insomnia, pottering around in the dark, half hearted attempts at reading, writing, watching something on tv, listening to the ambient sounds, eating toast and drinking mushroom drinks, the whole night is a torture chamber as all i want is to drift off and sleep. 

i used to have friends i could count on, night friends. i knew they would be awake and we could often meet up and talk, go for drives, smoke weed, wander along the beach under the stars but now i am literally alone. unable to even entertain myself as boredom and disinterest kicks in, my brain cannot focus on anything for any length of time. 

at dawn i do some laundry, i survey the rooms for my next tasks, those high ceilings need a clean as does the fireplace which has been working overtime.

it's 0910 when shayne rings, he's taking me out for breakfast and tells me to be ready to be picked up.

after a very good sleep I head down to the beach at dawn, it's a gorgeous day, the surf looks amazingly clean and the tide is out, swimmers are already enjoying wading out not the deep, not a wetsuit in sight. it takes me a while to park, so many people out and about, cafes packed and shops seem to have opened early, it is indeed a glorious morning. I meet a few people before heading off on my walk, I cannot enter the ocean yet as my cough is still bad, but it is nice to feel the sensation of sunlight upon my skin, it's nice to chat to a few people, laugh a bit and walk along the beach. i pass the seal who has just been for his swim, he's laying in the shadow of a big rock, a crowd of people stare at him. i walk towards the big place opposite the skillion, it's just had a revamp and looks like a generic club now, i sit down inside and have a coffee looking out at the playing field and hill where dogs chase balls, kids throw them, parents wander around in bliss and i gaze down feeling relaxed and content. this is a new start to the day i think, a good feeling. i understand there's a lot to do today, clean car, shopping, housework and preparing for the cold night but in this moment all is good. peace. 

later as i walk back i bump into some people i know, we have a laugh, swap war stories, it's hard to talk as i cough violently, and everyone wants to know how i am, where am i on my recovery, what does the doctor say? it's hard to keep saying the same thing over and over, keep telling people it's ongoing, there are no answers and that the tests are still in process. everyone wants definitive answers and it's frustrating as i do as well, but i don't have them so nothing i say seems to satisfy anyone.

i make my way back to mission control, wash the car, do some laundry, do a little shop and then read a few things online. i'm still feeling   the peace. it's good. i do some garden work, slowly and methodically, just rip out some dead stuff and gather some branches, i attempt a pond clean but fail, it's rigorous and I don't have that rigour right now. 

 a 3am phone call and it appears whatever rift has occurred is now healed, it feels strange as though both parties were in some strange communication breakdown, but it gives me a chance to air a few grievenences and concerns. i don't know what it means, i explain my sickness and the seriousness of the last few weeks, how hospital investigates, how a clusterfuck of pneumonea, uti, migraine, food posioning and this terrible cough have put me on my knees. i'm not the dead man walking i was, more of a living man stumbling around somewhat dazed and confused. then there's my inability to sleep at night, three nights now, just pottering around stoking the fireplace and watching 'foundation'. again, possibly the best tv show ever. i'm loving that stuff, it's just vast and cosmic and brilliantly executed. well into series 3 now, and this mule chap is playing his hand.

interesting conversation with my friend danni this morning, it's the only time i seem to be able to communicate without bursting into a coughing fit from the exorsist. we sip coffee and nibble toast in the sun at some swanky club, outside the sun has risen up over the horizon and burns up into the daytime, blue skies, electric sensory pulsations, winter light, the soaring pelican flock, the seals basking upon rocks. dogs run riot, everyone stops to look at something and up in our cocoon danni informs me about her theory about the fall of civilisation starting with the contraceptive pill. i disagree. we talk about modern feminism and there we find a common ground. 

this sort of conversation is interesting, for here are two people who are opposed discussing a contentious issue but with respect for one another points of view and the difference of opinion. there's no shouting, name calling or resentment, it's just a conversation. like the old days when people were not so caught in their little ideology bubble, enslaved by their positions imovable orbits. 

danni's book will be out soon, a true history of her dating adventures, she's a very good writer and hilarious to read. we talk about our disappointments in relationships, our low expectations sinking lower, and the fact than now everyone is just miserable in them they have to operate as a business venture to work. again i disagree, once love becomes business it's finished. it's not that simple, binary. love is a multi faceted word, it operates on multitudes of dimensions, and cannot just be pragmatic alone. it's not always about happiness, compromise or romance. it's a verb, which means it's action, movement and constantly changing, shifting gears and in and out of one role into another. what it is and has to be is commitment. and there in lies the fatal flaw in the system, for most individuals commitment is an extreme sport. 

to commit to something is to put ones knowledge and experience to the test. and unless it's equal the test will fail. one cannot be more committed than another and expect it to work, it must be equal. equilibrium must present itself as safety, and once safe, both parties can move forwards. 

the afternoon appears now as present, time fritters away like pineapple rings on a bbq, everything smells good, there's anticipation within the air, dancing like pinpoints of light upon the wings of angels, i gather my things, motivate myself into action, movement. 

the end of the fairytale, the prince awakes in a cold sweat, his face aged and haggard. dark rings encircle his eyes and his skin suit is crumpled and worn. he's in a dark room, engulfed by sheets, blankets and a thin quilt, a strange form of daylight filters through closed shutters and still flat upon his back his hands feel around the edges of the bed, finding nothing, and as long fingers adjust themselves deep under the layers of blankets they wrap around the mobile phone. it's dead. 

the shower feels very good, it's hot and vital. for what must seem like over a week the spectral figure is upright. his stomach stable, none of those tremors, his legs weakened but able to manoeuvre his body from room to room, the cold air penetrates and outside the deluge of hot water it waits like an old enemy.

for the first time in many days, fully dressed his body evaluates itself. he was hospitalised, in and out twice. tests, blood, urine, cameras, swabs, strange isolation rooms, nurses, doctors, specialists, charts. his head pounds with information. the wretched feeling, the nausea, the uncontrollable requirements to purge, all long in absentia now. the toothpaste tastes awful, he looks into his eyes. pupils darkened and hollowed out. is there something to recognise, whatever it is is unfamiliar. 

wandering through mission control he hovers over a few books, he stops and flicks through some paperwork. he scans some documentation. he makes himself a cracker, it tastes good but he can only drink water. his mouth bites and chews slowly. he opens a few doors and a cold breeze blows through the house. it's ice cold and fresh. light dances through the building now, angels sing under the surface of things. was it real? was any of it real? is it real?

the answer is digestible, no. it's all a lie. she was a lie. she always was and always will be, there is no love there, no truth, no substance. a mirage, temptations come in many forms but mostly female. i always fail that test, or does the test fail me. it makes no difference now. pottering around the kitchen, my hands discover a half smoked joint. i spark up and sit down, my head emptying of thought until insight enters.

child trauma is love corrupted. i never wanted to survive with her, only to live with her. but she had given herself to monsters of the past. her history dominates her present, as does her ideology, it corrupts her future and therefore mine. she only knows how to hate me and that's okay, my journey is to be hated by those i love. it is foretold, it is experienced and it is understood. weak people ignorant people always fear what they cannot understand.

i think tonight i will bang the drum under the stars, i will dance with the fire twirlers, shake with the hula hoop girls and howl with the beasts. i'm far from dead, more alive than ever. 

hows this for something, i attend a big fucking meeting at work and it begins by my boss making a big ho ha, a speech about me. what the fuck, apparently i've been there 25 years and they wanted to give me some sort of watch or token. i did'nt get one but it's a nice thought. to be honest i have actually worked there longer but i had a year off when i went to canada in 2000. i've worked all my life in various situations but yeah 25 years is a long time. anyways the rest of the meeting was me challenging everyone to work better, aim higher and get into gear, i'm disliked but i don't care, even my boss is on side but she's a hippie so wants to be liked and sometimes she's two steps forwards and one step back. i don't care, i just do my work. 

it's been a really long day and my body actually aches, it's weary and i'm very tired. my home needs attension and all i want to do is inhabit it. but tomorrow morning i have a docters appointment, then there's the freaking domestics. there's a few people i need to catch up with but i'll put that on the backburner until i feel okay. i get up very early, after about one hours sleep and potter around with some writing, laundry and as the sun cracks the day open i work the front garden. at the doctors i'm given more antibiotics, i go shopping with a plan to make some sort of jambalaya. i have no idea why, it's just something i thought about and feel i need to do. 

bitter wind blows through mission control, it's ice station zero, polar bears wander around the garden, my fingers numb and my nose is so cold. i can't stand it. 

i look backwards at the experience, her beautiful face gazing at me all this time, years, i look forwards and it's just a fork in the road, no certainty or clear messaging, communication is low key, not what it was pre and during my travels so something has changed and i speculate it is the visit, maybe i am a disappointment? do i move forwards or give it a chance, it's very hard to know without a clear definitive. ah well i guess i'm just clutching at straws here. i fall down and sometimes i'm just pushed but i always get up. life just grabs me and pulls me in new directions, and to be honest i'm due a new direction. with my new haircut people all seem bemused and transfixed, they all say it's very assertive but to be honest that's the last thing i wanted, i just wanted a change, something new, a new me, as the old one was on a head on collision with the abyss. 

we do have a quick conversation, she sounds defeated and bored. she says she dosn't want to deal with anyone, including me and to not get offended. ha! don't get offended. it's not offending me, it's just the same old stuff of non commitment, avoidence and puts me in a difficult position as history repeats itself. i recall that advice about staying in the moment but the moment feels like pain and i ain't sticking around for that. i can find my own distractions. in the end i just ask outright. i get a weird answer but there's some hope in there so i'll take that i guess and just move forwards. oh, by the way, i don't stay in moments that are painful, i let them go until i find one i like. for some dumb reason i'm popular now, it's weird how that works, i don't really want to be at all, but i guess the season is upon me. 

rain coming, sprinkle here and there, windscreen dappled in falling drops, trickles downwards distorting the future. i have no plan other than get mission control sorted, the back garden, the broken toilet seat, the piles of stuff. not enough time at the moment as i'm commited, it will all end tuesday evening at 2100 when i can stop and focus on what is important.

i'm reading my second malfi novel, it's good, very well written. much less grungy and more straightforwards than the other and then suddenly the hardcore kicks in from left field.

there is no doubt, i am a mad crazy fool, sailing upon an idiot wind towards the rocks or the sandbanks in my search for buried treasure. it's out there, far away but close and despite the past, despite the warning signs, despite the challenges and resistance, like oddessus i must face the fear and do whatever i can to return. 

was it sabotage, where you stolen from me, was it just your wild untamed youth or my stupidity, i was true and true missed the target. it lost the war, defeated it lost everything but it was subjected to a strange rebirth in a new direction, and i let things go. and you in your unique beauty were held captive by monsters and i was under the spell you were happy. i would have busted down doors to free ypou but as usual i'm the last to know. and i end up last. 

but that's okay, i rather go down in love than stand in hate. i've known both and i know what i am true to. it don't make me better, it don't make me worse, it just makes me. and here i am again.

 a woman is at my door, i get a shock as i look up and she's just there, wearing a hideous cardigan and that youthful enthusism you get from idiots with cuases you no longer believe in. it's the cancer council wanting money for womens cancer, and despite my shock she launches into a script that i can't escape from, it's terrible, entrapemnt i scream on the inside. we are seperated by a screen door. she goes on and on, telling me about the rise in cancer and womens health and then when it's all over asks me to make a donation. the fact is the cancer council won't cure anything, it's about early detection. there are cures for cancer already and there's prevention methods, however the solution lies in the production of food, drink and the general health of the planet. many things cuase cancer but many things can cure it, but that would prevent the pharmacutical companies profiting. all charity is a scam. it's a self fulfilling prophecy and industry similar to the pharmecutical industry. if you want to help someone help them directly, don't use an agency to do it for you. the agency takes a huge cut, and thus propels itself onwards. i no longer believe or trust charities. they often come with some political agenda as well. 

age teaches you quality over quantity,  you do not need to finish that joint, a few puffs will get you there. you do not need to overeat, drink or indulge in it all, because once pleasure is reached, once you get to that space where it feels good, you don't need to go further. young people, myself included always went further but now i understand there is no requirement. my knowledge and understanding will not be enhanced by quantity, only quality will give me what is needed.

same in relationships. i don't want quantity, but high quality. i want trust,  respect, i want communication, i want enthusiasm and commitment but it all has to mean something, it must be authentically felt and expressed else it's just a lie. it must be safe. in my experience that is never found in quantity.  only quality.

i'm in a massive space of clearing, lots of stuff being thrown out, i suddenly realised i have a lot of jakes stuff here, i'd have to keep that but slowly i make space. there's also the debris of my garden which caught fire a few days ago and now needs a fair bit of work. there's also some writing. the fact i'm writing makes me happy. next wednesday i return to the surf, that's going to change everything. i''d go in now as the surf is amazing but i'm not well and do not want to push my luck. anyways, next week is my personal deadline and hopefully i can meet that commitment.

my back is still fantastic, no more pain. 

my back is healed thanks to dr. peter proud who returned from his adventures in far north queensland, he was radiant and looked in fine form. his place is amazing, i could see the work and the effort monique and him put into it and it's beautiful. he works my back, using a device that is like a hundred woodpeckers attacking was actually relaxing and lifted tension immediately.he stretched some muscle's on my neck and used a weird clunky table on me, and hey presto, my back was pain free. the knife removed after 2 months.

at home i chat with bubbles, and wow! my fears seem to be just fears, she actually started talking about our time together. positively! that was the enthusiasm i needed hear. fantastique.it''s a great conversation, she's very smart, a very clever girl but in the most abstract way possible, she's eccentric, intelligent and sexy. i know i get called eccentric by almost everyone, and it's true to a certain extent, but i am a child of post punk london, with post punk sensibilities and bubbles is a post punky girl. she's complex and genius, sexy and funny as fuck.

intelligence- well there are so many types of intelligent but bubbles has the kind that i don't really have, it compliments mine. 

sexy- oh yeah.

so there's that. it's hard for both of us, i appreciate that. it was the first time around, and it worked up until brain injury so all I have to do is protect my head.

the big meeting seemed to take me by surprise, i was anxious and concerned as i was going in with some heavy artillery and advocating for clients which always makes people nervous as i take no prisoners. i said my bit, i was articulate, my points well presented and backed by observable detail and example, my use of language was preciece and confrontational. however my boss understood exactly what i was talking about and agreed with me,  i had spoken for about an hour and a half and it was possibly the most important meeting i had had since i had started working with this organisation. usually my boss is fearful when i advocate, she knows i am right and would never back down, but this time she is responsive. very positively acknowledging what i am saying. it's impressive. 

when i get home around midnight i can't sleep, i write, read, toss and turn,  and eventually around 0400 i sink into deep sleep only to awaken at 0800. down at the beach i am supposed to meet dr. peter proud but he's in the ocean, i watch him wading out, no wetsuit, far to cold for me. instead i wander down to look at the baby seal, it's cute, just longing around on a rock in the sun. a few passer by's complement me on my new hair, they say it makes me look younger. if only they knew i feel thousands of years old. 

i have finished the malfi book, it's conclusion was epic and weird, very good but meh, some kinda finality would have been better. i'll read another book of his, see how it goes. he is a very good writer, that must be said.

driving home fast, i break rules and eventually fall into the zen drive, when i turn of the freeway the lovely bubbles rings to check in, she knows i am exhausted and tired, run down and somewhat running on empty.  i can't recall what she says, something about antibiotics and hair, maybe something like 'goodnight lovely, love you,' but that last bit is a bit unconvincing. i dunno, once bitten and all that. however it's a lovely gesture and very thoughtful, after all if i died on the way home, no one would know for at least a week. i pull up and drag myself inside to the weird interior of mission control, where piles of books and cds now have the company of piles of tee shirts which i need to sort through. i feel like i am getting somewhere, but realistically it's three steps forwards and one step back.

my meeting today was moved to tomorrow and that's no good for me, i need to just say what i gotta say and be done with it. i don't expect anyone will do anything as they are useless and incompetent when it comes to conflict and dealing with accoutability. however i just need to say it.

ah well tomorrow should be fun if i make it.

 sleepless in springfield, the night just lingers over like a dark blanket, i toss and turn, i think about my fave things, i think about them a lot and then the grey matter between my ears kicks into some sort of overdrive and i make my way down to the fire, throw a load of wood in, watch the flames lick at the glass and the heat envelope mission control and i write, woking my way through chunks of my book. my memories of the period i write are hazy, fuzzy, i need details and they are elusive. the silence is great, no sound except the crackle of flame, i make myself a tea, feel the sleep come as the tea kicks in. i sleep for two hours and then read for a few hours, the book is very good, unpredictable and interesting. again i sleep for another two hours and wake up suddenly, it's light, morning sneaked in.

my hair still looks pretty weird, i figure without my beard it will look reasonably consistent. it's very cold in the house, fire dying, outside is bitter and as i air the house the cold air blows through. at least it resets the interior atmosphere from the smoke and dust, the i'm wrapped up in jumpers, coats and scarves. i consider doing some laundry but end up discovering loads of tee shirts and a oil heater. christ where was that when i needed it! at least i can heat the bedroom when the wood runs out.

later i drive to the chemist pick up some stuff, then off to work. i dunno, work is not quite what it used to be, it's now just a way to pay my morgage, i can't really do much here anymore although every one likes me, they fear me, i guess that's respect in a way, but my heart is far away.

tomorow i have a few things to do in the morning, catching up with dr. peter proud. my back is killing me, whoever stabbed me there did a good job. hopefully peter will have some antidote. the other thing i have to do is work out how to sleep more than 4 hours a night, it's really taking it's toll, my eyes have such huge bags under them i look like a ghoul. actually with this weird hair cut i look a lot like iggy pop.  

i can't sleep so at dusk I head down to the markets and wander around, half hoping i can bump into something or someone that will distract me for a few hours but the market is far to busy and all i can think about is getting back to my novel i'm halfway through reading. it's been a while since a novel had me hooked. three story lines and two time lines about to converge, it's gripping stuff and very well written.

i make my way to the station, today is my hair appointment and i've decided to save a 2/3rds of the price and get it done in the city not terrigal where it's so expensive i just laughed when they quoted me. 

i meet yayin, she's just amazing. a really inspirational as she tells me her background story and we get stuck into the task. four hours later my hair is transformed, into a cross between ziggy stardust, the man who fell to earth, iggy pop and some sort of post punk look, a sort of orange / red tinge, purple overtones and the original black, grey strands. i'm told the colour will fade in 2 weeks and it will revert to the monochrome i'm familiar with, but it's certainly striking currently and people seem to notice. no one known to me, but lots of stares from fellow passengers on the train. 

as soon as i walk in bubbles calls and we chat for a little while, she's happy and in her cat world, i still get the impression she is glad to be away from me, i dunno, she seemed to really love all her ex boyfriends and give herself to them even when they turned out to be fuck heads, whereas i'm just no longer on her radar. even when i was decades ago she left me for someone else when i really needed her. however, truth is, it's lovely hearing her voice and despite her actions towards me, i love her. i don't need her to love me and i've always said without enthusiasm or demonstration as in, acts of faith, i don't want an ordinary love, it's just a word people use like 'kettle' or 'coat' or 'fun.' love for me is much much more, it's a whole spectrum of actions, a leap of faith, a sacrifice, a demonstrative verb, it's got to be more that just something you say habitually or in response to an auto pilot and past patterns created. sometimes when bubbles said it to me, i felt like she could have been talking to her iphone. 

so onwards, projects must be completed. i'm full steam ahead. i'd kill for an editor or assistant, someone to just motivate or at least inspire me but for the moment i'm alone.

dr. peter proud rang me from hamilton island, he's having an adventure but returns monday night. i can't wait, i miss the guy heaps. it does sound as if he had some adventures up there and he's ready to get home. stories of high speed cop chases, good cop bad cop, girls in bikinis and reef adventures. 

tomorrow i have a big meeting where i have to speak some home truths, it's not going to be easy, but i have to remember who i am there for. i'm not there to make friends.

well sadness is my middle name but what did i expect?