the watery world is filled with water men, the fishes drown, the frogs lay upon their backs, floating like pebbles, these days of rain  and wind, the elemental forces churn up the voodoo like some cosmic wind blowing through, the opposite of a solar flare, a lunar drainpipe. animals look to me for shelter, the lizard kings under rock reminisce about the recent heat wave, the days when they basked upon rock, the colours run out of the day, pastels diluted to transparency. i sit watching it all, that river is no longer flowing down river, it's just flowing upwards defying gravity, it rises, as i ponder the eventuality of it washing me away, flooding mission control with eels and beasties.
i trudge out there, feeding fish, feeding pan the hound who looks as depressed as i feel by this deluge. 
he looks at me, 'what the fuck, two days ago i was laying flat out on the deck soaking up the sun, to hot to move.'
'yeah, tell me about it pan,' i say.
he's huddled in his kennel, pop's out to munch on his food and hops back in.
i gotta drive down the highway, 120k's slowed down to 80, manoeuvring the bad drivers, off which there are plenty, weaving, speeding, no headlights, speeders, you see it all in these conditions, i was one once a speed demon inhabited my soul so i don't judge these fools, i just hope they don't kill me.
the water don't let up, i feel like i'm driving underwater, thought bubbles keep me afloat, i am going slower than normal, listening to a radio show where people are calling in reports that sydney will be hit in the evening.
so we have not been hit yet? what is this then? it feels like we been hit already but the experts say the cyclone will travel down in the evening and wipe out the city, i'm driving away but it's going to hunt me down, this is my curse, the rain, how i loath rain like this, pouring down out from the black heavens. i don't want a rainy day woman, i want a sunshine girl but today i would settle for a rainbow lady.
i shift through the afternoon, doing my duty, by evening the rain starts falling heavy, pounding on the buildings, we watch the news, queensland is flooded badly, homes washed away, masses of foam is eating towns and the city is turning into a modern venice  as the waterways spill over, as the rivers rise. the ocean hammers away, wind howls and the water flies everywhere.
deluge days, flooding muddy dirty water running through kitchens, families displaced, helicopters swoop down plucking and air lifting folk from rooftops, communities band together, telecommunications down, lights out, civilization meets nature, yeah you tell me who's been her longer, who's outlasted the other, nature don't care about your failed love affair, it don't wanna hear about debt or the stock market crash, it don't care about that new film in 3d or the mona lisa, nature don't really consider constructs because it's the one true reality of this realm, it's the leveller, rich man poor man, beggar man thief bank manager or poet this force can't distinguish between those kinda ideas, it just does what it does, shapes and forms, like the potters hands, restructures, a new starting point, some kinda weird turbulence, as we run, drive, fly and take cover, the random hands of the universe tweaking creation, with what appears like destruction, fire rain, earth moving, heat, water, cold. this is the real forces of nature, elements of material existence  the force that began creation and may just end it as we know it. nature is fast when it moves, like geology. 
i hide away in a shelter, the rain pounds down, the tv gives us news of catastrophic devastation, politicians say things to cameras and try and act in control. news crews push into the forbidden zones, channels compete for disaster porn. yeah call me old fashioned but i rather watch porn than human tragedy on loop.
people burn in fires, it kills.
people drown in water, it kills.
it has no moral condition, it's effects are tragic and painful but as a force one cannot say, the storm was evil, or it was psychotic or malevolent, it is what it is, natural, which is why sometimes we need reminding, about who really is in control. 
after writing this i save it as a draft, someone enters my office and says i can go home. my shift is over but the rain is falling heavier now and they have just announced that it's going to get worse. 
i ran for the car, getting organised for the journey ahead, into the storm, we should meet halfway.
the highway is horrendous, the cars are blown from lane to lane, they slide as though on ice, the wind howls along, rocks have fallen onto some of the lanes, i swerve out the way of a fallen tree that has been uprooted and thrown down onto the slow lane, jesus i'm now moving underwater, waves of water just hitting my windscreen, no other cars on the road when i get off the highway i'm driving down winding country roads, trees almost bending over and plenty of flooded roads to negotiate, fortunately my car is an 4wd and has the ability to manage challenging conditions better than other cars, so eventually when i do get home safe and sound i can relax, but not before i notice the branches of my palm trees fallen over the pond. big clean up as soon as it stops raining, i turn the key, oh it's good to be home, it's safer than larking around out there in this wild wind, i'm not a waterboy man, i'm a tropical sun worshipper who likes snoozing in a hammock, drinking coconut drinks and swanning around in a sarong half naked with a dark skinned nymph from a tribe born to pleasure. the cold winds howl me down and tease me, the ice from the frozen wastelands don't work for me, the rain, the rain, blah it stops me in my tracks, kills my motivation to get anything done, it's awkward, got a weird smell, gets into my old bones and makes me contract. i'm an expansive old spirit, like steam.
the rain swirls around my house, maybe the wind shakes the foundations away, lifts it up in it's swirling surge and just like an inverted dorothy and toto old captain mission and pan are transported from oz to somewhere else, a place called 'is, cans is.'
pan looks at me, we are standing in a white space, everything is just white, the ground, the sky, the whole landscape, white, 'where are we pan?'
'we are in blank canvass.'

don't bang the drum - the waterboys

1984 and i am wandering around the usa, i'd found some work at a water skiing area, driving boats. on my days off i'd wander down to the lake and take a book, i think at this particular time it was catch 22, there would be a few of us sharing days off so we would usually meet around the lake and just relax in the sun, swim and read, share dreams. i had a walkman in those days, something i picked up in nyc, i had some tapes, the blurred crusade which i had played so much the tape was stretching and distorted on most of the songs, i had simple minds, new gold dream which was falling apart from overplay and a bowie mix i had made at home, one of the other workers a guy from manchester lent me the waterboys, the first two albums on a c120 cassette and i lay back and looking out across the empty lake at the beautiful forest and majestic skies i hit play and for about two hours i was gone.
those two hours were transcendental, as the big music and lyrics took me into my imagination, and some unknown territory, nothing quite beats that feeling as you hear something for the first time and recognise it will profoundly change your life. that's how it was with this music, such huge arrangements, sweeping piano's and 12 strings, and that voice singing out stories, a narrative from the pages of a novel, this was poetry of a higher order.
i listened to that tape for months, i travelled all over the usa listening to it, and about a year later i saw them play in london at hammersmith, where they blew my mind with incredible powerful stage presence and music that was the equivalent of ambrosia, it was the sounds of angels playing rock and roll but with words that lifted the spirit and allowed it to fly, this music was big not just in production and sound but in the fact it was of the spirit, it was spirit music, not soul music, not rock, not pop it was spiritual music.
mike scott always wrote great songs, he is a word man, a man who never compromises his music, exploring all genres and exposing his influences and exploring traditions, you do have to go back to go forwards and mike took the waterboys into his roots which worked although commercially failed in the short term but where are ultravox now? 
i'd seen the waterboys play in london a few times, in their different incarnations but it had been about 26 years and last week they were in sydney, played a show of their yeats tour, which was brilliant and amazing, although it was not until the band played 'bang the drum' and 'fisherman's blues' that the audience showed any sign of life.
and then they played at the opera house, man it was incredible, a blistering set of all the classics with 'purple rain' as an encore. 
the audience this time were on their feet and clapping and cheering and the band were just masters of their instruments and one another, they were fluid and spontaneous, diverse and colourful, these guys were in the music with us, the waterboys, thank you so much, what a brilliant night, come back soon.

furious nature, impossible birds, the whisper of promises of maybe. this planet has new colours and sensations, it's diversity is celebrated with life yet the dominant species are trapped in infinite loop, repeating the same old mistakes over and over until they follow the devolutionary process or somehow manage that evolutionary leap. maybe a short bust of gamma radiation will do it, i think about sending a light bomb calibrated for short star burst into their sun, a solar flare or two would do the trick, send their devices back to a proto- stone age but with new wetware evolving and these human beens may just make it. but it's highly likely a light bomb may just end up with the other result, a few fried brains and some insect life ready to step up and take over. i don't care that much for the insect evolution, i seen it on a few planets out in andromeda and while i can appreciate their organisational skills, when it comes to creativity these bugs can't think outside a hive.
poor human beens. i tune into the the so called 24 hour news cycle, mmm, it's the same old stuff, just different names, places, doing the same old stuff, famine, war, conflict, murder, trying to dominate natures plans, believing in science and technology will only get you so far on the road to the dead end.

i piolet the module back towards the libeteria, some groovy music filters out from some fm station. i always like visiting earth, they have ice cream and art, and those earth girls are cute although they seem obsessed about footwear.

heading north in my module, down a dirt road, weaving around hair pin bends and winding meandering tracks, surrounded by bush lands, i find myself high up, gazing down on a lush subtropical rain forest. 
i don't know where i am, off the map, somewhere north of the entrance. no mobile signal here, google maps led me astray, i'm no where near where i am meant to be. 
i ignore my technology, tune in to some instinctive frequency, follow the road, no turning back, sun sinking, clouds rolling over, maybe a little rain after dark. 
the module and i tune in, some sort of weird symbiotic frequency, wetware kicks in, suddenly i'm out of the woods, civilisation, homes and traffic lights, some place with a name i can't pronounce, i get my bearings from invisible transmissions, everything flows somewhere. 
the main road takes me home, i pass some interesting nurseries where i consider buying some plants, i pass some organic fruit markets and lots of craft shops, rain starts falling, headlights on, blurry evening, going nowhere.

sydney is a furnace, oppressive and sweltering, records break as the mercury rises. kids cry, mothers getting angry on short fuses and the traffic melts on the freeway. 
it's midnight as i drive down the motorway, the windows are down, i'm blasting some groovy tunes, the faint smell of bush fires drifts through the windows.
yeah days like these you gotta be careful, i watch the p plater ahead driving like a maniac, all over the road, no discipline, no character, his driving is youthfully arrogant and the cigarette but still ablaze shoots out from his window and rolls down the road into the bush is evidence.
this is the butterfly flapping it's wing, in sydney on days like these a burning ember can destroy a community, i seen it close up, i fought bush fires and let me tell you close up these are oceans of flame, like waves they get angry and unpredictable, and a man can either stand and burn or get out of denver.
i've had a strange day, i went into work and the unit was like a sweat box, no air conditioning, no fans, everyone was uncomfortable and dripping in sweat, some staff had gone home sick and i thought what about the poor guys that live there, it's not like they can go home.
i ring up head office, 'look it's not that i'm given to complain but these guys deserve some relief.'
'well everyone here has gone home.'
'yeah to their nice air cons and ice blocks, but these guys have not got that luxury?'
'well take them out somewhere, where they have air conditioners, take them to the movies.'
so i do, we go see a great film in 3d, it's the life of pi and we all loved it, actually i have read the book and this is one example of a film that is much better than the book.
we get home around 10pm, there's a change on it's way, i can feel it in the wind, but the house is still a sweatbox, yeah government funding, the wonderful labour party dishes up millions to their big government but my people, they gotta sweat it out.
by the time i get home the wind is up, the mercury is falling fast, it's nice standing outside in the wind, feeling it lick the sweat from my skin. relief feels good. 

i go eat some salad with some girls i know in avoca, down lakeveiw drive, in the bush. one is my friend lilly whom has arrived for rest and restoration, the other is her friend whom has just come in from a surfing trip in hawaii, we smoke a little number and talk surfing, she's telling me about the waves in hawaii, and the spirit of aloha. cool stuff. we eat some good salad and then watch the sun fall down behind the trees, i tell them my book club story and they laugh.
i drive home through the rain, it's nice to see the rain after the high bush fire threat, the plants drink it up and they look happy. i think about the firemen who worked through the fires, it's a tough place australia, yeah landscape here is harsh, you gotta have the right spirit to manage here, i don't know if i have but i am a hell of a lot different than when i first arrived. i like the frontier towns, i like the edge where the wild meets civilisations weakness, it's a good reminder that no matter how much cash you have the shark don't care, the fire will show no discrimination, the land will eat you rich or poor. it's healthy to know fear, it's healthy to respect it's place in life. there's plenty to fear i think as i drive down dark roads, frogs leap across the asphalt, drenched in my headlights, branches and twigs lay upon the ground, darkness and rain, not a good place to break down, not a soul in sight, far away from anything. yeah there's a lot to fear.
home is home it's anywhere i feel safe, and i feel safe here in my home as the elements start whipping up a storm, flashes of lightening, some wild wind and more rain.

ian banks starts writing straight novels, yeah slightly strange, a little surreal but straight. and then one day after perfecting his craft into some sort of high art he writes a science fiction book that is fucking brilliant under the name iain m banks, it is a vast space opera set in an society called the culture, a utopian socialist ideal, i'd like to live there man. 
the novels are published alternatively with his straight novels, one a year, they span galaxies and each story is remarkably different than the last. humans just live well, on orbitals, space ships and planets, artificial intelligence is everywhere and runs the show, spaceships have personalities and a collective intelligence called the mind, there are no secrets. i read them all except the second one which is called 'player of games.'
i'm not sure why that one slipped past me, but i have just finished reading it and it really matched all my expectations. the inner science fiction circles all say this is a work of genius and i agree, it's very good.
a player of games is asked by special circumstances, the branch of the culture that deals mostly with trouble to represent them in a game on a newly discovered planet where the game is life itself. we follow our player as he is forced to make a decision and participate in this strange alien world. is he the player of games or is he being played in a game? 
banks writes really well, his imagination is unlimited and he knows how to make his readers laugh. those inner sci fi chaps are spot on, this is a classic read. 

the aboriginal people have a strong connection with the land, they are the custodians and the land knows this, the relationship is harsh, the conditions are challenging, only a strong power can forge this land, for it is wild and requires some taming. the aboriginals have been working with the land for eons, since the beginning, in dream time, beyond time and space, they inhabit no fixed point like us civilised folk for the land is beyond a single point in space time continuity, it is the dream time, where serpents sleep and narratives are formed, woven in song-lines is the landscape without borders.
here in my small patch i am custodian of the lizards and water dragons, the birds and the plants, the trees and the frogs, the dogs and the fish. i have to maintain their habitat, work and shape their gardens, pull out the dead wood, plants and foliage.
i'm working in the pond, cleaning it out with russell from 'anything wet' a fish man who's showing me the intricate science of pond science and life. even the pebbles in my pond play a role for in the upper pond(yes my pond has several levels)they act as a digestive system absorbing the bad bacteria as the filter deposits it. 
we clean out the whole area, cut away the plant life that is absorbing nutrients from the pond, we hack away weeds and some horrible weird plant that leaves a trail off underground bubbles. then we vacuum to water up and clean out the scum at the bottom. fish are transported into a smaller tank, and the big one trashes around protesting. the clearing out of the pond in 40 degrees is backbreaking work, it's filled with stones and mud and debris. we fill up a huge bin, the rest has to go onto the front garden, its nutrient rich so it would do no harm.
then we fill up the clean pond, transferring the fish, these fish can't work it out, their home has changed beyond recognition, the big one, waldo, has some sort of break down and floats on his side gasping, i watch him, the lizards come out to investigate, even my dog gazes from the bridge, i throw some food down hoping it will help.
i fill the pond up to the brim, there's a lot of evaporation in this heat. 
after some sort of decompression the waldo is happy and starts chomping down on his food, the lizards all relax in the intensity of the sun, i go looking for shade and relief from this blazing day, the dog crashes out in the shade of a willow tree and my plants all start drinking up the water thats slashed over onto the soil. all in all this is very hard work, but it feels good working the land, it feels real, pulling out weeds, raking dead leaves and keeping the animals happy, man, that beats working in a bank any day.

some bright spark decided i should run the unit while my boss takes a holiday, me, in charge, managing a psychiatric unit, mmm, the lunatics have certainly taken over the asylum.
initial impact is my hours change to vaguely normal, although waking up at 5 am every morning could never really be described as normal, i pick up a huge coffee and hit the highway, no traffic, vast road stretching out, hewn through red rock, sunrise light, mists and glistening oceans, it's stunning, i don't mind the 5 am starts, one coffee resets my equilibrium. no traffic, me and the road.

paul sheehan from the herald writes this interesting piece today, thought i'd share it with you seeing it's the end of the year, i think it really is a great piece of writing and nialll furgurson is right on the money, pardon the pun!

The future is accelerating. It is racing towards us faster than ever in our collective lives. How can that be known, you must ask, given that the future hasn't happened yet. It hasn't happened but a long-term pattern of accelerating life-cycles of societies is established.

''This is a deep trend of history,'' writes a futurologist, Michael Lee, in a new book, Knowing Our Future. ''It would be foolish to believe this [deep trend] can be easily reversed … Civilisations have life cycles, too, and their durations are shrinking over time.

''The lifespan of socio-political empires averaged 2000 years for a period of four millennia, but then more than halved with the next 1000 years of history. This sharp decrease in the lifespan of civilisations accelerated yet again in the following 500 years of history, dropping to a little over one-tenth of their average duration in ancient times.''

Lee's study of this deep trend was in part based on the work of Robert Samet, a civil engineer and futurologist who traced the duration of societies over history. In Long-Range Futures Research (2008), he described a striking shrinkage in the longevity of empires and cultures: ''The earliest civilisations between 3500 BC and AD 500 last for an average of 2000 years … In the period from AD 500-1500, the average duration was 500 to 1000 years … since AD 1500 … the average duration has been 200 to 500 years.''

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Signs of an accelerating pattern of vulnerability and decline in our own western model of society are offered by the world's most famous economic historian, Professor Niall Ferguson. This year he used the Reith Lectures to chart the elements of decay in the Western civilisation. He gave his lecture series the gloomy and arresting title, The Great Degeneration, just released as a book.

He argues that advanced Western societies are developing sclerosis, manifest in the envelopment of life in bureaucratic and legal red tape. The most advanced economies are also becoming increasingly mendicant societies, evidenced by the unsustainable growth of social welfare spending in the European Union, the United States and, in a longer-term trend, Australia.

Among the telling low-lights offered by The Great Degeneration:

•   The advanced nations which have created public and private debt larger than their gross domestic products confront a narrow range of options. They must raise the rate of growth above the rate of interest. If they cannot, they must default on a large proportion of public debt. Or wipe out debts via currency depreciation and inflation.

•   The real rate of structural unemployment is concealed by the mendicant state. In the three years from June 2009 to June 2012, the world's largest economy, the US, created 2.4 million jobs but 3.3 million Americans were awarded disabled worker benefits. ''Unemployment is being concealed - and rendered permanent - in ways all too familiar to Europeans.''

•   The financial crisis in 2007 had its origins in over-complex regulations not just misguided deregulation.

•  ''All political systems are likely to succumb to sclerosis, mainly because of rent-seeking activities by organised interest groups.''

•  The rule of law is increasingly being superseded and displaced by the rule of lawyers.

If this lecture series could be summed up in a single sentence it is this: when a majority of people vote for a living rather than work for a living, democracy, freedom and living standards are all in a lock-step of decline.

Ferguson is also a noted critic of casino capitalism but even his concerns about the emerging dominance of the vast financial derivatives market pale when compared with the details provided in another book published this year, Dark Pools, by a Wall Street Journal reporter, Scott Patterson.

The accelerating cycles of capitalism's creative disruption have reached a new velocity with the basic form known as stock trading. Sixty years ago, the average stock trade involved buying and holding a stock for four years. By 2000, that average holding period had shrunk to eight months. By 2008, it was two months. By 2011, it was 22 seconds. It would be even less now.

Patterson describes the global financial market as ''a worldwide matrix of dazzlingly complex algorithms, interlinked computer hubs the size of football fields, and high-octane trading robots guided by the latest advances in artificial intelligence''.

''With electronic trading, a placeless, faceless, post-modern cyber-market in which computers communicated at warp speed, that physical sense of the market's flow had vanished … Regular investors, of course, had little idea about the massive transfer of wealth that was taking place.''

The transfer of wealth upwards over the past quarter-century is well documented as a byproduct of global capitalism.

Then there is climate change, an encompassing process of accelerating change and disruption. The ideology of manic economic growth, driven by the false wisdom that technology can conquer problems caused by technology, is clearly having a global impact on the environment caused by the reality that 7 billion people now live on the planet and the average person is consuming far more than ever before in history. That this must significantly affect not just the environment but the global climate invokes the most basic and self-evident commonsense.

The world's scientific community has presented a compelling case that the acceleration of global consumption is in turn accelerating the much deeper natural pattern of climate change.

If you feel like life around you is speeding up, especially the cycle of invention to obsolescence, it's not you, it's everyone and everything

when i was a kid i was sick and had to stay in bed for a week, my mum went to the library and brought me a pile of books to read, i always loved books and reading and this is a very early memory of one of the books that first bewitched me. i was about six or seven and the book was, the hobbit, the original version with the colour plates.
i don't know, i escaped into that book, it was the first time i think a book just opened up and swallowed me up, as i recall.
the strange characters at the beginning all invading poor bilbo's home, the mysterious wise gandalf, it was so funny and quaint and these songs they sung, landscapes just branched from this book, trees were alive, everything had conciousness and most of all it was joyous and funny, but then to gradually to really notice the serious side of the story kicks in, and suddenly bilbo is fighting trolls who are arguing about how to cook dwarfs and there's that terrifying element that creeps in of a mysterious dark force operating somewhere in the world.
i loved the book, i read all of them but stopped at the simirillion, i think i'd done my tolkien dash by then.
i did see the lord of the rings trilogy by peter jackson and i liked them a lot but i always felt the story had jumped ahead of itself and should have started with the hobbit. 
jackson has just released the hobbit, it got really bad reviews  the media said it was to long, to lingering and slow. australian reviews are always out of whack, they seem to follow some political agenda, if the film don't meet the reviewers memetic value then it's trashed. batman rises is a classic case, but i have always found australian reviewers to be way of the mark and when they trash something i usually goo and see it. the film transposition of the hobbit is nothing short of brilliant, i loved it, i absolutely loved this film, for it met all my expectations of how tolkien should be filmed. don't take my word for it, go see it in 3d and make your own mind up, i am so looking forwards to the next in the series because it appears jackson is filming the novel as a trilogy, which is fine by me, the book the hobbit was in three parts originally.

it's going to take a week before my telecommunications kick in, i have infrequent access to the net, phones and world at large, so instead i work on the garden, removing dead things, hacking back at the wild, shaping and taming it into some sort of pleasing aesthetic. this is new for me, gardens, i usually just let them do their own thing, i will find some sort of harmony point, i like the wild trees behind me, i love the knowledge that it's there but in my own garden i need to reflect something of myself.
i use tools i have never even picked up before, hacking, chopping, pruning,cutting things, blades. the garden is filled with leaves and debris, branches and strange red bark peeled away from huge tree limbs and curled up into giant shavings, they are everywhere. 
in the front garden i have to crawl around the pond and clean the pump, cutting away at some roots that are draining the water away, scooping up dead matter from the water surface, carefully making peace with the water dragons that float in the water, just their eyes above the surface peeking out at me curiously. we have an understanding that they can stay and be guardians of the pond as long as they don't bite me or my dog. my dogs not convinced and he watches from a distance. 
the huge palms have lost a number of fronds, they hang caught in the tree stuck up high, so i pull them down, it's an endless task, dragging them out. the heat kicks in, it's back breaking work, i'm covered in sweat and slowly it's beginning to take some sort of shape.
the front garden is more advanced than the back, it's going to require maintained, and the pond needs a professional clean but the back garden may take a few years, i do have a plan, i can't execute it all at once, but i've begun the process. while there are no telecommunications i may as well get a start on this. and when the rain comes again, there's always the rest of my books to put away.

it's xmas, the rain falls non stop, my home has a leak, i spend the day attempting to stop mt floor flooding, i wonder if the river will burst and flood my home, i wonder why i spend so much time being anxious about fire, outside it just looks wet and waterlogged, the deck is like a water pastel, the skies are black, i place a bucket under the leak and crawl back to bed. i spend the whole day asleep, i get up once to skype a few people, i return to bed, outside the rain hits the pond, i hear it splash as i sink into a dream or two, xmas day is washed away.

the drive these days requires a stretch of highway, massive rocks either side of me, always changing depending on the suns movements, sometimes it's blazing red rock, sometimes white, sometimes brown or green, and there's always the water stretching out, clouds and blue skies, i love this road except for the cars and trucks, night times it's dangerous as super trucks whizz past speeding and rolling, my car gets knocked about in their vortex, i always feel slightly anxious as they zoom past. 
tonight the heat burst open the cloud and storm comes out of the dark, rain falls heavily as we clock 120ks plus, lightning flash thunder clap, it's rendered the skies open, a crack in space, the rock just a dark shadow suddenly reveals surface, portals open and close, i weave in and out of traffic, slowing down to match the rhythm of an internal clock, sometimes i have to slow down and let people overtake me, other times i am a speed freak but my concentration is unbroken, my eyes focused, my mind is everywhere and on the two parallel lines ahead, awareness and some sort of meditation, part hypnotic, i plant my own suggestion. all this rain, it will grow.

heat closed in, oppressive gravity, skin soaked in a layer of viscose slime, just like the moment we crawled from that plasmic soup at that other point on the evolutionary ladder. complex cellular entities forming new organs, for new challenges, the physical form is adaptation, this is what intelligent life does, it adapts, we are not separated from other life forms, for connection is what we are not separation.
i reach out, i stretch across time and space, i reach through meme, i reach though caste i reach through belief, i reach and my fingers p[ass through skin, touching deep into your heart, your soul, bigger, thief, criminal, fool, whore, terrorist, i don't care, you are what you are, but now is the time for letting it go, let it all go, leave your mind, leave it behind, pay no heed, it's all background noise, hope and despair, love and hate, just pinpoints on a map we can't read, it's not the territory, the territory is deed, action, now.
christ was killed by a bunch of guys who didn't know what they were doing, a bunch of kids at skool were killed by the same force, it's not evil, it's us, our desperation, our fear our ignorance. only love will save you, not that wishy washy love that we all want, but that immovable force, the one that stops tanks, the one that bends time, the love is coming.

smooth transition into new operating systems, space control are set for the heart of the suns, we have full integrity, we have full intent, we are travelling faster than it feels, moving in directions our instruments cannot even comprehend, we are leaving this time space for something slightly more interesting, yeah peace and love baby, peace and harmony, rain forests spurt out information, oceans currents move in mysterious ways. 
we detach from this system, it has no influence, no control, no hold, no method, no guru, there are detractors who say it's not the end.
i tell you, there never was an end, it's cycles, just movement, dimensional shifts are not endings, we just left a global consciousness for a galactic one, next cycle will be universal consciousness, a few hundred years away for most humans but some will get there sooner, some already are, it's located in the heart man, not the mind, the brain or the eyes, the heart.
the thinking mans heart, beats and pumps but it also intuits information.
don't suscribe to the morons in the media cycle who pump out doomsday cult blues, don't subscribe to the idiots who party like it's the last day, don't subscribe to anything you don't feel in your heart.
and if it's closed or shut, then you ain't feeling nothing. 
logic and reason, left hand tools, for the civilisations rise from reality into illusion, we all want something pure and real, it's not just an idea made real, it's not the shape of the building or the layers of paint on canvass, the arrangement of words on paper, it has to be more than numbers, i'd say it's laying in the beauty, for that's divine. you can give a monkey a typewriter and over a million years you may get something, but it won't be driven by a need to meet the divine. but good art, that's what it is, an expression, a plea, a yearning. 
the song block by the church captures this i think, i don't know how or why but there's a power in this song, a healing, it's a strange lyric as steve sings about scenes from the city of sydney, and then the chorus kicks in, everything slows done, stripped down to the simple truth, 'if you hold still, i'll make you beautiful.'
the intent is there, it's beautiful, the song is rich with intention, the guitars have intent, as they rise up into that powerful driving force, the drumming has much intent as they just keep that beat and then with guitars made visible the beat gets louder and louder, pumping through the song and fading out back to the beat, and then we hear tim's graceful simplicity and unpredictability as he once again comes back with all power, weaving this song into form. the effects on the vocals are brilliant, a harmony, it fills the world and then back to the chorus, and again a little space rock touch and blast off we are in some new area now, guitars crash, drums roll and pound, those power chords splice through, chop and some magic lead outro, it's just a perfect song to describe a new reality.

i'm officially out of the loop, news feed gone dead, it filters through, little snippets of tragic humanity, but no political analysis, it's detox, dieta, gotta rid myself of the human condition and find my human condition. 
yeah obama, you get out there and rid the usa of guns and i'll vote for you forever. any society where children are shot at skool is terminally ill, there's no doubt about that. so mr. b, do your thing, don't just talk the talk brother, be a man and stop the fucking rotten gun people. you're the prez man!
but america is a strange place, contradictions abound, you're free to carry a gun cos that's what the second amendment says, but that was written when people were saner, there was no tv or media glamorizing death dealers. these days, it's a glamour industry, girls fall in love with violent men, write letters to mass murders, movies and tv shows pour our murder and violence, but dare to breast feed in public and your fucking controversial and indecent.
yeah i'm detuned, out the loop, the human race is run baby, it's time to grow some herbs and plant some dreams. at least for a few weeks. 

stillness greets me this morning, it hangs in the atmosphere like a blanket of fate, it fills the doors and rooms like an invisible cloud, it does nothing but linger, such is the immovability of stillness. i'm wandering through it, the zen me, each step considered for i want not to disturb its slumber. outside i can hear the morning, the birds zip around, the dog scratching its ear, the river running, the breeze blowing through the gardens. i gaze out through the windows, i gaze at the movement, and feel as though i am in a bubble, in the centre of something, the eye of the hurricane, the tooth of a tiger, something peaceful and protected. 

at the down syndrome disco i am assisting with the hundreds of extra chromosoned people as they wait to load up on beer and food, some of these people have already had far to much to drink but it's xmas and i'm not one to spoil anyone fun. there's the usual hanky panky as the guys chase the girls, the girls shriek and cavort like imps set free from entrapment, it's getting messy, and i attempt to chat up one of the other volunteers  she's got a book so i ask her what she's reading. 
'it's about the people who have near death experiences.'
'wow, i've had a few.'
'oh this author says they are related to the occult and therefore are intrinsicly evil.'
'well that's just wrong' i say feeling nervous that this crazy lady is probably a born again christian and now i'm stuck with her for the whole night. 'well maybe the author never ever had a near death experience, i would have thought that the consideration of life after death is highly scientific, after all energy can't be destroyed only changed.'
she's giving me that blank expression, the one that born again people have. i shake my head, never fails to amaze me how people can reject the idea of reincarnation, it's fucking obvious to me.
anyway's the downs syndrome people are all sitting around waiting for something to happen, they all look happy and joyous, hugging and kissing, shaking hands, it's a good atmosphere but no one is dancing. the dj plays all the classics, springsteen, prince, the rolling stones and then, at the first note of dancing queen, abba these little people are up and doing all the moves, my my, i've never seen anything like it, the place comes alive as disco lights flash and glitter-balls twirl, we are on the abba express, it's abba non stop now, and i feel very left out. why don't i feel this type of joy at the sound of 'waterloo' and 'money money money.' 
am i missing something?
i am the only soul sitting down, even the born again girl is frocking around in her pink dress looking like she's just snorted some pixie dust. i really feel outta place, it's saturday night, i should be at home writing my book, a song, or at least in a coffee shop chatting to a sexy norwegian backpacker with nice eyes and a soft unearthly voice like an angel. these downs syndrome people know how to have a good time, not like me, miserable old fool!

sun going down here, i fall into soft bliss, a remote detachment, i see only the birds, the bees, the trees and the flowers bloom. i hear only the sweet sound of running water and fish jumping, i can see the movement of invisible strings everywhere and it's all perfect, old vishnu and jehovah, old alien from planet xy, the universe itself is filled with wonders and magick and there is man. such a paradoxical entity, struggling with this and wrestling with that, building structures that touch the face of gods, creating music for them, writing works of poems and doing healing, dealing in love and all it's limitless qualities. but there's a strange glitch in the program, don't dispair, it's beyond our control for we can only be masters of our selves, no one else.

and some whacked out kid in a skool steals his mums weapons and shoots up his teachers and some little children. his mum didn't love him, his teachers told him off, his peers may have pushed him, his voices may have goaded him, his heart must have closed up, his ears tuned in to radio death, his eye must be fixed on the cross-hairs and his mind must have snapped. who knows?

all we know is some children who were in skool were killed, some brave teachers saved lives, some were shot, a lot of people died.

the gunboy even shot his mother and then the police shot him.

it's the flip side, it's the stuff of decay and anti life, it's the entropy eating away at the innocent. what does it mean?

it means nothing, it's just bad news, really bad fucking news.