it's been a long night and i was not sure i would wake up after eventually falling asleep, it took me ages and around 3pm i eventually drifted into a dreamless state, where at 5am i awoke feeling restless and irritable. the pain in my chest, my damaged heart was awful and for the last 24 hours had me functioning at 10% instead of the 50% i had become used to since my AF situation. anyways, i clambered out of bed and my attempt to actually make my bed left me somewhat breathless and exhausted. even the mechanical act of breathing hurt and felt different than usual. after a shower and some coffee i went down to terrible and watched the surf, the waves were wonderful and the water looked clean and inviting but under my circumstances far to risky to enter. i read for a while in the sun. 

supermax is a compilation of three novels featuring the two lead characters max and angie, written by two crime writers, ken breun and jason starr possibly the best modern noir crime novels ever and certainly the funniest. it's a real laugh out loud story and with the witty snappy dialogue you expect from tarranteno or scorsese. all the characters are very nasty, awful people and their situations go from bad to worse to worser as the story continues at a super fast pace and with various twists and turns and introductions to new characters and even more horrific personalities, yet funny as it gets.

a strange thing happened, which is i figured out the chemist had made a massive error in my medications, which possibly resulted in my AF not improving. they put the wrong dosage on the box, so i was getting 50% less dose than necessary.  i have to return to hospital in a couple of days as they will do some more procedures but they will have to keep there as there is no one at home to keep an eye on me, curses, i hate being in hospital but there's no choice. 

a week of hard work, one day left to go, before i can take some time out, it's been huge, so many dramas and events pass me by at work, really huge situations but nothing involving me and fortunately i end up looking very good but at the expense of about 5 other people. it's weird but the karma must have caught up with the idiots i have to work with, although my boss will undoubtably cover it up or find someone else to blame because this is australia in the year of our comrade 2026 where the useless rise to the top and get what they want while the innovators and hard workers driven by passion and intellect have to suffer the fools. ah, australia where did you go wrong, i think after hawke. that's when the rot set in. 

anyways what do i know, i just plod onwards hoping to pay my mortgage and bills on time, maybe the occasional book here and there and if i feel extravagant an ice cream every wednesday night after terrible beach drum circle. 

i was watching one of my fave people being interviewed by a moronic irishman who seemed to be reading from a list of questions, and unable to actually converse but johnny lydon was generously talking away and his honesty was incredible refreshing as was his bravery. he talks a lot about the mythology of mandela, which is very rare to hear due to the fact he is often promoted as a legend of humanity whereas the reality is pretty grim. he spoke about the bbc covering up for jimmy saville and what happened when he blew the lid. i love lydon, a really smart guy with working class roots, he's honest and funny, self depreciating yet well aware of his place in history as a 'sex pistol.'

as far as watching / listeneing goes, i do think this is very interesting.

https://youtu.be/3bWzPHMXLeY?si=xG-_zqD5YrQi0-Kr

 the sarvant by douglass hoover

a small group of prisoners in the first world war held in a barbaric work camp where they are treated with the cruelty and sadistic brutality by their german captors are given a chance to be transferred to a neutral camp in switzerland by the mysterious officer who appears to have documentation from the Kaiser himself. 

escorted by a handful of men the prisoners find themselves stranded in a small town isolated by mountains and ice in the alps,  where they must cohabitate and make use of themselves with the community. 

the community are mostly females and seem to hold strange ceremonies and rituals based upon the ancient cult of mithras. 

this is the novel stephen king aspires to write, he is good at short stories but his novels are predictable and far to long winded. douglass on the other hand is detailed without being boring, his characters are very interesting with many dimensions to them, and the story is a page turner as we want to see what happens next as well as comprehend what exactly is going on. 

i really enjoyed this one, took me back into binge reading, where i could not put the book down. this belongs in any bestseller list despite it not being one, it really is fantastic, and would make a great film.

there's a supernatural element to it but it's not overwhelming or dominating, it's always there waiting to make it's appearance but the story is about characters and their survival against the more mortal enemy of war and how to survive it.

okay well now it's time for a good crime novel next, something pulpy and with snappy noir dialogue from interesting characters we hate at first but kinda want them to have a happy ending, yeah, that kinda trip.

last sunday i took a serious blow to the head, it sent me reeling into that high level pain area along with loss of awareness, disorientation and some kinda weird liquid escaping from the top of my head that was not blood but some transparent fluid. it was outrageously painful, my crown swelled up and the only thing that seemed to ease the pain was a packet of frozen vegetables. several times i thought i should go to hospital but i had work, i can't afford not to work and my positive thinking made a valiant effort to overcome but the pain has not gone and i fear it may be bleeding on the brain or severe bruising so i have to take myself to hospital again. just before i leave i attempt to refill my rosette box of medication for the week and realise the chemist has given me the wrong meds, so this needs to be fixed which takes a day and a half. so today after finally sorting out the mistake i am about to go to hospital and have my brain looked at. head injuries seem to be my thing, i've had a severe brain injury to the frontal lobe which changed my life completely once, a prerequisite to ayahuscia it appears but now this is on my crown so we will see what happens. i just hope i live a little longer as I'm writing again and really feel good about that. 

so the bizarre thing is when i drive myself to the hospital there is nowhere to park, i drive around for an hour, and there is nothing. no space anywhere. so it's back home for me, back home and hope i wake up in in the morning.

a strange powerful energy, almost a force has besieged me, my body over run with it's directive as i sit up at 3am for a few hours writing a free flowing, almost channelled follow up to my novel the antidote. it's been this way for about two weeks and my time is literally consumed with writing. the strangeness is there's little conscious thought in the story, it's just ambling along, i don't even know where it will end, but there have been several points it could have so far, i guess the process will inform me. it's great to be writing like this again,  everyday when getting up old captain mission counts his blessings, just got another day to write, that's a win, for i feel the story must be told. that's my mission at the moment which is weird as i am supposed to be a science fiction writer. anyways it's a case of i write therefore i am.

this time we jump about 30 years in to the future and the main character is obviously older and now a well oiled part of a strange agency tasked with assassination. he's experienced now, a different animal from the one in the first book, again i've jumped from first to last.  this one is set in the uk, and based around the grooming (rape) gangs saga. it's very tricky because the obvious criticism is waiting to pounce upon me but it's just a factual background and very contemporay setting. anyways, it's almost finished in draft form and needs tiding up, editing and a few insertions and details. the bit i'm actually not skilled in. 

war interrupts the world, everyone is panicking, terror on the streets of sydney, the airways filled with opinion, somebody sees the future another sees the past, one man living in the present says nothings going to last. you can't keep the peace forever, you can't go to fight with flowers, inaction saved nothing but zen, and action plans all fail, you can't hear the screams of the wounded over the wailing sirens hail. trapped in some luxury resort, it's a middle east heaven or hell, enemies of the people change sides like it really matters, until cameras point their way, and the imans and the preachers encourage more carnage, the religion of peace and calmness, all win the hearts and minds, in a suicidal empathy delusion, losers on all sides. the western way is war fare or law fare, all's fair in the fun fair. 

currently reading howard jacobsons new book which is absolutely brilliant, possibly his best as i didn't find many of his other works quite as funny as this, and sad as well as it reflects the position of most of us very well. it's hilarious in parts and very visual but the underline tone is despair as we are all sucked into the madness that anti semitism always brings to the societies that tolerate it.  

apparently 64 years on earth in this body means i have lived quite a bit, it's true i crammed a lot in there but i'm also tired and burnt out from all those crazy things, and need some time to just breath slow, smell the flowers and enjoy a wave or two. the colours today were wet and grey as i drove down the freeway i treated myself to a chocolate custard pudding which i ate on the run. the heart is pumping onwards, still outta whack, and my face feels like an old sea faring pirate stuck in a caribbean storm,  a long way from land, looking for an island to hold up on, while the english navel vessels are in hot pursuit, captained by sadistic members of his majesty's royal navy. i tell you my pursuers have the smell of empire about them, a rotten one at that. 

this morning i hear my ex wife debbie died. she had an aggressive cancer and passed away in sleep. our son was with her and as i spoke with him we both agreed, it was better she was no longer suffering and in pain. it's somewhat sad in ways that are complex, i'm sorry i never got to resolve issues that she had incorrectly believed about me, and i am sorry she went to her death still clinging to a fabrication but in other ways it is nothing to do with me, time put me on a different path and we are separated not just by the view of death but also ideas on life. she was when i was with her good, a good wife, a good mother. and for that i am grateful. post marriage, her hatred of me clouded everything she ever did or said so since those days i really had little to do with her. 

she's gone. i remain. 

i don't know how long i have. these days when i wake up i'm surprised and joyous, another day, more time. money can't buy it. love can't buy it, it's value is beyond currency. it's a gift. which probably explains why i am always surprised. vale debbie.

 

vale dan simmons, one of the great science fiction writers of our time. i read hyperion many moons ago and it was a life changing book. i had just arrived in avalon and devoured it in a few sessions. the story of a pilgrimage based upon chuacers tales, each pilgrim telling their story. it was incredible, each in a different style and with amazing situations, the book was brilliant and characters sympathetic and wonderfully rich. 

they were on their way to the time tombs where the mysterious shrike await. each with a request. i remember not wanting to do anything else until i had burned through from cover to cover and then in quick succession the sequels were published completing the story arc, and it just got better and better. perfect science fiction story. dan became to me what stephen king is to most other readers.

i read all his works, he skipped to other genres, horror was one with his debut novel 'song of kali' which is haunting and disturbing. then there were the supernatural ones, and the brilliant vampire novel, 'children of the night' set in the romanian orphanage at the end of the communist rule. there were others as well, he wrote a lot of good books 'black hills' is the name of the indian shaman whom believes he hosts the sprit of general custer as he works upon the mount rushmore 60 years later with an idea to blow it to pieces. meanwhile the spirit of custer yearns for his beloved wife having awoken in a cold lonely dark place.

simmons also wrote the amazing book, 'the terror' which was also a great adaptation for a mini series. it tells the tale of the franklin expedition to the artic and throws in some mythology as the survivors trapped in a frozen wasteland are forced into cannibalism, madness and all while a mysterious beast stalks them. 

but my personal fave was the book everyone hated, 'flashpoint' a seriously brilliant novel depicting a near future. man that book was brilliant and possible. it was a prophecy.

vale dan simmons, and thanks for the wonderful stories.

finally after a week of disturbed sleep i manage to sleep 8 hours and wake up at a reasonable hour feeling good. it's been very challenging with the old heart beat this week and the sooner i get into hospital for the electric shock the better. almost everything i do at the moment exhausts me, but i somehow still manage to do it. 

my friend paul takes me to see his new house and it's really beautiful, big sprawling house with two fire places and a remarkably large open plan kitchen, six bedrooms with en suites and a massive amount of lounge space. outside there's a massive farm with a cow, and a manicured garden with an open plan shed with a massive pizza oven and entertainment area. there's even a huge pool and a garage where three cars could fit easy. it's in a lovely part of the country side, and 20 mins drive from the beach.

on the way back home i stop in at the market and get some jalopenos's, bread and blue cheese. i pick up a bottle of cherry juice and an avocado from harris farms. the sun is out now, hot and heavy with it's humidity, and tonight is the full moon. it will rise over the ocean and we will be saluting it at out drum ceremony as it appears. hail le sol, bringer of light and life.

its strange after getting the antidote out there i unexpectedly began its sequel, it just started happening and i couldn't stop the flow. whereas the antidote is the alpha, its predecessor is the omega, the conclusion of the story. it will tie up a lot of loose ends, finish what was started 30 years ago. i'm a third of the way through, although i have no idea where it is going or how long it will be, a third just feels right. it's set in the uk and probably needs a lot more research and fine tuning, fortunately i have a couple of friends, tez and jean who live there and can actually assist me with some background info if required. but i can do that when i complete the skeleton. anyways, it is really nice to have that energy back, my muse whatever it is is flowing strong and i'm grateful for it.

the heart specialist said i need the electric shock, he changed my medication and seemed to think all was going to be fine. good news i guess. i'm still in AF, it slows me down but i guess as long as i am breathing i'm winning. 

i checked the surf out this morning and it looked beautiful, splendid colour and calmness, slight wave but time was running out for me this morning as i had a few things to do. 

back home i'm enjoying  podcast called 'heretics' where the host andrew gold is chatting to a jay anderson a younger version of graham hancock, it's very good and convincing.

https://youtu.be/L3oZiZOexA0?si=HMxf_4zCuLEQg5nM

i spent a few days in hospital, apparently my heart went back into AF and they thought i may require defibrillation. it was strange as i attempted to let my brother know but he just hung up on me, which is standard for him to be honest, possibly the worst communicator i have ever known. unfortunatly i had to let jake know which is something that i would have liked to avoid as he is dealing with his mother in hospital and she is dying a slow agonising death so i didn't want to burden him with additional anxiety. anyways, having downplayed my state at least someone knew where i was.

the hospital up here is very good, i was thinking how lucky i was to be among such friendly nurses and specialists. x-rays, blood tests, ECG's tubes, needles and hundreds of questions later they decide the best course of action is to discharge me and wait for my cardiologist to assess the situation on monday when coincidently i have an appointment. i make my way home, it's late night and i'm thinking of my father and the last time i saw him.

the days and nights seem weighted down, there's death in the air, hanging over everything. it's annoyingly frustrating because it's everywhere, on the end of each passing minute, outside the door. i don't know about that archetype image carrying the scythe, my version seems to carry some sort of hourglass, sand passing through the chamber, maybe the knife is hidden in his cloak, the one that cuts my heart out and weighs it on the scales with the feather. 'wait death, that heart is leaking, it's hardly worth weighing old chap.'

sometimes i just wanna close my eyes and see my dad again. talk about all the usual stuff we liked to chat about. i miss him.

sydney is expensive now, it's a ridiculous city when coffee costs the same as a loaf of bread. bills rates petrol all just seem out of control. apparently its economics but economics in the modern world is extortion, and the public are being extorted severely by our ruling class. i am re reading the 'list of seven' by mark frost, twin peaks co creator. it's better second time around, and i must admit I'd forgotten a lot of the details. it's a supernatural occult murder mystery with arther conan doyle as the main protagonist, and several founous people of the age making appearances in one form other than the other including madame blavatsky, bram stoker ect.

i decided to re read this as i came across the very rare sequel 'the seven messiahs' which i would like to read next. it's strange how david lynch received most of the credit for twin peaks yet mark frost very little. yet the series could not have worked without mark frosts input. anyways he is a good writer and the tale he tells is great victorian adventure, not without it's humour. 

getting my heart scanned today and it does look like i have returned to arrhythmia which i will have to manage for two weeks before i see my cardiologist. it's just another challenge i have to deal with but i did enjoy chatting to the technician who was telling me the vaccine is the cause of it all, in his profession ever since the vaccines there has been a huge increase in heart issues and cancers. he explained how nsw health actually manipulated information on vaccines on two seperate occasions and have remained unaccountable. this is the curse of the age, unaccountability. at the bottom of the food chain we are all held to account, fined, sacked or penalised but at the top end you get away with mass murder.

so sad when i think about my friend martin von donaldson, i really wanted to see him again. was hoping i could zip over this year, hang out for a weekend or something. that would have been very special, martin jean and tea and old captain mission. and who knows maybe we could drag chris along as well. the thought makes me smile but life is filed with surprises and not all nice ones. 

lots of sad news this weekend, the first was from my brother informing me about a mutual friend of the family who was found dead in his bath. and not in a rock and roll way, nope mark it seems appears to have died from self neglect. overweight, no life, no friends, living on junk food  he just gave up and died. only 50. the irony is he was one of the kids my mother always wanted me to be like, and throughout my childhood and youth he was held up as shining examples of the people i should aspire to become. sure he was rich, he had loads of money but he was a strange guy who eventually my mother began to dislike. me i recall as a kid we would visit their big mansion in radlett and watch michael caine in zulu on the projector or play hide and seek. it was a huge freaking house. mark was okay as a kid, he was just very straight and he had an older brother nicky who was even straighter and even more boring. anyway's it's sad but to be honest there's no real connection for me. 

on the opposite end of the spectrum is my very old friend martin von donaldson, i was told about him sunday morning by jean and it's still quite shocking and sinking in. i first met marty around 1979 when i worked in carnaby street at a punk rock kinda shop. those days london still had a vibe and was heading into the post punk period, i hung out with lots of people and bands without knowing much about their aspirations, the sound, boy george before fame, the southern death cult who went on to be the cult, wham, the ruts, the au pairs and such just a parade of people that hung around the area, drinking in coffee shops, pubs or shopping for clothes. everyday around noon i'd see this guy walking down the street, he actually didn't walk, he strutted, with a bright orange ziggy haircut, chelsea boots and a black leather jacket he would cruise past. it turned out he worked at the bbc and spent his lunch break in carnaby street. one day he walked passed in a ziggy tee shirt and i was wearing a velvets one so we connected and started talking music and how i always wanted to sing bowie tunes. and he being a guitarist was attempting to put a band together. history was made. we became best mates, he would often come up to north london and hang out for the weekend at my parents and i would in turn go to his neck off the woods, bromley and tour old bowie landmarks with him. he introduced me to the band, a collection of lovely people including my friends tez and jean whom i still know and see when in the UK. martin and i eventually moved to west berlin together and shared an apartment, and many adventures until 1987 when i decided to move to australia.

marty was very talented, a natural rock star, he was even a rock star before he could play, he just had that energy. he was clever, very funny and possessed a temper on him that was explosive. i once saw him destroy a stamp vending machine with a block of ice in berlin with such ferocity and aggression there was nothing left of the machine. we had a lot of crazy times over there, like real crazy.

in australia i seemed to loose touch with everyone, i was starting a new life, a family and it was hard, we swapped a few letters, he wrote great letters but then we stopped, until 1998 when I googled his name with berlin guitar attached and his name popped up attached to a studio so despite it all being written in german the number was readable and i rang it then and there.  

'is martin there danke'

'yes, yes, he is standing right here.'

and thus we had our first conversation in a decade. 

although we exchanged a few e mails Martin never seemed to write back, although jean and tea kept in contact and even visited him in spain where he moved to. i knew he was ill but really thought he was recovering and so it's a big shock.at the back of my mind i thought we would meet up again and maybe record. we used to do a cracking version of 'cracked actor.' 

anyways, it's sad and can't help me thinking about it, the sudden elimination of life, one second you are here the next you ain't, it really is a blink of an eye. life. 

anyways marty was like me, a bowie nut, so it seems fitting i post this for him, see ya on the other side Martin.

for mvd 

morrissey - notre dame

the usual calamities at work, all i seem to do is pick up other peoples mistakes and have to correct them as well as attempt to do my own work, every thing becomes a challenge not due to clients but through the staff i work with, it's become untenable and absurd. no one would believe me however it would make a great tv show. i'm exhausted from it, i told my manager she suffers from 'the tyranny of low expectations' which as you may guess didn't go down well. anyways, enough about that, on friday will be seeing the best band on earth, the church, it's their last show in sydney unless they decide to tour the new album lacuna, which steve says is being delayed due to the record company wanting to release their past catalogue on vinyl, which doesn't sound like a major issue except past members are disputing things and holding everything up. i dunno, it's not my place to get involved at all, i wish them all well but fucking hell, i can't wait to hear the album, by all accounts it is amazing. 

they single sacred echoes is complemented by a track called 'the mirror world' which is fucking amazing, so if that's any indication of what to expect no one could possibly be disappointed, and all i hope for is i can stay alive to hear it, maybe see it preformed. these are the simple desires of old captain mission these days, stay alive, keep healthy, and get through each day with minimum damage. which is really why i like staying home and reading.

from the mirror world to the mirror wars which i am reading, about to finish, an english science fiction novel which is far to english for my liking, although i sympathize with the writer who is just trying to tell a good story. i mean i am in the same position however my lenses when it comes to science fiction is something peculiar, i mean i expect a good story above all else but i also expect something mind blowing and interesting and this kinda fails. weak dr. who like characters, over polite dialogue and irrelevant conversations, this is a trilogy that should be edited into one novel and it may be very good with the correct hand guiding it.    

however it has some good moments and i will continue reading because i admire people who at least make an effort, it doesn't have to be perfect and i want to know how it turns out.

as i pull out the driveway a rabbit is revealed, he's cute, sitting there in his white skin looking like he's chowing down on some berries. most people think rabbits come out of hats but this morning one came  from under my car. i hope he's there when i return from the beach, i will feed him some carrots. the water looks good but i don't have time for my swim, just a quick coffee and to say hello to some people.

there's a lot of love for nick cave out there who has just played sydney, he's the talk of the town. i missed him this time around as  i chose to see the church next week and don't have a budget for anyone else. however i am a big nick cave fan and although i have seen the seeds play several times it's only budgetry reasons that stopped me this time around.

my garden has been tidied up, it's looking good but needs a big statue. i don't want a buddha though, i want a chulthu type monument or even a weeping angel.

over the last two days i have two random encounters with what i could only describe as nazi's. although they would never use that term, their ideas and alliances are the essence of nazism, it's just most australians are to stupid to comprehend it or live in a strange twisted version of history that inverts everything to the protocols of the elders of zion, and nothing i repeat nothing will convince them of the medieval ideology they embrace. one even said to me, they hoped this time they finished the job. it's just so weird as for me this is the very thing most people who grew up amongst jews always heard and dismissed as fantasy. you are being paranoid, it will never happen again, it's history but no-one would repeat it ect. and now, it's beginning again. i am so glad my dad is not around to see this modern incarnation of the oldest hatred. it's quite bizarre to hear normal people reduce their intelligence to the dumbest beliefs and ideas. you would imagine i am used to it but it's always quite surprising how dumb people reveal their racism and hate to me. it's global and really nasty to see so mainstream.

time flips over, i'm confused by reality,  far to much hate it's an irrational thing, counter intuitive but i really wanna get away from it all. i dunno what's what anymore, i'm so emerged in the nonsense people seem to say, and yet i'm unable to respond to them. so many people deny truth of things and argue there is no truth but if your a young 19 year old girl who likes riding her motorbike in iran protesting against a brutal regime and shot for not wearing a headscarf then there's only one truth. 

the regime would only release the body to her family if they denied she had been shot. yeah nothing to see here.

vale diana bahador

the distorted news, lies and propaganda, idiot winds and the storm ahead, the zombie horde, better of dead

you got the united nations, running drugs and guns, you have revolutionary zeroes pretending they are the ones.

travel by thought except your brains been hijacked, replaced by a theory and no ideas, in academic distortions and nursery rhymes, his masters voice whispers to his mistress, everybody knows everyone has a price says the temptress. what's the cost of my soul i wonder, what's it worth. i consult some lesser demon, 'i'll get back to ya, we got an abundance of fucking souls, we are all souled out, these days they ain't worth the body they come in.'

i hung up disgusted at the state of affairs, the new age is kinda medieval, may as well stick pins in a doll or read the entrails of a goat, burn a witch.

it takes a couple of hours before the imp calls back, 'er got a price for your soul mission.'

'oh yeah, what's it worth to you?'

'well it's higher than i thought, there's a big demand for your soul it appears.'

'how high?'

'8.6 mill.'

'mmm okay, i'll get back to you.'

something to consider, 8.6 its enough to have a good life, see the world, buy some time. i'll see what my dreams say.

after a long therapeutic bath i fall into a deep sleep, my dreams almost begin immediately as if rem sleep was outside my front door. 

i'm floating in space, watching planets, satellites and strange flying saucers float by. i see major tom looking strung out, 'hey tom, come on over we can play space bongos with japanese girls.'

major tom sings out, 'i aint got no money and i aint got no hair,' he floats passed me complaining about lumbago.

space is silent now, the jupiter 7 floats past with the robot waving from a porthole window and there goes a north korean satellite. 

at least it's peaceful here. 

no sooner had i thought that, than a heavenly gospel choir of angels begin singing, 'what's it worth, captain. what's the price of your soul?'

well that is the question.

they break into some kind off harmony, it's real nice. 

the sun starts to appear as the face of jupiter begins to light up, wow, it's really beautiful. i look around, solar winds, red light shifts, blue seasons in tranquility, everything looks amazing. the more you look the more you see. planets swirl around me, stars fade in and out, i'm awestruck. and then everything is interrupted by an alarm. it's coming from inside my suit, somethings wrong, a warning. i look at the arm band on my left arm, a light flickers red, and then stays red. oxygen. i'm running out of air. air, that real strange thing we all need. i start to gasp, a last thought, a final one.

what's the price of my soul.

i wake up.

the old heart is damaged from the vaccine, it's playing up and the result is i'm down, but not out. however this makes me poor company so at steve's avoca gig i keep a low profile. solo steve is just as good as the church, it's a different energy but just as brilliant,  most songs are re-contextualised but sound fresh and interesting and then there are his cover songs which to be honest was wonderfully inspired. but it was bowies lazarus that stole the show. sacrilege in the hands of anyone else but steve made it his own and it was beautiful and terrifying. i chose to spare him with my symptoms but managed to give him a few alistair  reynolds novels i had collected for him which i know he will enjoy.

then i retuned to work which was mind numbingly dull and depressing, watching the utter negligence perpetrated upon clients that deserve so much more, it kills me but i have my limits and know what battles to fight. i really need the money so i have to grin and bear it.

tonight is terrible beach drum circle, which i attend every week. it's a bunch of locals playing bongos drums, percussion on the waterfront as the sun goes down, pretty tribal and great therapy as i loose myself in the beat. we are often joined by dancers, hulu hoop girls and girls in bikinis twirling fire along with various dancers and members of the public passing by. tonight the beach was packed and it went mental. I lost myself in a strange new altered state, fantastic.

we took the old route, the old road, the winding remote path through the bush, thousands of years of trees and wilderness between us and that ever curving roadway as my car followed two big triumph bikes and a scooter, not speeding but slow enough to take in the details, look around and enjoy the incredible energy carried through time of australian bush. there is one short stop at an off road cafe, it's basic, no frills, stuck in 1960's cafe that sells a few pies, coke and maybe an ice cream. i did notice a coffee machine but it was gathering dust and looked like it belonged in a museum. we hit the road again, and although i kept peter and andrew in my line of sight monique would disappear around the bends ahead. 

we rolled into the 'anglers rest' and had a lovely lunch, i must say it was sensational. slow time, great conversation and lots of laughter, it's very cool to have friends again, like proper friends. brooklyn is just a sleepy river town, not much going on, it does have a train station and a marina, small boats in and out all the time. we wandered along the waterways, we saw strange eccentric cars and boats, driftwood, fishermen, pelicans and ancient trees displaying their root systems and then we clambered up a rock staircase to a plateau where a lone man listened to billy connolly on some sort of old radio. monique  chased bush turkeys and i sat down for a rest.

up here you could see the waterways, a sprawling web of rivers and bush, a splattering of houses and signs of life, a few boats but generally nothing, no sign of man, just the vastness of nature untamed and as you look out, you know somethings looking in. are you really just a part of all off this? 

i guess when you die and your body is eaten by worms, maybe then.

i drive home thinking about what a beautiful day i have just had, the people, the nature, the peace. there's huge dark clouds threatening above, i'm exhausted and as i pull into my driveway, the rain fall begins.

it's a terrible world and a beautiful one, the older i get the more i choose beauty as my my drug of choice, i just don't wanna get to caught up in the horror, yet i acknowledge it's there at the gates, outside the door, clawing to get inside my brain and infect me, the zombie horde. the last frontier is not space but the mind, the inner space where war really takes place, the mind and the heart, infect one and you infiltrate the other. i know this makes me unpopular and unusual but its my truth and where i stand. 

my cough seems to be fading, it's been an awful week of violent coughing fits that have seen me almost pass out, blinding white lights and the world literally turning negative before me. this happens every two years, no one has ever explained it of understood it, despite various tests and hospitalisations.  the heart specialist suggested a rare form of gastro which manifests in a cough and i confess the medication he gave me worked instantly. maybe it's just that simple but I can't recall the medication and it's only available by script. it's all to weird. i can't work for a few days so i head down to the beach, catch up with my crew who are all lovely. 

the surf is calmer, less mess and more gentle. there's plenty of people still hanging around, i think it will return to normal once the holidays are over, terrible beach being a prime location for visitors. tomorrow my book comes out, the book.

big messy waves, the ocean is wild, white water churns and spins me around challenging me even getting beyond, then there's a furious rip pulling me to the left.  the last three days have been chaos and although the perfect work up, not much in the way of surfing. it's been ridiculously hot, sweltering and intense, hence my early morning starts at 6am but by 10 I'm back home, siesta and resting. still not 100% well, my cough getting worse each day, my chest doesn't feel right and my breathing slow and laboured, but with a high pollen count, high temperatures and my general exhaustion i just rest and hope for the best.

i get to bed early, maybe 7pm, sleep has been mostly intermittent but last night i slept well. my dreams have been half forged, unravelling as i wake,  as my brain attempts to recall them they slip away, it's an awful feeling. 

today they say rain is due, and i am hoping rainfall comes as i need my garden watered and an afternoon where the climate is reasonable. it really has been to much but now coffee. it's still early, no plan as yet, just waiting for rain, my face needs a shower,  the fan rotates humming above, the simple pleasures of birds calling, a sunday filled with potential and promise. but first coffee.

 

 feeling quite wretched i haul my ass down to the garage for it's 2 recall notices and full service, which i am told takes a full day. drop of time is 7am which means I am awake at 0530 after 5 hours sleep.  the drive down is not so bad but at 7am im confused about what to do, when Jake calls to suggest i get to the northern beaches where he will meet me and drive me around. it's the first time i have seen jake since he arrived in sydney in november. 

he's looking excellent, handsome, healthy and radiating good energy, the opposite of me, an exhausted burnt out shell. he leads a pretty good life, running from dee why beach to manly each morning, she's enjoying this part of the beaches as it's close to the city and had all the convinces of the beach life. it's nice being a passenger. we drive through curl curl, firelight and into manly which i never really liked. later we go for a swim at curl curl where the water is very warm and the surf rolls in perfectly.

it's very hot and despite attempts to fight my general feeling of being at the end of my road i end up back in hornsby half asleep in the toyota waiting lounge. at 1730 they tell me the cars ready and i drive home.

i'm about to pull into my drive way when a friend turns up to take me to drumming. every wednesday night we drum at the beach, dance, hula hoop, fire dance and just hang out. there's a massive group of drummers and spears drums, percussion instruments and spectators. the ocean is filled with evening swimmers and children. there are far more people out than normal. 

i'm not feeling so sociable so i just bang the drum, two hours of tribal energy, i'm exhausted snd exhualted by the whole thing, entered a different state of consciousness, 

home later i shower and drift into a strange night of sleep, dreams, nightmares, coughing and  shadows. i'm thinking about death when i wake up.

sacred echoes playing from here and there, that percussion and drums, move along nicely, 'morning turns up drunk,' i think steve sings,  and then there's all these shifts where the energy expands,  and then returns. music for the end of everything, apocolypse, with grace and beauty and that dignity this incarnation of the band has. sacred echoes.

so my book is out soon, fuck! it's a bit weird but let me know what you think, it's nothing like anything else I have written, it's straight and procedural. i'm talking this one. not really writing. jan 14th. 2026

it's the first time i have written with no real idea other than purging and straight shooting, just gotta get it out of me. a long time in the making and percolating,  i couldn't publish it for a while, until certain stars aligned and extinguished. and now it's done.

i was planning on an early night but ended up at terrible, with the gang just watching moonrise, it was lovely as the sky was incredibly dramatic with a multitude of whips clouds and streaks of blue shades, a pink tinge and a rising crescent moon. the ocean was intense, large waves and a curious shade of turquoise, a few twilight surfers and one lone swimmer.
as it happens i was in bed at 1130pm and slept through the celebrations, although could hear a few fire works as i fell asleep. 

the end of an awfully weird year and i'm feeling somewhat jaded from it, work being the main ball and chain, but my attitude has to change and my expectations. it's financially challenging and i'm stretched to an all time low but somehow i survive and live and keep my book habit going.

my plans for the year are to anchor myself and discipline my writing regime which is erratic, to continue loosing weight and maintain my fitness and to find happiness in simplicity. i like my small circle of friends whom seem to have adopted me, and integrated me, faults and all. it's nice to be asked over for dinner occasionally.

i did go for a surf in the wild waves, very nasty but managed to catch a few monsters, one was amazing but as i stood up and turned around another fell upon me and wiped me out. 

for the next few days i have a lot on and won't be going out much, my throat seems to be sore so i need to nurse that, plus various bills need to be paid. if i can get my technologically challenged brain around it, i have to set up a blu tooth cd player in my car so i can hear music cds which will make driving perfect. 

and thus olde captain mission enters the new year. lets see what it brings and where i travel.