well i can't say it's been a brilliant year but there have been some peak moments, the sk stuff, the solo gig upstairs in that little italian joint was great, the award for the hall of fame was pretty amazing, the david neil gigs were fantastic especially the dee why one where sk made videos and i hung out with rickey and steve, sam and wilde childe back stage, the amazing night at the enmore. man those just were the perfect moments. i mean how many people get to be friends with their heroes and then find out that their hero does not disappoint them in any way what so ever, in fact it helps validate your taste in heroes when the rest of the world suddenly works out why this person is so exceptional? 


then there was some lovely times with miss cupcake before the drinking, there was also some brilliant times with val and olga, the recording of snuff music was a brilliant process, the content is good, and evan and leanne who told me they are expecting a baby, that was pure joy for they are such wonderful people and i guess those moments when i chat with jake on skype or the phone are great to because we can't get further away geographically, there are quite a few books i read that really were fantastic, especially the rick moody book, 'the four fingers of death' but also the moonchild book which i re-read recently, i enjoyed it and learnt quite a bit along side reading it with the biography which once again validates the work of an anti hero, someone society excluded from history, who it turns out they say was the most wickedest man in the world when he was actually another fucking genius. 


my works been great but all in all it's been a year of blows that have really tested me, blows below the belt, right in the balls. it changed me, made me more defensive, less trusting and slightly harder to reach and i had to deal with it, all the time it sat there inside me fucking up my aura until i retreated to where i have to go. the magickal will. that fortress is impenetrable but it's also quite functional and works.


and my friend tim who assisted write my defence, completely different from my own one which just spoke the truth, he was kind enough to point out truth has nothing to do with a court room, and he spent a lot of time with me, during which i got to see his genius in action. 


it's been a year of breaking off old friends and making new ones, a year of strange turbulence but i managed to get through and now it's 2012 and we are all heading onwards to meet fate and i am focused, on track and happy. stronger, smarter, and closer.


dear readers, i wish you the best for this year, i believe that it's important to find your place, your  position in the 2012 shift, this is only done by intuition, trust it brothers and sisters for it will not deceive you, believe in the power of love, believe in the universe as an intelligent feminine principle and get in touch with the part of it that exists within yourself. i will show you how to do this in the next few weeks. 

a great atmospheric ghost story set on a remote norwegian outpost island where the elements are at their most severe. a young man finds himself alone and manning a weather station while experiencing some strange echo's from a past event. there's a terrific sense of realism, an absorbing and intelligent story, again easy to read, i read it in under two days.
the writer captures the desolation of the artic regions and what it does to men, she also builds the tension up so that you're turning pages faster to find out exactly what happens at the end. it's not the best ghost story but it's a good one.

gotta say people, isidore is amazing, 'life somewhere else' is so majestic, the songwriting and vocals are remarkable, i'm loving it and i'd recommend you get hold of a copy now, it really is quite an incredible piece of work. i'm totally reminded of william blake for some reason, songs of experience, not sure why, i guess it's all in the voice, a man that's seen far to much and longs for innocence again, knowing it won't return. i reckon william blake would love this music, it has everything he would approve of, from luscious deep oceans of soundscapes to lyrics that lift and descend into the glorious and tragic limits of humanity. 
so we have isidore and guilt trip ej on high rotation here in mission control, both outstanding pieces of work.

you must have taken the hypocritical oath, sworn to sword tongue barbarianism and brutality over love, you must have chosen this corruption because you have no insight for the heart of the poet. it was the poets who saw through the veil, pierced the occluded frontier, in trance cities they fell away the flesh, while the barbs of the daggers from the will of opposition attempted death blows, suffering and crippled the pen was always mightier than your bladed tongues and eyes, everything about you is sharp and caustic, like the fish hook of lies.
look waywards, across the horizon there lay's a place where freedom and peace await those who have journeyed, the road was filled with surprises and traps, it's a challenge, it's a trip, it's the journey we can't escape. 
some african witch doctor once told me my best friend would kill me, it was in the bush somewhere in the mountains of tanzania. he said i should pay him in gold and he would remove the act from my future, i said no, i can do it myself.
i can do it myself.
they say you need to keep your enemy close, i say it's better they are far away. 
i can do it myself.
i will do it myself.
i get protection from the people who do love me, i get protection from the universe that loves me, it's bestowing it's gifts upon us all, you just have to know how to receive them. 
i get protection from the spirits that live within my aura, guardians, servitors, angels and a few demons i've trained.
i get protection from my diet and dieta. you are what you eat, and drink...
i get protection from the velocity of my own history, self directed evolution, towards something better than myself, for the flesh is always weak, but the spirit is strong, i may loose my mojo but it's never far away, i may even loose my way but that's all part of the mojo, i may even take the occasional hit but that's okay for it tests my defences and belief systems. i protect myself by the white egg light radiating around me, with it's purple strands and yellow solar plexus, but it is the green heart charkra that protects me for despite the attacks that is stronger than the forces used against it.
i told you i'm protected.


the year took it's toll, started great but ended in madness and sadness and now everything is at rest, how fast things change.
i have some final notes on clusterfucks, call it 'an afterwards.'


no one really wins, it just fades away to where it came from and maybe you bear it well but it leaves a deep scar, a blemish and if it does not destroy you it will wound you and hurt you and maybe even wound others close to you. it will try to do this when it realises it's loosing the war. but the clusterfuck is just an experience and it's there to also test you, challenge what you know, it grows as you battle it, spreading out into different domains, money, family, travel, friends, work, self respect, love can't defeat it although it may be the best defence against total hatred which is exactly what it desires. for once hate fills you it has won.
yeah you come close to hating, i felt my anger reach out but i never really hated it, just felt sad and even that sadness was a passing energy. 
here against the clusterfuck, it is will over love that is necessary,love can't do it alone, it requires a little bit of shaping, the way perhaps a sword maker would shape his / her blade, for love needs force and force needs a will to command it and direct it. 
the clusterfuck is not worth fighting but sometimes it leaves you no choice, it's not something you feel you can just surrender to as it won't allow you that option. 


make a decision, fight, flee or surrender.
if you fight it's the hero's journey, mythical in it's structure and epic in breath, even an unexpected ally may appear from out of the blue to assist. choose your weapons, detachment, non attachment, psychic self defence, banish fear, invoke your spirit guides and face the battle knowing even if you loose you have won. this is not a judgement, merely a fact, for the clusterfuck is a self destroying energy, once you are gone it will turn upon itself again for clusterfucks obey the known laws of the universe, and for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
the best strategy to win this war is of course to operate outside the known laws of the universe. however this is hard to reconcile when you are under constant attack and your own emotional structure is being tested. trust the process and above all else be indifferent to the outcome for it is the lust for result which will get you.

the martian ambassador

the martian ambassador is a quirky steam punk victorian novel set in a version of london not quite the london you or i would know, inventive, witty, well written and a great fast moving plot makes a trifectea in holiday reading. if you want something that's not challenging but none the less interesting and with a great plot, these are the ones. 

if you are looking for something that is imaginative, page turning and i guess dark fantasy these two books are the first in trilogies that are very worth while if you're wanting to fritter away a few hours on the beach, on a flight or just the bus, i read them very quickly and enjoyed the stories, they were not particularly challenging or demanding but riveting.
the writers are good and there was some remarkable surprises in both novels.
both are about young boys, old before their time, violent and in perpetual combat. there's elements of the supernatural and both have just enough humour to make them interesting.

i'm interested in coffee it's a good drink, it effects my brain in a productive way if i use it correctly and i have a coffee machine i depend upon when i desire a hit, it's a good machine, even john malkovich and george clooney like it. well it's fuelled by capsules that are rated on intensity and although my tastes are not so refined i do have my favourites. the silver / brown ones. 
so i set off into the city to restock my capsules, i buy in bulk so i don't have to go often but when i arrive the queue is massive and i give up thinking i have not got time to wait in a queue. i wander around the city, stopping off at a few bookshops looking for a particular writer but to no avail. on the way home i stop at the big shopping centre to meet a friend who fails to show, so i head back home when my phone rings, without going into a huge story i end up in a car that stops in a car park where a strange thin looking cat who is very loud yells at me, 'get out.'
i'm asking the driver whom is the only person i know whats going on and can i get a lift home, when the guy starts yelling, 'get out man we gotta deal to do.'
it all chunks in place and i hop out the car disappearing into the bowels of the car park.
junk addicts of this calibre all share one thing in common, while desperately trying to blend in they stand out. i don't have much experience of these types as my days were spent with a more sophisticated type but i hated this desperation and rudeness, and also the kind of unintelligible lifestyle that these chaps had created for themselves. call me an opiate snob but if you're going to meet the opium spirit do it in style. i know i sound like a judgemental nutcase but there's nothing worse than watching some cats attempting to act cool when they are actually sticking out like sore thumbs. 
i should point out that i was only hitching a ride so i could get some milk from the shop.
anyway i get home again and arianna calls, she's got me an xmas gift and wants to go for a walk, so we grab the dog and wander around the dog park, i open my present, it's the coffee capsules. a minor miracle?

hot sweaty lust, i lay there a spent force, covered in a weird male stink and feelings lethargic as the heat in the air and the humidity felt like a treacle limiting movement, i dragged my old body down to the mists of avalon where i attended a lunch with some old friends, people i have not seen for a long time, including my ex wife who is obviously discomforted by my presence but is quite gracious and we do enjoy a few laughs as i clown around, i do meet a lovely lady sarah who is a performance artist and pretty smart woman and her mother who is a kinda switched on lady with the gift of vision. 
later i catch up with the girls and exchange some pleasant time, we are all in flux between events so it's short and sharp and soon i am home, ready for the end of the day, it's been far to long for me, and the idea of an astral event looms close and i'm keen to explore this.

one day charles allan bennett and alister crowley were walking along the high street when they passed some theosophists who ridiculed bennett as he was carrying a magick wand which he had made himself from glass. allen promptly produced his and blasted one of them. it took fourteen hours to restore the incredulous individual to the use of his mind and his muscles. 
at 24 he went to the east, sri lanka to devote his life to buddhism taking his vows as a monk. when crowley attempted to reunite the friendship and get bennett on board, bennett said, 
"no buddhist would consider it worthwhile to pass from the crystalline clearness of his own religion to this involved obscurity.' 
it was the one friendship old crowley would miss above all others, and his respect for bennett never wavered as a mystic he was way beyond crowley's need for magickal intrusion onto reality crowley proving the idea which i have come to that magick is for those that invoke and evoke gods to become gods, the mystic surrenders to one god. the magick and mystic divide appears inseparable yet for me they are the completion, one cannot be a magickian without being a mystic and one cannot be a mystic without being a magickian, for both one needs direct experience of possibility and potential, the manipulation is the magickians realm, tweaking the parameters to make it happen, it's a role, a persona accessing part of the brain that is god like, the mystic is god and therefore has no desire or lust for result. crowley appeared to have understood this later in his life, he was never the persona we have all read or heard about. his information was channelled from the universe or an intelligence called 'awaiss' and it is highly likely this is extraterrestrial in origin as his sketches are very similar to todays grey alien likeness. 
represive english society treated crowley with the distain they do to things they cannot understand, it's obvious why his legacy lives on, he was great and his work was magnificent as was his life. the myth is a distraction from the reality, he was a man of integrety, and a spy for the english agaist all forms of fascism in the first and second world wars, here is a letter he wrote to the members who headed the german occult group.


'as for the ravings about jews they are unintelligible. almost the whole life in modern germany above brutality, stupidity, servility and blood thirst was jewish.'


the exploits of crowley are incredible, a man who gave the english the victory sign, as a magickal symbol, a man who set up some very complex counter spy networks in europe to serve liberty, a man who maybe gave einstein assistance the theory of relativity, a man who mastered mountains and yet was written out of mountaineering history  and a man who established the new age in a way no one could anticipate, we are indeed in his debt weather we like it or not. 
i finished the crowley biography and felt all the things i intuitively knew about him were true and all the horrible stories about him were nothing but propaganda and lies. anyone with an interest in the occult, science and mysticism should read this book, sure he had his faults but i think if i had met him i would have liked his mind because he was his own person, with the ability to think for himself critically and evaluate reality with great measure and insight. 
but it is allan bennett whom still draws me in, the man crowley and all his peers looked to for guidance, a white magickian who did not practice magick but remained in an enlightened state detached from everything. while reading moonchild i feel certain that the book is as much about bennett as crowley, and in a way that is the key to the books central message. 

merry xmas to wayne goddard who is a true bodhisattva even though he once tried to kill me, you're a good man with a good heart and sometimes killing me is the only appropriate thing to do. 


thanks to karen the irish witch and her redhead friend who was lovely last night and her cousin who made nice spliffs and to the people  whom i met, very cool as my mind sprawled across into deep meditative zones and thoughts.

xmas daze in australia have always been difficult for me, no family, no method, no guru no religion so i find myself following the flow, one year after the other surrendering to what will be will be, and this year i find myself visiting a friend i have not seen in several years. he has cerebral palsy, confined to a wheelchair, he's name is danny and i knew him about ten years ago when i took him out to nightclubs, bars and strip clubs. he always liked music, and enjoyed the vibe of a good band. we even bought him a keyboard which he played relentlessly, his head swaying just like that blind cat who played jazz and blues. danny still digs the music, i played him my cd as he opened up his xmas gifts, a new keyboard which i set up for him and let him rip into it, little blasts of sound, we set the rhythm track up and he played shorts bursts of dissonant organ, i'm clapping my hands and danny starts smiling and laughing and we get the groove going.
i sneak away while he explores the parameter of sound, i'm sitting on a sofa listening to him, watching him rejoice in some sort of ecstatic state and i'm thinking this is perfect, i wouldn't want to be anywhere else than here right now, today. 
as i prepare some salad for his lunch danny comes out of his room, he's crawling on the floor, laughing and swaying his head. man he's loud but i tell you, he's free in that laughter, happy as a clam. a lot of people make the mistake thinking danny has limited intelligence but he's actually quite funny and sharp, just has trouble getting people to appreciate that he;s more than his body. he sits down at the table and eats all his dinner, washing it down with a soft drink, satisfied he crawls down and into his room for some more keyboard. 


it's been a strange year, watching friends succumb to drugs, alcohol, stupidity, envy, greed, selfish whims and self destructive ways that cumulated in taking me down with them, i turned to ganesh for assistance and to magick, and to my own true self, i left behind foolish things, sacrificed everything put the cards on the table, the jokers and aces, touched the flame, incense and candle, drunk the amazonian wine that can only take you so far, i took the dream weaver and created my kingdom, walked upon water and maybe i drowned a little but i never once doubted my self, i know what's what. find out who you are stay true to that.


you can worship your dollars, your idols and sins, you can keep your little ego's for the game to begin, i don't need no illusion infiltrating my work, a little temptation leads to a world of hurt. 

i got my motives and they are known

i have my passions and their on the road (less travelled)

i know what i'm doing is inversely proportioned

as you watched it fall apart (unravelled)

i got my motives and they are obtuse

and i know what i'm doing makes no rhyme and reason

and you just call it madness

but i know that it's only

love over sadness

you can have your money in dollars and cents, the banks are the temples where you deposit intent, and you can have all the cash for that's not my thing, you can have your lies and web of deceit, a little propaganda on a dead end street.


have a great day to all my friends and family, stay true to your selves, follow your star for you all shine very bright in my universe and it's beautiful.

what is a looser?


well he could be the drunk guy starting a fight, he could be the guy that gets bottled in the night club by the drunk guy, he could even be a she. the spoilt little girl who inherits her daddies fortune but not his humility i dunno, winners and losers, a winner may win a few hundred grand on a horse race and then loose it on the dogs, a winner could be a looser if they marry the girl of their dreams only to find out she's sleeping with his best friend, or perhaps a winner could be a looser if they think by taking some one to court and trying extortion they get the person to hand over some free cash before it all goes down, i dunno, i don't care about that, it's all bullshit to me, winners and losers, no one wins no one loses, it's the realm maya so everything you say or do is kinda predictably unimaginative and uninteresting when you are drunk. 


i expected your post court room attacks, the abusive messages, the tantrums, like i said, i know you, i see you and i call you. that thing inside you knows this, it fears me because i can kill it. 
i forgive you, i don't like you but i do love you, as hard as that may appear to you to make sense. it's not totally your fault but you need to take responsibility, blaming everyone else in your life is kinda like being a professional victim, i know you're better than that. you can transcend if you chose, however i can't help you anymore and i'm not the best punching bag for you as your words are empty. 


i don't know, i thought about how i would define a looser and i came up with this,


'someone who when they loose can't allow themselves to loose gracefully' 


i hope you get there, i really do.


om sri rama jaya rama jaya jaya rama

this devil is a woman, she is a tall drop dead beauty with immaculate tastes in clothing art and friends, she surrounds herself with desire inflamed with passion that's why the flames, she tosses suitors aside like broken toys, she lures you with her eyes first, undresses you with her mouth, she has the lips of a movie star and the ways of mythology never leaving evidence but always a clue.
i wandered around in the desert, kinda born again but in a sexy way, looking like a beat poet in a sharp suit, unshaven and unholy but with a funky haircut and nice shades, my suit was filthy, my feet bare. i drew a magick circle with a stick, lit a candle waited till dusk before the invocation.
did i mention conjuration's require sacrificing something, it's an old sumerian precondition magickians can't get out of until december 2012, usually some sort of body fluid is used but i had already spilt some blood from the cuts on my hand and forehead, so i offered that as the deal sweetener, however this little fallen angel required cash being the ruler of extortion rackets so i slipped  some dollars down into the pile she had already burnt then i started, it only took a short time for her to appear, with her serpent tooth smile and her lithe body wrapped in silks and leather boots, swaying like herods daughter i could see her ways sprawling out as she spoke, promises of this and that, the stuff that lures, fame, glamour, orgasms, domestic bliss, notoriety, all falling around my feet for me to claim, everything i ever wanted on a silver platter, lumberjack cakes, coconut milks from the tropics, she was doing her best to lick my heels, she was quite sophisticated in her charms, offered me nivarna, peace, love, sex, obliteration, war, death, everything a man could desire but she knew i was on a mission, the circle held, she gazed into my eyes and our wills met, the chime of a gentle cymbal, rings out through the universe her knees gave way and she fell slightly and then i saw the evil intention for a moment, in her eye it flashed and then it slipped away receding like a sack of kittens drowning in a dark river, she gave a shudder before she fell upon her knees.
she said, 'why summon me.'
'to defeat you.'




this is the nature of duality, we create what our subconscious desires and it comes with its price, we must defeat our own desires, the war is internal, we must no longer desire and then we are in a place of power over those that do. is this humility or just ego, depends on intent. even power is an illusion. 
you are the enemy of your self, love has to be unconditional to be received unconditionally and that's when it can move the mountain, for unconditional love opens all doors and windows, it knocks down walls. one should walk with that in their heart and observe the day and night how it effects their reality, then try it with anger.
to unconditionally love your nemesis is what jesus did in the desert, when you say, 'get behind me satan' you're binding the forces that rule desire to your will, those forces exist within you, tame those and the external one is nothing but smoke and vapours. 
that can only be done from a place of love. intention rules, over and over again, the poets now this is true, they mystics know, the magickians know, all creation is manifested to experience unbound delight, it is female and therefore open to receiving, humanity is able to receive yet we are in pain again and again for existence is suffering, how can we reconcile this.
by the ancient truth of the sages, the buddhists and kabbalists shared the same methods, through devotional contemplation, ultimately destroying the mind in order to not use it to find the truth. for the mind is in the suffering, it cannot possibly get the picture unless it is not used to perceive it, which opens the way off the heart. however this is a warrior path, and will be tested for what warrior can be a warrior unless they have tasted warfare and are non attached to the idea of death itself. meet the challenge, evolve your own self, push through the fear and desire born from fear, trust the process, trust your own intentions. make them honourable not necessarily good. 
these are preconditions to the magickal path.
the secret chiefs, the scared forces that work inter dimensionally, have given us many ways to have a relationship with the universe, tantra, meditation, yoga, shamanistic plant medicines, intuition are all pathways inwards, to 'tune in' but to 'turn on' one requires devotional elements, practice and commitment, and to 'drop out' requires no fear and total trust that the intelligence of the universe will direct you to it as long as you are aligned and in harmony with it's will. those that do are avatars and often present as mad.

sunrise on the highways, heading towards the ocean, conflicting light crashing the angles, cars everywhere littering the sleeping suburban vistas, toast burns, kettles boil, wife's and husbands fake the daily grind, cars reverse from driveways and we hurdle down like hunter s thompson and his attorney high on venusian lsd and afghan porcupine spikes, some horrid songs pouring from the radio, a splattering of clouds dissipate in the fast forwards. i'm wrestling with my thoughts, strung out on sleeplessness and chocolate bars dipped in coffee, can't stop talking about the theory of unpredictability versus planks constant when i catch the look on my comrades face, he's bitten through his lip, blood streams down his face and his eyes are like frozen plates on a stick.

'hey man, breath.' i say, while i light up another porcupine spike.

he tries to say something but it comes out sounding all distorted, 'um... fra... faa... zeze... mmmm.'

i turn the radio off and lean back, palm trees are whacking past my head, i put on my rose coloured sunglasses and laugh as one of these suckers offers me a coconut drink, i wash the porcupine spike down with the sweet juice.

we've ended up in miami, beautiful girls in bikinis wander along the beach front, waving, i'm wearing a bright red shirt and a panama hat, my companion is pulling the suitcases from the boot of the car, he's searching through them, chucking clothes onto the floor, 'grtta mmmeeeanti dodo.'

clothes, books and drug paraphernalia fly through the air onto the beach.

i lean in and masterfully grab a book from his big paws, 'hey, not my necronomicon, it's the only copy on the planet.'

'shhh..udd, sss...mon...ppp sssuuummm..,ssser..day it eee.'

suddenly he jumps upwards and a contorted smile breaks across his ugly face, he' found what he was looking for a fur glove, he slips it over his hand and strokes his face, running the back of his hand gently across his cheek.

the sky is electric blue, like a photo shopped postcard, it's far to hot for days like these, and it's not even morning really. across the street some uniforms are looking in our direction, i get a flash of some police brutality, clubs, handcuffs, a can of mace, a young law enforcer whacks the legs of a pregnant woman and watches her fall, while her husband is screaming they laugh and hold him back at gunpoint. i start to feel uneasy.

'get the gear, lets go.'

while he throws the stuff back in the boot in a kind of arbitrary chaotic manner the narcs start to move in slowly and indiscreetly.

i get the engine started and start to crawl forwards, 'come on, let's get outta here.'

some guns are waved around and my attorney waves at me dismissively and walks to confront the narcs. my options are running down the funnel of choice, i see them sink into a dark vortex, they aint coming back sister. i reach for another porcupine spike but then this shouting and hysterics shocks me into action, my foot hovers over the accelerator and i hear some kerfuffle, the back door opens and something seems to fill the space, i can make, 'shhh...lllzzz...ggotttagonnna.'

my foot hits the accelerator and the hot stink of tyre rubber burning is left behind as we zoom away to the thrill of the beautiful bimbos and observers that flank our sides. i peer into the mirror, it's the police woman, he's kidnapped the fucking policewoman, but she don't look worried, she don't look distressed at all, in fact she's kissing my attorney like a cheap mexican whore, her hands wander all over his body and she's already saying things to him that make me blush as he strokes her with his gloved hand. then she leans forwards and in the most politest of voices asks for a porcupine spike, i toss her a few and try not to look in the mirror, in the distance sirens wail. i take a winding route through the old city, zig zagging my way until we reach the southern highway. we have a full tank of fuel, i have my sunglasses and am sucking down some coconut water. i switch on the cd player and the rolling stones play. 'waiting on a friend' and when that juicy fat sax starts up, the sun setting behind us, the warm night kicking down tomorrow, the clear road ahead i start laughing and wonder if freedom always felt so good as i forget what i have remembered to leave behind. 

at a motel i leave my attorney with his new flame and i drive to the desert looking for the hopi tribe. i pull up outside the reservation and then have to exchange some pleasantries with a sentinel who seems concerned that i may not offer the kind of respect an american tourist would, 'hey i'm a fucking gentleman let me in, i come bearing the gift of the afghan porcupine spine.'

well like magick words the porcupine spines open all doorways and i hand over my bundle to the sentinel who appears all friendly and welcoming now, as he points to a large hut with a few candles burning on the porch and a couple of goats ties up to a pole. i wander in. the chief is known as happy but it's not him i'm interested in, it's the medicine man, miguel who sits buy the chiefs side inspecting the bundle of spines. how did that happen?

teleportation i guess, these hopi peoples know all sorts of voodoo.

so medicine man is preparing me for ceremonial visionary questing, i have to take a steam clean and then be bathed by the women and then put on ceremonial robes and imbued with oils and smothered in some strange smelling cream. 

in the small tent i sit opposite the medicine man, he's enjoying the porcupine spikes and i think ive pleased him as he can't stop grinning, and occasional little giggles escape his strange looking face, kinda cross between an oriental stand up comedian kung fu expert like jackie chan and winnie the pooh. he's enjoying the spikes, he has thee sticking out his mouth.

i drink the potion he has made, sticky black stuff, molasses, it even tastes great. 

i was waiting for the stuff to kick in, my mind was slowing down, my body relaxing for the first time in days, i felt clean and safe. i'd heard about these hopi dudes on the radio, they were interviewing a professor about their calendar and mystical beliefs, these hopi folks sounded switched on and in touch with some cosmic intelligence. they also had a very defined understanding of the reincarnation process, which was where my interest lay. for i needed certain information about the nature of my life, it was spiralling out of control addicted to the porcupine spikes and various nefarious activities that were taking me into edges of the universe i was growing bored with, there's only so any dimensions a man can walk down.

i had no idea why or what was driving me but it was a self destructive force and i no longer felt comfortable in my own shoes, i was loosing interest in the people around me, their activities bored me as did our pursuits, i required the only thing left for a man to desire, the only satisfying fix, the truth.

hedonistic pursuits were not the answer, in fact they were distracting my quest, mind expansion worked to a certain degree, and magick had taken me to a far point where things made a strange elusive sense but in the most abstract ways.

i felt my body numb. the face of the shaman leers and distorted itself and he chanted some words of power and i felt myself sinking or was it shrinking, or growing, down the rabbit hole.

i was in the wrong body, that was the first thought, i'd incarnated into the wrong body, a body of a woman was actually what i was after, some one sexy and smart, a kind an embodiment of the feminine but with a black belt in karate or tai chi, i wanted a theoretical physicist who knew how to load a glock, i wanted to be a witch who also runs a major corporation.
i could see her as she came towards me her long hair in a sort of wind funnel flow, her skin white and soft, her lips red like flames and her cheeks aglow, then it changed and she was carrying an egg, she held it in cupped hands and passed it to me, i looked into her eyes and she began to fade, the egg started cracking, and a dragon appeared. it was small and covered in purple and black scales, it had a classic fantasy dragon look except it was tiny and brighter than i would have thought, it had the most beautiful eyes, soft and gentle, intelligent. i placed it before me and watched its exquisite beauty, my heart started to beat as it began to transform. now the dragon became a man, it happened so fast as if i had transcended time, the environment seemed to dissipate and change, morphing around me into a ever mutable landscape, sometimes natural, trees, oceans, deserts and sometimes man made, cities, small villages, large monuments erected to deities and astrological significance, sometimes the peripherals just appeared a single colour but most of the time my attention was concentrated upon the activities before me, the man was me. it was identical in almost every way except it was slightly leaner, slightly more healthier and vibrancy aura, less jaded and with a softer edge. the other me was smiling and his teeth were in much better condition than mine.

he was talking, and i had to attune my ears to listen, 'it's just a simple formula, you're very close to getting it but your not quite there, you have to offer the light to receive it, offer the

light captain mission.'

suddenly all was black and i floated in a cloud of octopus ink, warm and naked, like a baby, and my thoughts had ceased and my body seemed to be absent, and my will was gone and i was dead.

awoke to the harsh sound of birds, crows, they sat around my body, one upon my chest looking at me with his eye, head tilted to one side. 

'we have returned you. learn yoga, meditate upon nothingness, seek no answer, ask no question, discipline your inquiry through discipline of your body, your mind is free but your body is a cage, eat only that which sustains, love well, over power the darkness with your light, offer the light unto the darkness, peace, harmony, love....' and onwards it went, spiritual truths, hundreds from all traditions, all pointing to the same things, in the end it was one single noise, an AUM, droning onwards out into the stratosphere and beyond and soon the space was filled with alien beings who had tuned into this vibration knowing that there was intelligent life on earth and that earth transmitted ths message into the galaxy, and the AUM was heard throughout creation and the universe was alive with it's sound and then it spoke back, and i understood everything, everything.

i stood up in the desert sun, my suit was drenched in sweat and sandy dust and i had lost my boots, my face felt dry but my body, my body was everywhere, i was in everything, my body moved but i seemed to be watching it, from all angles, i watched and inside i felt a great understanding and love, it beat out of my energy system, like a rainbow, colour explosion, it was magnificent but i could also feel it, i was feeling it from outside myself, and from other things, small animals, bugs, a few shrubs, a lone crow above. i was transmitting and receiving, knowing myself for the first time. i was liberated and set free, yet i still understood the paradox of existence lays in separation, and i could feel the bodies desires begin to tempt me back, a hunger for a porcupine stick, some cool refrigerated place where i could shower and shave and get out of these clothes, a nice bed to sleep on, a meal. the sorrow of separation was as real as the unification,and buddha's words 'life is suffering' rang true to me, and i laughed as i walked into the desert to meet the temptress, for i knew what i have to do and i forgave them for they did not know, they could not know, the magickal path is the only path that will lead towards some sort of liberation but it is only when it is reached not used that one is liberated, true power is the will not to use it, for magick delivers you to a doorway and only becomes real when you are non attached to it as you would be any other construct within the universe, in fact the goal of magick is the same as mysticism. crowley knew this in his friend allen bennett aka mahatera phang, that's why everyone looked to him with total respect and love. i was smiling as i walked into the night, ready to meet the devil himself, but that's for tomorrow. 

the church -  three incredible albums live, untitled 23 the lush emotive strength of power and force meeting grace and sublimation, a transforming fix of evocative soundscapes that pull you in to their landscape and if you're not weeping you're already dead.

then there's priest = aura the epic, wagner meets mahler meets proust on smack, the musical grimore to the opium goddess, the terrifying yet magnificent velocity of these songs sucking you into the empire of dreams and nightmares, played with such power and beauty one can only tremble at the journey made and know that the writer made it back with a strange story to tell about the edges and perimeters experience can take a man.

lastly starfish, ode to a lost city, a masterpiece of displacement and scorn, a complex joke in a complex fractal and the punch line is a bitter truth 'we have lost our way.' starfish is like a prayer, made up of postcards from a bad trip, the searing words cut through the glamours cast by the los angeles demons,  the corrupting angels, under clear visionary perspective.
each album preformed in full, in sequence, with incredible sound, this cannot be over emphasised, the sound guy nailed it perfectly and if there is justce, should be THE only person to do the church sound from now on. everyone agreed the sound, the mix, the clarity could not be better.
marty looking excellent as he stands in black, lean and ever leaning into his guitar, meshed as one single unit, he played with the passion of a holy man, fire in the eyes, searing through the sound and vision, into the elegant playing of peters guitars which added the sonic layers of tapestry and harmonics, intricate and complex, elegant to the point of sublime, the church are a guitar band after all, but they take the guitar and transform  it into something else.
tim plays the drums, he is in my eyes the best drummer the church have used, for he uses the less is more quality the daoist approach, he keeps it all together, and his embellishments will leap out and wrap themselves around you like a snake or a serpent, they rise up and strike and once you have been bitten you're left wanting more.
throw into this craig wilson, part time member of the church, a young multi talented guy playing, mandolin, guitars, keyboards and some percussion and you have that wonderful round corner that balances the edge.
but it has to be said that it was steve tonight who held us all, spellbound, the man did not play as much base guitar as he usually does, in fact there was no base on all on aura, instead he played the guitar, but steve being free of an instrument was able to focus on some other skills that constitute his genius, acting, theatrics, mine and singing his words, for those words were delivered in a way that matches their content.
for me it was as though shakespeare or proust or milton or philip k dick were narrating their work via richard burton, ben kingsley, johnny depp and orson welles. this was not a rock concert, this was not popular music, there was nothing about this performance that was not enriching, challenging, disposable, because it was the real deal, authentic art from artists that have been generous enough to share their talent with us and take us with them for thirty plus years into territory that challenges, provokes and stimulates the listener as much as surprises us. the church are in a special place right now, they can do anything they want from now onwards, it's taken over thirty years to get the recognition where people listen to them with the respect they deserve, and steve's lyrics taken as serious writing. all in all the great work is done, but the interesting thing  is where they chose to take us next, because this is just the platform on which they can leap into the stratosphere if they chose or burn up like a beautiful star we all saw shine in our skies and followed knowing it would lead us to a promised land.  it has.
we were delivered safe and sound and much richer for the experience but oh how i want it to go on. there's very very little that gives me this much joy but to see the church live is  like an autistic phase-out into bliss. they are the moments, spalding describes in his books as perfect moments, they are short lived and far and few between but when i see the church, that's one hell of a hit!

finished reading moonchild, and i must confess towards the end i began to loose the narrative slightly, it begins to shift and change as lisa's personality begins to change and she enters an astral level depicted by the tarot card, la lune, however pushing through this surreal piece of writing the twist in the tail comes as lisa runs into the arms of a rival lover to the protagonist cyril, where she gives birth to an unwanted daughter.
the end of the book finds the white magickians joining the allies and the black lodge joining the opposing forces as war breaks out, this really is quite a clever ploy as the white magickians reveal although they lost lisa they used her as a pawn to distract the black lodge while creating many other moon-children who would save the human race. but it is the final conclusion of moon child that raises crowley up in my eyes, for he ends with such a powerful and fundamental truth that any reader who is attuned to magickal thought would find emotive and moving. brilliantly written for the time, occult concepts strewn throughout the story and the mystical understanding that shines through the ending will linger on for a good few days.

keep it secret - gregory scott slay

Gregory Scott Slay - "Keep It Secret" from Brooklyn Vegan on Vimeo.

helicopter summer, moving forwards while going around and around, i spend my time with media infected junkies, plugged in to the daily whatnot, downloading fiction, stressing fantasy and pawning the future for plasma tvs and coke. my dog gets it, he's actually a unicorn. he dreams below me as i dream above in my hammock, listening to the guild trip, remembering what my soul has not forgotten, i am happy, i've reached a good point in life, weeding out the shadows, being more selective and tuning into what people really are, getting in tune with who i am, culling my friends from my enemies, i don't want my enemies close any more, the further away the better. i rather be alone.
but i am happy, and that is to be valued. gratitude, for i have survived. i am disconnected from the fragment of reality, it's tiny shard of ridiculous illusion has bored me, politics, religion, power and control, it's all nonsense, the games of small minded fools. 
moonchild is rather good second time around, it's so advanced for its time, and the biography is compulsive reading.

REPTILE - THE CHURCH

the endless sea, starts with a drum beat, enter the base line, and then that keyboard, and then the guitar all whacked out on heroin, oh baby what a place to be, in the service of the bourgeoisie, iggy sings, and it's that beautiful subtle harmony on the word endless and that hawkwind synth line, and there's some sort of perfection in this song as we move through the landscape, we see the boys with their empty looking eyes, beautiful girls staring out like vacant parking lots, and here comes captain mission....


i walked through the night in my velvet suit, looking like a heretical astronaut, i touched the skin of a dead girl suspended in silk. she had two soft eyes, burning hard liquid lips and the soul of an ocelot. when her lips touched mine they bloomed momentarily, i caught flashes of her tragedy, she had bad taste in men, not an original trajectory, i couldn't help her.
some one was playing russian roulette with two pistols, jeered on by a crowd of religious folks, fundamentalists from the wetlands. some one was reading from the bible, spitting out angry words like a baptist machine guns rapid fire.




yet she increased her prostitution, remembering the days of her youth when she engaged in prostitution in the land of Egypt. She lusted after their genitals as large as those of donkeys, and their seminal emission was as strong as that of stallions - Ezekiel 23:19-20



while another group played poker, cards dealt by a hooded skeleton wearing a blue oyster cult tee shirt and smoking a joint, he's got a pile of money before him and talks not unlike keith richards, in actual fact looking closer it is keef, he leans back an offers me a jack, i decline but grab the joint and walk into a kitchen where a group of supermodels are doing lines on a kitchen table. i make a sandwich, cram it with some sort of nut spread, the texture is creamy and one of the girls starts to poke her finger into the jar and lick it seductively, like some sort of porn star. it's only a matter of time before she's smearing the spread all over her body, her friends gaze on encouraging her. i leave the party and catch the night bus home. the night bus ride, into the dark suburbs, speed is the drug here as the handful of passengers travelling home look out at the void. yeah all passengers on this bus are tired and wanting to go home, we seen the outside, with it's hungers and desires, with it's desperation and tears, we got our ticket out, we just want to get home, leave this weary cage, some one at the back starts singing softly, an old song with the lines, 'all i need is providence.'

isadore have a new cd out, it's called 'life somewhere else' and i have played it once in my usual ritual of playing the church related music, the conditions must be perfect, no interruptions, no distractions, no speaking, no telephones, i usually attain an altered states and just listen. 
the verdict is... it's magnificent, i really love it, which i know will come as no surprise but my god... this is amazing music, and steve's singing and lyrics are getting better and better as time progresses. remember this is a man who is master of his skills, he don't need introduction, he's got his great work and that says it all, his history speaks for itself but watching his genius grow is an incredibly beautiful thing. his collaborations are equally as brilliant, quite different and somewhat remarkable in the way they maintain a very high quality, something almost pure and on occasions pure. the ideal is reached. 
but with this cd mr. cain has created a very interesting layer of sounds to lay steve's words and voice upon, it is from my perspective an architecture. i can see a building when i hear this music, it's like the pyramids, astrologically perfect but suspended in space and time just like tanelorn or interzone. but this city rotates, it gleams and glistens, it's intricate and complex, not just made of bricks and steel, it is created from some sort of crystalline structure, this is something from the future, like a roger dean painting. (there should be a word for a image of the future from the past. what would you call that? retro future nostalgia).
well this building is from the future but it's defiantly close to a roger dean picture, a strange curious perfect shape hanging in blue skies above a tranquil ocean or still forest, this building is a city is huge and populated by all types of lifeforms, it contains gardens, jungles, lakes and fields, a vast array of life fills it. the building is shaped like a polyhedron, a diamond shape that also contains the mystery of human experience, sadness, loss and tragic heartache, it's all in crammed in here played out on this cosmic stage, the universe.
hear the hurt and sorrow, all here in this strange wonderful structure. a self enclosed space that is rich with immense beauty to explore, it's life somewhere else but it's life, i understand this veil of tears. this is a beautiful pice of music people, it's strong and mighty and that's the power that keeps the structure defying gravity. we all know that building, we have all been there or we are all going there, it's the place where things that are falling apart are healed. 

for some strange reason i have started re reading moonchild by aliester crowley, a book i read when i was 17 that made an impression upon me, certainly made me more concious about ideas of conception and intention, but this time around i am getting a huge amount of supplementary information as the main characters divulge the tenants of esoteric philosophy and crowley himself is presented in a number of incarnations. simon iff the old taoist detective and the main character, the enigmatic cyril grey, ladies man and magickian. in fact all of crowley's crowd are in the book including alan bennett as the mysterious buddhist monk who says nothing but has everyones respect as a holy man and mentor. although the dialogue is dated the book is quite provocative, sexually and esoterically, for here are the real seeds of modern magickal philosophy. i can see how the linage of modern magickians  can be traced back to crowley, and i can understand how the extreme science of mind is applied via taoism and buddhist tradition. what's really interesting is the descriptions of the fragmented genius / secretary relationship which neurology is on the verse of defining now. then there's the explanation of the fifth dimension, which science went on to define as time, but crowley calls it the aether, perhaps what he means is astral dimension although it is certainly another dimension, however the semantics are not under scrutiny, as a story each chapter moves along a linear plane as our brave heroine finds herself under the glamour of the crowley figure and inducted into their order in preparation of creating an homunculus, however she is never lied to and always told the truth about her choices, in a way that would be quite liberating for any woman of that time, she is treated with respect and love, (under will) in fact the women are the males equals in this book and for the time that was quite radical. i have to say this is a very good read so far. 

at a friends party, i watch a beautiful swedish girl take her clothes off and climb into a swimming pool filled with jelly and another girl clamber in after her, it's quite strange how life just carries on while this occurs, some one cooks some food on a grill, some one brings us drinks, a girl in a tiny skirt offers me some hash cookies and i do indulge myself because it would be rude not to, then find myself unable to stop talking to the beautiful swedish girl, oh no, my mouth just will not close, oh no, i'm raving on like a demented raving fool, talking about anything i can, all pouring out like stream of consciousness going wild, an ocean of consciousness, we are drowning in it, it's filling up our lungs and making us....laugh, wow, i seem to be saying the right things, there's lots of people here to talk to, a lovely guy and some old friends of mine. 
the swedish lady drives me into the city, it's gone midnight, people are out in droves, the streets crawl with the hedonistic impulse, i need to use a loo so i wander into a bar where a meathead says, 'how much have you had to drink?'
'about two litres of water and one basil seed drink and i had some lemonade at a bbq.'
'how much alcohol have you had.'
'i don't drink alcohol'
'well you can't come in.'
'why?'
'becuase your wearing shorts.'
'well i wouldn't want to come in now i know your establishment is run by people like you.'
this is alcohol energy, stupid,ignorant and totally primitive. a girl grabs my hand, 'come with me' she smiles, and she's quite stunning, dressed perfectly and with such elegant motion. we wander up the road, she's squeezing my hand tight and links her arm in mine, she's smiling at me and says in a sexy voice, 'i'll take you to a pub i know.' 
she wanders up to this bouncer and says hi, she obviously knows him and asks if he wants a drink, man she is stunning and cool and really smart, the bouncer says 'no' and holds the door open for us, she guides me in. later we separate as i have to go to the loo and take a leak and then i slip past her and i just want to kiss her but instead i just smile and say, 'thanks' and slip away.
on the bus i sit next to two young girls, they smile at me, i'm starting to feel like i have the karvorka, what's happened, have i somehow just invoked the lure of the wolf. i notice the girls have been to homebush, 'what were the church like?' i ask.
'we only saw one song but it was brilliant.'
that's it, the young girls saw one song and it was brilliant.
i head home happy, i had a good night catching up with crazy folk i know from the past, it was unexpected and nice to be social for a change but i don't do late nights and i'm not looking for romance in bars or pubs so i head home with my book, buried in alister crowley biography again, which is getting better and better. 
as society attacks him the more his genius shines. this is the nature of genius, it's never really recognised until the rest of the world catches up with it.

a correction and apology.
in a previous post i said how i would have liked to punch glen a. baker out for his review of the church at the opera house. i apologise to him, it was not his review it was some one called bernie zeul whom writes for the smh. i'm so sorry for this mistake glen, i always get you two mixed up, i would have to retract my statement about causing you harm and offer you a coconut drink next time i see you as an offering. however mr. zeul my statement stands, what concert where you at, i recall the whole audience gave a standing ovation at the end, that says it all really.

raving and drooling that's me, a whacked out freakazoid from planet x, tripping on cacti and symbiotic mushrooms, voodoo frog druid juice and belladonna boiled up with dandelion sage and seven venus wasp trap flowers, yeah colour me in and watch me blend into the environment like a jungle night cat or an nocturnal octopus with jet black emissions under the full moon, serenading venus. 


music.
lights.
avocado.
basil seed drink.
dog.
hammock.


i watch the sun pierce the elemental wizards sky, dark clouds hang there like unexplored countries, soft landing for a cloud dweller, i'm astrally projecting to another life, the one i was with you in some oriental den, we had money and women, we had it all, we were fighters and lovers, i think we were probably dreamers to even then before time, clambering through the eastern plains, in hanging out in temples and places of ill repute away from the strange morality we disliked so much, on the cusp of some mystic satori but we had a perchance for the poppy and oriental women in their fine silks. we were exotic to them, everyone's a winner and we laughed and loved and languished in the fluid temperatures of hazed dreams, like dust mites in the ray of sun, we were fleeting and we lived for the moments between. you were a handsome man then and talented, all that talent leaking out of you like small packets of joy, you knew almost everything and nothing, and i was still in awe of you. when we fought our battles back to back we were outnumbered but we used flair and wit, we disarmed opponents with laughter and then we cut their throats. we knew the value of life, that's why we stayed alive. i was glad you were in the world then as i am now. you made everything okay. when i died i just thought i'm going to miss your poetry, that was what i thought, i wanted the world to hear that poetry and rejoice in it the way i did.
how strange, is that strange?
not really, it's just the way our paths criss cross, it's a kind of poem in itself.


also what i really like about pink floyd is when they just suddenly get funky, right in the middle of some prog rock, they have a funky part with the base, the keyboards, usually a hammond in the mix, and some driving rhythm with some punctuated guitars. there's some great bits on dark side and wish you were here, super groove. on the re issue re mix of wish you were here there is a bonus disc, it's brilliant, welcome to the machine has this funky section, as does wish you were here, well worth listening to what rick is playing, just laying down some textures on top of a very strong foundation. pink floyd for me were all about nick mason though, i think if you took him out of the equation they would just never be the same, whereas most people said, it was waters or gilmour. i think waters lost it with the wall, it really was just a concept that didn't work for me and it was down hill from then on but the rest of their work, as good as any church album. i often wonder if the church will ever make a conceptual album, i'd like to hear that, i imagine it would be so rich and deep i could just lay on it and let it engulf me. i'm not a big fan of concept cds, although diamond dogs is pretty good. 

i'm halfway through this new biography of crowley and i have to say it is rather brilliant and from what i know very accurate, dispelling the mythology finally we get the man. even the biographer admits his surprise to find the absolutely appalling defamation that other writers have made when attempting to define crowley. the writer tobias churton is certain that crowleys achievements were totally suppressed and his character deformed and vilified from the british public. he states that crowley should be listed along the lines of freud, jung and einstein and churton should know as he is a fellow of exeter university and faculty lecturer in western esotericism and an accomplished filmmaker and composer and the writer of the award-winning drama documentary series the gnostics. he has spent ten years researching this book and consulted letters and books unpublished held by the oto and crowley's grandson, and paints a completely different picture of the man than the one most people are familiar with.




it's a brilliant book and although i am only halfway through it i want to share with you some key points crowley makes that i really found fantastic








'civilization looked more like some awful curse by which barbarism to the spirit is sanctioned in favour of respectability'








speaking on english repression, , he says, 'the english poet must either make a successful exile or die of a broken heart.'








on his inner agony, 'reason, the god of western philosophy held within itself the seed of its own absurdity, every thought evokes its opposite. the higher planes of consciousness transcend reason altogether, ordinary logic is useless when approaching spiritual reality, worse it is an impediment.'








he felt mad and wrote, 'i am one who should have plumed himself for years upon the speed and strength of a favourite horse,only to find not only its speed and strength were illusionary but it was not a real horse at all, but a clothes horse...i wish to go from a to b and i am not only a cripple, but there is no such thing as space. i have to keep an appointment at midnight and not only has my watch stopped, but there is no such thing as time. i wish to make a cannon ( a billiard move) and not only do i have no cue but there is no such thing as causality.'








'because the mind is a tool, when one attempts to transcend that operational tool to reach a higher l;evel of spiritual perception and existence, a serious impasse is reached. it produces a species of insanity.'








this was the magickal abyss described by crowley as,


'when the aspirant to the higher intelligence has intellectually examined all possibilities then all phenomenon which presents themselves to him appear meaningless, disconnected and his own ego will break up into a series of impressions, having no relations with one another or with any other thing. it may end in real insanity, which concludes activities of the adept, or by his rebirth into his own body and mind with the simplicity of a little child.'








the exempt adept must destroy his identification with the transitory ego, the ego must become a tool, not an obstruction to the higher consciousness, the genius.