you unplug from the goddess for a moment, you wander around in your pure male form, you want to fuck, kill eat and sleep, your prime motivators are the sensational world, you have given in to base instinct, i love that feeling, it's been a long time. i remember it now, it all floods back, like the other side of the plug in your bath, the tree of knowledge fills your mind, ah fuck this you think, it's the impulse that makes you drive fast, it's the one that makes you eat fast, it's the one that makes you fuck fast, it's the one that wants to kill fast and run free, be lord of dominion, be unbounded and break all rules, all laws, all conditions, it's the one that knows no name, the one that knows no restraint, it's primary force is to just be the dominator, off all, you feel the energy, the power, it turns you on, you negotiate it as it flows into your blood, into your mind, into the space that surrounds you, quickly now bring it under control. breathing slow, you regulate the power, you take it outside, brute force bursting out through the seams, it's almost criminal but you have some power over it, discipline, 30 years of magickal training, you know what your doing. containment, it pulses under the skin, between my legs, beneath my surface, all prime red, base charkra, sex energy, it's back. this could be difficult, very tricky, as energy cannot be destroyed, it needs to be transformed. you think back through the female, tantra. but your more masculine now, undisciplined and potentially out of control. those fucking birds outside are freaking you out, you find your spud gun and start shooting, your dog gets excited. you need to combat the flow, redirect, reflect and then evolve it fast. discipline, training, breathing helps, soft the corners, ah yes, it starts to simmer. the furnace.
you wander upstairs slightly disgusted at your self, but really proud at this new love for living in the moment, you have no real care for your higher nature, except there's the higher nature at work, assisting directing your motives, 'don't succumb to brute force it whispers.'
you don't. it's all passive now. under strict guidance. the holy guardian angel says, 'take yourself into seclusion.'
you follow the direction, into your room, you work male energy, forming states externally, sacramental, the sacred or profane, the secret of real power and empowerment is you give it away.

looking for patterns recognition, my mind is the space between the dots, my sensory system is highly intuitive, i'm a specialized in a society that rejects my gifts, i use words, my writing to seek the clue, it's all unconscious, everything, the magickians tools, i dive deep, see how i seek death, here there and everywhere, my own death is like a beautiful peace, in words metaphor i write my way towards it, because it turns me on, more than life now, but i am in love with life, i have found a handful of people that i love and want to be with, the manifestations of my heart are really beautiful and all so different, yet together they see me as complete. do you understand this?
do i?
yes i think i do, to be perceived by many whom i have let in close to me i am revealed to myself, quality over quantity, although they only see through the prism, never really getting the full multi dimensionality i inhabit, but slowly all things converge and soon even myself will become something i can know is true. it is only through this alchemy that i can be set free.
i see in previous posts how i write my way out, how what i write invariably happens on one level or another, how unresolved i am, past actions catch me unaware, my response to my own inadequacies is terrible and extreme and unpredictable because there is a discrepancy between what i know of myself and what is. all magick backfires unless you are fully conscious.
when i find myself clutching my chest, knelling over and falling, strange clammy skin and a vice like constriction around my invincible heart i immediately think i am having a heart attack. being stoic and some what anti medical i deny the whole thing only now to discover i have a 'kink' in my heart valve.
how strange, how very strange yet on one level how else could my truth manifest.
in the heart.
my mirrors are my teachers, my mirrors are all female, they are legion reflecting my own nature, this is my process now, the one that i can trust, despite the shock and awe, i am true to this, i have no choice, i have a prime directive to understand myself through them.
physician heal thyself, that is my course of action.
who are my mirrors
miss cupcake for her brutal truths and then the joyous simplicity of just being, for she is kali in all her magnificence, i love her so very much just for who she is. if she could only discover her own power as a goddess. one day i would tell her, but i fear she would hate me even more than she does and that would kill me.
hp for kuain yin and the vine, what can i say hp, we broke through the maya, you and i we are travelling companions, you know me almost better than any one on the planet including myself occasionally, i can't tell you how much you mean to me.
agent stone for green tara, achelois, with you i feel safe and your gentle guidance towards understanding my strange identity.
nico, you are currently undefined to me but i know who you to me are already, we go back lifetimes, its all very good with you, very good and getting so much better. what you reflect back to me is really beautiful and true.
i am unafraid of death. all death is metaphorical.
i would like to see my son though. i have no words to say to him he does not know. maybe just a reminder, 'find out who you are and stay true to that.'
now i am through with writing may way out, i want to write my way in.

existential crisis, you wake up alone, in a vast home filled with books and a ghost that won't let you rest, light pours through glass, it's a beautiful day, blue skies, the sound of children laughing, the sound of birds, it's spring isn't it? you lay there breathing in, your chest heavy and tight, your still tired but you need to drag yourself out and to the shower.
usually this is never a problem but this morning your body feels like it's lead and sluggish lethargy races through your blood stream like a toxic antidote to a depression you never saw coming. the water is hot and the room quickly fills with steam, and you slide down a wall sitting in the shower stream wondering how you face the day. you dress in your new respectable look, beige pants and a nondescript top. you take the dog for a walk, you wander the streets looking at the homes and families, the stationary cars, the gardens and the fences of suburbia, you think about suede and how they capture a truly english sound, those lyrics are so english, capturing a period you missed in england, you were here experiencing the sydney equivilent, which was never quite as authentic in execution. there were no soundtracks, nothing really came close, save for the church, the rest were very poor imitations of something that had a tradition. the thought leaves you and you turn homwards.
driving to work you think about the women in your life, the ones you love, how they have all offerred you themselves, how they love you, and how some don't, you smile slightly remembering some, wondering about the women i forgot, one day they will come back to me, one day they will reappear. i wonder if i am lost to them, i'd hate that, i would hope that they remember me, and they feel that they were loved.

i'd discovered the use of light therapy many years ago, in fact i was a kid, possibly nine when i intuitively realized that certain light globes such as fluorescent lamps affected my brain although at the time i just reasoned it was my head. i recall vividly being afraid of bright lights from fluorescent tubes, my parents put it down to my neurotic behaviour rather than a certain high level of sensitivity to such things.
of course nowadays light therapy is used effectively in brain repair and assisting neuron damage heal within the medical model, or if used malevolently damage further.
i also knew strobe lighting would have adverse effects on certain brains although mine was immune, i could see how such intense contrast effects people. certain shops would have to be avoided, thus furthering my families concern that all was not right in the captain mission temple.
at skool i was reduced to being the butt of pupils and teachers jokes as i had to face the window, the source of natural light, or place my head on my desk and close my eyes due to the harsh lighting, no one believed that the light was hurting my head.
years later i find myself laughing aloud when i read about how scientists are using light in innovative ways to repair brain cells and the heal brain damaged.
after my head injury i used light therapy, waking up early i'd sit down on the beach and catch sunrise, those first and last rays have immense power, not to saturated i guess, but soft light is stronger for healing than dense light. although dense light is good for small bursts when it comes to mood enhancing. i believe this is connected to melatonin levels in the pineal gland, and off course dmt our old friend.
speaking of which i met up with evamn and leane and discussed the book supernatural i had lent evan, we talked about how alien abductions could be explained by dmt levels in the brain and that graham hancock makes a valid point linking them. however weather the alien experience is real or an hullucenation is unknown, certainly the discovery of most scientific theories has been linked to the scientists dream states or the fact they were taking lsd may be worth mentioning. crick discovered dna under the influence of lsd so such things should not be dismissed.
the people of the amazon have access to incredible wisdom, from plants to the nature of spirits, they understand this realm as there is no seperation, much like the aborigionals.

i wake up to the sound of 'the blind boys of alabama' singing 'nobodies free' i grab a sarong and wander out into the lounge room, she's standing there flicking through the pages of modern privatives.
'what the fuck are you doing here?'
'well that's no way to greet a lady.'
'your no lady baby.' we laugh, i'll fix you a coffee or tea?'
'tea's good.'
i potter around in the kitchen.
'this is a good book.'
'yeah it's amazing.'
'not the sort of thing i thought you would be into.'
'ha well i've an infinite persona, you know that.'
she laughs, puts the book down and takes her tea.
she's looking good, and i tell her, dressed in some sort of asian dress with black high heels and a nice little necklace with a black feather. her hair is all elegant, japanese style, uniform. her eyes clear and green.
'i never heard this song before, i didn't know i had it?'
'i brought it with me, a gift.'
'for me?'
'yes.'
'thank you, that's very kind.'
i need to ask you something captain mission.'
'go ahead, i'm all ears, years of ears.'
'i need you to kill someone?'
'i don't do that kinda work.'
'no you don't understand, i need a metaphorical death.
'oh right well you come to the right man.'
i roll an early morning spliff while she sits back and tells me who the target is.
'he's my ex boyfriend, he's caused me a lot of chaos in my life. i need him out the picture. i'll leave it up to you how you do it but i never want to see him again.'
'easy, i'll write him out of existence.'
'yeah that would be great, i don't need the details, just tell me when it's done.
'i'm sorry to hear you have gone through so much trouble, you always seemed to have difficult men in your life, i hope i wasn't difficult although i probably was huh? being of infinite persona.'
'yes, actually you're the target.'
i catch my breath, reel slightly, wasn't expecting that, i sit down and ponder what she has asked me to do.
'was i really that bad?'
'you were perfect. i loved you. i love you. and now i must leave.' she threw down a wad of cash and some old photographs, 'see how happy we were.'
'your always happy in photographs, it's nothing to do with me, i never made you happy, i made you angry i think, isn't that why we split up?'
'no you made me happy.'
'i'm sorry, i guess i didn't feel safe then but things change, you have changed, i have changed, everything changes, it's been a long time.'
'thank you for the tea.'
i see her out, we kiss lightly on the cheek.
i boot up my mac and start writing.




.

i loved that time, listing to five fathoms etbtg on the cd player as we drove around kings cross and oxford street at 3am, you were fucking beautiful in your days, all glammed up like an elven love doll, men would turn their heads and walk into lamp posts, most of my girlfriends would see you coming towards me and want to jump into bed with you, if i was in anyway exploitative i would have talked you into it but i was kinda protective of ya and you were my friend.
we came very close huh?
just today some one was flicking through my photographs and saw you, and she started telling me how she wanted you, in a nasty way. yeah you was a beautiful girl. we had so much fun playing but i remember two nights that stand out, both still really fresh, the first was your birthday when we did some coke and went top palm beach under the full moon rock hopping and playing at midnight, i think i taught you some kung fu moves as well, just in case one of your psychopathic boyfriends tried it on. the other was the day i decided that i was in love with you, how i paced up and down only to blurt out those stupid words, ''i want you. but not in a good way.'
mmm, really cool huh?
i still get all protective over you, still want you to find a decent guy / girl whatever, i still care about you, heaps, you have always been my friend, always pulled through for me, your a great woman and i love ya, like a sister i never had.
i'll never forget how you looked after me in my hour of need, i'll never forget that beautiful. thanks for being my friend.

intoxication lasts seven days and nights, you drink this stuff, it's black and thick like molasses but not as digestible, it hits the back of your throat and slides down slow like a giant oyster, when your senses take it, your body starts to rebel, it's vile repulsion, toxic and awful, like a furious poison, suddenly the internal mechanism fades away, all that initial horror recedes into nothing but dead weight and you sink to the ground, in some kind of slo - mo, just like an actor, you gaze at yourself, laying there in darkness, looking so sublime, slightly colder, slightly older, you waiting for something to happen but it doesn't.
you close your eyes for a while, there's not much difference but you start to close in on a body sensation, tingles at the extremities, a warm rush, a pulsing throb of some intelligence manifesting. suddenly you feel the pinpicks over your face, your legs and hands, really uncomfortable, moments of terror seize you, what the fuck? suddenly you begin to feel crushed by some invisible force, like a heavy weight pinning you down, you have taken all these substances, plant medicines and chemicals, your life is a history of experimentation with the mind, with reality, breaking through the consensus reality, playing the idiot for some perennial quest that lays in the beat of your heart but never before have you felt so terrified and out of control as now. you suddenly realise you don't want to die. i don't want to die.
it seemed like a good idea when she suggested you try the bufotenine, stupid idea, you couldn't help but have the experience but look where it has taken you, into the depths of hell.
your skin, you suddenly become aware of it, sticky goo secretes from it, it's stinks of swamp juice, there's a terrible heat closing in, it's clammy and brings on a sudden wave of nausea. you feel your stomach contracting, sharp acute pain grips it like a vice, do you scream?
there's a roar but you can't be certain if it came from you.
suddenly your gone from your body and its pain. sucked into a vortex, every atom torn apart like a transition of physics.
your everywhere and nowhere.
even consciousness ceases for that split second.

i woke up face down in the garden, it had been raining heavily and i was wearing my hemp pants and a tee shirt. the rain had soaked my clothes, and i sneezed loudly as i attempted to stand up, wobbly legs. my mouth feels awful, i really need to shower and clean my teeth. i wander upstairs wondering if the neighbours had seen anything disturbing, but as i looked around all lights were out, it must be late.
thankfully my door is open, i immediately shower and clean my teeth.
i check the time and messages, no messages but 14 hours have passed me by. that's a long time i think. i was certain i had plans tonight but i can't think of what they were. i wander over to my room, i carry a paperback, a new one called 'horns.' i assume i'll read for a little while but i fall asleep almost immediately.
in the morning i walk my dog and go to work, i drive in early, stop in at a friends, drink some tea, wander around her garden and talk about some things from a past i can barely recall.
the days start to blend, nothing eventful occurs except there's a strange trail of green water that seems to form wherever i am, small trickles, drops from the ceiling, pools forming on the floor, puddles here there and everywhere, i see them in my peripheral vision, i see them everywhere, the pools of green stayed distant but started creeping in, until i noticed them coming from within. firstly when i went to the bathroom, green piss, then when i got in an argument with a friend i started crying on the way home and noticed green teardrops falling.
then one morning i woke up in a pool of green slime. it was sticking to me like tar, and as i ran to the bathroom it stretched out like a web of sticky fly papers all pulling me back in some elastic property.
i also fond myself becoming very dry simultaneously, needing to take long showers and many baths, sometimes up to seven a day.
eventually i found myself in the bath for most of the day. just laying there watching the walls. my thoughts seemed to focus upon eating bugs, cockroaches, flies and the occasional mosquito but my house was bug free so i just ate the contents of my fridge, nothing substantial, just sauces, powders and supplements. my phone would often ring, i'd begin to hear it and by the time i got to it i'd begin to forget what i was doing, caught by some strange tangent of thought. it wasn't until i started spending days and nights in my bath with the shower turned on producing steam, increasing the humidity, i began to forget and loose all contact with myself as a human. i hovered at the intersection, of amphibian and human, my thoughts hybrid, neither one nor the other.
then it reversed and i reverted back to human.
a man in a bath, i found myself wearing my suit and a pair of purple sunglasses laying in a bathtub. i drained the water and climbed out. my phone was ringing and i went to find it.
looking at the date i realised 7 days had passed since i took the bufotenine solution. 7 days, i'd been under the influence of the worlds most powerfully natural occurring hallucinogenic and it had taken me into a strange world of the amphibian / human hybrid.
i showered and cleaned my place, jumped in my bed and slept. in the morning i rang my friend and she said i had not visited her, neither did i get to work, everything had been part of the hallucination.
even now there's moments when i have to check if this is real. even now i am never 100% sure, because sometimes from the corner of my vision i glimpse the green drops of liquid.

i am with gravy, my good friend, he's a genius, and he is a wonderful friend.i tell him about what the woman said, about the spartan handwriting, 'yeah it's obvious you were a spartan.'
i'm a bit surprised, i knew i was but i didn't think it was obvious to others, well gravy would be the exception i guess.

well that crazy feeling passed, processed and put to rest thankfully after a great sleep, wow, i'm good, all back to normal, if such a thing exists for me, i often wonder i guess equilibrium is a state of mind, what happens around me i can't control, what i can control is my response and i guess under the circumstances i am getting better at these things.

my friend nico comes over and we share breakfast, she's a beautiful woman, really cool cat, and i feel like i've known her for years and years which is really lovely, i like her ease of sexuality, her intellect and her commitment to what's important to her. there are not many women who light my fire but she does, i can see her and i being friends for a long time. we wander into babylon and i give her a tour, we return to mission control and hang for a few hours, it's rare that i can be this comfortably honest with some one, offer my vulnerability and have it treated with respect, what a woman. yeah the goddess is strong within her, i see it with such clarity, it's written over her face.

later i settle down to listen to the wind, it blows through my house, papers go flying across the space, the candles all flicker and dance, the spirits of time enter, as i play with my tarot cards and reveal my self.

a mediocre day with dark intervals, followed by heavy bouts of sadness and some heavy depressive self indulgence, with a splattering of joy from nico, thank you, i do appreciate ya.
i did pick up station to station reissue, the under rated narcotic masterpiece from mr bowie who has no memory of the recording whatsoever. this was his spiritual crisis album and boy is it awesome, his voice excels, i don't think it gets better than this on anything else he released,



station to station the occult monster of a song with the incredible opening and the lines, 'must be the side effects of the cocaine.'
i saw those earl court shows where carlos alomar and adriane belew open with station to station, all that white stripped back light, wow, that was a long time ago, i mustta been about 14, i con't even recall who i went with but the concert became the cd stage which captures the ambience well.

strange ambient music, floating through the workshops at 3 am, we sit there suspended in our animation listening, i fell apart and i reassemble, atoms spin around, my body swirls in a molecular dance, my face hits me, slapped on last, i form some physicality.
i inhabit space this body has depth in several dimensions, it has an internal one to thanks to this mind, yes i like this mind, as it sweeps over all things, moves outwards instead of in, recognizing they are the same, conflict inside myself, explodes in heat, alchemical back flip, the gardens are burning with rain, flowers are drenched and cold, the night animals murmur as i stand out there under a balcony, a giant black wingspan swoops down, a big blg bird, a raven silhouetted against the night, it glides in above me and disappears into the tree. thank you big black bird, i am blessed.
an eye peeks out for a moment, a flash of beak gleams through the watery night. yes this place is good, it has healing energy, it has a soft vibration, it nurtures and prepares, it's an environment that is an ecology. my night friends arrive, they bring me love, they bring me their love.
i move towards the population centers, the town centre, empty shops, a single parked car, no signs of life, i punch a hole in time, a different time, it's summer, very warm, there are people everywhere, there are cars queued up in the streets waiting for that green light freedom. there's a good smell in the air wafting over from the cafes and cake shops, the bakeries and chicken shops,the people all look happy.
you skip back into mission control real time, the ambient music plays, part gothic choir, part slow jazz, with some strange strange air bits. bowie did this in low, side two, he created this music although he was inspired by the german industrial machine music of nu and kraftwork. thankfully you know your musical history if not your own.
you smoke a joint with a friend, its good, it's what you need to heal, to block the pain. admit it, the new body is detecting some weird metaphysical pain, it does not show up on any scan but it can be felt. 'mmm, smells like some useless residual emotion, get an update,' the voice says, but i need more information.
'what update, what emotion and what are you?'
'the new emotional mind software EMSv5.1, we can install it now if you wish?'
'no i'm fine, i just need a little time.'
i sit on a stool designed for people who are feeling upset, it sends a shot of heroin into the brain, it's a tiny shot, a micro gram, but enough to offer bliss to most people. some one gives me a drink, a vodka, i smoke a cigarette forgetting that i don't smoke or drink. soon i am trashed and vocal, some girl wraps her lips around my neck, she's kissing me and her bangle gets caught on my ear ring, am forced to follow her into a empty room but as i am dragged through the corridor i wonder when this workshop became a bar area and who the fuck are all these people.
now im in a situation, she starts attempting to peel her clothes off but her bangle is still stuck in my ear, she's laughing and i'm in more pain. these girls are just trouble.
eventually i smoke a fat joint with her, she's managed to remove everything, without removing my ear.
she tells me 'she's sorry.'
'for what?'
'everything.'
'it's not your fault.'
we lay back and fall sleep.

my best friend in london who spent 10 years in australia attempting to find me while he lived here with his wife, ian an amazing guy, we were so close, really good friends, my best mate back then, but i had forgotten him until i saw him again almost 30 years later.
how sad that is, it makes me cry thinking about that. ian was one of the best friends i had in that period, he was brilliant always remained true. i was with him when he lost his virginity, well lets rephrase that, i was attending the same party as him, that night, what a crazy night, firemen, girls, angry boyfriends, high drama on the rooftops, alcohol, students, and angry parents, a great escape with ian, stew and myself, a very young captain mission, we found an escape route before ian was annihilated by some jealous guy with a alcoholic heart and destructive mind , we ran up a dark country lane way, while the owls prepared for sleeping, that first sprinkle of dawn in the english countryside, we were high on sex, drugs and rock and roll, into the golden dawn we ran, strangely innocent but gaining a little experience about the good stuff, girls. and that night was ian's initiation into sex, and now we were all high on some acid stew gave us.
i am not certain what happened but stew and ian wandered into these grounds, like an enclosure for small animals, there were goats, chickens and sheep in what appeared to be a small farm and a building shaped like a flying saucer, complete with strange orb lights, which we walked into, and inside was a library and an alter and down the corridors were some sleeping quarters, we looked in one room, it was like a bed sit and there was some one sleeping under the covers, but they were small, about 1.5 meters. maybe a child?
ian wandered into a vacant room and we sat down and helped ourselves to a packet of cigarettes. aliens smoking camel lights?
i found a book case with hundreds of books on astronomy.
then we walked through a big field on a beautiful summers morning, towards the highway, where we stuck out our thumbs and caught a ride with a coach that dropped us home. that night came flooding back as ian told me about it, i could recall that with his help.

ian and i retraced our steps, he guided me through it, like we retraced our steps, him and i, while we did that we re-bonded, we both had gone our separate ways, his into photography and mine adventuring in berlin and such. i never saw him again until we met in london just recently, and he told me all these stories, some came flooding back, some remain lost to me. most i am sad to say.
but the fact is i have new ones, of him and his new wife, and us exploring our history, but the best thing of all is that the part of us that matters, had not changed one bit. we were the same now as we were then, better because we had that much more experience, a little pain a little suffering had made us appreciate one another.

i want that for us, i was wrong in the past, i know i felt a hate for you, that was not who i am. i don't know the details, i don't know them at all they are lost, but i have a bank of recent memories, no bad ones so far, all just fantastico, majestic ones, so i don't wanna or revisit any bad ones with you, cos as much as that was real for me back then, this is realer, if that's a word?
i treasure our friendship, i love you, i don't want to dig up the dirt when i'm trying to plant seeds.

a stranger walks up to me, she's the manager of some centre where a client i work with spends his days, i don't know her but she says to me,' did you fill out this form?'
'yeah,' i say all kinda guilty, obviously i've made a fundamental mistake somewhere.
'it's really good, you have some excellent ideas.'
'oh thanks,' i say getting ready to run away.
'but your handwriting is very interesting.'
'yeah sorry, it's a scrawl.'
'it's spartan.'
i look at her, did i hear her correctly?
'you know the spartans,' she says.
'yeah they were a warrior creed, greek, pretty ruthless society, an island of killing machines.'
she says my hand writing is spartan handwriting. she has studied the spartan culture and they had a certain style they were trained to write in.
'well i have lived in sparta in a past life.' i say nonchalantly, as is my way with these things.
'yes it is obvious to me,' she adds.

shock, from moment to moment, tranquility to chaos, did you feel that pain in your chest the one that grips your heart like a vice?
yes, we felt it.
there's no mercy in her eyes, that penetrating tongue speaks with forked lightning, you're stunned into silence, no where to move, she's started her assault and now you're frozen, like a startled rabbit in her searchlights. the naked breakfast, didn't make lunch, didn't even finish the hash browns. digging up the past, a place you attempt to avoid, unless your writing, especially this past, our past, the one that left you hate filled and a fucking looser to everything you dislike in other people, the one that took you down that fucking awful road of smoke and fucking broken mirrors distorting everything until you smashed your brain and found something different to invest in.
the anger is primary red, it does not oozes the way my anger would, hers is like like a million arrows raining down, all directed at the same place, that achilles heart.
you can't answer these questions, you can't think because your in some sort of weird after shock treatment, you can't even breathe, but never the less you remarkably still feel safe.
fleeting thoughts enter your head but they can't form, the relentless onslaught a barrage of weaponary that is personal and professional, and they meet in the middle, cross over, warped histories, mine yours theirs. everyone had their say, everyone getting their rocks off as strings are pulled hearts get broken, and that first time, we both got sucker punched, you in your self righteousness and me in mine, but at the back of the mind we know, it's undeniable we were victims of second hand gossip and whispers and lies, other peoples hidden agendas.
captain mission, you know your memory is fucked up, you know you once had a heart filled with hate, you know you were ignoble and your behaviour was questionable, you know you brain betrays you when you try to articulate the experience, you know that it's irrational and you know you were hurt deeply and hurt back deeply, but it’s an unobtainable science, reduction won’t work here, the scalpel will blunt, the incisions just reveal mist and blood, mine, is that what you want to do?
a social worker mind cannot uncover this mystery, any answers won't be the ones that satisfy, sure i'll take all responsibility, be your enemy all you have to do is tell me my role and i'll play my part, bear your hate for as long as you bared mine, longer, i'll do that if it sets you free, but it won't, you know that. your smart as well as beautiful but your not smart enough to bear some responsibility, i wasn't in a relationship with myself, was i?
you know these things but to piece them all together is like asking a child to explain the theory of relativity.
does she not think you have tried, wasted endless nights pondering how hate corrupted me, how inversely proportional hate equates to love. that my hate for her revealed a lack of love for myself.
what is lost is lost, what is gone is gone, only in the mind of ghosts does it exist, only in the mind of the voyeurs of utter destruction, schadenfreude, only in the dredged and well trawled ocean floors like gossip magazines in doctors waiting rooms can we salvage the unsalvageable and what do we uncover is worthless, old news and misrepresented personalities. was it worth it for you, to see my tears, i hope so?
hate has turned full circle, can you feel it captain mission?
yes, i feel it.
it is what i am here for. i expected this on some level. didn't i?
healing takes so many forms.
why these cycles repeat themselves unto me, my hate my love, it's the great cancelling out, the awkward neutrality within, it's terrible inquisition where the one you love tortures you slowly and emotionally cripples you as you must have her, it's a karmic execution and it's the bulls eye of the full cycle, here an angry god resides, here amongst the truth that we danced around, here is our redemption, if such a thing is possible. i believe it, i've always seen that glass over spilling until some one else tells me i'm delusional, stupid and barking up the wrong tree. fuck them! what do they know, there are very few people who get me, very few.
what do they fucking even know of me!
nothing, nothing nothing they see me at a place of work and all of a sudden they know me, want to be my friend. im an unknowable one to almost everyone, save those that know and the plant medicine spirits.
i am destroyed, i am hated, i am nothing but my own obliteration, the sooner i leave this veil of tears the better, (for disappointment is endless, life is suffering and nothing quite makes me as sad as being happy,) but not without tying up my loose ends, i've always been over responsible.

i need love right now because there's fear growing inside and it’s not the type of fear that turns me on. it's the fear of knowing i could never live up to my own standards, i'm washed up on a shoreline of hurt to deep for tears, i can't find a way out except to move forwards and face that fear, that's what i do. isn't it?

somewhere i scream out. somewhere i lash back and yell, ‘don't you know how i cry myself to sleep every fucking night thinking about my lost time, you can't hurt me more than that. years are gone from me, whole years. all i have is my intuition and i'm sticking with it cos it got me here, yes, i liked these moments with you. just not this one, right now becuase it's breaking me.’

but that's not facing fear is it, that’s a weak cop out. isn't it?

in your reality your reality becomes my reality, this reality.
actually it's really all unreal. it's better if we don't invest in it, just trust your heartbeat, the rest will lead you astray, my nature is my intuition, it's all i know now, because everything else has let me down, my emotions, my intellect, my passion, even love, and all i know is i have a prime directive to myself that is much older than you. to be safe. this is no veiled jab at physical danger or threat from the harsh realities of life's responsibilities, i acknowledge i'm a tragedy, a looser, a glorious underachiever, struggling just to turn up to work on the right day. i struggle with the things every one else finds so easy, paying a bill, remembering a birthday, filling in a form, these things require so much energy from me, concentration and discipline, this is your reality, whereas mine is filled with energetic forms, manipulation of currents that ebb and flow, the intention, the will, the acquisition of harmony against discord, the warrior nature, the self healing, the healing of those i love and care deeply about, the evolution of my own consciousness and white magick.
yours appears in a different form, equal but different but alien to me. it is the world of maya.
you want answers to things that lay so lost to me, i only have strange answers that will never satisfy you, i'm ashamed to say even I gave up looking for them. when they come they come, and i don't attach much to them, they just are what they are, experiences. the important factor is uncovering why they manifest in the pattern they do and looking at the karma it brings.
i did a terrible wrong and the result has been ten years of filling my heart with dope to anaesthetises whatever fucking pain i carried, it's been so long i can't even remember the pain or the cause only that it cut deep, only you were part of that hurt, and my pain goes back even further to something darker that i clawed my way out, only just.
yeah my cupboards have skeletons, ghouls, ghosts, zombies and a fucking host of nasty little energies that would love to take me out. but i fucked them over a long time ago and i won those battles alone, but the war baby, the war is forever, it’s the forever war. i may have exorsised my demons but they exist in others therefore they are a part of myself i recognize as my enemy. the people may be very nice, yeah brilliant people with great hearts but the intention is something ugly, i know because that was my hate. i learnt how to forgive and it's not through forgetting, it's really difficult to forgive but it's a good thing to strive towards, it's a banishing ritual.
the gita states, 'the only war worth fighting is the war within.'
i am a fighter, because to be a lover you have to fight battles and i fought and won most but lost some and you were one i lost. and in defeat i was defeated and corrupted with self loathing and some other dark energy, resulting in this drama.
what can i do?
i am sorry.
i am terribly hurt that you feel this way still.
that you hurt.
i am sorry.
i had a strange feeling of being unsafe sometimes in our previous relartionship. how can i know this? i can't know this, except by intuition. unless i dig up a history by asking the players at the time, but there's no point, the past is the fucking past, it's not influencing anything for me except on an energetic level, as karma does. i don't care about those personalities, i was not in love with them, i wasn't having a relationship with them, they were your friends, not mine. from what i recall they always had their own motives and desires, they didn't harmonise with mine and as risky as it is to confess, they certainly didn't have your well being at heart.
so what are we to do, with this.
i don't know. i need to heal. i feel a little wounded but i will be okay. this had to happen in a perverse way i'm glad it did. but i don't understand why it came out the way it did, it was crass and harsh and could have been executed with much more sophistication and elegance. suffice to say, it did and i'm a little fucked now, drained and plagued with shame and guilt, whatever fragile ego i had needs a little nurturing, a little love please.

fat, bald, my teeth fall out in my sleep, the desert heat sucks liquid from me, i loll around in a damp sheet with the woman of my nightmares, dreaming about my other life, the one where i am a tall, dark attractive eccentric mage like character, surrounded by books and literature, with excellent friends and good quality shamanic medicines, but here i am waking up in this awful camper van, the flies swarming around some half eaten doughnuts and spilled coffee. the girl snores and snorts next to me, she's naked save for a tiger tattoo on her back. i look at her soft flesh, her hair, her lips quivering as she exhales, she has a lost smile upon her face and a little bruise under her eye from where i hit her.
fuck this i think and wander outside, it's still night, maybe early morning, the stars are out in full, a dog howls in the distance. i grab a bud from the ice box outside and sit in a deck chair.
'this isn't my fucking life.' i say to myself, a breeze answers me.
i close my eyes, let it wash over me, i can smell the desert, smell the dry heat of new mexico.
i think about my other life, the good one, i liked being that man, he seemed happy and content with his lot, ha, well he had a lot more than me, but i have her.
right on cue she steps out from the doorways, yawning,'what ya doing baby?'
she steps down next to me, 'come back to bed baby, i miss you.'
i look at her lithe body, a gorgeous creature if ever i saw one, a cute piece of ass, great tits and a nice face with big almond eyes, 'you been dreaming sweetheart, snorting and slobbering like a tiny fox, you woke me up, i came to get some air.'
she puts her arm around me, sits on my lap, her body nuzzles up to mine, she kisses me with her fat lips, i smell her body and inhale deeply, it's good.
'i'm sorry i whacked you sweetheart, you know i got a short fuse.'
'shhh, baby i love you so much, come back to sleep.' she's kissing my cheeks now, licking my face like a little puppy.
'what ya doing out here anyways?'
what do i say, 'i'm thinking about my other life, the one that evaded me.'
'ha baby there's no other life, just this one with me baby, come back to bed.'
her hands start to wander, that other me, he didn't have a girl like her, he just lived on his own, with his dog, and his fucking stupid books, i'm the lucky one, i got this little bitch and she loves me. i stand up slowly carring her in my arms, she's looking at me all dreamy, 'where we going baby?'
'i'm gonna take you places you ain't ever been sweetheart, you're gonna get some dawn loving.'
she giggles, her hair spills across her face as i step into the van and throw her onto the bed. i wish i had a bag of coke but we ain't got the cash for that anymore, but with a little coke i can go a long way, and she loves that shit, yeah maybe i should just slap her around a bit more, she loves that to.
she's laughing now and i'm smiling, the little bitch tries to wrap herself up in the sheet but i'm to quick, i clamber on her, she's smiling all coy, reading my mind, my fat flesh weighs down upon her crushing her.
i'm a clumsy lover, brute force, no technique, but i enter her and start thrusting like a selfish male beast, my other life has all the sexual stuff down pat, he's the lover, me i'm just a brutal stone age ape, i don't care much for giving pleasure.
it's over faster than she would have liked, i know she's unsatisfied and she makes out how good it was for her, lies told like the truth, i don't care, i'm a spent force, suddenly i want her to disappear, i feel the impulse to hit her again but i just roll away and shut my eyes.
i sink into dreams, there he is, my other self, he's playing a guitar, really badly, he sings strange words about the end of the world, he's a strange man, a mystic, how can i be connected to him, i see his home, spilling over with books, there's that dog sleeping on a sofa, curled up, i can hear his music, it's strange like from a far away place, tribal, there's a lot of feathers and crystals, i can see a black mirror, hear some one chanting, a ritual, there he is again, all dressed in black, he's a better version of me, slimmer, he has a shaved head, a strange beard, he has a tortured look upon his face, is it pain, no wait, it's not pain i think it's just a deep melancholia, a sadness so profound, where does that shit come from, like an opium adict or an ex junkie. i drift through the space, the room, his home is filled with books they are everywhere, papers, it's messy and cluttered, i can see scarves, musical equipment, microphones, an alter, that mirror, black and opaque, it's circular, i close in upon it and suddenly i see myself.
i wake up, eye's wide open, i'm shivering despite the heat, i wake her up.
'i had a nightmare.'
'go back to sleep baby, it's okay.'
'i can't, you don't understand.'
'it's just a dream.'
'no. no it's not.'
she wraps her arms around me, i unwrap them and look at her, not knowing if i can trust her, but i have to talk to some one, my heart pumps loudly, filling the room, like edgar allen poe i think, but where does that thought originate, i have never read edgar allen poe, sure i heard about him at school but i never read him, how would i know it's like edgar allen poe.
a clammy fear hits me, she's looking at me worried, she's speaking but i can't hear the words, i can see her lips moving, her eyes all soft focus, 'don't worry' she says, then she's saying something else, what she saying, my ears are pounding, throbbing.
'don't worry, don't worry, don't worry, don't worry, don't worry, don't worry, don't worry, don't worry, don't worry, it's the deep fix.'

i remember my experience with the cocaine girls, sucking up the stuff in nocturnal worlds. we could not stand the light, we had to wear shades, modern vampyres baby with a beautiful face, we could not stand the day with it's harsh fall out, razor blade kisses and the whites of their eyes, all narrow pins, the holes in their hearts where loves leaking.
i wandered around, a little shell shocked, so many nights of passion but my world was not rocked, as the empty shell gods, with their fragmented curses, and the loveless trashed beautiful ones, robbed of their own vitality stole in envy, corrupted in spite, and their demonic little energy snapped my spine, broke my back, if your looks could kill, i'd explode in your mind, in a tiny little war, no body wins.
we crashed in, we crashed out, suddenly became a train wreck while i slipped off the rails, you and your madness and me and mine, all held together by little white lines, little white lies, little white pockets of chaos and discord like seeds sown in a wind storm, to the random gods, random white noise, white stains, white light white heat, white trash, white meat, white in, white out.

several years later i'm washed up, watching tv in a motel, smoking endless packets of native american cigarettes with a stripper i met on the road, she's filing her nails while we watch the cable channel info commercials, looking for a new product, some new convenience, that little bitch starts yelling at me about some thing i did last week, 'shut up' i yell but it's no use, it's no fucking use at all, i'm stuck in this byproduct of hedonistic bullshit future, with some one i hate, a dumb middle american nymphomaniac and me, watching tv and yelling abuse at one another, with sex intervals and the occasional night out down the roadhouse.
to much cocaine, to many late nights, my memory got fucked up, i thought i was some mystic type, an artistic guy with appetite for the strange stuff. i dreamed i had another life, with a gentle woman, some happy kids running around in a nice garden, i'd spend my days reading books and my nights looking at the stars with my beautiful wife.

but here i am in a different circumstance, being yelled at. drinking beer and smoking.sometimes the yelling gets to much, i slap her face, just to keep her quiet, it never does, she just gets mad, screams loader, throws a few things, trashes the caravan, what ya gonna do?
one hot summer night i walked out to take a piss, there was a snake slithering across the sand, i fired off a couple of shots but i missed, to much drink, i woke the bitch up though and she started yelling, i waved the gun at her, she just yelled more, i threw it down on the ground and wandered away. when i relived myself i looked up at the stars, millions of them, up there in the big sky. and then i remembered who i am.

the past falls away, into tomorrows shadow, i am gone yesterday, and here today.
today i awake so early, filled with strange excitement, anticipation for my friends x ray, i can feel the energy racing through my body, pace yourself i suggest, it's going to be a long day.

miss cupcake lay's upon a table, i see her feet, her toes, the gaps between them, i'm a bit scared in case she catches me staring at them so i force myself to look away, at the screens, at the nurse, at the walls, at anything waiting for the scanning to start.
between the scanning head and a soft olive curvature of skin is a layer of gel, the nurse begins the scan, static and moonscape landscape appear on the screens, shapes flicker, shadows rise, shades of grey, white blobs, ever moving, changing and obtuse, what are these shapes, a baby, it's eluding me, and then a flash of hand, a wave, the nurse offers some geography and i begin to get my bearings.
head, eye's, ears, nose, arms, hands, legs, feet, spinal cord, umbilical cord, kidneys, heart, all lay on a sleeping bag of placenta, snug little girl, strong heartbeat, pumping away, life growing, spirited and vital, this is the little girl, i feel a tear but i know i have to hold it, this is not my moment. it's a very emotional moment though.
we watch the 3D imaging, it's incredible, something from the future, i'm watching the future, something coming into being, although it is now, it will be the future. strange bone images, slightly egon schiele, these hands, i can't see those feet but i know they are there.

life has come to you, spirit has chosen you, a soul has arrived, it's a blessing, we both know this, our children have chosen us, we are the chosen people, it is indeed a blessing.

miss cupcake, tired and feeling ill, i look at her in a fleeting moment, she's amazing, yeah there's no doubt in my heart, nope your not fat, no your ass is not to big, in all the years i knew you you never looked so beautiful and whatever happened in the past pales into insignificance at the fact there's a future growing inside you.

like a saga, a lost and ancient mythology olde captain mission on his voyage to the white light has to negotiate many strange challenges, in many strange and wondrous forms. he loves their nature, he see's them for what they are, he looks for the patterns in the constellations, the eyes of the tiger, the face of the hydra, the fall of the cards, the patterns shift and change the elements swirl and whirl, it's all cosmic voodoo, all one great long journey towards the ultimate goal, he has endured, he has lost, he has fought and loved, he has ridden the beasts, tamed the wild, wilded the tame, he learnt how to be strong, he lost his skin like a lizard king, he lost his ego like a snake shedding and lost his loss to gain, yes olde captain mission knows the game, he knows the inner most sanctum of fear, he knows he is born and born again he knows this because he has died and died again and again and as YOU must know all death is metaphorical.
and now captain mission journeys again, with and amongst the goddess, the women she sends, the wounds he mends, the healing arts, the healing starts, the loving.
everything full circle, all mistakes come back, all events will invert themselves and all seeds sown grow, this is the nature of the universe, this is the mythological incarnate, this is the fundamental truth from which there is no escape.
no matter what you run from, no matter what your experience, no matter what you choose, no matter what you believe, no matter what you think, no matter what you do, ultimately everything comes down to two fundamental energies, love or fear.
i know this. i have always known this yet i have also known fear. no more do i fear. i'm a dead man. just like the movie, i understand that movie so well, it's the best film i have ever seen, it should have been me in that film but johnny depp looks better, either way, that film is me, this lifetime, the last one.
i understood imagination, the creative process, devotion, a visionary ahead of his time, timeless, songs of innocence and experience. william blake and captain mission and know body, nobody. no body.

another breakfast with miss cupcake, massive food over indulgence. fabulous flavours and creamy delights, washed down with perfect coffee and the saturday papers, i find myself in a strange body, a fat slob of a man, ugly and filled with loathing, i want to run and hide, but i end up going shopping in a big mall and spending money i don't have on things i don't really need, what is going on captain mission?
i have a great day with miss cupcake, we wander through the mall looking at baby shops and maternity stuff, all this good stuff balancing out my internal body image issue and financial meltdown, leaves me feeling kinda happy and in need of a sleep. i head home listening to an interview on the radio with a scientist claiming parasites rule our minds, moods and personalities. this is a classic science fiction plot i think, and in many ways ties in with my own theories about memes and how they have driven humanity into adopting ideologies and believes that are absolutely ridiculous, so in many ways the idea that parasites form our minds is quite plausible. at the conclusion the scientist says, 'if we cleanse the body of these parasites we may not like what's left.'
quite brilliant.
im conflicted emotionally now, i dwell upon my relationship with miss cupcake, there are so many gaps and i'm inclined to trust my instincts on this, however truth is i just don't know for sure. where does this fear and need to feel safe originate from, it's connected to her, i never felt it with anyone else so what's the deal. i 'm drawn to the idea that it involves alcohol and some sort of personality change, but i have no specific memory. it's tormenting me now, like a protagonist from a pkd novel i'm questioning everything that i have known to be true, maybe a parasite has control of my mind. maybe i need to confront this and ask a few friends what they remember of that time. i hate dredging the past, i just don't like digging things up that i've buried but something bad happened, i feel it so deep in my bones. sigh.....let it go mission, i hear a voice whisper.

dinner with leanne and evan is wonderful but they intervene on my heath and make me visits the doctor due to my terrible cough,
and like all things involving my health i end up in hospital where the gp tells me i have an asthmatic condition that requires a puffer. so armed with the puffer i head home, drink some cough mixture with codine in it and for the first time in ages sleep brilliantly.
i wake at ten am, walk the dog, chat with the beautiful nico on the phone, then head to cupcakes to see the 'joan rivers' movie which is very good, a documentary that spends a year with her following her around, it's worth seeing.
then follows a conversation we have about out history, miss cupcake says, she can't remember anything bad happening.whereas i have a lost memory of something really bad happening but i don't know what it is.
we also retrieve a memory of a trip to canberra together, i know we went but can't recall anything but cupcake has a brilliant mind and recalls key elements. listening to brian eno, stopping for food, the name of the hotel we stayed in, i dimly recall the hotel being a motel, and a general feeling of something but it's so amorphous, i don't know what it is.
actually i'd really like to know more about that relationship, yet part of me feels like whatever happened back there is best forgotten, the past makes no difference to me. i never dwell there unless i am writing about it. cupcake recalls our trip to paris, i recal some of that, looking for hot chocolate, eating some food here and there, buying a fake pistol for her dad.
i wish i understood what happened to us, why we split up, she says we didn't really split up and that it was a good relationship. i just can't remember, it's like a massive black hole but i recall a feeling i had, and it was a feeling of love, i loved her very much and suddenly something bad happened. it's lost to me. but here we are 10 years later, full cycle and i love her very much so go figure.
this type of weirdness runs through my life.