katmandu
1989
i'm sitting in my hotel at the top of the world smoking some hash, there's a knock at my door. i'm a bit spooked because i don't know anyone here therefore i'm not sure who it could be, my mind runs through a list of possibilities, the police, the hotels manager, someone from the embassy, perhaps it's that girl i saw in the markets, the canadian with the peanuts scarf. i open the door to see a tiny man dressed in red and orange robes, a monk. i'm somewhat stoned, the hash is going down nicely, the altitude. it's an awkward moment but i see the little chap can do me no harm so i invite him in. he steps inside my room.
'captain mission' he asks.
'yes' i respond surprised.
'you have to come with me.'
options run through my mind but there is only one that is worth pursuing. i'm curious, i'm to stoned to fear, and there's not much point in being paranoid up here unless you are in trouble with the chinese border police or smuggling contraband. all i had was ball of nepalese temple that i had half smoked, hardly enough to concern any one. i jumped up from my bed where i sat, grabbed my coat and hat and followed the monk out the door and up some stairs to the roof of the hotel. he said nothing on the way, just shuffled his feet forwards. i attempted to look into his eyes but they were obscured by the shadows, he did a gracious bow and muttered, 'captain mission, stay here.' then he returned down the steps.
up there it's hard not to appreciate the beauty even if your stoned, it's simply breathtaking. i gazed down at the people and the streets below and the mountains and the skies, breathtaking, i couldn't breath or it felt like it. a light encircled me, a beam of yellow light seemed to surround me and i could feel myself disintegrate. that is, every part of me seemed to fall apart, my skin just seemed to dissipate like the final moments of a sand mandala in the breeze. there was no pain just a tingling sensation and suddenly i was nowhere and then the tingling returned, only this time i was pulled together, i could feel myself re assemble, and i took a beautiful big breath.
'Wow'
I was no longer on the rooftop. I was somewhere else. Inside what looked to be like a clinical, medical facility only there were no walls, just a shimmering light and no signs of any instruments, in fact when i looked down there was no floor, everything had a silvery colour and then a face appeared, mercurial and silver, obviously non human.
'What is this?' I asked.
'Do not fear. We have no intention to harm you Captain Mission.'
'Why am i here?'
'To learn.' There was no real speech but the thought in my head, i could see the face now, it was an alien, classically looking archtype, with big round eyes and that child's mouth, the lips moved but the sound appeared in my head, telepathy.
'we are in a different dimension than you. everything appears different to you because you cannot imagine the next higher dimension of existence with you're brain structure at this moment in space time, but we want to share this with you. The lesson will be quick but you will learn quick, your brain will change dramatically and then we will return you to your place upon the roof.'
My mind was kind of falling apart but slowly enough to take stock. i had been teleported somewhere else, a space ship or some sort of military facility, these people were either genuine aliens or i was part of an elaborate hoax, both seemed possibilities. if it's a hoax then i should be a good sport and go along with it, i should not fear a few cameras and besides i should try to look good.
'okay lets go.' i said filled with a fake confidence.
they showed me my life from their dimensional view point, i appeared as a worm, a kind of giant worm because time for them was not cause and effect, it was just effect, my life from birth to now looked like one event, we all did. everything seemed to be in process, all heading towards one direction. my worm life was a beautiful thing, the way it intersected with yours, the way we are all part of this process towards consciousness.
then i re animated again, back to the rooftop. The monk was there to escort me down the steps. i thanked him and he left me on my bed. i smoked another joint and fell into this deep dream of life.

i was running through the afterlife, looking at the clouds, the flowers and the fish, the patterns in the wind. a man in a white suit pulls a flower from his sleeve, he presents it to his beloved and she swoons. later they bring their lips to one another, they begin to disappear but their lips hover together in a kiss just like floating goldfish. a pelican with a top hat smokes a cigar and sings an obscured pink floyd song from a soundtrack where everything explodes like an italian orgasm. there's the smell of lemons and the breeze is carrying the strained sounds of a familiar voice. i wander listlessly in it's direction following my nose and the rhythmic beating of my heart only my heart is pumping out elvis costello's 'tokyo storm warming.'
elvis appears before me, wearing a pork pie hat, glasses and a flash suit. the flash blinds me momentarily, darkness envelopes me and i stumble and fall to the ground, only the ground is no longer there, replaced by the abyss. i call upon my daemon, i call upon my holy guardian angel, i call upon the elements and the elephants, hindu deities, icons and angels, devils and demons, one of which appears. archdemon. we do a quick deal, some colombian cocaine for my safety. archdemon laughs as i seal the deal.
somewhere in the alley ways and streets i score some coke from a man who says it's the real thing, he deals in memories primarily so i trade mine for a bag of marching powder. i offer the powder to archdemon in a ritual conducted at midnight, under the full moon, he's pleased with me and offers me a line. i decline and slip into a fugue state, some divine light crosses my path, i shake it away, transfixed and tantalized by the beautiful illusion and temptation of sex with the seductress vampyric entity with the red hair and luscious lips. she looks familiar like stacia the hawkwind dancer, free form erotic follower of the babylonian current we indulge in congress when the director yells 'cut' and the exploitation industry packages our performance under the title, lesbian adventures in lust. i look at myself in female form, not unpeasing, stacia winks.

this morning time has slowed down to a gentle trickle, all things pass and i feel supremely fast but this is an optical and experiential illusion, a side effect. the mind plays tricks, it's played three on me since i awoke so therefore it plays hat tricks, in fact there was a rabbit in my hat that turned out to be a tortoise yet when i went to show it to my friend it was not there.
i went for my first swim in a long while. the ice cold water set my heart on fire, my skin reacted with shock and my mind wandered far away. under blue skies, perfect waves and my body floated like an jellyfish, soaking up sunlight, meditating on the void, the shock of the cold had sent me into suspended animation, my cryogenic existence a mere pulse in a landscape of deep blue. horizontal i left my body and floated away, visiting people i hardly know, serpentine and comfortable in my new state i weaved my way around their bodies and lives finding nothing i want except the desire to end. then my heart broke through and my day begun.
bumped into waynes world an old friend who once gave me a saucepan when i had nothing, a true friend, we spoke about a visit to india where i would like to visit certain parts especially the south and goa. he drove me into avalon where i played chess with lisa 1 and lost, she cooked me a fish salad and drove me home, we spoke about several different brands of ice cream and i recommended the best one i know, maggie beers burnt fig and caramel. divine.

do what you love
love what you do
the rest is just a side effect

i stuck the neuro feedback plug into my head and activated the switch, a computer screen kicked into operation before me, like a mirror. fractals danced upon the screen and moved in flux, some faster than others. the technique was to get some control of the patterns by controlling thoughts and contents of the mind/brain but this requires advanced meditation. i used the void technique and some electronic vibration music from a tibetan bowl assisted in focus.
slowly the shapes before me took form and merged into one fractal pattern, replicating the contents of my head in pure form.
stars exploded in the universe on my screen, planets formed, suns where born, life evolved, time expanded, relationships developed between these things, love was born. the fractal became a white pure energy. my body vanished, the computer vanished and the only thing left was bliss.

we are on a mission.
cross town escort
to a cool looking south american god
who sits in the back of my car
smoking a cigar
and knocking back south american beers
telling me about his wife
and how they had stuck together
for years
in transit states
in rose coloured shades
in the heat of the moment
in the cold light of day


we listen to daniel lanois
haunting slide tones
sydney harbour bridge shut down
so we go under the ground
to the destination
where the points meet
in the silky sunrise
in the currents and tide
in the eternal expansion
and the waves we all ride
say hello to the genius who greets me with his family
i pass him the plant and a book
he is listening to music
but one song is dead
the other can dance
one is a man who has a strange beard filled with stars
the other a woman who sounds like a siren
but not from the cars

he calls his family and we all eat pairs.
he has beautiful girls
a beautiful wife
and i imagine quite a beautiful life
i talk to much,
last nights excess makes words generate
before i know what they really mean
they dance on my tongue
before they make their escape
but the genius listens
he asks me a question about the pain
i answer honestly
im afraid of the repercussion's
but i'm excited by the possibilities
i'd like to sit on the fence but don't have that heart
we talk a bit more and then i depart.

i meet my brother whom is so far removed from myself
yet he believes in god
the soul, the spirit and health
we wander around bondi with his girlf
she says my story was brilliant
we have coffee in a nice big book shop
i see three copies of 'house of leaves'
i want to buy them all
but i can't afford to.
i see a girl in a floppy hat
i could fall in love with her
for a moment everything balances precariously
then i drive back home to mission control
the next night i visit sue and simon
they feed me food from the gods
they offer to sponsor my artwork
i'm a bit overwhelmed.
this is something
big.

my words
my music
my art

all coming together in some weird explosion
if ever there was a time for things to come together
it would be
NOW

i'm at a bbq hosted by an ex girlfriend who has just bought a spacer scooter i name her a cadet, therefore space cadet. nice bbq, i meet a man who digs Michel Houellebecq and enjoyed 'atomized' as much as i did, a rare occurrence. i end up drinking some germanic substances, and ingesting some south american powder which is unusual as i am usually resistant to such peer pressure but in a moment of weakness i kick back and go with the flow. it's not so bad, however after two hours sleep i have to awake for a mission into bondi with a certain plant for a certain time being and to see my brother. i'm confused by things the ex girlfriend said, i need to address these things at an appropriate time.

i like all gods creatures except moths, i have an inexplicable moth phobia that freezes me in terror and makes my hair stand on end and beads of sweat form along the back of my neck. dogs are best friends, loyal and dependent, and cats just are indifferent and cool. but moths fly in unpredictable paths and have weird powder on their bodies that causes pixies and elves to die horrid slow and agonizing deaths. they also are responsible for a diminishing bee population. for its a well known fact moths are the sworn enemies of the humble bumble bee.

haunted
by
captain mission

in 1979 i built a transistor radio / tape deck, that could tune into frequencies as yet very unexplored, especially on a level that this device could penetrate. to look at it was a kind of normal radio, although from the chunky late 70's. It was black with silver dials and i'd managed to install an terrestrial antenna for very low frequencies from 50 to minus 500 kHz. the main dial was the tuner but there were two other dials, one was to focus the tune thus getting clarity, the other emitted a low frequency attraction pulse. the idea being that the attraction pulse acted like bait, and the focus dial basically fine tuned while the big dial just tuned into the frequencies. if one looked inside the components you would be surprised to see some organic material amongst some basic electronics.
without giving details away there would be a bat skeleton, hair from a deceased human, some blood and tears mixed in a small vial (not my own) there was also the 'secret' section from the necronomicon that i had ritually prepared and inserted in the circuit boards.
the other main element to the radio was a high quality mike, hooked up to the tape recording part of the machine. this radio was a device that cold speak to the dead and record the answers. pretty good at a time when electronic voice phenomena (EVP) and instrumental transcommunication (ITC) where almost unknown.
anyways my idea was to use the elementary science and advanced magickal techniques i had learnt in a practical way and see what the results where. unfortunately i had made an error, it was not a 'bat' that was required at all, it was a raven or crow skeleton, and more specifically only the skull. years later when i rediscovered an interest in communicating with the dead i amended my mistake. (thanks people at neuro-magick conference 1997)
the results were brilliant in their clarity and execution, soon i was in command of the realm of the dead, people would come to consult me and my notoriety became almost global in an underground way. the strange thing was the dead would also come, i'd just have to turn the machine on and the dials would tune themselves, information became revealed as both the living and the dead made their exchanges. i learnt that there is always a two way process, but it is the living that are the most selfish.
where is the treasure?
where is the family fortune?
yet the dead only wish to know that they were loved and remembered.
my evenings and nights (the radio could only operate after sunset) where spent hour after hour fulfilling requests and i was beginning to suffer a bit myself, no time for sleep, no time for anything other than this strange mediation between living and dead. on average i received 30 to 40 letters a day, and at least 80 phone calls.

one day i picked up a strangely familiar voice, a soft broken transmission, with a hint of poetry and sadness, it was mine. my own voice, a communication from myself, maybe from the future because i am not dead yet. fear seized hold as i wrestled with the message. 'stop... transmission, tear hole.... in dimensional fabric stop...transmission stop...danger danger mission terminate mission.' etc. i unplugged the device quickly and buried it.
there were protests from the living and some from the dead, i still have disembodied voices whispering to me to retrieve the device and continue the dialogues, for the dead seek a salvation from the living, but i never succumb to their demands. i don't wish to be responsible for any anomalies in the fabric of space and time and these disembodied tragic 'voices' i can live with them. But could you?

follow your bliss
that's what i'd like to say if some one ever asks me what i do for a living.
the sad truth is i don't.
i attempt to find bliss in whatever i do
i fail often
Buddha says life is suffering
Mission says Buddhas on to something
the fact is life is getting complex and people struggle and fight with themselves more than anyone else
trying to make sense of it
trying to figure it out
trying to escape because sometimes the grey skies are so freaking heavy
sometimes you just gotta be strong and know when to chose your battles.
and when to admit defeat
sometimes you just gotta let it all go.
winning the competition was important because i needed validation that i was a good writer and capable of being recognised. but the fact is writing is writing, weather its good is a subjective expression. my writing just is.
i'm happy with that.

grey morning i awake with a phone sending out loud signals intruding into my tortured dream, it's crazy dave offerring me masses of musical equipment for a cheap price. i thank him and then just as i'm drifting back, phone still in my hand it rings again. it's my clients mother, some how she managed to get hold off my number, she's rung me to say she supports me and likes me and i have a friend in her.
i thank her and figure the day may as well start now.
i meet my friend evan, a wise friend, some one i am close to. we both feel the earth weep as it acknowledges it has to shake us up a bit, we both feel it's hurt as rain forests are chopped down for ethanol, whales are hacked for make up and science, we know the sad and empty truth. we both know reading the newspaper won't make us feel better. my friend mike says not reading the newspaper is like a form of denial. i get caught in the middle. i read the science articles. they discovered a new planet 10 times the size of jupiter orbiting a star. they have not named it yet but i will refer to it as 'kilbey two' after steve.

this may be the last time
this may be the last time
this may be the last time
i don't know
this may be the last time
this may be the last time
this may be the last time
i don't know

i attended the writers competition where i came second to a very mediocre and 'northern beaches' safe short story, filled with the bland and somewhat infertile pontifications about beautiful avalon and sunny pittwater. which of course it is but why write about the obvious, apparently the panel was torn about the winner. anyway i was disappointed but in the face of defeat the captain knows i am only made stronger. i did eat the biscuits and drink the complementary wine and scared the mayor of pittwater buy telling him i was a radical environmental terrorist with PETA sympathy's.
the whole evening could have spiralled into self indulgent depression were it not for the two lisa's calling me up and inviting me over to the home they are house sitting where i met with gravy in the kitchen. err gravy being a man and being somewhat an amazingly talented individual with a healthy and refreshing attitude, we spoke about strange things like neurology, bat viruses,magic carpets, musical inspiration while we listened to the smiths and elvis costello. i really enjoy hanging around these guys, great people, think i'm going to hang with them for a while.

No Water
By
Captain Mission

My great grandfather had told me Nowater was the most beautiful place on the earth, he often spoke warmly of the natural beauty, the way the ocean and land met with the sky, the way light fell and diffused through the many trees, bounced across the water from boat to boat, he said it was gods country and whenever he spoke of it there were tears in his eyes, but god had relocated now, there was no sign of him here.
I stood upon the ruins of the lighthouse, gazing out at the salt flats. Once upon a time, in my great grandfather’s day this was all water, it was once known as Pittwater, now it is more appropriately Nowater.
The ocean was almost just a myth, gone the way of his god.
I often imagined my great grandfather’s world, peaceful and uncomplicated. Life must have been a simple equation in those days, a beautiful time to be alive. He enjoyed the leisure within nature, now we all just survive against it.

Winston pointed out to the salt hills in the distance, ‘My people used to live over there. They left their markings in the caves. I think you should still be able to see them if the salt hasn’t got in there, it’s so abrasive, might have worn the markings away.’
‘How old would they be Winston?’
‘Old. Before history, before time.’
‘Can we see them?’
‘We would have to cross the flat. Can we make it?’
I checked the sun, ‘Yeah easy. Let’s go.’
We began our descent.
Winston took the lead, I followed, one foot in front of the other, careful not to loose my footing. ‘It’s had to imagine this was all bush.’
‘Yeah all bush and ocean. It’s all gone now. Just salt.’
‘People used to live here to, there were communities. There must be homes and cars and bodies under these hills. Our cultures were very different Winston, yours lived in harmony with the land, as custodians, mine dominated it and caused all this.’
Winston kept silent, there was nothing to say.
When we hit ground level I picked up a lump of white rock, applying a slight amount of pressure it disintegrated in my hands, a fine powder trailed in the wind.
‘Salt, it’s all fucking salt now. All that’s left.’
‘Come on let’s head out there, before the sun gets to high.’
As we walked closer I could see some sort of structure rising out from the ground, in fact it was the only thing standing at a right angle to the surface. It looked man made, like some sculpture. Impossible I thought. We walked towards it, each step bringing us closer to the mystery. The sun was still low but even through my visor I could feel it’s blaze. As we approached Winston began to mumble something, a chant. I didn’t recognize the words, it was his native tongue, a song.
For a moment I wished I could take of my helmet and just feel the sunlight on my skin, I had never felt natural light unfiltered before directly from a sun, the visor had many layers of filters that protected us yet gave everything a strange monochromatic tint. I longed for the breeze through my hair and to run my fingers along the strange cathedral structure that was sticking out from the sand, towering over our heads. It was a giant rib cage, probably from a whale.
A whale.
I had seen images of them, heard their sounds on recordings but they were like a myth to me, lost in antiquity.
I had never had a religious feeling before, the numinous was missing from our lives replaced by just the brute will to survive. No one considered anything mystical or supernatural but here I stood within the ribcage of this dead creature overwhelmed by something inexplicable. It was impossible to consider that there was no more whales left, that this mighty beast had once been covered in flesh and swum freely in the earths oceans, feeding and playing, singing its own song. We killed them with our ignorance and arrogance.
‘My ancestors sung the whale song, they walked in the whale dreaming.’
‘I wish we could be as proud of our ancestors as you are of yours Winston my friend.’
Winston patted me on the back of my suit, ‘Come we need to beat the sun.’
I walked backwards looking back at the strange bones, they cast a long shadow across the salt, their points meeting at the direction we had come from.
I imagined what this must have been like when my great grandfather was a child. He said he once fished here and he spoke of sailing upon calm waters along the beautiful crystal clear rivers. He said that even though he was near a city it felt as if we were somewhere in prehistoric times.
Now his descendants live in post history in a terrible aftermath.
I thought about the other expeditions and wondered if they had discovered anything as magnificent as the whale cathedral. My cameras attached to the suit would record everything, later we would process the information and make assessments. One day we may be able to live out here again but the air is still very toxic, sun far to dangerous, the land incapable of sustaining life. Humanity would be confined to the Dome for many thousands of years but for life in cosmic terms that would be a blink of an eye. My great great grand children’s grandchildren may one day breathe clean air and drink water naturally. That would be wonderful I thought. Hope sustains life as much as water.
I looked back at our footprints, two sets across the white surface cutting the landscape like a gash upon nature. Those footprints were so out of place amongst the strange empty landscape. I followed them until they took me back to where we had landed, although our module was hidden by the white backdrop of and high ground.
It was becoming harder to make out details.
This was a form of snow blindness we had been warned about. The human eye couldn’t distinguish between the various subtle shades of white within the environment, plus the ultra violet light bouncing from the surfaces eventually swamp the retinas and the brain declares everything as white. Another reason to get over to the other side while the sun was low.
We had been walking for about two hours, I figured another 30 minutes before we reached the shore.
The sound of our breathing was all we could hear. I felt dizzy overwhelmed with the landscape and the strange feelings the whalebone sculpture had left me with.
How could something like that ever have had a life?
Where is its family?
Why was it alone, how would it feel to die out here alone?
I felt the ground rise up to meet me.

I came to in the darkness of what could only be a cave. Winston was sitting with me smiling.
‘Take it easy Jakob. Rest for a moment. You are fine, I just brought you out of the sun. We have to stay here for 4 hours then we can start the return journey.’
‘I’m so sorry I passed out. Everything just went white. Did you carry me?’
‘Yeah, it was no problem. Rest and then I’ll show you something.’
I checked my suit, nothing was damaged save for a few scratches upon my helmets visor. I adjusted the air conditioner and checked my solar cells, full power. I felt a slight claustiaphobia but my breathing exercises helped regulate my fear.
I stood up and walked to Winston’s side, he was filming the cave walls. There were some rock paintings, pictures of animals; I could see a large bird, a fish and various creatures I did not recognize. They were drawn in what must have been paint or charcoal, not much color just black and hints of fading red ochre, they looked ancient and primal but they seemed to have an essence of beauty about them.
‘Why did they paint these here?’
‘I’m not sure. Probably before a hunt, maybe to visualize what they needed in some sort of hunting ceremony, maybe they just tell a story. My ancestors loved stories.’
‘Yeah I’ve heard about the dream time stories but I never really understood it.’
‘Come. Let’s look down here. You will need your light.’
I activated my helmets light and a beam lit the way ahead. The cave took a steep descent and the ceiling seemed to rise upwards even higher. Our movements echoed as we followed the trail down. The passageway seemed to go on for a few hundred metres, Winston assisting me clamber down other more difficult areas. Occasionally we would stop to look at the markings on the walls. The images now became more abstract, symbols, a few animals but more representative of something other than a simple ‘hunting’ ritual.
There were a few numbers, and something I recalled from a class I had taken in applied theoretical particle physics and quantum math, it was an infinity symbol and some ‘closed time curve’ configurations.
I was looking at an equation, something to do with Tachions.
Winston looked at me incredulously, ‘This makes no sense at all.’
‘Let’s keep going, maybe we will pick up some clues.’
‘What do you think happened to the people here?’
They moved inland when the white settlers came. Some were killed but mostly they just moved away. My ancestors were nomads. Eventually they assimilated and the old ways were forgotten. There are a handful of descendants left back at the dome, but in another generation we will be no more.’
‘Same as my people really.’
‘I didn’t know you had a people Jakob.’
‘ Ha! They were called the Jews Winston. Now just another dead tribe.’
‘Now we have one tribe. One people.’ Winston said proudly.
‘Winston, we have always been one tribe really. We just couldn’t grok it.’
We both exchanged a smile and continued the walk.
Eventually the walls began to get further apart and we emerged into a huge underground cavern. I could make out the stalactites and stalagmites, calcium deposits, which would mean there is water here. My training kicked in, I took a sample.
The chance for life, I smiled. Hope. Nowater could reclaim its original name.
‘Let’s send a flare,’ Winston whispered making the moment seem even more sacred.
We crouched down, positioning the flare gun somewhere into the darkness beyond. A purple streak flew across the cave and suddenly exploded into a massive expanse of falling bright white light. We stood in a huge cavern, endless, there were no boundaries, no distance between walls or ceilings that we could distinguish, it was a huge expanse of emptiness. There were no visible life forms, no plants or animals, just these strange rock formations and the sprinkling of salt that had found its way inside.

It seemed almost that we were on the other side of the mirror, over ground and under ground, both the same desolation but both opposites, one without hope, one with, one without light one with, one without water one with.
Then Winston started yelling.
‘Jakob, Jakob come quick. Jakob. Look! Look! It’s impossible.’
I ambled towards him, he was looking at the wall paintings, face pressed right up close, I could see the glint of fear in his eyes. There were more drawings of mathematical symbols, some I recognized. There was a lot of physics represented here, quantum mechanics and wave theory.
‘I didn’t know the aboriginals were so advanced in their thinking Winston. Space. Time. It’s all like a dream. Dream time.’
‘I don’t know what these markings signify,’ he said pointing at the equations, ‘that’s not what scares me.’ His hand moved further along, ‘Have a look at this.’
Winston’s head beam followed direction with his head movement, over to the lower left of the equations was the unmistakable image of a whale’s rib cage. Then next to it were two people in white suits, complete with helmets and over on the highlands was a landing ship, a spacecraft. Our module. Granted it was a poor representation but it was unmistakably us.
We recorded the pictures.
‘How is it possible Winston?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t understand it.’
‘It’s not really possible at all.’
‘But here it is.’
‘Yes.’
We returned across the salt flats in silence. Both of us surrendered to the mystery, both lost in our thoughts. As we passed through the whale ribs again I felt a teardrop falling from my left eye. We climbed up on the banks of the salt hill and made our way to the module. Whatever this place was we both knew it was sacred. It was a holy place, spiritual. It didn’t matter that it was desolate, incapable of sustaining life for the next million years, maybe longer. It had a power beyond that, beyond time and space. Whatever happened when we returned to the dome, we would carry that knowledge with us always and we would tell our children of the magic of this place.

This land has a power and we would both respect it in a way that would make all our ancestors proud.
Winston and I had left our mark there, we had drawn another picture on the cave walls, a picture of ourselves, a white skinned man and a black man holding hands. We were brothers. We had thought we come from different tribes but we were the same tribe. This was our connection, this was our bond this is what made us family.
As the module left the Earth’s lower atmosphere I looked downwards at the place we had left behind.
Pittwater, Sydney Australia, The Earth. It was once home, it was once the sustainer, the nurturer, the mother to us all, and it would be again.

The end

in my other life, the one where i work at autistic central, i am surrounded by idiots, the ones without autism. the truth is nsw government bureaucracies are corrupt and nepotistic, they are not interested in the clients, they are only concerned with looking good, image and keeping the media at bay. one day i will expose them, one day soon.

the only way to be authentic is to be true to yourself, the only way to be true to yourself is to know who you are, the only way to know who you are is to experience the boundaries dissolve, because everything you think you know changes and the truth is revealed. everything is an illusion, our brains deceive us, they can't think about the process of thinking so it invented the mind and the mind is not the brain, what is it?
the mind is consciousness exploring itself.

science looks at everything in terms of quantity and function.
spirituality looks at quality and intention.
eventually both reach the same conclusion.
all you need is love
love is all you need

two lisas and i end up at a party on the plateau, where lisa one gets busted stealing crackers, for a moment she looks frozen in time, wondering what to do next to break the spell of being observed. she smiles, disarming everyone. it's a classic moment, one we laugh hysterically about later. lisa two and i talk about physics, she lived near CERN and tells me its got a cheap cafe filled with great conversations. she tells me about homeopathy and i talk about plant medicine. its not everyday i am in the company of two beautiful and bright young women. we hang out in a balinese garden, we have a biscuit carving competition. i create a battery hen. a woman accosts me in the kitchen telling me about how she knows my son. i just want to escape but i can't, i'm hemmed in. there's some chocolate cake going around, i make my escape, regroup with the girls, exit.

i finish the book neuropath by scott barker, it's disturbing but brilliant plot has left me feeling uncomfortable. the science in it is not far off and the theory is sound. all we are are brains and all the brains are are a giant brain and every thing else an illusion. love is a chemical response. pain and pleasure interchangeable, all spiritual experience can be recreated by playing with the brain.
what is meaning if not science.

i'm somewhat disappointed that we didn't get sucked into the black hole...does that make me weird?

anyways i've made it to the final selection of the short story competition. i have to turn up at the bookshop in case i win, then they say, i have to read my story to the people. i will surprise everyone with my cultivated accent and interesting elocution, the literary girls will all want to fuck me and someone from a glossy magazine will take my photograph. i will talk to them about my life and tell them stories of travels and tales of adventure, they will be scared and amused and sucked into my persona. they will wine and dine me, introduce me to duchesses from duchland and a sexy countess from norway, women will inspire me to write more romantic novels and in my epoch years i will be invited to writers festivals interstate, meet paul auster and smoke joints with my sexy agent, who wears thigh high leather boots. i will take a year out, reside in paris, or maybe berlin, or lima. i will make friends with a waitress, a stripper or a monkey. we will have a small adventure and i will profess undying love, we will marry (unless it is the monkey) and i will write stories and articles for international journals and magazines. eventually i will be shot by a man in a black suit, he will ask forgiveness and bow down before he pulls the trigger. i will die instantly but not before he will be forgiven. i will be 96.

mid town new york circa 1967
eddie intrudes on a conversation between dylan and reed with an unlight cigarette.
bob does not move as eddie puts her face to his ears and whispers, ‘light my fire zimmer man.’
he does not blink but offers her his lighter. she holds hands with truman caopte who looks awkward and nervous. phycadelic lights swirl around her white short dress so she looks in flux, colour certainly explodes here.
truman wants to interview reed but reed isn’t talking to anyone tonight except dylan, they are discussing the fundamentals of their art.
does it matter if our art is never even observed? reed says
no, what matters is the expression.
you mean the act.
yeah that’s all it is.
so why play and record
to share the experience of art man.
i don’t think you should even think about it, just do it, eddie says.
yeah but who do you do it for eddie dylan asks
it don’t matter. just have to express it and the rest is just a side effect.
like an illusion.
no like creation.
what about the value of it.
the value is arbitory.
no there’s a quality that matters man, there’s got to be a cure for the mediocrity.
that’s what we are lou says.
truman makes his one on only contribution to the conversation, ‘one day the universe will be sucked into a black hole.’
andy approaches with two transsexuals either side. ‘you’re on lou.’


down town sydney circa 2008
captain mission hangs around a small club waiting for the painkiller.
he sees some old friends, they chat about technology and the amount of cameras in the room.
soon it will be in our biology. imagine being able to zoom in and rewind and all you have to do is close your eyes.
yeah well it’s in the imagination already.
how true.
the support band exit and a curtain is drawn, some interestingly diverse people gather, cameras everywhere, lights begin to swirl and then from behind the curtain some radio phonics (that’s phonics) begins to transmit. the curtain draws and the band begin.
straight into outlander. already things are very different, this is new territory, this is what we look for, this is it. yes. there captain mission stands between to go betweens, there’s a strange area created at the front of the stage, like a sonic force field no one penetrates but all stand transfixed. these people on stage make more than music, they don’t play their instruments, they are the instruments here it is, i get it it’s the cure. a shot in the mind, a kick in the cortex, mediocrity dies here.
it’s no good describing any of this, i can feel my heart beating, thunderous bass notes, watch that man, two strange new players on the stage, one a vampyre with all the romance that goes with it, the other warm and humorous with a glimmer in his eyes and a smile for someone out there, you can see they have the beauty and skills to deliver us safely. and here behind the skins is tim, i’ve always loved the way tim plays, it drives everything, the throbbing engine room, the dylithium crystal. there are beats there that are subtle and pure, there’s an intricate delicacy at work, power in passivity and then when it rocks it rolls and when it rolls it rocks, that’s the way it is. and to give everything texture a sonic scientist plays his dials and knobs, sending out the frequencies, creating a the parameters, space rock is alive and well. i’m picking up a message from beyond, calvert sends his blessings.
and then there’s steve. what can be said about this wonderful enigmatic shaman that has not been said before. he’s the jewel in the skull, the eternal champion. best gig ever, yeah i’m sorry i never got a chance to say ‘hello’ to nk last night, for behind every great man there’s always a great woman, and she was spot on, best gig ever.

cern under the swiss french border 2008:
while the band plays the ambient section of ‘not what you say’ scientists switch on the super collider

sometimes i just want to curl up with some one warm and sleep for a week
sometimes i just want to close my eyes and see
sometimes i need to drink from a stream to quench my thirst
sometimes i desire a girls kiss and her whisper
sometimes i wish there were no cars
sometimes i need to see the earth from space
sometimes i'd like to catch a wave to your feet
sometimes i want to be invisible
sometimes i want to be seen
sometimes i talk to animals
sometimes my heart beat slows down
sometimes time dissolves
sometime i feel like a fraud
sometimes i want to commit the crime of the century
sometimes i would like to walk into the sea
sometimes i'd like to weep for us all
sometimes memory is a curse
sometimes my laugher fills the universe
sometimes i want to bite you
sometimes i lick my bowl clean
sometimes the beginning equals the end
sometimes i regret
sometimes i float
sometimes i don't know anything
sometimes i dream it was us
sometimes its perfect
sometimes i want the red head to materialize in my bedroom
sometimes i just want to turn the dial up all the way
sometimes i turn the lights off
sometimes i smoke my jazz cigarette and gaze at the stars
sometimes i walk on the beach and remember a girl called marnee
sometimes i can't even stand it
sometimes i press all the buttons
sometimes i pick up the pieces
sometimes i don't know
sometimes i stay up all night
sometimes i read until i fall asleep
sometimes i strum my guitar until words come
sometimes i let the dimensions merge
sometimes i hear new sounds
sometimes i start a revolution without even doing anything
sometimes i am a free man
sometimes i feel the walls closing in
sometimes i give it all away
sometimes i just say 'yeah'
sometimes i can't see the trees for the wood
sometimes i wish i were in paris with the cello player
sometimes i think about angels
sometimes i wonder if the devil got a better deal
sometimes i get high
sometimes i just want to blast of to the horse shoe nebula in a purple space submarine with a shit load of girlfriends and books and jake