as soon as one reality closes down for me a zillion others appear, they manifest themselves in mydrid forms, some in familiar form, emile and i have our first conversation for months, she's inviting me for breakfast, dinner and lunch but i feel like that's a reality that came and went. truth is i am a bit shellshocked from yesterday, bruised ego i guess, (its gotta be good for me in the long term) i dunno, i think i just felt that things were kinda good with sam and thought she was kinda happy, i guess i just never saw it coming so i'm licking me wounds and contemplating my navel, generally being a sloth.
Work crisis, meltdown at autistic central. while i have been away for four days the clients are rebelling, apparently its been chaos, assaults, screaming, incidents and stealing of biscuits. Fortunately i returned in time to restore some semblance of order, it seems we are short staffed, routines are out of whack, deadlines are not being met, stress runs rampant, managers are pulling their hair out, telephones ring hot, meltdown.
Later i am in glebe wandering around the markets, its thin pickings today due to heavy rain, but there's a few interesting things to look at, a lot of scandinavian tourists, i end up in the bookshop, nothing really catches my eye.
On the way home i pick up some fish from the markets, i am listening to pink floyd, they are singing about 'home.'
an idea for a film
chose a famous director. ie. Peter Jackson
let him make a 20 min film.
now ask him to remake the film with certain conditions ie. no edits, 1 handheld camera, black and white, gothic style, replace all actors with midgets. ect.
now ask him to remake the film with even more conditions. ie in manga form, techno soundtrack, two dimentional, set in medieval times.
Now up the ante, keep the conditions coming and make them progressivly harder.
this could even be a series of films with several different directors being tested.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Friday, June 09, 2006
another wet day as we enter blade runner season, without the neon, actually without the neon is even more depressing than with. some people like it (the endless rain), tasmainians, earthy types and hybrid human fish beings, me, i like the sun.
anyways despite the dismal weather i enjoyed a nice catch up with agent stoned last night as we exchanged reports on the strange minefield of relationships, friendships and the post trauma of modern sexual behaviour amongst the primate of the species. Mmm, it's a strange scene only confirmed to me by this mornings visit to sam, who proceeded to explain why she was dumping me for the second time in a month, i listened to her describe me as, sloth like, lazy and various other demeaning adjectives, i listened to her explain that we can't have a relationship becuase it's to simple as it is, (nice and easy) and she needs a 'cube' as oppossed to a 'square.' (my language)
She expressed concern that we were not 'in love' with one another (like that's a bad thing) and then said she 'didn't want to see so much of me' nor did she want me getting close to her daughter because i may not be around for ever.
i think i did reasonably well not to mislead her about my intentions, but obviously somethings wrong, and it's my fault, so i gracefully said goodbye and went to meet jake for some more David Attenborough, where amazed i watched animals behave in a more accessible and rational fashion than most humans i seem to meet on my travels.
it's hard to deal with other peoples expectations off me, i guess they always expect something different, i guess people place all sorts of demands on others in relationships, it's easy to always accuse the other person of being this or that and i'd be the first to admit that i am certainly no anthony robbins, i mean i seen what anthony robbins does to people and man, it's something to be feared. anyway, considering the concept of happiness, i was happy and now i am not. however i am not unhappy, i just move into the next thing, who knows what that may be, what shape it will take.
Later in the evening i recieved a call from my mum, (not my fave person) who proceeded to tell me she was sending me some inheritance from my grandmother. Actually the money had been left to mum and she was spliting it between my brother and i, however in between her babbling and ranting i got very confused and later rang to speak to my father who put me in the loop. as he was talking to me i could hear my mum screaming at him, jesus i thought why would ya live like that, why has he stuck by her all these years as she drives everyone nuts, why?
I don't have the answer, all i know is he loves her, but it's that horrible dependent love. Like a dog. I don't know if i could do that, maybe that's what happens to men after 50 years of being with your wife. jesus, if i get married again i wanna be with some one who never nags, tells me what to do, or tries to change anything about me. Maybe i'll have to marry a man.
Later agent stoned rings and i debrief about my awful day, she laughs, she has a different fix on me than sam. she works nights as well. I look outta the window at mission control, it's pouring, seems like 40 days and 40 nights.
anyways despite the dismal weather i enjoyed a nice catch up with agent stoned last night as we exchanged reports on the strange minefield of relationships, friendships and the post trauma of modern sexual behaviour amongst the primate of the species. Mmm, it's a strange scene only confirmed to me by this mornings visit to sam, who proceeded to explain why she was dumping me for the second time in a month, i listened to her describe me as, sloth like, lazy and various other demeaning adjectives, i listened to her explain that we can't have a relationship becuase it's to simple as it is, (nice and easy) and she needs a 'cube' as oppossed to a 'square.' (my language)
She expressed concern that we were not 'in love' with one another (like that's a bad thing) and then said she 'didn't want to see so much of me' nor did she want me getting close to her daughter because i may not be around for ever.
i think i did reasonably well not to mislead her about my intentions, but obviously somethings wrong, and it's my fault, so i gracefully said goodbye and went to meet jake for some more David Attenborough, where amazed i watched animals behave in a more accessible and rational fashion than most humans i seem to meet on my travels.
it's hard to deal with other peoples expectations off me, i guess they always expect something different, i guess people place all sorts of demands on others in relationships, it's easy to always accuse the other person of being this or that and i'd be the first to admit that i am certainly no anthony robbins, i mean i seen what anthony robbins does to people and man, it's something to be feared. anyway, considering the concept of happiness, i was happy and now i am not. however i am not unhappy, i just move into the next thing, who knows what that may be, what shape it will take.
Later in the evening i recieved a call from my mum, (not my fave person) who proceeded to tell me she was sending me some inheritance from my grandmother. Actually the money had been left to mum and she was spliting it between my brother and i, however in between her babbling and ranting i got very confused and later rang to speak to my father who put me in the loop. as he was talking to me i could hear my mum screaming at him, jesus i thought why would ya live like that, why has he stuck by her all these years as she drives everyone nuts, why?
I don't have the answer, all i know is he loves her, but it's that horrible dependent love. Like a dog. I don't know if i could do that, maybe that's what happens to men after 50 years of being with your wife. jesus, if i get married again i wanna be with some one who never nags, tells me what to do, or tries to change anything about me. Maybe i'll have to marry a man.
Later agent stoned rings and i debrief about my awful day, she laughs, she has a different fix on me than sam. she works nights as well. I look outta the window at mission control, it's pouring, seems like 40 days and 40 nights.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
daze come and go, they travel at the speed of life, hours minites seconds, all measurements of what exactly? time. tick tock light.
i was always one of thse kids who was fascinated by stars, how could a young mind get its head around the idea that the light we see from stars is ancient, the star actually may be dead by the time we see it's light. I mean for the enquiring mind, that is more of a zen koan than, 'If a tree falls' don't ya reckon?
We always look to space and wonder. I guess it may be becuase our dna knows thats where we came from, and that's probably where we will return, all we need to do is get rid of some biomass, learn to leave our bodies behind and hitch a ride with a photon. How hard can it be.
I was asked recently about my fave books, it's a great question and i will probably always give a different answer but for now this is where i stand. These are in no particular order and i recommend if you have not read any of these then do so. Now!
1984 - George Orwell
For any one who is intrested in the politics of human conditioning, this is the handbook for all regimes, including the myth of democracy. It's brilliant, always relevent and along with Animal Farm is Orwells glimpse into the individual vs the state.
House of Leaves - Mark Z. Danielewski
To describe this 700 page novel is never going to do it justice, it's a piece of art that uses words in a multi narrative labyrinth of styles and hypno neuro lingistic prose that leads you into the nightmare of the protaganists situation, i read this in one long long sitting, and to this day i have never read anything like it. This is a first novel, its the novel i wish i could have written, do yourself a favour put away your steven kings and your nabokovs, go down the bookshop and buy this asap.
What's it about?
Mark Z. Danielewski's first novel has a lot going on: notably the discovery of a pseudoacademic monograph called The Navidson Record, written by a blind man named Zampanò, about a nonexistent documentary film, which itself is about a photojournalist who finds a house that has supernatural, surreal qualities. (The inner dimensions, for example, are measurably larger than the outer ones.) In addition to this Russian-doll layering of narrators, Danielewski packs in poems, scientific lists, collages, Polaroids, appendices of fake correspondence and "various quotes," single lines of prose placed any which way on the page, crossed-out passages, and so on.
Now that we've reached the post-postmodern era, presumably there's nobody left who needs liberating from the strictures of conventional fiction. So apart from its narrative tricks, what does House of Leaves have to offer? According to Johnny Truant, the tattoo-shop apprentice who discovers Zampanò's work, once you read The Navidson Record, for some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were. You'll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you, more importantly shifts in you. Worse, you'll realize it's always been shifting, like a shimmer of sorts, a vast shimmer, only dark like a room. But you won't understand why or how.
We're pulled back into Johnny Truant's world through his footnotes, which he uses to discharge everything in his head, including the discovery of the manuscript, his encounters with people who knew Zampanò, and his own battles with drugs, sex, ennui, and a vague evil force. If The Navidson Record is a mad professor lecturing on the supernatural with rational-seeming conviction, Truant's footnotes are the manic student in the back of the auditorium, wigged out and furiously scribbling notes about life.
Despite his flaws, Truant is an appealingly earnest amateur editor--finding translators, tracking down sources, pointing out incongruities. Danielewski takes an academic's--or ex-academic's--glee in footnotes (the similarity to David Foster Wallace is almost too obvious to mention), as well as other bogus ivory-tower trappings such as interviews with celebrity scholars like Camille Paglia and Harold Bloom. And he stuffs highbrow and pop-culture references (and parodies) into the novel with the enthusiasm of an anarchist filling a pipe bomb with bits of junk metal. House of Leaves may not be the prettiest or most coherent collection, but if you're trying to blow stuff up, who cares?
Yeah this is the true great american novel, its the moby dick of the 20th century.
The Luicfer Principle - Howard Bloom
Here it is, Mr Blooms simple explination of the forces that have led to mankinds history of conflict, the patterns that pull us together and apart, it's a fantastic book for any one who really needs to get a grip on reality. The companian book, The Global Brain is worth reading to, it's packed with information and insight, and if you don't like what it's has to offer its worth reading for the chapter on reality being a shared hallucination.
i was always one of thse kids who was fascinated by stars, how could a young mind get its head around the idea that the light we see from stars is ancient, the star actually may be dead by the time we see it's light. I mean for the enquiring mind, that is more of a zen koan than, 'If a tree falls' don't ya reckon?
We always look to space and wonder. I guess it may be becuase our dna knows thats where we came from, and that's probably where we will return, all we need to do is get rid of some biomass, learn to leave our bodies behind and hitch a ride with a photon. How hard can it be.
I was asked recently about my fave books, it's a great question and i will probably always give a different answer but for now this is where i stand. These are in no particular order and i recommend if you have not read any of these then do so. Now!
1984 - George Orwell
For any one who is intrested in the politics of human conditioning, this is the handbook for all regimes, including the myth of democracy. It's brilliant, always relevent and along with Animal Farm is Orwells glimpse into the individual vs the state.
House of Leaves - Mark Z. Danielewski
To describe this 700 page novel is never going to do it justice, it's a piece of art that uses words in a multi narrative labyrinth of styles and hypno neuro lingistic prose that leads you into the nightmare of the protaganists situation, i read this in one long long sitting, and to this day i have never read anything like it. This is a first novel, its the novel i wish i could have written, do yourself a favour put away your steven kings and your nabokovs, go down the bookshop and buy this asap.
What's it about?
Mark Z. Danielewski's first novel has a lot going on: notably the discovery of a pseudoacademic monograph called The Navidson Record, written by a blind man named Zampanò, about a nonexistent documentary film, which itself is about a photojournalist who finds a house that has supernatural, surreal qualities. (The inner dimensions, for example, are measurably larger than the outer ones.) In addition to this Russian-doll layering of narrators, Danielewski packs in poems, scientific lists, collages, Polaroids, appendices of fake correspondence and "various quotes," single lines of prose placed any which way on the page, crossed-out passages, and so on.
Now that we've reached the post-postmodern era, presumably there's nobody left who needs liberating from the strictures of conventional fiction. So apart from its narrative tricks, what does House of Leaves have to offer? According to Johnny Truant, the tattoo-shop apprentice who discovers Zampanò's work, once you read The Navidson Record, for some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were. You'll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you, more importantly shifts in you. Worse, you'll realize it's always been shifting, like a shimmer of sorts, a vast shimmer, only dark like a room. But you won't understand why or how.
We're pulled back into Johnny Truant's world through his footnotes, which he uses to discharge everything in his head, including the discovery of the manuscript, his encounters with people who knew Zampanò, and his own battles with drugs, sex, ennui, and a vague evil force. If The Navidson Record is a mad professor lecturing on the supernatural with rational-seeming conviction, Truant's footnotes are the manic student in the back of the auditorium, wigged out and furiously scribbling notes about life.
Despite his flaws, Truant is an appealingly earnest amateur editor--finding translators, tracking down sources, pointing out incongruities. Danielewski takes an academic's--or ex-academic's--glee in footnotes (the similarity to David Foster Wallace is almost too obvious to mention), as well as other bogus ivory-tower trappings such as interviews with celebrity scholars like Camille Paglia and Harold Bloom. And he stuffs highbrow and pop-culture references (and parodies) into the novel with the enthusiasm of an anarchist filling a pipe bomb with bits of junk metal. House of Leaves may not be the prettiest or most coherent collection, but if you're trying to blow stuff up, who cares?
Yeah this is the true great american novel, its the moby dick of the 20th century.
The Luicfer Principle - Howard Bloom
Here it is, Mr Blooms simple explination of the forces that have led to mankinds history of conflict, the patterns that pull us together and apart, it's a fantastic book for any one who really needs to get a grip on reality. The companian book, The Global Brain is worth reading to, it's packed with information and insight, and if you don't like what it's has to offer its worth reading for the chapter on reality being a shared hallucination.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
it's a cold wintry night here in mission control, i'm still recovering from me strange sickness, the wind howls and my bones ache but it's okay my friends there's captain missions fave soup bubbling away in the pot, yummy vegetables and lots of garlic and ginger, strange exotic spices and herbs.
i been reading the book 'This Thing Of Darkness' by Harry Thompson, very good read about the Voyage of the Beagle and the relationship between the Captain Fitzroy and Darwin, Fitzroy suffering from a form of schizophrenia, a total product of his time, good Christian morality and disiple of the Empire, whereas Darwin, the rational scientist is a torn between his faith and the lack of evidence that supports it.
oh there's some great little scenes in it, for example the crew discover a group of natives from Terra del Fuego, they have no older tribesmen amongst them and the crew are puzzled where they could be. Later the Captain decides he will civilize these natives and four of them are taken aboard, they are educated in language and god, given lessons in social skills and the way of the english as they sail back to London. During one evening they all sit around the Captains table discussing the advantages of civilization when one of the crew asks where all the old people go. One of the natives, now dressed in a tuxedo and speaking proper english casually mentions how they eat the old people when winter comes and there is little food. 'The men eat the legs and the women eat the arms.'
It's a great book in the sense that it's a page turner and demands very little, but it's very well written and with just enough descriptions and information to keep it intresting.
Nuclear Power is all the rage at the moment, it's in all the papers and tv shows as people discuss the pros and cons, i heard Jonny Howard speaking the other day and figured as i read between his words, it's not going to be about building power stations, it's more about digging up the uranium and selling it. He knows theres a market for it, it's a resource we have in abundence and a potential income earner, it's a done deal China, India, yeah i can see the future, it's so bright we are going to have to wear shades. Actually we may be wearing radiation suits to, make mine black, i wanna look good.
i been reading the book 'This Thing Of Darkness' by Harry Thompson, very good read about the Voyage of the Beagle and the relationship between the Captain Fitzroy and Darwin, Fitzroy suffering from a form of schizophrenia, a total product of his time, good Christian morality and disiple of the Empire, whereas Darwin, the rational scientist is a torn between his faith and the lack of evidence that supports it.
oh there's some great little scenes in it, for example the crew discover a group of natives from Terra del Fuego, they have no older tribesmen amongst them and the crew are puzzled where they could be. Later the Captain decides he will civilize these natives and four of them are taken aboard, they are educated in language and god, given lessons in social skills and the way of the english as they sail back to London. During one evening they all sit around the Captains table discussing the advantages of civilization when one of the crew asks where all the old people go. One of the natives, now dressed in a tuxedo and speaking proper english casually mentions how they eat the old people when winter comes and there is little food. 'The men eat the legs and the women eat the arms.'
It's a great book in the sense that it's a page turner and demands very little, but it's very well written and with just enough descriptions and information to keep it intresting.
Nuclear Power is all the rage at the moment, it's in all the papers and tv shows as people discuss the pros and cons, i heard Jonny Howard speaking the other day and figured as i read between his words, it's not going to be about building power stations, it's more about digging up the uranium and selling it. He knows theres a market for it, it's a resource we have in abundence and a potential income earner, it's a done deal China, India, yeah i can see the future, it's so bright we are going to have to wear shades. Actually we may be wearing radiation suits to, make mine black, i wanna look good.
Monday, June 05, 2006
my favorite bad dude in movies is magneto, from the x men, what an amazing charachter and ian mcKellen is the perfect actor to play him. for those that don't know anything about him magneto is a mutant, he has the ability to control all metals and in x men 1 we see him as a child being led into the gas chambers at austzwich, his family are executed and as he is pushed through the doors he turns upon the nazis and uses his power to save himself. years later he is the nemisis of dr.xaviar the head of the x men, living in a world where mutants are the scapegoats of modern society. Dr. X and his team think that mankind can live in harmony, and that x men are the next stage in human evolution, whereas Magneto has long ago given up on humanity, as he says to a young protegie in XM2 'You are a god amongst insects, don't let them tell you otherwise.'
He is a brilliant charachter, his escape from the plastic cell he is imprisoned in is ingenious, his sexy blue assistant is awesome in her metamorphing amazonian body, but his dark sense of humour is what i love about him most, he is wise and poignant.
I have always liked my baddies to be complex, ambiguious and focused in their passion and commitment, after all it's going to actually take some one like this to save our species, unless you still place your trust in your govts. Of course, the position is up for mini hitlers and tyrannts, i mean people are always dumb enough to support the nutters but Magneto would get my vote, he's more in touch with humanity than the humans. A bit like The andriod in Blade Runner, he became more human than Deker the dectective who was chasing him.
when i was the house husband, in a previous life Jakob and i would spend hours watching david attenbourogh videos, he's kinda grown up with david, from about 1 to 8 that's pretty much what we watched on tv, he would have an amazing knowledge, almost photographic recall, species of jelly fish, mammels, behaviours of fish, defence mechanisms of the wild, often when we would play he would refer to some natural anomaly and his language as a child was more well developed than most adults. It was almost a ritual, ginger beer, corn chips, and david.
Now i am beginning to see Jake a bit more, we slip into the same pattern, i have the dvds so we stretch out on the sofa and watch 'Blue Planet' or 'Secret Life of Plants' together. Last night Jake came over for his first overnight stay in years, maybe 10 years, he's 18 now and having problems at his mothers, possibly with the primate boyfriend, i have not pushed him into divuldging anything, besides i am not intrested in the ex wife. Jake is wondering if he can stay with me, something i have waited 17 years to happen, it's a huge leap for him and will be a massive step in my lifestyle as i am so used to being alone, but i am kinda happy about the whole thing, we watched a couple of episodes of the blue planet, ate some thai food and got an early night, we are both recovering from some sort of flu.
I slept in my bedroom last night which is unusal, for the last 2 years i have slept where Jake sleeps now, in the spare room, my bedroom being filled with books overspill from the library room, anyways it was a strange night, lots of dreams, but deep and warm like a friendly narcotic. in the morning we watched another episode and jake asked for a lift home, its wet and cold and as we pulled up i gave him a front door key, just so he knows he has a safe place he can get to if nessessary. I don't know anything about his home life and i don't want to push, but i figure its nice to know there's a place somewhere if you need it.
Now i am beginning to see Jake a bit more, we slip into the same pattern, i have the dvds so we stretch out on the sofa and watch 'Blue Planet' or 'Secret Life of Plants' together. Last night Jake came over for his first overnight stay in years, maybe 10 years, he's 18 now and having problems at his mothers, possibly with the primate boyfriend, i have not pushed him into divuldging anything, besides i am not intrested in the ex wife. Jake is wondering if he can stay with me, something i have waited 17 years to happen, it's a huge leap for him and will be a massive step in my lifestyle as i am so used to being alone, but i am kinda happy about the whole thing, we watched a couple of episodes of the blue planet, ate some thai food and got an early night, we are both recovering from some sort of flu.
I slept in my bedroom last night which is unusal, for the last 2 years i have slept where Jake sleeps now, in the spare room, my bedroom being filled with books overspill from the library room, anyways it was a strange night, lots of dreams, but deep and warm like a friendly narcotic. in the morning we watched another episode and jake asked for a lift home, its wet and cold and as we pulled up i gave him a front door key, just so he knows he has a safe place he can get to if nessessary. I don't know anything about his home life and i don't want to push, but i figure its nice to know there's a place somewhere if you need it.
Friday, June 02, 2006
I'm fucked, fighting the strange bug that's invaded me head and throat, it's -74 here in sydney, them pesky flu virus's are at war again, keeping me immune system on the defensive, blah i hate being sick. well despite rapid shifts in body temp. and strange moments of delirium i managed to get to my photoshoot at sunrise this morning, it's a shame my subject was slightly disorganised as we ran outta time, but i am certain that i got two good images, we have another session soon, this time with more prep. I never comprimise, always take the picture that i want. Most photographers will use at least 10 rolls x 36 each session whereas i like to use no more than 2. I guess in the digital age it no longer matters, but its good disipline and makes the photographer more precious of what he's doing and wants to acheive. as a technique i do like to spend a little time with my subject, breaking through the norms, getting below the surface and finding the essensse of what i want to steal. i do believe contary to popular scientific theory that a photograph does capture your soul, so i always approach my subject with this in mind. in this case my subject was the great god pan. yeah it took a fair amount of organization my people calling his people and lunches, coffees ect but we managed to at least get an hour with him and the possibility of some more. He's a family man now.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
in an earler post i mentioned how i had experienced several close encounters with death over the course of my life, i recall a few more that i had forgottern about.
Once when i was a kid, always bullied and picked on, i was playing soccer in a park with three friends and the ball went over a fence, i jumped over to get it and while i am looking for it amongst the shrubs these big kids come and start beating up my friends, so i jump over the fence to help my freinds and while i am still in the air, time freezes and everthing happens so slowly now, one of these big kids picks up a rock and hurls it at me, i watch it as it slices through the air, straight towards my head as the rock hits me right in the middle of my forehead and i resume my decent. Some how i find myself laying flat on the grass, i look raise my head and the boys all scream, 'Oh shit, his heads smashed open.' some one else says, 'You can see his brain spilling out.'
Anyway i put my hands to my head and when i pull them away they are covered in blood, as is the grass. The words 'smashed open, brain spilling out' send me into major freak out and i run down the street, i can't recall what happens next but i am in hospital with my dad having stiches.
The next episode happened at school when we were learning how to throw a javilin in pe. One of my classmates threw his javilin at me while i had my bback to him, it skimmed past me, just missing me. I was kinda oblivious to the event but i'm told it was a close shave.
Once when i was a kid, always bullied and picked on, i was playing soccer in a park with three friends and the ball went over a fence, i jumped over to get it and while i am looking for it amongst the shrubs these big kids come and start beating up my friends, so i jump over the fence to help my freinds and while i am still in the air, time freezes and everthing happens so slowly now, one of these big kids picks up a rock and hurls it at me, i watch it as it slices through the air, straight towards my head as the rock hits me right in the middle of my forehead and i resume my decent. Some how i find myself laying flat on the grass, i look raise my head and the boys all scream, 'Oh shit, his heads smashed open.' some one else says, 'You can see his brain spilling out.'
Anyway i put my hands to my head and when i pull them away they are covered in blood, as is the grass. The words 'smashed open, brain spilling out' send me into major freak out and i run down the street, i can't recall what happens next but i am in hospital with my dad having stiches.
The next episode happened at school when we were learning how to throw a javilin in pe. One of my classmates threw his javilin at me while i had my bback to him, it skimmed past me, just missing me. I was kinda oblivious to the event but i'm told it was a close shave.
so we was watching some movie and i fell asleep, drifted into a dream, and like the tide moved in and out, dream and movie until they began to blend and i could no longer tell which was which, both sharing the same soundtrack, which in itself is a song about a movie, 'dome' by the church, that strange story about the people who lived in a dome. in this particular movie the heroine was left to die in a space suit, she was floating in the vastness of space, drifting against the incredible backdrop of the universe, glorious colours splayed out around her in swirls, planets in the distance, stars and spiral clusters spread across her field of vision, and we the veiwer could see it all reflected in her visor, her breathing in sync with the baseline of this song. Her eyes, huge widened in fear and wonder, her obvious terror as she checked her oxygen levels, and then attempted to regulate her breath. And in my dream i saw her floating not far away from me, my hands stretched out to reach her, i seemed too be on land, a summers evening, warm breeze blowing upon my skin, my face enjoying the beauty of the night sky and this strange girl who floated above me. for her there was no up, no down, all dimension had little or no context, she just floated in currents she could not see or get a fix on but to me she grew closer and closer, filling the sky, her breath getting louder and louder, her hand reaching towards mine, her lips blooming as she mouthed something, i couldn't quite make out her words, but i saw her mouth moving and caught a glimpse of her perfect teeth, she was repeating something and i was struggling to hear her, to stretch a little further and to catch her eyes.
Suddenly the top half of thhe screen is filled with a huge saucer shape, as if its floating just out of the cimema screen, dipping into veiw. It's a bleak looking ship, not like the smooth sleek space vessels we arre used to seeing in sci fi, no this one is industrial, its the flying saucer version of newark. black with filth and grime, this space ship has travelled to far and seen to much, it is weary, its crew are bitter and tired, they are cynics and they are equally as filthy, unshaven and unsophisticated, they are human. I don't exactly know why but in my dream i am with this girl, we are on a ship and she is dressed in her space suit without the helmet, we smile at one another, but its not your normal smile its a smile that is reassuring in the face of somethiong there is no reassurence from, it's a forced smile as if we both know something bad is about to happen. I can't tell what's what, dream or movie, but i realise that she is not on the same vessel i am on, we are in fact on different ships, hers passing mine. The sea is rough and the boats dip and roll with the waves, the smile gives way to fear and i finally catch her eyes, we are frozen, i reach out, her lips are moving, she's calling something out, suddenly she's above me the strange space ship moving in closer and now here in this enviroment, this galactic landscape our eyes are locked and her lips move and i can hear her. Cut to the ships, we pass directly in front of me, eyes locked, they are green, she's close, i can see inside her eyes, i see the space and the girl in the space ship and i look in her eyes and i see the girl on the ship and her lips move and she is speaking, and i can't reach her, my fingers almost there, i stretch looking in her eyes, as she says the words, 'It's a good day to die.'
Suddenly the top half of thhe screen is filled with a huge saucer shape, as if its floating just out of the cimema screen, dipping into veiw. It's a bleak looking ship, not like the smooth sleek space vessels we arre used to seeing in sci fi, no this one is industrial, its the flying saucer version of newark. black with filth and grime, this space ship has travelled to far and seen to much, it is weary, its crew are bitter and tired, they are cynics and they are equally as filthy, unshaven and unsophisticated, they are human. I don't exactly know why but in my dream i am with this girl, we are on a ship and she is dressed in her space suit without the helmet, we smile at one another, but its not your normal smile its a smile that is reassuring in the face of somethiong there is no reassurence from, it's a forced smile as if we both know something bad is about to happen. I can't tell what's what, dream or movie, but i realise that she is not on the same vessel i am on, we are in fact on different ships, hers passing mine. The sea is rough and the boats dip and roll with the waves, the smile gives way to fear and i finally catch her eyes, we are frozen, i reach out, her lips are moving, she's calling something out, suddenly she's above me the strange space ship moving in closer and now here in this enviroment, this galactic landscape our eyes are locked and her lips move and i can hear her. Cut to the ships, we pass directly in front of me, eyes locked, they are green, she's close, i can see inside her eyes, i see the space and the girl in the space ship and i look in her eyes and i see the girl on the ship and her lips move and she is speaking, and i can't reach her, my fingers almost there, i stretch looking in her eyes, as she says the words, 'It's a good day to die.'
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
just another georgous morning after a cold night on the sunny side of the street, i fell asleep in the bottom half of a bunk bed, wrapped in a pixie blanket and surrounded with childrens toys, very deep, rewarding sleep, nice dreams. was chatting to sam while we are in the shower about the current status of our relationship, in the steam i drew a cube, 'complex' and a square 'simple' emphizising i'd like to keep things in the simple arena. I kinda feel incapable about anything out of the current arrangement, i mean i feel good about everything, i like the simplicity we have, its easy and constructive, i think i'd like to keep it like that for a while.
Idea for a video game:
History Revisionist
A video game, for the pc. The central charather is a right/left wing academic who has to outwit mossad, cia, mi5 and the media to get hold of documents that refute the holocuast and undernine the State of Israel. He has to knit a group of neo fascists, christian malitias and Islamo- fascists to help hi, He also gets support from the WASP establishment.
Theres a million cranks who would buy that shit, the world is filled with pricks. The only thing we need to do is keep it secret that it was invented by a black jew.
i was reading in a book about this idea a guy has, it's a holiday company for fat people. He thinks that fat people out number skinny people in england, and he feels they should have their own package tours, where they get to gorge on cream cakes and high cholestrial foods, mix with other fatties and go to nude beaches with them without feeling self concious or judged.
Idea for a video game:
History Revisionist
A video game, for the pc. The central charather is a right/left wing academic who has to outwit mossad, cia, mi5 and the media to get hold of documents that refute the holocuast and undernine the State of Israel. He has to knit a group of neo fascists, christian malitias and Islamo- fascists to help hi, He also gets support from the WASP establishment.
Theres a million cranks who would buy that shit, the world is filled with pricks. The only thing we need to do is keep it secret that it was invented by a black jew.
i was reading in a book about this idea a guy has, it's a holiday company for fat people. He thinks that fat people out number skinny people in england, and he feels they should have their own package tours, where they get to gorge on cream cakes and high cholestrial foods, mix with other fatties and go to nude beaches with them without feeling self concious or judged.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
if there's one thing i can't seem to crack in this life its the secret of money, i work on the principle that if i keep it flowing, ie what comes in goes out, and never plan to save, then at least it flows in. The times i attempt to save are the times i come undone. But for the last few years i adopted an attitude that if i do what i love and not worry about the money then i'll generate money, but this has not worked. In fact i am now in debt. Its true i don't have the intrest or the mind for finantial matters, i am well outta my depth, i mean when i was divorced i had no idea who my bank was. People who understand money always facinate me, i am surrounded by wealthy people, they all seem to manage their money by living really boring safe lives, but there has to be a happy meduim, i'd quite happily adopt a boring life, I've tried may times but i am always thwarted, so yesterday when i recieved a bill from my accountant for $2000 i was stumped. I mean this guy gets me less on my tax return than any other accountant i have ever had and charges more. There's no way i can pay this, so i rang him up only to be told that i am going to be charged intrest. Can you believe this?
$2000 would get me on the exhibition circuit, it would pay for at least 4 more pieces of art i can sell and generate $ from, but no, its gotta go towards some breadhead straight to stash in his offshore bank account.
If i was generating enough cash it wouldn't be a problem but i litreally live hand to mouth, to pay such a debt risks me getting into further debt.
emilie the french girl seems to be ringing me more than ever now, inviting me out, telling me about her troubles, it's strange as i want to catch up with her but my motivation is shot, it's spent energy on something that could have been but never was. i been reading about the Hawkwind tour of Sydney 2000, they were due to play in New Zealand but the promoters ripped them off, offererd to pay them in bags of dope so they relocated and played in Australia. They loved it, apparently they have a huge fan base here. I am pretty certain my friend Proffesor Leary went to see them. I would have if i had my finger on the pulse, i think they played at the metro, a small venue, more club like. That would have been something. The book seems to shatter the myth that Hawkwind were a bunch of peace loving harmony hippies, in fact the inner tensions between members was horrific, ending in court, unpaid royalties, unfair wage structures and inequity, the discord could be harnessed to supply the grid. Shame, i sort of regret reading the book now, i liked the myth not the saga.
$2000 would get me on the exhibition circuit, it would pay for at least 4 more pieces of art i can sell and generate $ from, but no, its gotta go towards some breadhead straight to stash in his offshore bank account.
If i was generating enough cash it wouldn't be a problem but i litreally live hand to mouth, to pay such a debt risks me getting into further debt.
emilie the french girl seems to be ringing me more than ever now, inviting me out, telling me about her troubles, it's strange as i want to catch up with her but my motivation is shot, it's spent energy on something that could have been but never was. i been reading about the Hawkwind tour of Sydney 2000, they were due to play in New Zealand but the promoters ripped them off, offererd to pay them in bags of dope so they relocated and played in Australia. They loved it, apparently they have a huge fan base here. I am pretty certain my friend Proffesor Leary went to see them. I would have if i had my finger on the pulse, i think they played at the metro, a small venue, more club like. That would have been something. The book seems to shatter the myth that Hawkwind were a bunch of peace loving harmony hippies, in fact the inner tensions between members was horrific, ending in court, unpaid royalties, unfair wage structures and inequity, the discord could be harnessed to supply the grid. Shame, i sort of regret reading the book now, i liked the myth not the saga.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Okay now as you know i am a total freak about my diet, very careful about toxins and all the shit they subsutiute as food these days, on dropping in to see agent stone she gave me a present she purchased from something called the easter show, it was a bag filled with sour sweets, yeah a huge bag filled with SOUR sweets. I ate one and it was fucking foul, anyway the deal was that you have to keep the sweet in your mouth for 50 seconds, the first 20 being the worst, then it got slightly bearable, but i have to say people, i did it. The problem with these sweets is they are highly addictive, i mean this stuff pisses on smack or methadone, its far more damaging than ice or crack, this stuff is bad news, its legal and it sells in most newsagents, most mums and dads buy it for their loved ones when they have been good boys and girls, it's going to make children crazy, rot their teeth instantly, plug em into the medical adad model as the high levels of sugar ravage their little systems, it's going cuase diabeties and brain disorders, its going to poison the blood, and infiltrate the mind. I ate two sweets and suddenly my brain started to fuck up, tiny sezures, mild epileptic episodes, a sudden glimpse into dantes inferno, messages from the dead zones.
I was reading about the ethics of climbing up everest. apparently theres a big ho ha about the climbers who walk by other climbers who are half frozen and abandoned, they generally leave them to die, as did a group of climbers leave an english climber who subsequently froze to death, their rationale being, he would have died anyway.
Well i don't know, i don't actually put these guys in the same bracket as the edmund hillarys of the world, Hillary was a true adventurer, he didn't have the same kind of technology, he just had what was available at the time, no gps, maybe some thermal undies but he made the comment that he would never leave some one to die on the mountain and you gotta respect that. Maybe these modern idiots do know the risk, maybe we live in an age where the achievement has to be made at any cost but the real hero for me is Hillary. He spoke out where others didn't. I 'd rather climb with Hillary than the other bozo's, thats for sure.
I 'm reminded of 'Touching the Void' the brilliant film based on the book about two climbers in peru, one of whom had to cut the rope that connected him to the other lest he be killed. It was an amazing story, both managed to survive, under circumstances that they really stood no chance against. It's amazing what the body can do, the limits it can reach, one of the climbers said, 'My body was on auto piolet, i crawled home, my mind was gone, it was singing Boney M songs on loop.'
I was reading about the ethics of climbing up everest. apparently theres a big ho ha about the climbers who walk by other climbers who are half frozen and abandoned, they generally leave them to die, as did a group of climbers leave an english climber who subsequently froze to death, their rationale being, he would have died anyway.
Well i don't know, i don't actually put these guys in the same bracket as the edmund hillarys of the world, Hillary was a true adventurer, he didn't have the same kind of technology, he just had what was available at the time, no gps, maybe some thermal undies but he made the comment that he would never leave some one to die on the mountain and you gotta respect that. Maybe these modern idiots do know the risk, maybe we live in an age where the achievement has to be made at any cost but the real hero for me is Hillary. He spoke out where others didn't. I 'd rather climb with Hillary than the other bozo's, thats for sure.
I 'm reminded of 'Touching the Void' the brilliant film based on the book about two climbers in peru, one of whom had to cut the rope that connected him to the other lest he be killed. It was an amazing story, both managed to survive, under circumstances that they really stood no chance against. It's amazing what the body can do, the limits it can reach, one of the climbers said, 'My body was on auto piolet, i crawled home, my mind was gone, it was singing Boney M songs on loop.'
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Dropped of the edge of the earth for a few days, yes it's true, certainly feels like that. Well the veiw from here is pretty good anyways, plenty of heat despite the space between us, plenty of space for playing.
So what's happening in my world, what stimulating information bounces around my synapses, releasing itself in this strange process via my fingertips and this keyboard. Well the region, a home office term for the asia pacific looks pretty fragile, earthquakes, war and outbreaks of bird flu, courruption in high and low places, global warming suddenly confirmed by the nuclear lobby, everyones an expert, the debate we have to have. Personally i feel slightly indifferent, why should we continue to trust these experts and nuclear people, after all they are all funded by the meat board, okay maybe not the meat board but everyone has an ulterior motive and if its not the carnivores its the drug companies.
I have been enjoying reading a book about the space rock band 'Hawkwind' a band i used to go and see quite regularly at Stonehenge and various other venues around London, pre punk. I even saw them one night play with Ginger Baker on drums, but the real brains behind Hawkwind was Robert Calvert the manic depressive poet who as far as i am concered wrote and sung their best stuff, 'Astounding Tales Amazing Music is a fantastic album, and listening to 'Refer Madness', still manages to make me smile. Credit to Dave Brock though who also made Hawkwind a more contempory band, he seemed to embrace technology way before any other musicians, and i would say even preceeded the rave stuff that became popular in the 80's.
The book is filled with endless bikering between the players, Dave Brock cretainly liked to assume control but generally it was pretty much a team effort, even Lemmy occasionally rejoins for shows. There's a few nice antedotes, one being when Jimmy Hendrix saw them play at the isle of wight and wanted to get up on stage and jam with them but experienced a conflicting emotion that if he jammed with them then he would steal the attention so he just watched and later congratulated them. I specifically liked the way the Hawkwind family just grew and grew and seemed everchanging. Anyway Calverts still my fave, he was regularly carted away to an institution when he was having episodes, he was so much larger than life. I vividly recall seeing them preform on the Marc Bolan tv show, under the name Hawks and Calvert was dressed up in a kind of air force piolets outfit from WW1. He had a stuffed hawk sitting upon his shoulder and a pair of goggles, along with these joppers and thigh high boots. Very cool.
One off my fave writers when i was a kid, a guy called Mike Moorcock was also in Hawkwind, he was a source of inspiration for the band but also played with them and wrote a few tunes. On of their best albums was based upon one of his books, the album is called Chronicles of the Black Sword and the charater is Elrich. The idea being Elrich drew his stregth and immortality from the victims of the sword, it was a sybiotic relationship, however the sword was indiscriminate and eventually killed Elrich's beloved.
Moorcock went on to write other books and slowley became one of Englands most respected writers, his non sci fi is excellent to but if you fancy something brilliant read 'The Dancers at the Edge of Time.'
So what's happening in my world, what stimulating information bounces around my synapses, releasing itself in this strange process via my fingertips and this keyboard. Well the region, a home office term for the asia pacific looks pretty fragile, earthquakes, war and outbreaks of bird flu, courruption in high and low places, global warming suddenly confirmed by the nuclear lobby, everyones an expert, the debate we have to have. Personally i feel slightly indifferent, why should we continue to trust these experts and nuclear people, after all they are all funded by the meat board, okay maybe not the meat board but everyone has an ulterior motive and if its not the carnivores its the drug companies.
I have been enjoying reading a book about the space rock band 'Hawkwind' a band i used to go and see quite regularly at Stonehenge and various other venues around London, pre punk. I even saw them one night play with Ginger Baker on drums, but the real brains behind Hawkwind was Robert Calvert the manic depressive poet who as far as i am concered wrote and sung their best stuff, 'Astounding Tales Amazing Music is a fantastic album, and listening to 'Refer Madness', still manages to make me smile. Credit to Dave Brock though who also made Hawkwind a more contempory band, he seemed to embrace technology way before any other musicians, and i would say even preceeded the rave stuff that became popular in the 80's.
The book is filled with endless bikering between the players, Dave Brock cretainly liked to assume control but generally it was pretty much a team effort, even Lemmy occasionally rejoins for shows. There's a few nice antedotes, one being when Jimmy Hendrix saw them play at the isle of wight and wanted to get up on stage and jam with them but experienced a conflicting emotion that if he jammed with them then he would steal the attention so he just watched and later congratulated them. I specifically liked the way the Hawkwind family just grew and grew and seemed everchanging. Anyway Calverts still my fave, he was regularly carted away to an institution when he was having episodes, he was so much larger than life. I vividly recall seeing them preform on the Marc Bolan tv show, under the name Hawks and Calvert was dressed up in a kind of air force piolets outfit from WW1. He had a stuffed hawk sitting upon his shoulder and a pair of goggles, along with these joppers and thigh high boots. Very cool.
One off my fave writers when i was a kid, a guy called Mike Moorcock was also in Hawkwind, he was a source of inspiration for the band but also played with them and wrote a few tunes. On of their best albums was based upon one of his books, the album is called Chronicles of the Black Sword and the charater is Elrich. The idea being Elrich drew his stregth and immortality from the victims of the sword, it was a sybiotic relationship, however the sword was indiscriminate and eventually killed Elrich's beloved.
Moorcock went on to write other books and slowley became one of Englands most respected writers, his non sci fi is excellent to but if you fancy something brilliant read 'The Dancers at the Edge of Time.'
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
strange day, wandering through hornsby mall, a suburb i never really go to except to visit the big bookshop there as it has a great selection of stock, anyways i picked up a book by alex grey, (see pic) the visionary artist that has obviously experienced dmt reality as his pictures really capture the dmt world, and was about to leave when a girl behind a city bank promotional desk asked me how i was, i was doing fine until i heard her seductive accent, french, what can i say, i started to melt in front of her, suddenly i had signed up for a new credit card or some thing i don't really understand about some big finantial institution. I mean i didn't even hear what she was saying, i just listened to her gorgeous voice and watched her little pixie face as she went through her routine. I mean who would have thought credit card intrest rates would be so sexy. Normally i am not a detail kinda guy, but i recall almost everything about her, her smell, what she was wearing, her shoes, her lips, eyes and everything else she told me about herself, except for the city bank stuff, anyway she had been living in sydney, pyrmont for a year and was very happy, she asked me a whole bunch of stuff, i gave her a card, when she found out my age she seemed surprised, she said, i looked younger, i told her i have a young mind, then we went our separate ways but i can't help wondering about her.
Last night i watched a tv show about the way children are being brought up in australia, a crowd of young parents and specialists, therapists and physiologist all chatting about what good parenting is, and how to be one. There was some really valid points made but the one point i thought of that was lacking in the conversation was how these parents can teach their children all about morality and how to behave yet never once point out that most of the people in positions of power or authority, in fact even most people in the world are corrupt or would be given the oppurtunity, in fact the adult world is a sad reflection of bad parenting, i mean its all very well to tell children that violence is wrong and then expect them to understand when their countries army is at war. It's the same with stealing, i mean jesus the govt. steal from me every day, just becuase it's under the guise of tax don't mean its not stealing. I mean Rupert Murdoch don't pay any tax, why should i, and i don't endorse where my tax is spent either, most of it is directed towards supporting a govt. i don't like, the pennies may go to a few hospitals and schools but most of it goes to the keeping an ineffecient beaurocracy running. Corruption is an issue that can't be stopped in a classroom, its not always huge and noticable, it needs to be addressed as a species, adults need to take the challenge and face their own sense of honour, there's no other way.
The baghvad gita, describes a war, arjuna is visited just before the battle by krishna, only to hear how to escape this cycle of death and rebirth and sufferring. The war is the war within. The struggle every person has with themselves, there are many ways outta the battlefield but how many people are disiplined enough to take them. Talk is cheap, action speaks louder than words, all the people on tv last night debating missed the point. Fill your childrens heads with lies and delusions about the world, and they will never trust ya again.
Humanity is corrupt, if you can struggle with your own demons and face them, stare them down and be their master/mistress then you may stand a chance against being corrupt, but don't preach to the next gen, set the example.
Monday, May 22, 2006
if ya like your books gritty, realistic, violent, thrilling, edgey, tense, filled with anti heros, sex, drugs and just loads of information on americas incvolvement with drugs in mexico and south america then pick up a copy of Power of the Dog, i'm 2 thirds of the way through and it's really captured me. Winslows style of writing is excellent, its pacey, his dialouge is excellent, the charachters are complex four dimentional beings travelling along their velocities intersecting and you can feel the tension eminate from each page.
well its a crispy monday morn here in sunny mission control, the glorious sun streams through the windows, my plants are looking healthy since i gave them a trim, and pansy is sleeping and dreaming on the lounge after a long run. Emilie has been calling me a lot, wanting to see me, have coffee, go to the gym, go to a party, a surf, the other night she called becuase she was having some trouble with her flatmate, although i gave her sound advice i feel kind detached, unenthusiastic. The reality that i created with her has disappaited now, we travel in seperate ones and mine has drawn further away from hers, it's weird how that happens but it's the way i move through things in life. i guess with commitment its different.
while messing about in the virtual world i chanced upon this bit of info from one of my fave writers Mr. William Burroughs
Captain Mission and the Liberal Revolution
“The liberal principles embodied in the French and American revolutions and later in the liberal revolutions of 1848 had already been codified and put into practice by pirate communes a hundred years earlier. Here is a quote form Under the Black Flag by Don C. Seitz:
Captain Mission was one of the forbears of the French Revolution. He was one hundred years in advance of his time, for his career was based upon an initial desire to better adjust the affairs of mankind, which ended as is quite usual in the more liberal adjustment of his own fortunes. It is related how Captain Mission, having led his ship to victory against an English man-of-war, called a meeting of the crew. Those who wished to follow him he would welcome and treat as brothers; those who did not would be safely set ashore. One and all embraced the New Freedom. Some were for hoisting the Black Flag at once but Mission demurred, saying that they were not pirates but liberty lovers, fighting for equal rights against all nations subject to the tyranny of government, and bespoke a white flag as the more fitting emblem. The ship’s money was put in a chest to be used as common property. Clothes were now distributed to all in need and the republic of the sea was in full operation.
Mission bespoke them to live in strict harmony among themselves; that a misplaced society would adjudge them still as pirates. Self-preservation, therefore, and not a cruel disposition, compelled them to declare war on all nations who should close their ports to them. “I declare such war and at the same time recommend to you a humane and generous behavior towards your prisoners, which will appear by so much more the effects of a noble soul as we are satisfied we should not meet the same treatment should our ill fortune or want of courage give us up to their mercy…” The Nieustadt of Amsterdam was made prize, giving up two thousand pounds and gold dust and seventeen slaves. The slaves were added to the crew and clothed in the Dutchman’s spare garments; Mission made an address denouncing slavery, holding that men who sold others like beasts proved their religion to be no more than a grimace as no man had power of liberty over another…
Mission explored the Madagascar coast and found a bay ten leagues north of Diego-Suarez. It was resolved to establish here the shore quarters of the Republic—erect a town, build docks, and have a place they might call their own. The colony was called Libertatia and was placed under Articles drawn up by Captain Mission. The Articles state, among other things: all decisions with regard to the colony to be submitted to vote by the colonists; the abolition of slavery for any reason including debt; the abolition of the death penalty; and freedom to follow any religious beliefs or practices without sanction or molestation.
Captain Mission’s colony, which numbered about three hundred was wiped out by a surprise attack from the natives, and Captain Mission was killed shortly afterwards in a sea battle. There were other such colonies in the West Indies and in Central and South America, but they were not able to maintain themselves since they were not sufficiently populous to withstand attack. Had they been able to do so, the history of the world could have been altered. Imagine a number of such fortified positions all through South America and the West Indies, stretching from Africa and Madagascar and Malaya and the East Indies, all offering refuge to fugitives from slavery and oppression: “Come to us and live under the Articles.”
At once we have allies in all those who are enslaved and oppressed throughout the world, from the cotton plantations of the American South to the sugar plantations of the West Indies, the whole Indian population of the American continent peonized and degraded by the Spanish into subhuman poverty and ignorance, exterminated by the Americans, infected with their vices and diseases, the natives of Africa and Asia—all these are potential allies. Fortified positions supported by and supporting guerilla hit-and-run bands; supplied with soldiers, weapons, medicines and information by the local populations … such a combination would be unbeatable. If the whole American army couldn’t beat the Viet Cong at a time when fortified positions were rendered obsolete by artillery and air strikes, certainly the armies of Europe, operating in unfamiliar territory and susceptible to all the disabling diseases of tropical countries, could not have beaten guerilla tactics plus fortified positions. Consider the difficulties which such and invading army would face: continual harassment from the guerillas, a totally hostile population always ready with poison, misdirection, snakes and spiders in the general’s bed, armadillos carrying the deadly earth-eating disease rooting under the barracks and adopted as mascots by the regiment as dysentery and malaria take their toll. The sieges could not but present a series of military disasters. There is no stopping the Articulated. The white man is retroactively relieved of his burden. Whites will be welcomed as workers, settlers, teachers, and technicians, but not as colonists or masters. No man may violate the Articles.
Imagine such a movement on a world-wide scale. Faced by the actual practice of freedom, the French and American revolutions would be forced to stand by their words. The disastrous results of uncontrolled industrialization would also be curtailed, since factory workers and slum dwellers from the cities would seek refuge in Articulated areas. Any man would have the right to settle in any area of his choosing. The land would belong to those who used it. No white-man boss, no Pukka Sahib, no Patrons, no colonists. The escalation of mass production and concentration of population in urban areas would be halted, for who would work in their factories and buy their products when he could live from the fields and sea and the lakes and rivers in areas of unbelievable plenty? And living from the land, he would be motivated to preserve its resources.
I cite this example of retroactive Utopia since it actually could have happened in terms of the techniques and human resources available at the time. Had Captain Mission lived long enough to set an example for others to follow, mankind might have stepped free from the deadly impasse of insoluble problems in which we now find ourselves.
The chance was there. The chance was missed. The principles of the French and American revolutions became windy lies in the mouths of politicians. The liberal revolutions of 1848 created the so-called republics of Central and South America, with a dreary history of dictatorship, oppression, graft and bureaucracy, thus closing this vast underpopulated continent to any possibility of communes along the lines set forth by Captain Mission. In any case South America will soon be crisscrossed by highways and motels. In England, Western Europe, and America, the overpopulation made possible by the Industrial Revolution leaves scant room for communes, which are commonly subject to state and federal law and frequently harassed by the local inhabitants. There is simply no room left for “freedom from the tyranny of government” since city dwellers depend on it for food, power, water, transportation, protection and welfare. Your right to live where you want, with companions of your choosing, under laws to which you agree, died in the eighteenth century with Captain Mission. Only a miracle or a disaster could restore it.”
—William S. Burroughs
Other news is I recieved a letter from Martin Von Donaldson, my old guitar player, he's in Berlin, teaching guitar. It was fantastic to hear from him, as you know its been 20 years, but his letter was filled with a similar universe to mine, he's really become emeresed in Kabbalah and the training of ego, he mentioned how the ego is 'a bad master and a good servant' words i relate to, he spoke about how he played in a band called 'Jinn' with members of Nico's band, reminised about our old days in London and Berlin. It's funny how reading a hand written letter from an old freind makes you feel, all warm and fuzzy. I hope that one day we can get together and record. I am going to send him a few songs anyways.
well its a crispy monday morn here in sunny mission control, the glorious sun streams through the windows, my plants are looking healthy since i gave them a trim, and pansy is sleeping and dreaming on the lounge after a long run. Emilie has been calling me a lot, wanting to see me, have coffee, go to the gym, go to a party, a surf, the other night she called becuase she was having some trouble with her flatmate, although i gave her sound advice i feel kind detached, unenthusiastic. The reality that i created with her has disappaited now, we travel in seperate ones and mine has drawn further away from hers, it's weird how that happens but it's the way i move through things in life. i guess with commitment its different.
while messing about in the virtual world i chanced upon this bit of info from one of my fave writers Mr. William Burroughs
Captain Mission and the Liberal Revolution
“The liberal principles embodied in the French and American revolutions and later in the liberal revolutions of 1848 had already been codified and put into practice by pirate communes a hundred years earlier. Here is a quote form Under the Black Flag by Don C. Seitz:
Captain Mission was one of the forbears of the French Revolution. He was one hundred years in advance of his time, for his career was based upon an initial desire to better adjust the affairs of mankind, which ended as is quite usual in the more liberal adjustment of his own fortunes. It is related how Captain Mission, having led his ship to victory against an English man-of-war, called a meeting of the crew. Those who wished to follow him he would welcome and treat as brothers; those who did not would be safely set ashore. One and all embraced the New Freedom. Some were for hoisting the Black Flag at once but Mission demurred, saying that they were not pirates but liberty lovers, fighting for equal rights against all nations subject to the tyranny of government, and bespoke a white flag as the more fitting emblem. The ship’s money was put in a chest to be used as common property. Clothes were now distributed to all in need and the republic of the sea was in full operation.
Mission bespoke them to live in strict harmony among themselves; that a misplaced society would adjudge them still as pirates. Self-preservation, therefore, and not a cruel disposition, compelled them to declare war on all nations who should close their ports to them. “I declare such war and at the same time recommend to you a humane and generous behavior towards your prisoners, which will appear by so much more the effects of a noble soul as we are satisfied we should not meet the same treatment should our ill fortune or want of courage give us up to their mercy…” The Nieustadt of Amsterdam was made prize, giving up two thousand pounds and gold dust and seventeen slaves. The slaves were added to the crew and clothed in the Dutchman’s spare garments; Mission made an address denouncing slavery, holding that men who sold others like beasts proved their religion to be no more than a grimace as no man had power of liberty over another…
Mission explored the Madagascar coast and found a bay ten leagues north of Diego-Suarez. It was resolved to establish here the shore quarters of the Republic—erect a town, build docks, and have a place they might call their own. The colony was called Libertatia and was placed under Articles drawn up by Captain Mission. The Articles state, among other things: all decisions with regard to the colony to be submitted to vote by the colonists; the abolition of slavery for any reason including debt; the abolition of the death penalty; and freedom to follow any religious beliefs or practices without sanction or molestation.
Captain Mission’s colony, which numbered about three hundred was wiped out by a surprise attack from the natives, and Captain Mission was killed shortly afterwards in a sea battle. There were other such colonies in the West Indies and in Central and South America, but they were not able to maintain themselves since they were not sufficiently populous to withstand attack. Had they been able to do so, the history of the world could have been altered. Imagine a number of such fortified positions all through South America and the West Indies, stretching from Africa and Madagascar and Malaya and the East Indies, all offering refuge to fugitives from slavery and oppression: “Come to us and live under the Articles.”
At once we have allies in all those who are enslaved and oppressed throughout the world, from the cotton plantations of the American South to the sugar plantations of the West Indies, the whole Indian population of the American continent peonized and degraded by the Spanish into subhuman poverty and ignorance, exterminated by the Americans, infected with their vices and diseases, the natives of Africa and Asia—all these are potential allies. Fortified positions supported by and supporting guerilla hit-and-run bands; supplied with soldiers, weapons, medicines and information by the local populations … such a combination would be unbeatable. If the whole American army couldn’t beat the Viet Cong at a time when fortified positions were rendered obsolete by artillery and air strikes, certainly the armies of Europe, operating in unfamiliar territory and susceptible to all the disabling diseases of tropical countries, could not have beaten guerilla tactics plus fortified positions. Consider the difficulties which such and invading army would face: continual harassment from the guerillas, a totally hostile population always ready with poison, misdirection, snakes and spiders in the general’s bed, armadillos carrying the deadly earth-eating disease rooting under the barracks and adopted as mascots by the regiment as dysentery and malaria take their toll. The sieges could not but present a series of military disasters. There is no stopping the Articulated. The white man is retroactively relieved of his burden. Whites will be welcomed as workers, settlers, teachers, and technicians, but not as colonists or masters. No man may violate the Articles.
Imagine such a movement on a world-wide scale. Faced by the actual practice of freedom, the French and American revolutions would be forced to stand by their words. The disastrous results of uncontrolled industrialization would also be curtailed, since factory workers and slum dwellers from the cities would seek refuge in Articulated areas. Any man would have the right to settle in any area of his choosing. The land would belong to those who used it. No white-man boss, no Pukka Sahib, no Patrons, no colonists. The escalation of mass production and concentration of population in urban areas would be halted, for who would work in their factories and buy their products when he could live from the fields and sea and the lakes and rivers in areas of unbelievable plenty? And living from the land, he would be motivated to preserve its resources.
I cite this example of retroactive Utopia since it actually could have happened in terms of the techniques and human resources available at the time. Had Captain Mission lived long enough to set an example for others to follow, mankind might have stepped free from the deadly impasse of insoluble problems in which we now find ourselves.
The chance was there. The chance was missed. The principles of the French and American revolutions became windy lies in the mouths of politicians. The liberal revolutions of 1848 created the so-called republics of Central and South America, with a dreary history of dictatorship, oppression, graft and bureaucracy, thus closing this vast underpopulated continent to any possibility of communes along the lines set forth by Captain Mission. In any case South America will soon be crisscrossed by highways and motels. In England, Western Europe, and America, the overpopulation made possible by the Industrial Revolution leaves scant room for communes, which are commonly subject to state and federal law and frequently harassed by the local inhabitants. There is simply no room left for “freedom from the tyranny of government” since city dwellers depend on it for food, power, water, transportation, protection and welfare. Your right to live where you want, with companions of your choosing, under laws to which you agree, died in the eighteenth century with Captain Mission. Only a miracle or a disaster could restore it.”
—William S. Burroughs
Other news is I recieved a letter from Martin Von Donaldson, my old guitar player, he's in Berlin, teaching guitar. It was fantastic to hear from him, as you know its been 20 years, but his letter was filled with a similar universe to mine, he's really become emeresed in Kabbalah and the training of ego, he mentioned how the ego is 'a bad master and a good servant' words i relate to, he spoke about how he played in a band called 'Jinn' with members of Nico's band, reminised about our old days in London and Berlin. It's funny how reading a hand written letter from an old freind makes you feel, all warm and fuzzy. I hope that one day we can get together and record. I am going to send him a few songs anyways.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
a few lifetimes ago i was smoking some high quality opium with a dodgy looking mercenary in budapest, he was dressed in these wonderful leather boots that i looked at enviously, a long leather trenchcoat, underneath which was a long barreled pistol, all of which i stole from him after i killed him 3 nights later, on the battlefield.
we had been fighting one another in hills for a couple of days, our men were tired and thirsty, they were a long way from home, we had been fighting so long we had forgottern who the enemy was. one evening, after looking at the wounded and the dead, he marched over waving a white flag and suggested a 48 hour truce, thus we found ourselves in the chinese quarter, induldging in some narcotic pleasure.
anyways he says to me, 'so what exactly are you the captain off?'
'i am captain of my own ship, the one that has no name.'
He just smiled, acknowledging me, looking at my gaze as the opium hit.
i smiled back, he laughed.
that was a long time ago when men repected honour, a time when men were islands, a time when men sought their destiny by going of to war, battle, journeys, adventures. to seek your fortune is to seek your soul, it's always been a metaphor, it's the journey not the destination.
nowadays people don't even look in your eyes, there is no acknowlegement of the brotherhood of men, there is no brotherhood, unless you been divorced, lost your kids, paying huge amounts of cash to the child support agency for kids you never see, yeah it's not quite cynisism, it's a defeated exchange, i see it all the time, hollow men, broken, eyes floating in tears, i see the hard and arbitory wear and tear time and experience plays upon men and i see how they let go of their dream, they give up, they cry in silence alone, becuase they can't reach the destination, never knowing that they have.
i guess what i am trying to say is that life does and will beat you, it will fuck you over, you will be battered and defeated, the scars and bruises will be interior, no one can see them unless you know how to look, no one will talk about it, it just lies in the soul. these men surround me, their words are empty, void of freedom, they are trapped in prisons without bars, they are wounded and hurt, bitter and twisted, unable to believe in anything, unable to believe in themselves.
i was one of these men, i was cast adift, landscape unfamiliar, surrounded by fear, sourrounded by death. everyman needs to look into his own eyes, face his own mortality, face death and laugh. Laugh at death and you are free to live.
how many men can say they are free, its a tall order, even in these democratic daze, the promise of liberty, freedom has brought us a new type of slavery.
Are you free?
we had been fighting one another in hills for a couple of days, our men were tired and thirsty, they were a long way from home, we had been fighting so long we had forgottern who the enemy was. one evening, after looking at the wounded and the dead, he marched over waving a white flag and suggested a 48 hour truce, thus we found ourselves in the chinese quarter, induldging in some narcotic pleasure.
anyways he says to me, 'so what exactly are you the captain off?'
'i am captain of my own ship, the one that has no name.'
He just smiled, acknowledging me, looking at my gaze as the opium hit.
i smiled back, he laughed.
that was a long time ago when men repected honour, a time when men were islands, a time when men sought their destiny by going of to war, battle, journeys, adventures. to seek your fortune is to seek your soul, it's always been a metaphor, it's the journey not the destination.
nowadays people don't even look in your eyes, there is no acknowlegement of the brotherhood of men, there is no brotherhood, unless you been divorced, lost your kids, paying huge amounts of cash to the child support agency for kids you never see, yeah it's not quite cynisism, it's a defeated exchange, i see it all the time, hollow men, broken, eyes floating in tears, i see the hard and arbitory wear and tear time and experience plays upon men and i see how they let go of their dream, they give up, they cry in silence alone, becuase they can't reach the destination, never knowing that they have.
i guess what i am trying to say is that life does and will beat you, it will fuck you over, you will be battered and defeated, the scars and bruises will be interior, no one can see them unless you know how to look, no one will talk about it, it just lies in the soul. these men surround me, their words are empty, void of freedom, they are trapped in prisons without bars, they are wounded and hurt, bitter and twisted, unable to believe in anything, unable to believe in themselves.
i was one of these men, i was cast adift, landscape unfamiliar, surrounded by fear, sourrounded by death. everyman needs to look into his own eyes, face his own mortality, face death and laugh. Laugh at death and you are free to live.
how many men can say they are free, its a tall order, even in these democratic daze, the promise of liberty, freedom has brought us a new type of slavery.
Are you free?
Thursday, May 18, 2006
driving home from work listening to old richard ashcroft, the beautiful morning light filtering through the parkway, trees alive with energy, you can see their auras, see them growing, spreading out, past the tropical pockets where it looks like jungle, gradually the foilage eases out and you catch glimpses of the lake, crystal water, reflecting sunlight, glass surface, a pelican floats, one skims in from above, your mind drifting, expansive, and song for the lovers comes on and you breath in, feels good to be alive you think, ironically notcing the fresh carnage, roadkill, every morning it accumulates, horrific metal death, the beautiful perfect creations reassembled, squashed, turned inside out, no longer beautiful, no longer functional, death is not the end little ones, its the beginning. i feel sorry for all the animals killed, i drive past them every morning sometimes and i think, i am the cause, i drive a car. often i say a blessing if the animal is dying, or recently deceased, i send its soul on its journey. i don't know why, i have always done this, even if there is no soul, no journey, the doing of it makes me feel easier.
i actually send them back through time, in my mind, they are given life when a car reverses over them at a high speed, they stand there looking a bit dazed, then they hop away back into the bush, back to their loving families who miss them and wonder where they are.
okay so its pay day today, which means rent, bills, debts and outstanding credit needs fixing but prioritize, so first on the list its the surf.
today we are greeted with the promise of near perfection, standing at the shore i watch each wave form, they are small but significant, they emerge from nowhere, out of stillness, they flow towards and i watch them break, consistant and beautful. the water is clean, its almost clear, its sharp, slightly cold but my body acclimatizes quickly, i take a quick lungful and throw myself in, theres no struggle, no wash, just a nice easy access out the back, my fin cuts through. after a while the waves are increasing in size, they become perfect, i ride them, mustta caught about 30 and each time they get bigger and bigger. eventually its the cold water (no wet suit yet) that motivates me towards the shore. i look at the clouds, i do some breathing excersises, i smile and think how grateful i am, i feel love and i feel loved.
later im invited for lunch at sam
'whats on the menu?' i say.
'me'
'i'm kinda hungry.'
'good.'
more love in the afternoon, i am actually starving...
i actually send them back through time, in my mind, they are given life when a car reverses over them at a high speed, they stand there looking a bit dazed, then they hop away back into the bush, back to their loving families who miss them and wonder where they are.
okay so its pay day today, which means rent, bills, debts and outstanding credit needs fixing but prioritize, so first on the list its the surf.
today we are greeted with the promise of near perfection, standing at the shore i watch each wave form, they are small but significant, they emerge from nowhere, out of stillness, they flow towards and i watch them break, consistant and beautful. the water is clean, its almost clear, its sharp, slightly cold but my body acclimatizes quickly, i take a quick lungful and throw myself in, theres no struggle, no wash, just a nice easy access out the back, my fin cuts through. after a while the waves are increasing in size, they become perfect, i ride them, mustta caught about 30 and each time they get bigger and bigger. eventually its the cold water (no wet suit yet) that motivates me towards the shore. i look at the clouds, i do some breathing excersises, i smile and think how grateful i am, i feel love and i feel loved.
later im invited for lunch at sam
'whats on the menu?' i say.
'me'
'i'm kinda hungry.'
'good.'
more love in the afternoon, i am actually starving...
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
crime fiction is a genre of writing often thought of as trashy, throw away or pulp, yet there's something fundamentally profound about a good crime book, it's not the actual crime, its the dectectives relationship to it, the single heartedness pursuit for truth becomes a philosophical inquiry into reality, the nature of truth, making the unknown known. my fave dectective fictions are the ones that have evolved from deduction and logical inquiry, sherlock holmes was a fave when i was younger but as i evolved my tastes did to, and i found myself reading the more unusual dectective stories, ones where the protagonists are stunted by the logic, where rational deduction ceases and the solution or clues appear in the unconscious, dreams, synchronizing events or perhaps intuition. one of the best tv shows i ever saw was twin peaks, a long drawn out autopsy of a murder in a small american town, where the character's were all multi dimentional, facets of freud and jung penetrated the evening viewing as in weekly installments agent coopers investigation became more and more bizarre. At one point i recall he went into a field with a list of suspects, his assistant in tow.
''what you doing with that list agent cooper?'
'well i'm not really sure were to start, its a long list so sometimes you have to use other methods.'
agent cooper asks his assistant to place a bottle on a fence and move back.
with the bottle perched precariously on the wooden beam, agent cooper searches for a pile of rocks, when he has sufficient he asks his bemused assistant to read of the names on the list, throwing a rock at the bottle for every name, when eventually he hits the bottle, he goes of to interrogate the corresponding name.
this type of surrender to choas is almost quite metaphysical, in the sense that implications abound beyond sensory evaluation, it's almost as if the brain is short circuited and bypassed, now, the series of suspects is under random scrutiny. the psychic censor is smashed. i think that if one invests trust within the universe, this can be god / goddess/ doa / vishnu / christ whatever your chosen belief at the time, and your body and mind is in league with your belief the truth always surfaces. one can argue this is an external issue that involves powers beyond human or one can say that the unconcious does sterr your reality, or one can deny these and call it luck. i don't believe in luck any more, everything happens becuase it happens, people don't die unless you are concious they are dead. for example my grandmother was alive for me until my mother rang me to tell me she had died. this can be seen as ignorance or denial but it corallates to the shrodingers cat theory, it's the observers reality, ignorance would be to disbelieve my mother and continue as if my grandmother is alive. truth is connecting the dots, seeing the patterns, reading the map that is not a map, see the poem in the mundane, seeing the micro in the macro and macro in micro, its the way the shaman take, its the way the magickian take, it's the way of gods.
anyways my fave dectective film is 'blade runner'
a brilliant execution of a great book, the film that shows the point where the human looses its humanity and the machine gains its own. pure brillance, there's an amazing twist on the directors cut, the only directors version that's shorter than the origional.
other revelutionary dectective films, well angel heart touches something close to genus. robert de niro plays the ultimate villan in a truely origional way.
one the way to work i am driving along the parkway, halfway there a white vertical zip/ streak of light flashes across the sky, a shooting star, make a wish, its beautiful.
''what you doing with that list agent cooper?'
'well i'm not really sure were to start, its a long list so sometimes you have to use other methods.'
agent cooper asks his assistant to place a bottle on a fence and move back.
with the bottle perched precariously on the wooden beam, agent cooper searches for a pile of rocks, when he has sufficient he asks his bemused assistant to read of the names on the list, throwing a rock at the bottle for every name, when eventually he hits the bottle, he goes of to interrogate the corresponding name.
this type of surrender to choas is almost quite metaphysical, in the sense that implications abound beyond sensory evaluation, it's almost as if the brain is short circuited and bypassed, now, the series of suspects is under random scrutiny. the psychic censor is smashed. i think that if one invests trust within the universe, this can be god / goddess/ doa / vishnu / christ whatever your chosen belief at the time, and your body and mind is in league with your belief the truth always surfaces. one can argue this is an external issue that involves powers beyond human or one can say that the unconcious does sterr your reality, or one can deny these and call it luck. i don't believe in luck any more, everything happens becuase it happens, people don't die unless you are concious they are dead. for example my grandmother was alive for me until my mother rang me to tell me she had died. this can be seen as ignorance or denial but it corallates to the shrodingers cat theory, it's the observers reality, ignorance would be to disbelieve my mother and continue as if my grandmother is alive. truth is connecting the dots, seeing the patterns, reading the map that is not a map, see the poem in the mundane, seeing the micro in the macro and macro in micro, its the way the shaman take, its the way the magickian take, it's the way of gods.
anyways my fave dectective film is 'blade runner'
a brilliant execution of a great book, the film that shows the point where the human looses its humanity and the machine gains its own. pure brillance, there's an amazing twist on the directors cut, the only directors version that's shorter than the origional.
other revelutionary dectective films, well angel heart touches something close to genus. robert de niro plays the ultimate villan in a truely origional way.
one the way to work i am driving along the parkway, halfway there a white vertical zip/ streak of light flashes across the sky, a shooting star, make a wish, its beautiful.
Occasionally i like to dip into hedonistic pursuits and the last few evenings have been quite excessive, but now its time to reboot, its a glorious morning, the surf is beautiful, crystal clarity, cloudlessness and an old classic church song plays, 'to be in your eyes,' taking me back to the first time i ever bought that album, the guy in our price records commented on the cover art, he said, ' i wondered what they sound like.' i said, 'man they sound like the only band that matters.' that was a long time ago.
today that song plays and i am drifting along with it, steves voice so detached, like a ghost haunting the airwaves. a ghost that really cares, so much longing in that voice it still sends a shiver down me spine, still the only band that really matters.
so yeah a few nice sublime excursions over the last few evenings has left me feeling lighter, sexual healing, i guess.
i'm contemplating reclusiveness for a few months, lots of reading and art, i need to complete unfinished projects, pay debts, consolidation but i can't seem to commit to anything to concrete, at the moment information just passes through me and i am happy to watch what it does to my neurology, on a physical level my body is changing, excess weight is falling off, i feel taller, faster, somewhat more efficient. (i wish i had a long tail though)
it's funny i was thinking about the way girls and relationships manifest, always in dualities for me, the destructive individual offering danger and excitement, or the more balanced saner individual who can actually contribute something to my quality of life without taking from me.
throughout my relationship history i have always been attracted to the damaged goods, not sure why exactly but i would hazard a guess it feeds my need to have something to write about. also the challenge is immense, usually testing my resolve, patience and will, which always needs a good work out. a few months ago i mentioned an exercise in unconditional love, from which i manifested emilie and sam, again both polarities, in emile was potentiality, i went down a tangent where i saw our lives unveiled and it was a good union, in sam i don't see anything but the moment, and that has equal value because the moments have all been good.
unconditional love produces potentiality, navigating my way through emilie was easy but i was aware there were a few hidden mines, and it seems they were all detonated to blow when i got to close, perhaps that why i never slept with her, i don't want to be on a list of debrie, ex partners and unfulfilled promise. Me, I know my worth.
so adventures in love continue, skin shed, games played out, the rules re written, its a beautiful day here in mission control, it's a beautiful day here in babylon, its a beautiful way my heart just gets lighter inversly proportionally to my soul.
so i am thinking about a short trip somewhere, maybe london/paris, catch the church paly in europe, see my folks, spend time wandering around in the europian summer evenings, i dunno, it's all there right now waiting to be plucked. picked and pickled. anyway my emotions are calibrated, reading the terrain, picking up all sorts of transmissions and sending out waves of love to my brothers and sisters, and not forgetting our furry friends.
today that song plays and i am drifting along with it, steves voice so detached, like a ghost haunting the airwaves. a ghost that really cares, so much longing in that voice it still sends a shiver down me spine, still the only band that really matters.
so yeah a few nice sublime excursions over the last few evenings has left me feeling lighter, sexual healing, i guess.
i'm contemplating reclusiveness for a few months, lots of reading and art, i need to complete unfinished projects, pay debts, consolidation but i can't seem to commit to anything to concrete, at the moment information just passes through me and i am happy to watch what it does to my neurology, on a physical level my body is changing, excess weight is falling off, i feel taller, faster, somewhat more efficient. (i wish i had a long tail though)
it's funny i was thinking about the way girls and relationships manifest, always in dualities for me, the destructive individual offering danger and excitement, or the more balanced saner individual who can actually contribute something to my quality of life without taking from me.
throughout my relationship history i have always been attracted to the damaged goods, not sure why exactly but i would hazard a guess it feeds my need to have something to write about. also the challenge is immense, usually testing my resolve, patience and will, which always needs a good work out. a few months ago i mentioned an exercise in unconditional love, from which i manifested emilie and sam, again both polarities, in emile was potentiality, i went down a tangent where i saw our lives unveiled and it was a good union, in sam i don't see anything but the moment, and that has equal value because the moments have all been good.
unconditional love produces potentiality, navigating my way through emilie was easy but i was aware there were a few hidden mines, and it seems they were all detonated to blow when i got to close, perhaps that why i never slept with her, i don't want to be on a list of debrie, ex partners and unfulfilled promise. Me, I know my worth.
so adventures in love continue, skin shed, games played out, the rules re written, its a beautiful day here in mission control, it's a beautiful day here in babylon, its a beautiful way my heart just gets lighter inversly proportionally to my soul.
so i am thinking about a short trip somewhere, maybe london/paris, catch the church paly in europe, see my folks, spend time wandering around in the europian summer evenings, i dunno, it's all there right now waiting to be plucked. picked and pickled. anyway my emotions are calibrated, reading the terrain, picking up all sorts of transmissions and sending out waves of love to my brothers and sisters, and not forgetting our furry friends.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Zhuangzi and Huizi were strolling along the dam of the Hao Waterfall when Zhuangzi said, "See how the minnows come out and dart around where they please! That's what fish really enjoy!"
Huizi said, "You're not a fish — how do you know what fish enjoy?"
Zhuangzi said, "You're not I, so how do you know I don't know what fish enjoy?"
Huizi said, "I'm not you, so I certainly don't know what you know. On the other hand, you're certainly not a fish — so that still proves you don't know what fish enjoy!"
Zhuangzi said, "Let's go back to your original question, please. You asked me how I know what fish enjoy — so you already knew I knew it when you asked the question. I know it by standing here beside the Hao."
Huizi said, "You're not a fish — how do you know what fish enjoy?"
Zhuangzi said, "You're not I, so how do you know I don't know what fish enjoy?"
Huizi said, "I'm not you, so I certainly don't know what you know. On the other hand, you're certainly not a fish — so that still proves you don't know what fish enjoy!"
Zhuangzi said, "Let's go back to your original question, please. You asked me how I know what fish enjoy — so you already knew I knew it when you asked the question. I know it by standing here beside the Hao."
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