i skirt the outer limits, the peripheries, the edges, a shadow detective meshed into the occult and dark magicks, not quite there but not quite here. there must be solutions amongst all fringe sciences, philosophy and practices but each one is imperfect, most fakery, some just to dangerous. there is just one that appears born from the vast aeons of pre-creation, it comes to me from the gift of my dreams, the application of an old trick i used once in an incarnation i felt uncomfortable with. it's the reversal of time, to make it flow counter to my own, a uniquely internal alchemical process, a subconscious adjustment. i need certain materials to do this, preparations are required, a ritual to focus and sharpen the concentration. 
i complete my acts in silence, alone, drifting through space, through the unknown, in a void filled with my own self. the deeds are done, all is still.
there's nothing left to do but live, going forwards now. the future travels through us relentlessly, my photosensitive mind captures it all in a single image called now that changes all the time.
i took the train into the superficial city, somewhere in a suburb i gazed out at the streets and saw you, a single poster in the mundane world. it seemed to be misplaced, out of context with everything else. that profile and the stars staring at me as i took that very moment to raise my head from my book and look out the window. my book by the way was berg's 'zohar explained' which seemed slightly significant, but then again...
the city was murky, a mass of people wandering around under grey skies, children dragging parents along everywhere, religious groups out preaching from their book, hellfire and brimstone and cafe's over spilling with elegantly dressed peoples, i myself being discrete and blending in chameleon-like with the greyness, the un noticed. you know they fucked up my hair. no longer long and flowing, now more like some sort of scouring brush you would clean an oven with. i was furious at the stupid teenage hairdresser who pretended to listen to my instructions when i stated their importance. anyway it will grow back and i will manage but for the moment i feel self conscious and vain, there is nothing worse than bad hair.
i picked up a copy of norman mailers book 'moonfire' which i had been wanting to get for a long time. i first saw it about 20 years ago, in large format but today i noticed it reprinted in smaller edition so i picked it up. i'm still reading, 'limit' and halfway through bergs book so i can't start another just yet.
i waled into the chinese area of the city, hive central where my friend and i used to go. it's been spruced up, looks cleaner and there's hub of activities, hordes of people feasting on noodles and lotus cakes. it feels good for a moment to be lost in a crowd. on the train back i must have fallen into a deep sleep, woken as we passed some central coast waterways, i followed the rivers and estuary's, small battered houses, tiny unkept gardens, the occasional boat and then the oyster farms stretching out. the water was still, for a moment the sun came out and it all looked wonderful, like a imminent holiday.