big moon over sydney skies, giant peach hanging from the night, i wandered up to the alien crash site where i used to hang out before it became popular. in the old days it was the perfect spot of a spliff, we would lay down and stare at the skies on the pristine bowling lawn dreaming about the future we never saw coming. those were great days, before my crash, i was free, felt happy and in love with life. i'd go surfing at least three times a day, my friend discovered a sort of god, he went his way. my broken bones healed and i went into the baptism of fire with the pedophile ring, corruption, cover ups, death and the apocalypse now type horror of it's fall out. we drifted apart, i into darkness him into light. it wasn't my choice or it didn't feel like i had one, it just played out that way.

now under this big moon i am back at our old haunt for a birthday party. it's very popular now, everyone knows the bowling club, it's packed out with familiar faces and friends from the past. some one asks for my autograph, it's my first time and it feels strange, i'm more embarrassed than her. 
in fact i'm very embarrassed and it's sent me on a strange inward like journey but various people around me pull me back, the rolling stones are playing miss you and i find myself chatting to a surfie guy who is telling me about whale beach when he was a kid, i surprise him by talking about the days i lived there and we have mutual friends, the original owners of 'whaleys' cafe, we talk about the night bowie played at moby's. 

there's a nice feeling here, it's very cold, we huddle up, the girls are dancing, old friends introduce me to new ones, i sing happy birthday and we attempt a roasting for birthday girl, it's quite funny, she's a character, everyones drinking except me, everyones loud and cheerful. i practice my flirting techniques but get board easy, these days i like to be home early, i slip away under the big moon, i wander up to the headland, watching the ocean. i think about the days i spent on the beach in tel aviv dancing under a moonrise, those were great evenings, the sound of drums. here it's silent save for the surf breaking and then suddenly the shrieking of girls running for a bus.
well lets assume you have not experienced the late night bus heading from palm beach to the city on sydney's northern beaches, imagine a normal bus, filled with 13-16 year old girls dressed up like strippers, showgirls, porn actresses, all completely smashed already, making so much noise, causing so much trouble for the driver he has to call security to ride with him next stop, the guards jump on, there's four of them and they already look nervous as the girls size them up, i'm surrounded by this drama all the way to newport, i jump off the bus thinking about the power of a big moon, make my way home, back to pan, back to mission control.