion gets the better of me but at least no one is pregnant right?
i sit down at mission control and look at my life 2016, strange year, a sad one in some ways, lots of shifting, loss, conflicts and weirdness but that's my life. i've grown somewhat indifferent to it all.
see i am all over the place. 
i burn some incense new stuff called 'black magick' very hard to get. do you know you cannot import this stuff into australia. lucky i have a chinese connection. 
i meditate upon the compass and attempt to dissolve it but i get an erection as thoughts flood my mind about a sexual encounter i had yesterday. back to lust. 
i need a surf.

always smiling, positive guy, everyone liked you including helen the head girl whom i secretly desired. helen was so happy when you started dating her, and who am i to stand in her path to happiness. just kids, head filled with dreams and outrageous ambitions. you were smart and immaculate, while i was a punk, more drawn to bowie and the clash while you dug those soul legends and ska. 
you and her were a good team but i knew even then something was amiss, it was written on her face shortly after. i saw it, but it was difficult to read and i was still young.
i came took some photo's of you and your ska band before you went of to new york. i had know idea you were being shaped by some mogul, i was in the 'screaming blue meanies' belting out bowie covers and playing velvet underground songs while you cut wham rap and got banned. that was cool man, i respected that. 
next thing i know you and andrew are some huge pop stars and your paying wembley stadium. i hated those songs man, but you seemed the same, that flamboyant vanity, that tom cruise grin, the unshaven stubble, stupid outfits and loads of dancing girls looking like they had scoffed down far to many anti depressants. 
not content from taking helen, you and andrew then took the perfectly sexy shirley and turned her into some sort of disco bunny. i loved her for the pink hair and safety pins not the fucking fluffy jumpers and white ankle socks. last xmas indeed.
well yog, i have to admit you came out in style, busted in a toilet, front page news, man that video clip was the first adult song you made that i thought was great. outside. yeah you made some funky tunes smoked a lot of weed, had a few supermodels on speed dial. that's all we wanted from life i guess. 40 years later your heart explodes while mine beats on, i don't know how many more beats it has left but it makes me wonder about the numbers, it's a numbers game they say and i was always bad at math.

it's stinking hot, covered in sweat like slime second skin that burns up the atmosphere. it's underwater over land, the day hazes away, and clouds hang like dali clocks in the molten skies.
i'm pedal to the metal down the freeway, turn off down some side road and sleepy suburb. the dawns delayed but when it arrived it had vengeance in it's heart. 
i weave down before the traffic catches up, head into galston gorge, that sunken bushland that takes me straight to prehistory. man there's no sign of civilization here except for the road and my old truck. no radio signal can reach me, just some looming interference. the air con makes a rattle and hum coughing along, barely able to pump out anything but short spurts of hot air and an irritating buzzing. 
i'm descending into the valley, down we go spiraling narrow road, rickety old bridge a hairpin turn or two, this is remote but it's in the middle of a city. sydney has pockets like this, it's a wild place despite what you see on the tv screens, it's land will kill you, they don't call it untamed wilderness for nothing. there's something else here to, some magick. an ancient one, one you don't wanna fuck with unless you know what your doing. 
the mechanics in my truck are clunky, each gear change sounds abrasive and when the windscreen falls out i know i'm pushing my luck. i hear the tyres crunching over glass and in my single side mirror see the sparkle of fragments catch the light like exploding stars.
the truck begins to slow down, i rev the engine thinking speed may help but the movement is sluggish and snails pace and the more i rev the more a thick black smog engulfs the old jalopy. my chest begins to burn as sunlight streams through. i've already stripped down to my shorts and my skins starting to fry.
suddenly the radiator goes, a hot gush of steam shoots upwards in front of my horrified face. the air con packs up and the truck splutters to a standstill. i am fucked and i'm fried unless i can get out of the sun. 
around me flames start to appear, spontaneous combustion. fire come to life. already several small pockets surround me as i wander away from the truck watching in disbelief. 
they say never leave your vehicle but mine is melting, i watch the tyres smolder, the ugly stink of rubber and toxic black smoke. 
i attempt to run along the road but my shoes are sticking to the tar. 
seems like i'm in an australian version of hell, flames begin to grow towering up and leaping from branch to branch, smoldering embers float across my line of sight like tiny lethal fireflies and then as i rush into the bushland the very flames of hell are quite literally licking at my heels. 
momentarily the smoke seems to disperse and i run to a standstill. i am surrounded by fire, a circle blazing away but frozen, a fire wall, a firewall.
a tiny ember floats by my shoulder traveling on an easy wave trajectory with no angles. i watch it as it catches my eye in some fixation. it moves faster and at and suddenly stops, hovering just at my face.
all moments froze, my mind still operating in fear at the speed of life, thoughts just like flames sparking into ignition from nowhere and burning up into nothing, my synapses exploding, all things frozen except my mind as it burns inferno like exploding thoughts, memory and ideas. i can't move anywhere but the safety of my circle. the fire itself is ceased mid-burn, each flame on ice as if time has stopped. i am in a photograph captured at 1000th of a second. physics itself burns.
through the frozen landscape something moves, a shadow being glides through each flame, weaving past burnt tree trunks, feet make a crunching sound crisp and clean upon the ashes of the bushland. it snaps the columns of flame that stand in its way, it breaks into the circle from outside and stands before me, it's ancient face from a time and place beyond all human history it's wings are black and scarlet, like burning blood. it's terrible gums and teeth like a hound. it walks around me like a shark would swim around prey, eyeing me up.
'let's make a deal mission?'
a finger is snapped and i can speak and move freely but the area is still suspended in time. 
'who are you?'
a powerful voice riding the wind screams like a chorus of angry vultures from the depths of a black charcoal soul. it not only cuts through every atom that vibrates within my flesh it sears itself into my soul rendering it outside of natural law.
'i am the adversary, lord of fire.'
and then a whisper, 'i came to claim your return but i am willing to come to an agreement.'
the nature of fire is it is immensely unpredictable and destructive but it comes from the same place. a place i am familiar with the secret destination of all alchemical transmutation, the sun.  
my negotiation is simple. emissary of the sun on earth.
the lord of fire disintegrates before me, taking all flame and fire and leaving me alone in the scorched earth with a quick look of acknowledgment, for we are brothers. and we both believe we serve the same light.  

the flaming lips -the terror

the blade meditation has cut away everything, it's sometimes quite beautiful and utterly terrifying. sometimes the meditation just kicks in on it's own, it must be finely attuned to my mind, maybe it is part of it i can no longer tell. it comes in so many forms, a hurtling hurricane of blades with no real form. a nano machine, millions of micro blades razor sharp splitting through time and memory, attachment and desire, an autonomous steam roller squashing and tearing apart photons, a robotic thing constructed of fractals, alien undetermined shaped, a silver octopus with razor blade tentacles, it's squeezes along neural pathways compressed and expanded, it devours like ammit but more like the hand of kali.
moments of ego slip out and float away, aspects of self shatter, elements of i are imploded while light liberated. it's unbearably painful to let so much go, all suffering and happiness, it all brings more of the same desires. i am almost free from it. 
sometimes i just find myself in a situation where i just invoke my blades and they come from the depths, from the mists, from the dark fathoms of the mental universe, they appear and churn, destroying it all, any sense of myself is passing into another fiction, nothing is true, everything permitted. 

an old friend from tokyo city iggy comes to visit these shores, we catch up on three consecutive sundays, it was good to see him readers, really good. iggy and i go back and as a younger man i got to see how unique a thinker he was, how individual and different. in a society of clones zombies and depressingly empty souls i found him a beacon of hope. i listened to him as we swapped stories of travels and ideas. his passion for mountains, persia, the forgotten parts of maps, the places where no one ever goes. 
me i had taken a strange path but it was accessible for anyone to follow should they choose. iggy, he went along a pathway that no one could follow. 
so it is good to see his return. it's been about 10 years, and now he is a cool father and a husband, blazing his own trail. 
we talk and it's just like old times only i'm older. my vitality is in decline, i'm sluggish and my bones are weary. iggy moves like a frictionless android from the future come to save or destroy us. 
hive city where we have laksa for breakfast, the women are all beautiful here. we always dug that asian vibe. 
for some reason i have a leaking eye, i buy a black eye patch which helps and take a photo of us both outside the hive, we look like we are mercenaries on shore leave but for some reason the photo is lost, i search for it but it's MIA.
those sundays flew by fast old friend. i miss you. and dear reader here's an example why.
i smile as we part company and i stupidly say (on auto pilot)'take care.'
and with that smile, the one that knows it's got something to say, iggy says, 'no! take risks.'
it makes me laugh but i guess you had to be there. 

after heat came the rain, i returned back to mission control loaded down and weary. i started reading and writing, casting out my circumstance and the serbian woman at the other end picked up the current. 
i thought the transmission would be georgian as i had recently seen some georgian script and it reminded me of an ancient language i knew. the strange motifs sent my mind asunder, the girl that drew them even further. i was casting and you turned up. 
i read four novels in the time i had, one straight after the other, part of a series, i had read five of them before so the theme was familiar and i knew the essential plot but the details were important so i just read between my long working hours and made considerable headway. 
i travelled from georgia, thailand, cambodia and nepal. hong kong would be next but i was fractured, splinters of me had taken seperate roads, one on their way to india as i speak. the splinter in nepal was being tutored by the nameless monk. he touched my forehead and transmitted to me the most powerful meditation that must be left unwritten and unmentioned. 
another splinter seems to have found its way to florida where it indulges in many hedonistic activities, sex and drugs surround me like a steam  bath of sin. i enjoy it all, for i am here to experience.
another splinter travels with my son, i sit next to him in an aircraft, we look out at cloud city landscape below. i am there in astral form only, just for protection. he knows he can call upon me at anytime and i think for the moment he's just feeling anxious and needed some reassurance. i write something down in his book:

if you fear loneliness do not travel.

travel is transformation.

a splinter of captain mission is of course smoking opium in thailand. the red sinking sun pours light across the skies painting it with a violent brushstroke of vitality. my eyelids are heavy and above me on the balcony a beautiful fan revolves with a clunky whirring noise i adapt to. strangely as i surrender to my state a rouge splinter is having slow languid sex with a girl whom has a serpent tattoo that winds around her lithe brown flesh, tail at her left foot as it wraps around her stomach exposing her belly button and makes its way between her breasts and finishes just as her neck begins. i kiss her serpentine symbol and a little hiss escapes her lips.

in hong kong i am eating some noodles, assaulted by sound, the horde moves past me, traffic crawls while scooters and bikes weave in and out of cars. the air is half filled with the stink of spices and fresh cooked foods and the rank of car exhausts.

another distantly attached splinter is in a colder part of serbia. i ask the glamorous girl in her leather boots how people stay warm in such a climate. she looks at me and says in a hard edged broken english voice, 'der ink much vodka, fuck like bear.'     

one thing i never understand is why australia (my adopted home) hates intelligent people so much. i was very popular when i kept quiet and just played sports but now i speak up and have ideas i'm sort of shunned, nothing worse than a smart person in australia. oh, well there is one thing worse, one with dark skin i guess. that's me.
now i hear they want to build a sporty stadium out west, why not a fucking library? 
the answer is australians are kept dumb and led by politicians they deserve, may as well build a colosseum. let russell crowe and mel gibson thrash it out while we all watch and cheer filled with cold beer and high on stupidity. 

an old technique, rise with the sun, watch it over the water as the first waves hit the retina. synchronise spectrums, extend the auric field in meditative expanse and discipline. walk down to the waterline, get toes and feet wet, see the pathway out from feet to horizon and give praise. 

already very warm, perfect curls upon perfect waves, they come in sets of three, large ones and i always get the last one, with my trusty fin. we ride and i am propelled through zen like states, my charkra system is vital, i have no distinction, the very blood that races around my body is as the pulse of the ocean, atomic dissolution  only the mind is left, neither here nor there, so where but everywhere.

it cannot last, like all things, orgasms, enlightenment and love, even a good meal, it lasts for as long as it lasts and the method is to understand clinging to it only brings tension, let it go, let it come, let it go, mantra of the noble path. 

i surf the morning to stillness, in golden light white divinity, profoundly sexy and alive, not even the oppressive heat matters, the day is born in splendour. the sun will rise and set, and everything is as it needs to be in the moment. 

every buddhist even in suffering is the potential to be free.  

i'm on a radio show with a psychiatrist and he's talking about the way asian men are now all risking their health to have their cock's enlarged with gels and silicon, an extremely painful procedure with harsh side effects not to mention it's illegal. the dr. explains that western advertising, porn and the internet where once asian men never even considered cock size important now they are all insecure and there is an epidemic loss of self confidence. he says previous to this the asian cock was quite adapted suitably for the asian vagina. ironically with all this advertising comes a rise in impotency amongst asian men. 
'so the west are literally castrating the east? the host asks.
the psychiatrist laughs, 'yeah that's one way of looking at it.'
the interviewer asks me what i think of western culture.
'it's basically a culture of emergency, emergency climate, emergency   economics, emergency epidemics, emergency drugs, wars on this and a wars on that, speculation on catastrophe, the sun zooming in, the meltdown expected. but if we did not believe you could control everything there would not be an emergency would there?'

a dream, a message i can't say but i'll take it as conformation there are things beyond what we can even comprehend. 
it's evening the sun has set over a large open air stadium, filled to capacity, i sit on the lawn at the front, and the atmosphere is beyond electric. david bowie, in all his various incarnations is playing a live show, he sings into the stars and then comes over to me and whispers 'thank you captain mission,' and then he shakes my hand in what i can only describe as sincerity. he smiles, i do to i'm sure in my sleep and then he returns to sing. 
later i am above the grass area, a luxury box looking down at the stadium and the man. i beckon a girl, 'come look see, it's david bowie.'
she seems disenchanted, 'yeah, i know i'm here, i know what's going on'
'but it's him. he's alive.'
she wanders of bored.
i look downwards as the dream fades and i awake.

fortunately my personal supply of medical marijuana is flowing. 
i drive home in the traffic, i'm listening to all india radio. i like some of their stuff. i like driving to them. i don't feel the need for speed. usually i listen to the radio, a banal station where they talk about politics through their predictable left wing prism so all india is a nice distraction. 
there's a lot of traffic down the winding road, everyones slightly maniacal and aggressive, especially the dumb tradies. 
when i get home i feel exhausted  a throbbing in my head, the terrible stress of being responsible for people, the frustration of not having a creative outlet at the moment other than write dumb stories about slow death from weirdness. maybe i'm turning into an h p lovecraft type, the monsters for him were the other. the blacks, the jews, the alien races. for me they are people who want a piece of me. i have always disliked that feeling, hence the themes of being eaten, cannibalism and devouring. 
i'm going to write something very dark and malevolent soon, i want to explore this. i am very influenced by liard barron whom you must seek out and read, i recommend 'the croning' to start with but you can start anywhere, any collection of short stories will do it. i love his work, so well executed and those brutal characters  the strange sexuality, the weirdness creeping in under the doors. he writes like a master and with such skill takes you into the dark like you never have been before. horror like this, cosmic horror is becoming very popular apparently. i guess it's a sign of the times.
i listened to a podcast by some writers who specifically wrote horror novels, they all seemed to agree that you have to start out writing a story about something normal and relatable, you need something very average that the reader can relate to and then introduce the horror. it's a disruptor.