big waves, rolling in, i'm suspended in the deepest blue as they pass over my head, my body dives down under them, it's the smaller ones with the power i like, but every now and then some monster wave rolls in. a few swimmers share a look of horror, these are monsters, two meters plus, that's big for a body surfer like me. some of us make it, we surface out the other side, those that don't are thrown back, washed up along the shore, dumped down by force and power crushing and twisting their flesh into pulp. i skim the next wave, it's fast and furious, swerving through a few bodies, i catch glimpses of the shore as i am propelled through space, i use my had to bring me around before the wave breaks. i spin around and swim out again. i am alive, you ever felt less than alive, the surf will sort you out, you feel defeated every now and then, you feel you need a shot of life force, get thy body in the surf. this is healing on a grand scale, it's a vitamin shot mainlined into the soul, it's a spiritual fix for the broken, seriously, surfing is where it's at, you don't need to be good at it, you don't even need any paraphernalia, just an affinity for some sort of zen experience, leave the body, leave the mind, leave the boundaries and space and time, ride the wave into the sun. 
later i wander through consumer land and find breaking bad series four, a show i adore, so that's me for the weekend, breaking bad.

surfing palm beach, i'm feeling great, the waves are big with velocity, they crash down hard so at the end of the ride you gotta get off the wave lest it throw you onto the sand. it's all feel, you ride that wave until you just feel the bank coming up to meet you and then you gotta spin away from the wave. i'm perfecting this, because one wipe out is enough. 

the day is gorgeous, a woman asks me how i am.

what more can a man ask for i say, this is as good as it gets. 

she swims up to me, it's my sons old teacher mrs. b. she's retired and enjoying a day at the beach. i hear about how she thought jake was an exceptional child, she says he was one in a million and out of all the children she taught he stands out the most. this doesn't surprise me as i know it, jakobs a special kind of spirit, he's got that thing, jesus had it i guess, people just love him, he's very smart and witty but gentle to, yet he has incredible strength and wisdom. i am being objective here, he had it as a baby, it's taken lifetimes but when he arrived i watched and saw it in his eyes straight away.

i tell mrs. b. where he is, what he's doing, she's really happy and swims of. i'm really happy to because this is what i love about being in the surf, magick happens in there, probability lays dormant and incubating and sometimes it just thrusts a minor miracle upon you and a chance meeting like this occurs. 

once at palm beach i was surfing, i went right out by the lighthouse, very remote and sat there waiting for waves, this was when i had a board, now i just fin surf. i'm bobbing up and down and this guy paddles over, he asks me if a wave will come.  hear he has an english accent, 'yeah i say, just wait a while, they usually come in sets.' 

so we wait together and i strike up a conversation, through which we discover that he once worked on my parents house, building an extension to their bathroom, and one day i rang from sydney and he answered the phone. he was on holiday here for a while and just by chance connected with me in the surf.

see that's the kind of stuff that happens to me out there, when your a particle and a wave.

those who, learning to forget completely all objective knowledge, turn inward firmly and see clearly the truth, abide serene. those who try to recall forgotten things pine bewildered, fretting over false phenomena.


all minds perceive through a filter of memetic systems and prejudices, the objective reality is impossible because our minds cannot physically be completely objective therefore it is only by abandoning such an illusion and surrendering to the idea that ones own experience of truth is an illusion as well, the path towards liberation can begin. the false phenomena of identity, controlling memes, dna preconditions will act like ink in clear clean water, contaminating the result of the awakening and leaving us confused by reality. serenity lays in acceptance of this fact.


to put this into practise one must abandon investment in all constructs and memes except love for the universe and everything within it.

underwater moonlight, i wandered the ocean line, sparkles like angels on the head of a pin, a fine mist from a vast source i saw the polar opposite, obsidian negative, refraction on the eye. point counter point, in the rules of the game rules are abandoned. a gentle breeze from the south east, the dark shadow of the headland in the distance, strange parabola as light finds itself suspended in air from cars as they spin around the single bendy road south. 

dusk speeds up, fast time forwards, our heads are in the stars, i'm using an mobile application to navigate the constellations, my friend is skipping along side me like a sea sprite on vacation. she's telling me about her golden years in the ballet, touring the stages of the big cities, dined and wined by the rich powerful folks, driving in long cars and staying in classy hotels. she's nostalgic and it's making me feel slightly strange, is there an opposite word for nostalgia?
nostalgia looks backwards fondly so the opposite would be looking forwards unfavourably. there is no single word i can think of that defines this but if there was it would be pre-stalga or pro. 
just like the opposite of paranoia is pronoia. 
so we walk in night space, her talking me, listening with one ear, i catch sight of the splash of something, a diver emerges from the ocean, starts walking out right towards us, it's bizarre. he's carrying a speargun and wearing a mask, which he pulls from his face and reveals his sex. a woman, short black hair, gleaming teeth and twinkling eyes, she looks pretty good in a wet wet suit as she strides right up to my friend and shows her the big fish she has in her other hand, she says nothing but just smiles and then walks off. meanwhile in my mind i'm expecting the worse, thinking the man was going to cause trouble, start hassling me like a residual hang over from my western australian bbq experience. the opposite of nostalgia. 

the seventh time i was born, thrown into the oddessy of fools, amongst the bards and poets, amongst the spirit dwellers, hark, the sound of bells ringing, chimes travelling through the thick night, hark, the carrion doth fly in the straightest of lines, from cradle to grave, from fallen to saved, from area 51 to section number 9. like little children, like a teenage ghost, just like the average adult and the middle aged man, only he's much older now, ancient and wise, holding court with the kings and knaves, vermilion skies and emerald isles, you sail into my harbour, travelling blind, no navigation no star to guide, here i am, here i am, all of me. the glittering prize, the last one standing, the simple mind. occasional whisper, words of sound, waves in the sky, ripples on water, you must have closed the space between with that smile, a circuit breaker and joker and faker but you made me grin and howl with laughter, and now i see just what your after. one more life time won't buy you time, it's the sand in the hourglass, it's running out. it's the great equaliser, no one escapes, do or die, win or lose, the devils in drag as it slips away.  

surrealist woman blues by steve kilbey

secular tuesday, drinking milk shakes, gazing at clouds, new ideas float through the abstract skies, mayan calendar blues and reds streak the horizon in a fishbowl soup of plasma static. the star people return, they weave around us invisible, they peer into our hearts and minds, like wandering angels, they gaze into the eye's of the maidens and men, they sometimes steal a memory or to, just to share around for the voyage home.
i saw my first star person when i was 3 months, i knew immediately as they hovered above me, i smiled and babbled away and they did the same. i felt happy with my encounters, they returned every now and then, through my childhood and left when i was about 12, taking with them my memory. often i still gazed up at stars, uncertain why, compulsion beckoned, unconscious attraction gravitational pull, some kind of mystery. 
van had his astral weeks i had astral years, the waterboys had their sea, i had my ocean, simple minds had life in a day, i had eternity. 
laster when i passed through the gates aflame, the star people returned my memory, they implanted me with a mission, for a moment i felt like jesus would have felt when he realised who his father was, or perhaps the moment siddhartha gautma sat under a pipal tree and worked it all out in that divine flash, the mind is the problem old chap, nothing else, so just wake up. 
anyway's i woke and grabbed my waking stick, i'd picked it up in africa when i was travelling around with the masai jumping folks who seemed to have springs in their legs, a young tall ebony skinned youth called jason gave me his stick, he said carry it well and use it often. it was quite a big thing, intimidating and i used it as often for many years after.
there was a little commotion, the possums in the roof at mission control were screeching and running around, the cats were meowing, bats were shrieking and pan was pacing up on the balcony. i wandered outside and looked up at the full moon and stars. now in my iphone i often use an application called skyview, which is a 3d map of the night sky, indicating everything that you point it at, including stars, planets, constellations and stars and satellites, i have become very familiar with the orbit of the international space station, 30 people floating around us as we squabble and bicker, there's even a robot up there. i'm scanning the night skies when a shimmering form appears before me, closely followed by another behind me, they just seem to walk out of nowhere and they smile at me and one even winks. the star people return my memories and i loose any anxiety. they tell me about the next stages, they offer me abundance of happiness and love, and they say in their strange telepathic way, share it well amongst your people. so i give it away, here now, for free, come get all you need, i have plenty, compassion, love, affection, it's pouring out of me like a waterfall, like a volcanic explosion, the star people have blessed us all.
when i awake, the sea of tranquility has swallowed me up like a huge whale, the canyons of mars are embedded inside my cortex, everything is there, outside my head, accessed by no mind, all the answers lay in the empty spaces between, the dark matter is filled with little potentials, connected by invisible neurones. everything connects up, there can be no separation, says the walrus. 

sydney, northern beaches, ohh i am an old recluse, as much as i love travelling around, home is where i like to be, swinging in my trusty hammock with my reliable hound beside me, drinking a sicilian latte and going for a surf. surrounded by my books and music, playing simple minds now, old stuff sounds great, old derek forbes, almost as good as that kilbey chap. well i listened to the radio stream of the deep fix, nice man that dj tim chap said we were really quirky and interesting like the fall but funky, he said he liked the album, those were very affirming words for a uninspired musician to hear, kinda made me think about writing more music. something very different this time, more organic and loose, more space, focus on my singing a bit, apparently i can sing although i don't really know if i'd go that far. 

the western lands, last few days, the desert city with it's pristine surfing beaches, beautiful women, friendly city folk, hostile suburbs, the art museum and streets of wide open spaces, the strange big homes built like fortresses and protected by huge walls, who are they keeping out or in, the bright glare of sunlight that cuts your skin, the whisk of clouds, the aboriginal slow death, the miners, those that ride on the back of a boom, you can taste the cash, the people snort it like cocaine, it's make or break time, everyones here for the money. girls tell me how they are gonna cash up, men tell me how they cashed up while they drink away their fortunes, children are born into the chase. 
the western lands where murder is part of the landscape, it's a harsh place, no quarter taken, mercy is the currency i would choose. the beaches are immense, the indian ocean warm and exotic, i love the indian ocean best of all, despite the sharks, i like the feel of it, let it wash upon me, over and through. i catch a few waves. drop a few cds of into freo fm, wander around one last time, coffee and croissant in a very nice french type place, i try on a suit, i'm to fat, that hurts, then i wander into a book shop and fritter away an hour gazing at the walls and walls of art books. they play an early peter gabriel track, from 2, i recognise it, great drum tracks, i listen and travel along a strange time line of memory. peter gabrial and tom robinson in concert, peter sung 2468 motorway and tom sung solsbury hill, the memory washes over me like one of those indian ocean waves and i fall back to the present. got a plane to catch, i puff on a spliff and catch the train. the transport system in perth is perfect, clean and runs on time, frequent, free through the night, it's an example of good thinking and planning. 
i stick my head in kraken, i'm a third of the way through, it's brilliant.

in the western lands, the real outback lays in wait, the mystical landscape of the dreamtime, the closing of the mists, avalon is lost to the english as the dreaming fades thanks to a diet of various toxic imports, namely alcohol or as my outback hosts call it 'grog' and the less sophisticated 'piss.'
i spend my time defending my choice not to drink it, i am considered the strange english man, who is to polite, to quiet, as here in the suburbs i attend a bbq, where poor slaughtered animals are eaten by drunk and obnoxious fools who brutalise their wives and women folk and persecute my good self for retaining my basic principle of abstinence from alcohol and meat eating for pleasure. i am taunted endlessly, they throw darts at me, attempt to strike me with a huge stick, they talk about abandoning me in the desert and then my worst fear dumping me in the shark infested ocean. i smirk it away and in false bravado mention i will take as many down with me as possible. they don't seem to care, their beer and vodkas have made them loose all humanity. i hate this but i stand my ground, they goad me into playing stupid games, pool and darts, amazingly i am very good at both and win thanks to some sort of divine intervention.
the girls join in, like little piranha fish around a pack of sharks, these girls stick by their men, admirable and pathetic. a quick backhanded slap and i guess the defeated hearts of suburban housewives are entrenched in these relationships. i hate this, frittering time away with zombies, trying to find a way to keep the peace until i can get away. one by one the vodka pulls them under, the beer pickles them, thinking becomes slow and sluggish, the sentences can't hold, words become garbled nonsense and then i move in for the kill, striking while the iron is hot, i roll up a big fat spliff and smoke it while they shut down neuron after neuron, popping out like the perth lights once popped on for nasa, now in some strange fated time loop my light comes on.
fuck you moronic drinkers and abusers of women, fuck you all you selfish bogon pricks.

freo, funky bookshop cafe land, everyone wanders around looking like they are far to cool for byron bay, this is the kind of place i like, lot's of bookshops, art everywhere, young energy pervades, the indian ocean with it's magnificent greenish tinge lapping white pristine beaches, where the sand is fine and baked dry. everyone in perth looks good, the girls are beautiful and friendly, there's an english population here i can't fathom, accents everywhere, all dialects.
i'm glad to be out of sydney, to be honest i needed a change, a shake up, wandering around with my back pain, calling into the radio stations, dropping off my tunes, getting some feedback, listen out on the fm radio, they are playing our song. for some reason 'occult diary 2' is getting airplay. i would have thought 'hell would be the one everyone would want blasting out their radio but what do i know, they are all good songs.
well a couple of days surfing and then it's back to sydney, i think i will be ready, more focused when i return, this break away had helped my reformat my hard drive.
i had a nice experience in a little second hand bookshop, i find a book i have been searching for for years, simon ings, 'the weight of numbers' and here it is for $5. the lady say's this happens a lot in this little book shop, i like it, it's small and quaint and interesting.
i finish reading, 'the rook' a sort of paranormal fantasy, it's clever and well written but it's not the bees knees.
i finish reading neil cross, 'luther, the calling,' it's a gripping dark detective novel, and john luther is my kinda guy, he's a black english dude, who loves david bowie, fave album is low, he don't talk much, just reads and solves cases.
now i'm going to read 'kraken' china melvilles book which i meant to read two years ago but never got around to.
that's me, over and out.

strange circumstances have drawn me here, into the western lands. the air here is dry, harsh and the soil red, there's no water here, it's a desert city on the ocean, white sand beaches hot water, sharks everywhere, i'm surfing with my eyes open and one looking over my shoulder. it's not uncommon to be attacked here.

in the suburbs of freeo i feel very boho, smoking my substances, in the bookshops and cafes, chatting with the exotic girls, so lovely to see a really multicultural city at work here, all the skins mixed and matched but some places, out in the suburbs have that south la feel, sirens weave through the nights on a layer of rap music through boom boxes, drug deals, kids running wild, there's an edge on the outer limits. 

but the beaches rule, white sands, blue skies, no clouds just expanse. it's frontier town, deadwood by the sea, in the desert. 

in the city center i find an internet cafe, file a quick report, just saw 'john carter of mars' i liked it, i read those books when i was a kid, took me back.
 

what is the mark of learning? learning all that knowledge is emptiness and ignorance, the true knowledge is the search for the knower.


one cannot know everything, information is endless, our minds and brains are limited and knowledge of facts are infinite. it's a futile attempt to understand the universe through out brains because the brain is a trap when it comes to knowledge, it is the impostor, the domain of memes and ego and therefore all information is filtered and distorted. the true quest for knowledge comes through self discovery, the inwards journey, the reflective self, the quote says 'search for the knower.'
how do we do this?
i guess by stripping away the maya of ourselves until there is only the truth left. strip away each meme that once defined you, each pattern we are locked into, each system that we think defines us. 

food that we eat these days have 3 times less nutrition than they did in ye olde days, even fresh foods as they are grown on farms that do not let the trees root systems reach deep down and never let the tree grow high as it should.
the food industry is rife with short cuts, which is why organics is the only way to eat.
10% of us come from our parents dna, the rest is just a collection of bacteria and parasites living in our guts. if we have the right bacteria we can digest well and be slim, if not we are fat. it don't matter what we do.
if i was pm the first thing i would do is make sure people had access to the right food, all processed foods would be banned. everyone would be educated on how to look after their diets, and encouraged to do so, for food is medicine. every sick person would see a nutritionalist before a dr. 
it's disgusting that people have not got nutrition in this day and age.
the next thing that would go would be the drug companies, fuck them and their evil industry. from now on medication would come from nature and i'd start with legalising marijuana. 

sydney rainfall, grey skull castle and the masters of doom eat their coco pops. i'm fine, dealing with strange police inquiries, an enemy has conspired but the plan is falling apart, i am protected by various charms and spells, the poor enemy is subjected to annihilation and corruption while i flick through a newspaper and monitor the radars, various bleeps and glitches avoided like a primitive game of space invaders. 

pure static overkill, the space between encounters i stumble into nude town for coffee with some pirates and buccaneers but i have a wound that needs attention, so i slip away while they engage in rum and seven kinds of debauchery. 

home for pizza and some internal combustion, i burn away the pain with fire voodoo, fall into a steady stream of rem and flickering echos of tomorrow call me. various text messages penetrate, updated data streams, the affections of mysterious maidens i met along the way but i'm in the dark, my hand on auto pilot reaches out for the phone, somewhere it's close but veiled in darkness, sleep drowns me and in the morning i see the stream of missed calls and messages. 

just saw game of thrones on dvd, wow, it's amazing, like really brilliant. what an incredible story. i've seen the books around but have never read them as i am not that much of a fantasy reader. george r r martin has written an epic that redefines all the rules, it's transposed by hbo onto the small screen and they have done a great job in series one. 
the characters are so rich and complex, their narratives unpredictable and often shocking and it's a tale told from multiple viewpoints. i watched the story riveted to the screen as the political intricacies weaved their way to their conclusions. if you have $30 hanging around, go out and buy a copy, it's worth it. 
i think the best way to watch it is after each episode read the chapters that match them, this way you get the complete richness of the novel plus the magnificent way it has crossed the printed medium to the screen.

low

a recipe for dispair


soak black lentils and chickpeas overnight, then add to boiling mineral water along with some vegetable stock, chopped garlic, clove, chopped fresh figs. use whatever herbs, spices you like but add some fresh coriander to the mix. cook slowly on low heat and stir occasionally. after a while zap it with a power stick until it's just a dense liquid. eat. 

her name was paige, she said she was an angel, i believed her, she wrote like one. she was running the voight kampff test on me through a psychic link we had established, checking my retina responses with some sort of remote viewing, asking various questions just like the replicant test in blade runner while i slept hundreds of miles away. we were separated by a veil of melatonin, the pineal gland was always happy to engage in paige but not to let her pass.
sometimes i'd rush home from the surf and after a shower fall onto a deep sleep, hoping the angel would be in her lab conducting her experiments. i always opened up just like a ripe peach, my strange dr. seuss mind spilled its contents pouring out like a psychedelic fountain from 1969.
like all angels paige was unpredictable, she probably had commitments in heaven or something, she filed reports occasionally and i'd always enjoy reading them, sometimes i felt like i knew her really well, other times her life was mysterious and exotic.
every night i'd attempt to use dream yoga or lucid dreaming to engage deeper and penetrate the veil but i was disarmed and unable to get past the stages necessary. in the mornings i would recall the vague traces, like smoke or the perfume trail that hits you in a shopping mall as you pass a beautiful stranger, we were pirate ships in the night sailing on an ocean of dream.
she had a history, it wasn't all angelic either, it was gritty and real and there was some philosophy in the mix, between some good music and poem. i could hear some very tasteful tunes but she was like ghost, a visitation, an echo from my dreamscapes. 
people said i was crazy, angels don't exist, it's mystical mumbo jumbo, it's some strange fantasy. i heard it all but deep down i dismissed their versions of reality. 
in a matter of months i was finding my days organised around my nights, sleeping and dreaming became the sole focus in my existence. i would shorten my surfing sessions, i would make excuses not to go, i would omit the showers, cleaning my teeth, meals and reading, just get to sleep as fast as possible and soon i would just stay in bed sleeping, or perhaps move to the hammock on my balcony. i would sleep my days away and on the occasions i experienced a visitation i would attempt to make some form of contact, but it was impossible. i sunk deeper into sleep, sometimes up to 20 hours, i used various narcotics and sleep enhancers.
during this time the replicant testing became even more intense and detailed, we moved from simple straightforwards scenario's into highly complex and philosophical ones. 
i had no control over my responses, my retinas just did what they did, flickering and fluttering giving away my secrets, i was an open book. i didn't care, i was just happy to be with my angel in this dimension of endless dreamtime. occasionally other dreams would  infiltrate the experiments, i would find myself comfortable and happily thinking about the conundrums of the test, struggling to make out the details of paige's face as another dream flooded in. in this dream i was on a train, it shape-shifted into an aircraft, i was reading a magazine, the plane was half empty, or was it half full, there was a steward who offered me a drink of sparkling water. i peeked out from the window and could see a bridge, it looked like san francisco, the bay on a clear day, looking beautiful, some music came over the speakers, pink floyd 'echoes' as the plane banked and started to prepare for landing, i felt that nervous flutter that you get and then the next thing i know i'm in an english garden drinking tea with philip k dick. he's showing me his notes from something called exegesis, i look through them but it all seems familiar, it feels like the stuff i write in my blog, suddenly i can hear paige's voice asking me a scenario, it's the one i am in, she says, 'it's a beautiful afternoon, you find yourself in a garden, an english country garden drinking tea from an elegant teapot set with phillip k dick and he's showing you his life's work, it's a huge bundle of papers called exegesis, you look through them and feel something familiar, a recognition, as you read his work, you realise it's identical thematically to your own writings. what do you do?'
i drop the papers on the floor, the light breeze blows them around my feet, suddenly i am back in the lab, looking at paige who is looking at my retina.
something different happens, for the first time in my series of dreams i manage to get a spark of insight into the situation, i bring the garden back, pulling it from the void. 
back in the garden i make the papers fall upwards, they swirl around and follow their decent exactly like time flowing back on rewind, the pages rise into a pile in my hands. pkd smiles, he pours some more tea and says, 'i reached the same conclusion. it's all there, in there, i mean it's a bit random and oblique but there it is, the answer.'
i nod my head, smile and say, 'thanks man, you wrote some interesting things. thank you.'
he walks away, i watch the garden fade slightly, i bring it back, then i pull page in, at first there's a little a little resistance, she's confused and surprised, the garden seems to be unable to maintain its integrity so i make it a beach. it's still hard to make out details, but i'm getting more information, flashes as she and i wander along the shore. she seems confused by the shift, the change in environment. she starts to skip along the shoreline, and then the sky turns pink and some kind of flowers, daisies start falling down like rain and then i realise i am in her dream now. in her dream, i open my eyes.
it takes me a moment to stand up, not sure how long i slept this time, if feels like, days. many days and nights, outside its night time, i check the time, it's 11:11 night time.
i shower and boot up the computer, start filing a report, i wonder if paige will file one to. 

i have a collapsed vertebrae, it hurts like hell, my cough is passing, my diet is broken due to freaking ice cream, stupid ice cream, i blame maggie beer for her caramelised fig and pear caramel flavours, hard for anyone to resist. i ate a tub. self medication i guess, i should have smoked a spliff instead. 

seven types of ingenuity confronted me and no time to consider my options, i was in the paradox trap where indecisiveness as a side effect held me in its sway. while the first ingenuity went for my eye robbing me of sight, the second turned me inside out, the third wiped the memory banks clean the fourth replaced them with terror, next came the void that worked its way around my chest like a worm eating through an apple quickly followed by the knowledge i was alone. but the last evil ingenuity was the illusion i was given of freedom for it felt so real, for so long.

when they let me go i was on my knees, feeling my way around, they said there would be a way out but it may take lifetimes to find it, thus i remained in my personal discord, frittering away the painful day, wasting the night times attempting to fill the void with vague propositions. 

chance, with her strange long fingers, the hand of fate with it's slippery grip manipulated, pulling strings. i followed my instincts down dead end streets, i hacked hard, finding codes and emblems that led me into mazes within mazes, i spoke to everyone i came across, i asked children and men, i asked animals, fishes and birds. i even asked trees and plants and one day i asked all the gods, the one's that rule the seas and the ones that rule the skies but they laughed at me like like i was a punch line in their killing joke. i asked witches, wizards, warlock and even the grand wazoo, but they offered me a bucket of hammers and a sack of onions in some folk lore bargain basement bin.
the pain of my earthly body was nothing compared to the torment inside my head, and despairingly i succumbed to the idea i would have to surrender. for even the best knight can only quest for so long.
so i found myself by a river bank, under a willow, i sat there and closed my eyes and dreamed myself to sleep.
and in my dream all was found, the answer and the peace, all was clear, for there is no answers only the questing.
when upon soon after i found myself again confronted by the paradox trap i accepted my fate without anxiety, no indecisiveness, just gratitude and acceptance. 
i have no eyes but i have vision.
there is no self or i.
in the eternal now, only a naked moment, memory is but a veil.
terror is only the limit of fear.
the void is dark but it does not matter, it's depths are incalculable and elegant and light will eventually fill it.

lebanese restaurant in a place called burwood, i'm there with my brother's people, eating amazing food with some nice people, it's my birthday, my 50th.
i get home late, potter around. in the dawns chorus i walk pan and then head into glebe markets where i wander around and look at bookshops, later i pop into the indian spice shop and buy some exotica. home for a massive clean up, a war against mould. that stuff is seriously bad news in a home. my bathroom has no ventilation except a window so there is a little mould around the shower door which i attack with some fury. an hour later i'm standing in a gleaming bathroom, mould free.
okay here's my new recipe for you, this is a fat burning nutritious pancake that is really tasty and easy to make.


stick a pan on low heat, add coconut oil, then in a separate bowl mix up some oats with water, stir in some nigella, quinoa seeds, chia seeds, raw garlic, an optional egg and then pour into the pan. the blob will look like a pancake but it's impossible to flip like on as it's quite heavy so cook it for about 10 mins on a slow heat then stick the pan under the grill and heat the top half. (make sure you have a metal pan and not one with a plastic handle) 
when the pancake is ready add some lime / lemon juice and enjoy.
you can add variations on the theme, i've added chopped baby tomatoes, some cranberries and heaps of other weird stuff. experiment a little, use organic ingredients and watch it burn fat away while you eat. very tasty and highly nutritious. 

just beamed down from anteries seven, had a small breakfast with the hip hop girls who basically had been awake all night and were still off their skulls on some strain of hydroponica. i abstained, sat there drinking a first class coffee and watching clouds pass overhead. sure felt strange adjusting to the earth gravity, i kept spilling coffee as i tried to drink it, throwing it all over my tee shirt. occasionally one of the twins would grab my arm and screech something in my ear. to be honest i just wanted to get back to mission control and see my hound dog pan. i shuffled through the news papers, mmm, still as grim as ever. this pesky species just can't get it right, a little divine intervention right now would not go amiss.
i played with the sugar sachets and built a small tower which one of the girls flicked over. i chatted with the sicilian lady who makes our coffee as she puffed on a cigarette and then i politely made an excuse and left.
back home the hound was happy to see me, he jumped up and licked me, ran around in excited circles and  sat down obediently for a treat. i had nothing but i gave him a hug which seemed to satisfy him.
mission control washed out, looking haunted and somewhat sad. i light some incense and throw down my bag, i put a cd on and crank the volume, it's 'after everything now this' and i think yes, this is perfect. i have a shower and sink into my sofa, getting submerged in a data stream. the skype system is running hot but i can't talk, to beat. instead i catch up with my various subscriptions, listen to a podcast about how the interest that the US pays china from it's massive debt funds the whole chinese military budget and soon will be collectively more than all the debt from all other nations put together. 
the future's so bright i stick on my sunglasses and wonder if i made a mistake leaving anteries seven. i must have dozed off into a dreamless sleep, well there were shapes in there. at first i was not sure what they were but they were wings, birds, big and dark, i could see them move, flying towards me, but it was fleeting, just like a flick book but the images were close ups, detailed parts of birds, black birds, or ravens, or crows, flying. two of them. but there was no narrative, no form, just these strange images. i awoke in a pool of sweat, surprised i'd fallen asleep. the dream faded as i realised i needed to file a report. the computer had shut itself down.

i wander around the morning, seeking a cure, looking through the pages of a book, newspapers, seeking out the eye door but finding vacancy i drink my medicine like a naughty citizen. later someone calls but he is a fantasist, a romantic in a strange wall of internet obsessions and tired of fictions he wears me out with his cyclic loops and ukrainian ambitions. behind each sentence lurks a scorpion sting, quick to attack, challenge and protect, the fabrication, it's like being in someone else's lucid dream. i escape by the escape hatch, it's non linear and unpredictable but it always has a softer landing. 
my body is juiced up, good juice to, hemp seeds, dandelions, green stuff, my back feels broken, pain shoots it's way around it like electricity and i have developed a cough i can't shake away. this is life after detox. 
i slip into my book, i slip into something more comfortable, i slip over a banana skin some one left laying around the pathway, i slip into a freudian slip under a girls dress, i slip and dip, i slip slop in the sun, i'm slippery dipping, slip sliding away, drifting with a band of persian acrobats in a circus act, reading fortunes in cards, palms and if you pass me your trinkets i will see things that will come to pass. oh the omens are ill fated, danger, be aware, a dark stranger in tent will take your money and leave you stranded in confusion and fear, he's an agent of chaos, a reaper, a raver, a cosmic merry prankster with a special bright pointy hat.
at the bank i argue with the fat cats, why the fuck can't i have a big fucking loan. i'm have a fail safe water tight plan to get us cashed up.
the fat cats all look puzzled, especially the loans officer who actually had told me twice to leave.
'i have a fool proof way to generate money, i just need money to do it.'
'but you have no collateral.'
'collateral damages, just give me the cash.'
'well what's the idea.'
'i can't tell you that, you will reject my idea and then go and copy it for yourself.'
'we won't do that mr. mission.'
i don't trust these fat cats, you can see how easy it is for them to lie by looking at their grins, they don't even try hard.
'okay, give me all the cash in your bank and then i will open up another bank. my bank will loan your bank the money you loaned me, as you will need it for your bank, but i will charge you double the interest you have charged me. that way i can pay your loan back and the interest and keep the extra interest that i charged you.'
'why would we do that.'
'exactly!'
outside sun drenched tuesday seems to pass by at a slower rate than monday, i like the pace of today, feels like i've accomplished a lot but really i have frittered away all my time. 
maybe i should ask the bank to loan me some and they can keep their money. 
what would you rather have?

captain mission meets some nice fbi people, talks to them about snuff music and the deep fix. hands out cds, goes to big bookshop, meets brother, spends time with him, enjoys deconstructing sydney and the last two years. captain mission gets home late, tired and cranky, needs a good sleep but has to walk dog first. responsibilities, blah!

forty days of rain fall, rainbows broken, drowned in a sorrow deeper than bright. the vampire blues, saturated news, from the eastern lands and the cities of the red nights. hollow fields of carnage, an insect metropolis, designated emperor in combat zone. at war with the fiendish vampire queen i took my place in her court, a decedent frenzy of pleasure, a lady of infinite leisure and sadistic to boot. i lured her into submission, with my secret transmission, moon powered zap gun and obtuse wit, my elementary hypnotic suggestion, penetrated her defences and sent her to sleep in a freak lone ray of rare sunlight, her face burnt to a crisp but some ex lover sacrificed himself and pulled her out. we watched in horror as he joined light and disintegrated. the queen disfigured and shrieking hate, the battle maybe over but the war had just begun.
we drove further into the kingdom, with our weapons and subterfuge, digging tunnels like worms, sneaking up from behind, strategies of chaos and discordian principles. ha, the war went on for thousands of years, it had started since before time, beyond the mind, beyond the very existence of humanity. elementary biology shows a body at war, it's the natural state of existence, don't deny it for that just gives it more power she whispered against me. the ministry of propaganda thought parasitise burrowed inside our minds, gnawing away like hydras, sprouting through our neural nets and reformatting a negative energy that would defeat us. i lead troops onwards, but doubt plays it's part, i almost wanted to bite some ones neck, just to be free but i knew there were lines i could never cross. i practised burmese discipline and focused my mind, used visualisations from the santa fe skool, i even took vast combinations of narcotics to subdue the onslaught of neural sabotage but the queen had a strong will.
like a game of chess, the pieces went, there was an equity but the tables and tides were turning against us as the hydra virus seemed to numb our self belief, turning us into food bags for them, the enemy. 
one evening as we prepared to defend our dome, i considered the possibility of doing something unimaginably complex. the moon powered zap gun was proving slightly ineffective against the vampire hoards, but i could reverse engineer the technology and bastardise the concept. i gathered my engineers and scientists and we collected the weapons from our bewildered people. the tweaking was easier than i originally thought, turning the weapons into sun guns just required a polarity charge, and the instillation of small hydrogen converters to simulate sunbeams. there were a few failures, two weapons self combusted killing some soldiers, a tragic accident. 
we were running out of time, the vampire thought weapon was making us all quite defeated, and hope was slipping away. 
it was myself who tested the third weapon. a highly focused beam of artificial sunlight zapped out from the weapon blasting away at the rock, leaving a pile of molten slag. i needed to put the weapon to a real test though, we were uncertain of the simulated sunlights effectivity upon vampires. when i tested it upon a live subject the blast seemed to cause the subject an immense amount of pain and he howled and fell as his hands seemed to sweep his body, patting down what appeared to be smouldering flesh. he cried out for mercy but still lived, his teeth seemed to fall out and his hair fell from his scalp revealing a hideously deformed skull, we watched him writhe in pain as his fingernails fell and he sobbed for death to claim him but he remained coherent and as alive as an undead could be.
we had failed in our task to create a killing weapon but we had something more terrible, a non lethal weapon.
by the time we had altered the troops systems the hydra weapon of the enemy had embedded itself with us and now a sense of unease crawled through our resolve.
we were defeated, even as we walked into the lair, our weapons filled the caverns with artificial non lethal light and the underground labyrinth filled with screams and horrific cries, we knew there would be no victor in war.

doing laps in palm beach ocean pool, i must confess i don't do as many as i would like but i am somewhat washed out from a sleepless night. the pool is filled with skool kids, it drives me crazy, screaming and cluttering up the natural beauty, with their high pitched squeals and laughter. yeah i'm captain grumpy as i weave my way, forward crawling through the aqua zone, usually im in the surf but this morning it's filled with seaweed. later i head down to whale beach where i get in the big chop, waves here are wild, it's a treacherous beach, merciless, the locals call it the wedge, and it's hardcore. i body surf some classic forms, beautiful but i'm somewhat exhausted and after an hour head back to mission control for a wind down. yeah i'm wound down as i consider a big clean up, less grumpy, feeling okay, not quite an angel but somewhat like a normal human about to hit 50. fuck! i should do something shouldn't i? i made it to 50. that's pretty amazing when i think about it.
the following day i head into the city where i meet my brother for five minutes, he's looking slightly older but slim and healthy, we chat for a little while about the state of the world, grim. 
later i meet the book of vila, vals band, and take some photographs of them for promo's. what a lovely group of gentlemen.
i even have lumberjack cake in a cafe, where they present it to me freshly spawned from the ovens.
later it's a wander in newtown and lo and behold val buys a copy of 'house of leaves' and i tell him, if he don't like it i will refund his cash.
i'm currently reading 'ready player one' which is very good, and seems to be getting better.
all is reasonable in the world today, i appear to be coming out of the weird phase i was in, stress and sleeplessness weighing me down like a planet on my shoulders. yes today i'm lighter than yesterday.