max worked the subconscious crimes, he was an old skool investigator, walking in many worlds, solving the unusual metaphysical dilemmas for his rich and powerful clientele, occasionally he would take on pro bono work but he had child support payments like everyone else, he had bills piling up and interest growing on credit cards, he also had a habit he needed sating.
one afternoon the phone rings, his agent asks if he would take on a case.
the agent is an american woman, she lives in new york city and has agoraphobia but in the web she is free and has many contacts, she is the nexus of all information pertaining to sub crime and sooner or later she finds something she knows max will be interested in.
such was the case march 19th 2010 when she awoke max from an afternoon siesta with the offer of a case.
'send the file over trixie.'
he flicked open his mac powerbook and booted it up, accessing his e mail he opened the file.
he scanned the information.
his client was a cactus entity who had found himself trapped in the soul of a republican politician. max looked over the relevant information, the politician was joseph achilles a greek shipping magnate who had found power the next acquisition after his fourth billion. he was one of the richest men on the planet but he was also not far away from being the most powerful, however since a trip to mexico he seemed to have trapped the cactus spirit within his soul and now the spirit wants out or was it the other way around, the report was ambiguous. it appeared that the cactus spirit was enjoying his earthly form, boozing it up in bars, brothels and roadside dinners, hassling waitresses and clocking up debts in casinos, meanwhile our fave republican was attempting to regain some discipline and control. or the story could read that the republican senator had taken the cactus god on a wild debauched hedonistic romp through excess and the cactus spirit could not escape, either way separation was needed.
max flicked the pages, it appears that the senator was under strict surveillance in a private mental institute in new mexico.
he accepted the case and within seconds was booked on a flight.

max had worked cases like this for many years, he was an old hand, he liked to research but his main tool was intuition and instinct, he used a form of chaos magick and some methodology adopted and adapted from various occult and esoteric traditions. he grabbed a book from the airport bookshop, he chose the book by his seat number, row 7, seat 3 which he translated to mean the 7th shelf the 3rd row. from here he looked at the spines and held his hand over them waiting for intuition to kick in, he was drawn towards two, but chose the one he thought he could also read, a sci fi novel by alister reynolds called 'bubble gun.'
he checked in, grabbed a bottle of water and went into the bathroom cubicle to shoot up. he had been using ephemeral for seven years now, it was his narcotic of choice after a stint with various opiates and psychedelics and extensive plant based spirits he had accessed the ephemeral via a massive dose of dmt that he had injected into himself. the dmt opened a gateway into the machine elf universe where he was given access to the machine elves drug of choice, made by their inter dimensional chemistry, never used by humans ever before. as he hit the vein ephemeral swept through his body. one of the amazing things about this substance was it allows the user to operate in many dimensional realms at the same time, while max was waiting for his flight, listening for departure details and starting to read bubble gun, he was also wandering through the enchanted forest looking for the witch that lived there. another max was also enjoying the pleasures of anteres 7 but that is another narrative completely.
following a natural trail he wandered through the trees and along the path, birds flew around him and sung their gentle song, butterflies flocked in the sunlight that filtered between the leaves and a squirrel ran up a tree. max could read the animals minds, he was able to telepathically ask where the witch lived. follow the freaking trail the squirrel replied.
eventually he came to a small shabby but cute cottage, there was a large herb garden outside the front, and a letter box with a package in it. he wandered past and knocked on the door.
the problem with witches is they are quite mad at the best of times and it's very difficult to get them to be direct, they like to be metaphorical and elusive, everything they say has a certain ambiguity about it, but there is no doubt they manufacture the best spells for hey type of work max had in mind.
'i need a binding spell, and a containment spell and possibly a matrix seal.'
seal seal seal, matrix containment to bind, why what an unusual request dear chap. unusual and obscure. who did you not say you are?'
'madame i am max, and i offer you some silver in return for your service.'
'oh max i care nothing for trinkets, i require other essential substances for my services. we witches are not so enamoured by the glamour of trinkets. anyways i will put a brew on the stove, you will drink?'
'yes i'd love to.'
we sipped the tea, magick mushroom tea, i felt the warmth invade my chest. my brain started to process the situation i was on ephemeral now mushrooms, the time shifts would start to become some what random, so i focused my attention of procuring the spells i had come for.
'i don't have much more time. i would be happy to trade anything for the spells that you require'
the witch spun around, she seemed to do a dance, and then strangely she smiled at me, 'mmmm, it has been a long long time since i have had any physical attention', she morphed before my eyes, then changed again, various feminine forms flickered until she found one that suited me, 'well i don't have much time.'
'ha it won't take long from what i recall.'
so now i come back from the enchanted forest with the spells and feeling somewhat jaded, it was simple in the old days. ephemeral takes me into the desert where i prepare for the trap i will use to contain the cactus spirit. i find a suitable san pedro and draw the circle, hoping that a wind won't arise.
my physical body starts to get stuck into 'bubble gun.'
the story starts with a scientist travelling on a space ship in an unknown part of the universe. he is inventing a weapon although it is not really a weapon but a simulacra of the universe. he calls the weapon the bubble gun based on the idea that the universe is made of foam and each bubble within each bit of foam is a whole universe, the scientist is a genius but he is also a firm atheist and he wants to prove that he can be a god to the universe he creates with his bubble gun. however he is old and life has jaded him, he is cynical and suffers from melancholia, he has lost everyone he loves trough the trials and tribulations of life, he has no faith in man or god.he is prone to bouts of envy, jealously and violent acts of destruction.
actually he is a bit like god.
the scientist prepares to fire his gun when his ship picks up a stowaway, a beautiful girl called roxanne, a space pirate who is wounded and needs some medical aid. he does the noble thing and takes her on board where they start a relationship and the scientist begins to fall in love, the bubble gun no longer the object of his attention. he knows he has found his peace and truth in roxy. they spend many years together, enjoying their company and exploring the gift of love when one evening there is a terrible accident in the lab, the zap gun activates and actually shoots it's intent through roxy whose body dissolves into a billion million trillion elemental atoms that are then embedded in the small bubble created by the gun. the bubble splits in half,
then again and again as the first foam of the alternative man made universe begins to form.
each bubble each part of each bubble is a universe containing a conscious part of roxy.
the scientist discovers this and despite his attempts to rescue her he cannot. so he is god to his creation, the only thing he can do is love it, and the only thing the creation can do is find the spark of roxy and love it so that maybe this love, this strange force can reconcile.
the plane touches down in santa fe, max catches a cab into the desert where his other self has prepared the magick circle. he makes a slight detour to grab the senator from the mental health facility. by all accounts and purposes they are pleased to get rid of him, he has begun to become sexually provocative to the female staff and he has refused his meds choosing to drink tequila and listen to mexican pop music rather than the nice general piped muzak they play all day. in fact he is quite a belligerent spirit and max has to administer some tranquillisers against his better judgement just to get him into the car. they drive out into the desert and wait for midnight.
under the full moon keeping his eye on the second hand max cast the banishing rituals and got reading for the binding. he could not begin until after midnight and as the second hand passed the twelve he began. banishing rituals come in all shapes and sizes but the two keys to a successful banishing are intent and vibration. max's voice rung through the night. the cactus god seemed to leave the body of joseph achilles, a cheerful trickster, tinged green and sparkling mischief, strange energy radiates from his skin, an electric field spilling out into the night.
max is woking now, chanting the incantation to over power the spirit and keep it locked inside the circle. it is all about will power, focus and concentration. fortunately max is adept at this. the cactus spirit starts to sing a song of surrender and max moves in for the kill, the containment spell quickly followed by the matrix field. but max is on mushrooms while under the influence of ephemeral, this has dangerous and unpredictable consequences.

im captain mission, the great recluse, i spent the whole day kinda chilling out at home, a little cleaning, a little vacuuming, a little something else (and i do mean a little) that i can't recall but the bottom line is i had double booked myself with my friend tim with my other friend evan, so i had to cancel tim for evan something i really feel uncomfortable doing. i chilled out for the rest of the day as i said. i did drive jake to the mall, then back at home got ready for dinner with evan when my phone rang. it was the high priestess inviting me for a discussion on psychedelics held in erskinville, she was waiting outside my front door obviously knowing me better than i know myself. i knew i had a dilemma as i was struck by conflicting loyalties but i also have brilliant friends who forgive my idiosyncrasies so i rang evan and explained the situation.
we drove in to newt town, i remembered my days there, strange days, a lost four years maybe, anyway long forgotten memories came flooding back but they quickly left as the distractions of king street newtown come across the wandering mind. wow i love newtown at night, it's filled with amazing people wandering around, i know theres the northern beach elements which have their own beauty but i like the qualities cities offer, it's chaos and energetic frenzy, things happens all the time as brains attract and repel, and here we were driving into erskinville outside the pub. we walk in HP says to me,
'i have no idea what these people look like.'
'mmm interesting,' i say, 'that means we will just have go up to random strangers asking them if they are here for the discussion on psychedelics.'
we laugh.
in we go until we track down in the back room up some stairs into a larger room crowded with people the sydney 'evola' group sitting around discussing psychedelics. we say hi and HP arranges to give a lecture on her work after theres a video call from the leading psychedelic journalist in australia who starts a long involved history of psychedelic paying particular attention to the capitalist constructs, the american ones and the conspiracy ones, actually the guy was so filled with fear and judgements and inner conflicts he was turning me off. one thing he did that always irks me was start rambling on about the west, and the west not having an esoteric tradition, yet the west has plenty and they have all played a part in the development of human meta programming and consciousness and those patrons should be honoured. i feel strongly about that, the west is equal to the east, just have different ways.
then the HP went up and made a short powerful and very honest introduction to ayahuscia, but as always when ayahuscia is channelled, the vine starts to speak. anyways aya spoke her words and seemed to spark a lot of interest, i met two lovely girls, nicole and roxanna and spoke to a very nice doctor /musician about my brain injury, and obviously ayahuscia. actually lot's of fantastic people came and asked about it which is good for us and good for them, the vine is reaching out as the clock ticks, come on sisters and brothers the tree of life, it is a freaking plant.
i also met with a lovely man called tim who happens to run a church and enjoy lsd. i ask him what he thinks the central teachings of the new testament are. he says,
'that there is one god. that you should treat your neighbour as yourself.'
i tell him for me it is about loving your enemy.
we have a very interesting conversation.
i also talk to a man who is very into mushrooms and we chat about them for a while.
anyway eventually we leave and stop at the coffee shop in glebe for a while, we chat a bit and drive home stopping along the way to look at stars and get some air. i talk to her about the holy books, each one having a essential message for human evolution, there is only one god, love your enemy, surrender to god, then there's the eastern traditions a much more internal process of reflection, contemplation and meditation, two polarities working together from different angles. exploration of the central themes from these teachings will indicate some of the stops along the way consciousness has made. and finally the western tradition which allows men to be gods. however this is the most dangerous path of all and frought with danger on many levels. not for the weak hearted.
for dumb little monkeys we don't really have much to show when you plug into the ethernet but we have built some incredible ideas and explored the experience of existence in every way possible, and now it's time for the plants to help us wake up to the bigger picture, the fucking massive picture that is beautiful and rich and rewarding and dare i say it real.
finally after so long being bored and unsatisfied with the answers schools, universities and educational facilities attempt to brain wash us with i discover the answer in plant intelligence.

anyways it was another good night and tomorrow i will go and see my friend and producer and co conspirator of the deep fix val play in his other band, the book of vilah somewhere in the city.

cats that look like hitler dot com
laser tits dot com
religious testicles dot com
and
erotic cakes dot com

are some of the weirdest web sites around but if the web is a holographic representation of human consciousness then humans are predominantly a mixed bag of nuts, personally i think it's great that these things are out there, let the expression of what we are be unbounded.
the puritanical will say what about the kiddie porn, the violence and sex. well i am not saying it is wholesome, i'm just suggesting that it's better this is clearly out there as part of the realm of human experience rather than not.
the idea of repression and repressing any part of the psyche will lead to trouble, neurotic behaviours thrive in repression, and there they are never discussed or recognised. at least here on the web they can be acknowledged.
humanity has a problem. it's true but there's no point in denial.

look at the above examples, one can see them as creative expressions or dangerous and evil. personally i'm quite partial to an erotic cake or two.

what's going on?
the deal is this.
the brain is the interface in which we process space time as a linear process, yet we know that is convenient lest everything happen at once, so from the perspective of the 5th dimension our existence is perceived differently as our own. we only see a partial section, the only way to reach this other perception is to follow the teachings of the magickians, shaman and voodoo love gods such as myself. change the brain, meta programme, magick is just brain change by will, shamanism is the dismantling of constructed reality and the journeying into others for the benefit of retrieving information, the universe is information, the information is love. not romantic love but love as an energetic force, just as gravity is. gradually as we evolve as individuals we begin to see what the greater picture is. excuse the terminology but we are god knowing himself. god is not an entity or alien, it is the conceptual process laid out in the books although in the subtext it is written in black and white, god is a process.
in the kabbalistic understanding of the old testament god is separated from his wife, his wife is the female aspect, the goddess and she exists in all creation as a divine spark. the whole purpose of creation is for the god to reunite with it's partner through acts of love, grace and devotion. this is the essence of purpose on planet earth. that's why all human experience must result in the conclusion love is the one thing that we know is a reality, the rest are constructed ideas. therefore in one's journey through life wherever one goes wherever one travels and whatever one experiences one must always evolve to the point where acts of love outweigh acts of selfishness. it's the battle for the individual soul, the message in the gita, love is the message of the new testament. the two books need to be read by illuminated souls not extremists of any persuasion, it's a metaphor. the sutras have the entire frame work of quantum reality within them but until the quantum language was developed no one knew that. same with most of these texts. the general criticisms that the bible is full of vengeance and archaic rules and morality is a fair point however the point is that they were the first moral codes offered, not illuminated ones but for the time reasonable as brains were nowhere near as advanced or evolved as they are now, just look at the difference between ours and our grandparents. yes the codes of living in the old testament were harsh and the god actually seemed petty and human, but would any other intervention onto consciousness would be taken so seriously or understood. all interventions into human consciousness suit the age and the brain development of the period. crowleys message was very different from jesus but it was infinitely more assessable to the space time than if jesus were have to said it to his space time. lao tzu
there is something to be said about these ideas, the problem is the people who represent them are fools as are their detractors.
consciousness evolves it has to, this is evolution, self directed but following it's own path. i wrestle with this all the time, when it comes right down to it, the essential elements are based around energetic flows, the transformation of energy, is it a cool sexy energy or one that's a bit destructive and negative. negative energy depletes, constructive replenishes, we get the free will to chose. big responsibility.
only the brave meta program, only the truly mad succeed.

old captain mission smokes his weed, sits in mission control and sucks down another el salvadoran beer to slow his brain and cool his heels, it's been a big night, a massive night.
dressed in the glamourous glitter ball outfit and huge high heels, wearing a louis vuitton handbag and sensational bondage boots, well maybe high heels, the incredibly attractive luscious amalia renwick and myself travel across the harbour on our luxury hovercraft, or was it a hot air ballon. we have our photograph taken against the sinking sun that hovers between the harbour bridge and the opera house but the photographer is french and obviously drunk on some kind of pernod flavoured cocktail, she manages to miss the brigde and the sunset and the opera house but she did get a nice photo of amalia and i. we looked pretty good together, a sort of contrasty style, her high class escort look against me looking like some sort of hip priest drug dealer.
we cruise up to the steps of the opera house, under the majestic sails with a selection of exotic vodkas for miss renwick and h20 for my self, being a man of god.
under jewelled skies, soft fading light, surrounded by a very diverse audience, lots of french people, massive attack with their sound.
my brain quickly processing the situation, converting everything down to it's raw form, energy. massive attack make an energy that is what it is, a massive attack, beautifully constructed, elegantly played and masterfully executed we have the incredible light shows, simple bend of ever changing patterns, numbers and configurations and short statements across the screen. amalia and i both see the name, 'BINGLE' across one message.
the band seemed to be enjoying themselves, we were quite far back trading vision for sound.

United Snakes
Babel
Risingson
Girl I Love You
Psyche
Future Proof
Invade Me
Teardrop
Mezzanine
Angel
Safe From Harm
Inertia Creeps

Encore:
Splitting The Atom
Unfinished Sympathy
Atlas Air
Karmacoma

during the show a strange event occurred, a bizarre thing. amalia's bag strap became wedged between the steps of the opera house. and stayed there, despite attempts to retrieve it the opera house was not giving up it's prize. after preforming a small exorcism and banishing ritual i proceeded to pull at the strap but it would not move.
it was not just wedged in there it was being devoured.
we figured that there must be a malevolent spirit that inhabits the steps, a sort of phantom of the opera steps who had taken a shine to amalia and wanted to lure her under. it happened a lot when we hung out in the old days, she would often find herself being the object of desire by hunchbacks, leprechauns, naughty elves, wayward pixies and renegade voodoo love gods. i used to have to rub garlic butter into her skin while she slept just to keep these strange entities and their intentions at bay. of course it had noting to do with my strange sexual practices.

well with broken bag, holding her heels due to vertigo and myself administering benedictions, blessings and sacraments we wandered back with the masses towards the old tug boat that seemed to get to manly without moving.

hip preist home for a quick smoke at spots and el salvadorian beers, some bad tv, a look at the newspapers and a shower and a dream about glitter women with lasers, a new day begins.

the world house by guy adams is a brilliant twisted fantasy that's dark and bewildering and somewhat funny as well. there's so many twists and turns and suddenly there's an overview which kinda puts things in an amazing perspective and the story rolls along like a steam train taking you on a mystery ride through very unfamiliar terrain. until the terrain is literally poured away. the characters are all wonderfully constructed and their predicament sympathetic.
there's a hint of everything thrown in the mix, time travel, surreal fantasy, adult literature, great characters and creatures from another dimension and central to the narrative the strange house which is a universe in itself. the writing is credible and mr.adams manages to pull it all together in excellent writing and a thrilling storyline. it's like alice in wonderland meets steven king on mescaline, can't wait for the movie.

the deep fix played their first gig last night, wow, i have know idea if it was good, it felt good, i endeavoured to remember all my lyrics, come in at the right spot, move around a bit on stage and present something trans dimensional which i think was pulled off, thanks to my amazing comrades val, nev, and louis who not only are excellent musicians but also my friends. finally after years of feeling like a freak i find a bunch of freaks where i can feel normal.
it was a brilliant night. i did have two large vodka and tonics, one before, one after that seemed to effect me in a positive way, i drunk lots of water but mid set found myself very dry. water is my drink, i need it near me all the time. everyone seemed to cheer and clap and despite the sound issues, (no fold back) the deep fix felt very good and i think it's safe to say everyone really loved the experience.
i'm ready for more live shows. see you there.

i like vampires, i like the whole concept and i like the whole metaphor, it operates on many levels but i would like to create a modern vampire. he would live in the city, be a quiet guy. lonely, sad, his home would be filled with dust and books, he would sit in darkness and read or write a blog, he would occasionally have to drink blood but he had a team of gothic girls who were donors, he would also have sex with them, sometimes more than one at a time. he would work strange hours, keep strange time. he would have a dog called pan, pan was not a vampire dog, he would be a big dog but would life a natural lifespan so since the vampires first dog there have been many, making the current one 777. the 777th dog was his favourite so far.
anyway this vampire also wanders the shamanic realms, he travels through time, a trick that involved the blood line code within DNA.
anyway the vampire lived a normal existence, quite eccentric i guess but his main issue was boredom, throughout his eternal life he had not really many things left to stimulate his mind so explored other dimensions and discovered the beautiful plant ayahuscia which he started drinking in brazil. now he is in australia he lives in sydney where he drinks with his friends and entertains the plant gods, he is no longer so bored. other dimensions offer new experiences, new realms of knowledge and experience. he likes his existence a bit better and he loves the plant spirit, he loves his friends and the goth girls, he likes the sound of laughter and ice cream. occasionally he spends long periods isolated, creating art things and contemplating his journey.
one day he decided to write a novel, a story about a human darkness eclipsing vampire darkness, who are the real bloodsuckers, who are the monsters, who are the exploiters. the novel becomes a best seller and is made into a successful movie, the vampire has to do talk shows and guest spots, he gains a massive following and people start to listen to what he is saying. he has a simple message. look at yourself, let he who is without sin cast the first stone. the novel starts to be studied in university courses and eventually the vampire retreats back into the shadows after the death of his 777th dog.

i am exhausted, my body is in revolt, eyes strain, mouth raves, feet rebel and my brain feels like it is made of string and toilet rolls so i am going to keep this short and sweet. be nice to one another, be yourself and be true to your own self once you figure out who that is.
goodnight
mmm, underworld evolution with that cute english goth girl is on tv. i'm half asleep and half aroused.

in old times a man who had a evolved mind started thinking about his experience, his life and joining dots, he comes’s up with a philosophy based on a new way of thinking and despite being surrounded by people making philosophical claims the mass begin to single him out and listen to him for he is a story teller.
he has a message for humanity, ‘love.’
love your enemy is a fucking warriors concept.
why?
because to say it is one thing but to walk it is another. when you walk that truth you can know no fear.
imagine standing in front of your murderer, a cold blooded killer and as the knife comes down you look him in the eye and tell him you love him. the implications of this idea are incredibly powerful. for all involved. the warrior does not fear death, he knows that death is just a transit stage, energy cannot be destroyed, his faith is in nature having a direction, a velocity. the killer has failed to kill anything, especially the idea of loving your enemy. the killer, let’s say he is filled with hate is now faced with a paradox, because although his short sighted hate has sated his desire, he is haunted by the very fact that his victim loves him and in that love has forgiven him. the killer is filled with hate and it has driven him to murder. but he has been forgiven by some one who had no fear. love cancels hate, not only does it cancel but it transcends.
so anyways the man, the one the masses now call ‘holy’ is just a man. he has the same frailties and weaknesses as any other man but the masses have elevated him, they think he is something he is not. he wrestles with this, understanding their need to have sages and assigning holy status to philosophers but at the same time he finds it irritating and bewildering. and sometimes it makes him angry. he spends as much time as he can away from the crowds but they chase him, they follow him and hang on to every word, he attempts to be more thoughtful, make every word count, make his every interaction significant so that people will heed his central message. but it is trying and takes its toll.
the man finds peace in the woman he loves, the woman grounds him, she speaks to him like he is a man not a holy man, she is his inspiration, his muse, his goddess. she is his teacher. she walks with the shekina.
over time the authorities discover that the population are following this man, and listening to his teachings. even their own people listen to what he has said, people are asking questions and the status quo is under threat. so one evening the woman and the man find themselves awakened by the door being broken down, the man is held down and the woman pushed aside.
they take him to the main political figure and he interrogates the man.
‘they say you are the king of the people.’
‘i’m just a man.’
‘they say you preform miracles.’
‘i heal the sick.’
‘they say you are the son of god.’
‘we are all sons and daughters of god.’
‘i cannot have you undermine my authority king of the people.’
‘i have no authority, my truth does.’
and so it went.
the man was left on the street. he wandered home through the streets, it was night time. he walked under the stars and talked to himself, ordering his thoughts, attempting to find meaning in his life.
the only way to life this life is an an example for others, the only way to be an example is to be unafraid, to embrace that love is the way. to do this i must die. from what is death but a door way to be reborn.
the man had spent many years wandering the eastern lands, he had seen many cultures and peoples, he had spoken with many holy men and embraced their teachings. he had evolved from humble beginnings as a man who works with his hands he was practical and as a traveller his mind had opened and he was now a man of spirit. he had done many things, vision quest, sweat lodge, he had drunk the strange desert drink syrian rue and spoken with intelligences higher than his own he had fasted for nearly a month and experienced how to control his thoughts and train his mind, he had learnt the meditation techniques, the yogas and the ultimate truth. death awaits every man, it is inevitable and inescapable. he has to die. and it must be publicly, for his death must be an act of forgiveness and redemption.
everyone must see the example of love and then they will have nothing to fear. for now i am just a man but after i die i will be a philosophy, an idea, perhaps a way of life. this is my power.
months later they come for him, he is publicly humiliated and degraded, he is beaten and tortured and then crucified as is the tradition. his friends all play their part, his trusted friend judas plays his role and carried it’s burden, judas is the chosen one. the one who must suffer most. he loves judas the most and entrusted him with the secret. and jude, hey jude, has agreed to be the sacrificial lamb for his mate. his best friend.
he is dying, the last few rays of sunlight warm his skin, his body is numb, his throat dry, he feels no pain now. there is a glimmer in his eye. his beautiful wife washes his feet with a rag, the blood has caked around his wounds, she kisses his toes, his raspy voice whispers to her.
‘sweetheart. what is it?’ she sobs.
‘forgive them. they know not what they do.’
she loses her temper. struggling to understand the depth of his love. then she feels the love radiate from him, the crowd all ask what he has said. when she tells them they are silent, even the guards are stilled.
she turns to him
‘i love you.’
up there on the cross as the sun now sinks, he smiles.
‘i’m going home.’
his eyes close and he looks at peace.

q and a last night delivered a lame panel that included richard dawkins who ate the minds of his co panelists, a woman rabbi from sydney who was very nice, quite bright but offered nothing revolutionary or insightful into the debate although she was at least more honest and less defensive than the others, a lib and labour politician who came out with the usual respect other peoples views even if the views represent the insane or deluded fools who think science is a mythological domain, an independent family first politician with the intelligence and personality of a newt and an australian of the year man who was a phycologist who generally didn't want to upset anyone, it was incredible to watch the level of discussion sink to the same old crap dawkins protagonists throw at him, not one original challenging question. even my own question, would the intelligence behind the universe not create the concept of evolution was barely answered adequately. the great minds of australia are either dormant or asleep, come on there was so much to discuss and yet we are given the weakest and most dumbest ideas and perceptions from the most unimaginative idiots. poor richard dawkins i felt very sad that he was having to tolerate these fools, and despite my clash with his ideas found myself in agreement with most of what he said.
i do think the rabbi was pretty cool in mentioning that the human brain could not really conceptualise god and that she could only really deal with here and now, but still quite a limited frame of reference generally.
to harp back to the people challenging dawkins by saying he is disrespectful was an indication of a society that truly is insanely in the grip of this idea of ideological relativism. how can evolution possibly occur? it's like the fucking birds wishing they were dinosaurs again.

hanging out in heaven with some angels i noticed one was smoking something that looked like a spliff, so with some trepidation i asked if i could have a smoke with them. now most people don't approach angels, they approach you, so these two were somewhat bemused by the strange man who walked into their conversation.
'hey that smells really nice, what is it?'
'fucking ambrosia man.'
so we stand there smoking this shit, it's the strangest taste, slightly sweet, like a nectar, really nice and yet unfamiliar.'
the nephilim are talking about sex with human women, while i am smoking their spliff and attempting to join in the conversation.
'yes they have such a great smell,' i agree.
'it's biologically impressive, such glands produce secretions and they operate on a subconscious level, attraction is different for angels less passionate, yet with humans sex is incredible.'
'pheromones have a lot to answer for. they got me here.' i add, 'jealous husband.'
'mmm angels do not suffer the emotional conflicts of humans, pass me that please.'
'shit man if i had this weed i wouldn't chase girls. this is great. it's very chilling, i feel like i've swallowed half a bottle of valium.'
'passion is a drug for us angels.'
'yeah i heard that you nephilim get a bit naughty with human girls.'
'human girls can't resist us and if they do we care not.'
they laughed suddenly i felt very uncomfortable, i made my excuses.
'yeah dude.' thanks for the smoke.'
i wander away, my head filled with strange thoughts about these creatures.
i walk towards the bar, heaven has a great bars, thank god.

back in 1956 i was hanging out with william burroughs in a small apartment in new york, he was working as an exterminator at the time, and he was writting a short story with jack about a mutual friend who was dead. i didn't hang out with their criminal friends as i never quite trusted them, i always felt as if i was and never could be part of that scene, that was until i got busted for bug powder.
it all happened one evening in march, we were chilling out at home when bill came home with that glint in his eye, the one that you knew would lead to trouble. he went straight to the bath room and when he emerged he poured himself a large glass of milk and sat at his typewriter.
'gentlemen, ' he said in his strange eccentric voice, 'i have some interesting powder i'd encourage you to ingest.'
we gathered around as he produced a strange brown powder from a silky pouch.
'what is this stuff?'
jack scoffed, 'not more coke man, i have tried all coke derivitives and find them unsatisfactory, apart from helping me write for long periods, the girls love that shit man.'
'no gentlemen this is quite different, quite exotic, it's bug powder dust.'
'i'm not snorting that shit bill.'
'quick assumptions lead to dead ends and dead ends are for those who seek to go where they come from. jack you don't have to snort this powder, you put a little in your tea or under the tongue.' bill stood up, his tall thing frame towering over us as he allocated us some of the powder.
he poured a little out onto a small mirror and cut it with his library card, then with a rolled up bill he snorted a line. the powder disappeared. we followed suit although taking the option of placing the powder under the tongue. we settled back into out chairs, jack continued typing for a few seconds and i closed my eyes.
i felt safe and strong, my body changed, i guess one second i was captain mission the next i was something else, i felt so strong, and my skin was jet black, mirror like, i had armour on. suddenly the room split into fractals of things, like an insects vision i could see bug perception. the room continued splitting and each fractal showed me something different, the heat, the body chemistry, the chemical analysis, my brain was flooded with information. i leapt from the seat to the ceiling looking down on jack and bill. i was attached to the ceiling looking down. how was this possible. i was the bug. i smiled, wow, the possibilities of this are endless.
i leapt around the room, gravity had little hold, i could stick to anything, i was super sensing the environment, turning it into raw data. bill and jack were sitting there looking at me, i imagine tand rightly so that they were undergoing a similar shift in reality.
the experience lasted five to ten minuets but it seemed to last for ages, i don't know the details of how insects perceive time but it's far different than humans, everything is like super slow although our own movement is super fast relative to human.
when the effects wore of we all rushed into the kitchen and ate about 2 packets of sugar between us.

i guess in 1986 i was a young man living in paris, trapped in an older mans body, i don't know, it was a different time, a different me, but in that point of time i was sleeping during the day and wandering around during the night, it was a strange way to live but it suited me and i liked the nocturnal paris, the bars, the clubs, the lights, the people. my favourite place was a small bar in pigalle, it was a seedy little joint, dark and smoke filled, strange jazz piano music played all night and the crowd who frequented it were all sons and daughters of the french aristocracy looking for a cheap thrill. there was some regular proletariat, some dealers, a few musicians and struggling painters, writers and the place was filled with rich women hoping to be muse to some poor guy but the guys were not interested in rich women, they were into one, the bargirl anya.
anya was a fucking jewel, let me tell you she broke all the rules of beauty, a singularity, a shooting star, a bright nova and every man woman and dog was drawn into her light, like a gravitational pull, sucking us all in, a moth to the flame, every night. sucking us all back night after night as we got closer and closer, a girl like this was inspiration to everything, art, war, death and life, so there's no boundary to stop, no self restraint, no friction.
being something of a man of the world i knew this but it makes no difference, esoteric knowledge is defenceless in situations like this, ask any sex magickian, ask any spiritual fucking leader or man with an honest passion and the spark of life. ask yourself.
one night i watched the men all viewing for her attention, it was like an animal mating ritual, the cosmic dance of vishnu, the primal force disguised with words and body language. every technique in the book was being applied over the months and none seemed to work, they were all useless as anya refused every date, every bunch of flowers and every proposal, and believe me she was proposed to on a regular basis, not just marriage but money, travel, gifts, homes, seven different types of love and sex, it was endless. she would smile and offer a friendly stroke to soften the impact, but she would always decline any offers. she was gentle and feminine and strong and had good humour, she had eyes that were fierce and intelligent, she had a mind that was perceptive and disciplined and yet she was generous. men would walk out from that bar sighing, knowing they had seen something in their life that they would always love.
eventually i pulled myself away from that bar, it was difficult but i did it, a friend of mine said, 'anya will never have a relationship because she is a lesbian.'
and despite that making me desire her more, i also knew that i should cold turkey myself away. so one night i went to a coffee shop instead, to meet a girl i had met on the metro, it was a date, a kinda date i guess although i was half hearted and somewhat disenchanted, for if i couldn't have anya what else is there.
the coffee shop was beautiful, an old opium den, i felt as if i had been there before in another life, i was very comfortable and conversation flowed, i was witty and serious in all the right places and proportions, i was a true gentleman and i think my date was very impressed. but internally i was aching, my ribs were pounding, blood rushed through me and my hair was standing on end, it was like withdrawals from heroin. the turmoil inside me was growing and i would not be able to sustain my casual romantic illusion much longer. fortunately my date had an early appointment so we kissed and she jumped into a taxi, promising me she will cook me dinner at the weekend. i watched the taxi drive off then ran down the street towards the bar, it was very late, anya only worked until 3am then she left, i ran along the street and turned to where the bridge was. can you believe this, yeah i'm running about to cross the street that takes me to the bridge when a car veers towards me. it clips me and i fall over unhurt but very shocked. suddenly i realise what a fool i am, jesus i think what am i doing. i should just go back to the hotel have a shower and sleep. my leg is beginning to ache, maybe a drink is a good idea, take away the pain, besides i am close now, just across the bridge and a short walk, besides anya has probably left for the night now. i can blend in with all the other disappointed males drowning in alcohol. I'm shuffling along the bridge, when i see her. she's walking towards me.
we are the only people on the bridge.
it's like a dream or a movie, it's almost better than life, it's fate man, fate is working, the hand of fucking fate.
my mind is going crazy, i start checking myself, do i look presentable, is my suit crumpled, is my hat wonky, does my face look friendly, the permutations race through my mind like a computer program but everything seizes when i try to think of words.
what the hell am i going to say to a girl that has heard it all before. i fumbled there at one end of the bridge as she walked from the other end towards me, but then suddenly she climbed up on the ledge of the bridge.
it was a difficult climb, she sort of had to clamber and push herself upwards, during this time i was frozen not sure what she was doing. then an awful thought dawned upon me.
i called out her name and ran towards her, 'anya, anya, don't jump, wait.' i yelled, she looked around to see who was calling, her face lit by ambient soft light, her face looking peaceful and calm, almost serene, how i imagine angels to look when they sleep. i ran up under her and my arm reached out to grab her but her body just fell away, she was looking so peaceful, i could only stand there and watch her body hit the water. a moment passed and i found myself climbing up onto the ledge, i'd managed to strip down to my shorts and throw everything into a pile on the street. i jumped after her. the water was freezing, i mean it was very cold, i gasped for air and looked around me, already the current had taken me down river, i yelled out, 'anya' but there was nothing, i could barely see in front of me. i swam with the current, doing my best to stay above the water and keep myself warm. eventually after about twenty minites a barge passed and heard my calls. a man with a russian navel shirt reached out with a pole and i grabbed it, allowing myself to be pulled in. i smoked a cigarette and had a warm drink, coffee i think, the crew attempted to speak but i must have gone into a deep shock. i was wrapped in blankets and must have blacked out.
i came to in the police station, they had an english speaking detective who asked me about anya, i told him the story. they said she had been reported missing and several people had phoned in concerned but no body knew where she was. they said that the water police had searched the current flow and found no trace of her, nothing.
i sometimes dream of her, that peaceful look as her pale arms reach for mine, the center of her pupils fixated upon mine, the strange pull of the river seine, the mysterious circumstances of her life, her beauty and her death. anya my muse.

friday night in a basement in kograh we rehearse, there's a little bit of trepidation, we often sound outta whack and inconsistent, there's a lot of chaos that slips in but tonight that chaos is controlled and we transcend. i find my voice, the band work on their dynamics, we start getting our shit together and the sound is very good. i have taken on board nevins comments, he really is a wise dude and understands things i am just grasping, everything he says it actually worthwhile hearing, considering and trusting, i like the way he works and plays, actually everyone is so brilliant i'm lucky. loius makes some amazing sax sounds on the squelching machine but he's tired he's worked all day, it's fucking blood sweat and tears when your in a band, it's a labour of love and a little bit of resentment, i understand this, i feel it to, it takes you away from your family, it costs time and cash, it's very demanding.
val plays with the ferocity and innovativeness of a surreal painter and together it comes, sucked into the vortex. i sing without the lyric sheets and it makes a big difference, much smoother, more present and i remember most of the words, there's a couple of lines i get wrong but no one seems to notice except val who smiles. i feel good about things. however i feel bad that we are fucking all struggling with cash, nevin pawned his guitar for $30, vals in the shit. looking for a way out, i'm fucking living on friends charity as my cash goes in to the band, this is what it's like, suffering for art, yet when you play a set that sounds good it's not suffering, it's rewarding and everything makes sense. kick the blues away with music, music heals man, it heals me, always has always will. sound waves man, it's all energy. we make a trance dimensional energy, we will take you there.
nevin and i talk about working on a project, it's very appealing, and i think the band will really like it.
anyways i have had no sleep, maybe a couple of hours, i wake up sneezing and feeling awful as the neighbours are making a racket, the rain is depressing, the heat filters in, the sun is to bright, i need a blood transfusion and i have no cash for coffee.

after a late night chat with martin my brother i feel restless, i can't sleep, he tells me he is bringing lots of people to the show, i feel slightly weird, i rather sing in front of strangers than people i know but what the hell, i have to just get up there and do what i do, i just hope my words flow and i don't struggle, plus i hope that i can hear the bits that i come in on, it gets pretty messy up there sometimes and i loose my way. but fuck it, i'm a strange man, bring it on.
there are people from work coming as well, that's kinda weird as i like keeping some distance from work and me, they hate me anyway, listening to me sing about inter dimensional stuff will just give them reasons to hate me more, but what can you do, live an inauthentic life, i'm a fucking child of the cosmos, put that in your report.
anyways i washed pan today, met with the high priestess who has a bad knee from kung fu fighting a bunch of kitchen hands in a restaurant who attempted to poison her poisson. she's limping around preparing for peru, we are joined by agent stone and her new baby kia who is smiling and laughing and looking cute.
we discuss the massive spiders they found in iran, huge desert spiders that are so big it's frightening to think about. im actually more terrified of these than sharks, jesus they are monsters.



imagine being a kid from the dairy queen state of wisconsin and joining the army, hauled out to fight a bunch of islamofascists and live in the dessert where it's stinking hot, you can't see the enemy, everything is a potential death threat and then to top it all you have spiders the size of freaking gorillas. i rather deal with guns.

im a lover not a fighter, that's for sure but life throws some strange balls, you have to be a fighter to be a lover really. that's me. a fighter lover hybrid, a genetic engineered self directed meta programmer.
what a huge day, massive day in china town, the contemporary art gallery, a ferry to meadow lands and a train to hornsby. i'm so tired i could eat a rolling moss. goodnight.

fucked up on mescaline and half a bottle of tequila out in the mexican dessert with a gun and my sombrero i was shooting chickens when a girl in a red dress comes strolling up. she looks like a glamorous south american goddess part animal, mostly feline, a cross between a jaguar and an amazon supermodel. she walks right up to me and pushes her hand onto my chest and says in her sexy whisper says she want's my weapon. i hand it to her reluctantly, my experience with girls and guns is pretty negative, i'm still carrying a few scars and sometimes walk with a limp. she takes the 45 and inspects it, her eyes scans the barrel as she puts the sight up to her lips in a provocative manner. actually if she got any less provocative we would be naked covered in peanut butter.
a chicken runs towards us, she adopts a stance and shoots, but the gun is out of ammo and i just hear the click, the chicken squawks and runs past us, i grab the gun from her and pass her the bottle.
that's how i met her, strange but true. jaquinta.
later im in her convertible, we are driving from tijuana to santa fe, the highway stretches out into the horizon, it's classic americana, all we need is some robert johnson on the cd but what we have is her collection of eskimo folk music by the residents.
she's a kooky girl jaquinta, kooky and sexy. i lean back and look at the blue skies vast and expansive, stretching out like a ocean of calm. i'm relaxed, super relaxed, the valium is kicking in, i have not felt like this in years, my body feels like jelly and i have a wide grin plastered over my face. i shift my gaze onto jaquintas legs, oh yeah, heaven. she smiles at me, her hair blowing in the breeze, her foot down, the music blaring out, the sun pumping out waves of heat, i feel like i am flying.
later we pass a dead cow. it's stinks and i have to look away, it's actually disgusting and i feel slightly nauseated, the tequila starts to argue with the pills. i fall asleep and dream i am living in australia. when i wake up it's night and we are in a motel room.
jaquinta is having a shower, i'm on the bed. she walks out wrapped in a towel, smoking a joint. she's wearing her heels. i'm a dead man i think. we roll around for a few hours, i'll spare the details but she's a wild animal, the room looks like hurricane katrina passed through. i fall asleep and quickly dream i'm living in australia.
later we head out to the local town, the bar is filled with sexy looking vampires and nocturnal creatures, playing pool, drinking, dancing, they all seem friendly enough and jaquinta comes back from the bar with some drinks while i gaze out the window at the stars. i have this strange feeling, like i should be somewhere else, but the sight of her brings me back.
she leans over and bites my neck. it's a cute little nip and i push her away while moving in closer.
'we will be in santa fe tomorrow' she says lighting up a discrete joint.
'yeah babe, santa fe.'
'i have business there,' she says.
i nod my head still thinking about the dream. i'm living near a beach, it's beautiful, i'm happy, content, there i am in a vision, driving my car, a family car to work, i drive down a freeway, there's trees on either side, tall magnificent gum trees and cockatoos swoop and shriek between the sides of the roads . suddenly i am back in the bar.
jaquinta is smoking a joint, she is still talking about santa fe, she says she has to meet some one at noon, someone important, she wants to get an early start.
we leave the bar and head back to the motel, i fall into a deep sleep and dream again of my life in australia. i have this crazy job where i work with people, part of a big organisation, a govt. dept, mostly idiots but generally it's a good job. i have a dog, a girlfriend and a active social life, it all seems incredibly rich and colourful, i seem at peace.peace, i must be happy. it's like another me, a part of myself living a totally different life, a life i can't obtain in tis one, i seem to be peering through a window at another version of me, a responsible one, one that actually got his at together. i can see the details, the subtle differences, the choices, the forks in the roads, each tiny moment splitting.
i wake up to jaquinta offering me a coffee, the smell invades me, thanks babe i say.
we roll around a little then we jump in the car and head towards the highway. santa fe is about 4 hours north. the sun is rising, the heat is making its presence known, it's going to be a very hot day. above a vulture flies, following the car. im in the middle of telling jaquinta a story from my past when suddenly she pulls off road and we veer left.
'what are you doing.'
'gotta make the appointment.'
'but santa fe is that way.'
'yeah well this is where i am heading.'
about 40 ins later we pass a tree, it's a joshua tree. underneath, in it's shade is an indian sitting with a dog. the car screeches to a halt.
jaqinta turns off the music, yells out in spanish. the indian waves us towards him.
we prepare for vision quest, jaqcinta tells me we have to do this, she says we have to bathe and fast, we have to meditate and chant, focus our minds and then drink the brew the old indian gives us. i find a spot under the tree and lay down. the old indian offers me some water to wash my face and hands, he offers me a spliff, i relax.
time passes, clouds come and go, and then the sun makes its way across the skies, it's shadow crosses the desert. the temperature drops, the indian starts chanting and jaquinta makes a fire. we get smudged in sage. we drink the brew. i smile at jaquinta and settle into my space. vision quest.
i ask the great spirit to heal me, help me find my way, show me what i need to do, help me see through the veil and understand the truth.
for a moment i get a flash of guilt, all the reckless living. the mirror of the soul. the infinity of energy. explosion. dissolve time, mind, space everything. the horizon slips away, my hand tries to reach out for it, it stretches out before me. i look at it, the other hand before me, suddenly they start to flame, yet they do not burn. bright primary reds, yellow flames. and in my palm there is the eye.
i wake up, the fire is dying, the dog licks my leg. no one else is around, no sign of any one, even the car is gone. i call for jaquinta but i acknowledge her absence, deep down i know she is gone. if indeed she was ever there.
im under the stars, the realms of potential at my fingertips. i pull out a wad of notes, yeah enough to get to australia, i smile, i put my arm around the dog and laugh. the night is filled with stars.

i spend the morning hanging out with jake who is pretty much absent, i mean your there in body but you are preoccupied, where are you, come back to dad for an hour, dock your shuttle craft with mine and lets talk, but no...you're drifting where you need to and that's cool to. i'm a drifter to. we look in the book shop, you tell me 'the terror' was a great book but 400 pages to long, i tell you 'going bovine' is not doing it for me although there's elements of greatness in there, i say when i finish it, i will pass it on. i ask if you want me to take you to the airport but it seems as though you have that covered.
we drift away from one another and i feel somewhat cheated, but it lasts momentarily, i was you once upon a time. i like where i am now. i like what we have. it's good, it's healthy and you know i will be there. no questions, no judgement, no problem.
i wish i had some cash man, i'd slip you a grand and say, travel hard but when your feeling down, live it up in a nice hotel, send out for room service to impress the girl, be frivolous for a night, but i don't have that cash, just a pile of fucking books.
i meet evan for lunch, evan, fuck man where would i be with out you? just knowing your my friend gets me through the hard times, fuck there's no price on that.
evan tells me a strange story about a friend who writes a blog. he says she decided she wants to be paid for being her, she wants people to send her cash and she will continue to be kind and pick up litter and make people smile and do good in the world. so evan sends her $10 via the paypal mechanism and encourages others, the girl feels she is conducting an experiment but evan says, it is him that is experimenting on her.
it's a strange old world people being paid top be themselves, i guess if i had 10000 people a week paying me $10 i'd pick up litter and be nice, although i'd spend the cash on dope and hookers. what can i say, that's me being myself, contributions can be sent to me my deep fix web site.
evan and i realise we are sitting under a sign that says 'new menu here' but some one rubbed the u out the menu so it actually reads, 'new men here.'
i wish i was a new man, a vital vibrant one filled with positive vibrations but i'm me, captain mission, jaded fucking under achiever, strange old visionary and cosmic freakazoid, man of vales, man of tears, prankster, joker and inter dimensional time traveller.

this morning i spend my time fiddling with i tunes, i phones and attempting all sorts of strange gymnastics with creating appropriate music folders, it's well hard. I'm confused by the whole process, why are things not going where i want them, why are some things just greyed out, what does all this mean, how can i interpret the information when it seems so straightforwards yet will not work, mmm, i do my best and hope for the best. i have probably done it correctly but we will see.
i'm not a technological person, i'm not really very practical at all, all my skills are with words, see here's an example...

...velvet majestic waves of neon sensuality wrapped around her body as the tentacles started to explore her, between the moments of terror she also experienced the zenith of euphoria, what was this alien sensation, this strange heat that aroused yet petrified. her clothes seemed to fall away and the massive tendrils seemed to ooze a purple slime that was like being bathed in some kind of frictionless lubricant, the boundaries began to merge, her mind seemed to fall away and soon she was lost in a pleasure beyond description, a physical, emotional, spiritual bliss had engulfed her. her last thoughts before total obliteration was, wow, i never thought first contact would be like this, they certainly never trained me in diplomatic corps for this. she smiled.

so you see, i better stick to what i am good at.

yesterday i succumb to the weakness of restlessness and decide i need to escape for a few hours in some sort of alternative hell or heaven, just not my own personal one. so the best escape available was the movies. amalia and i head of to see the hurt locker.
she briefs me on the way.
it's a film about the war in iraq
it was made by the ex wife of avitar man james cameron
it's up for the same award as cameran's movie
so we sit down and watch what i have to say is a brilliant movie. the bomb disposal or explosive removal squad comprise of three men and at the start of the movie the main man, the one who wears the special suit gets blown up. his replacement is a man who has no fear, he disregards all rules, he is incredible to watch, his attitude is beyond normal and at the end of the film we begin to understand why. actually during the most important disclosure through a conversation the film projector broke, typical of the beaches deco cinema, they fixed it and although we didn't miss anything it did break the continuity. anyways the story is breathtakingly suspenseful and real, the atmosphere is just as alien as avitar and the characters more believable rater than stereotypes. this is not a mythological film. it has no metaphors, makes no judgement. it's a piece of meditation upon war and the men who fight in them, it's fucking brilliant, go and see it.

i do like civilization, i love the art, the books, movies, the www and the music, i like all these crazy things human kind has done, it's meaningless and meaningful, we are ant's building ant hills, we are bees working away, we are all just trying to stay alive in this strange thing we invented, there's plenty of variety and cultures within cultures, ideology within ideology, something for everyone, except those who have inquiring minds, as you peel away each layer, each fabrication, you cannot compromise on systems that are inhibitory, systems that enslave. religion, socialism, they must be discarded or change. it's amazing how many people still attempt to revive these ancient dinosaurs and at the same time attempt to crush new ones, like scientology.
while the idea of scientology is no more offensive than any other believe systems the status quo will not accept it. last night on some trash tv show i watched a journalist interview some scientologists and with editing they were made to look like kooky fruitcakes, yet their ideas made no less sense than some of the crap the main religious ideologies express.
this awful hatchet job was probably watched by millions of people soaking it all in. some idiot senator in victoria is about to launch an inquiry into it as some people complained about the churches influence over them, and the church apparently just wants money.
hello!!!!!!
the vatican

yeah i like all these strange fabrications we have made, conflicting morality and righteousness rammed down peoples throats by brainwashed zombies. i love the idea that they are so weak as ideas yet people cling to them, the ships going down. wake up, there was no ship, it was all a dream.

what an incredible night, heat drenched it's way through the walls and windows, covered in sweat, dripping i wandered through mission control looking for some let up. nothing, pansy opens an eye, the bat who lives outside on the tree is to hot to swoop, the possums are in my hammock. it's incredibly hot, i resort to the strange tactic of drinking beer. i only drink one kind of beer, it's from el salvador, very tasty. i never really liked beer it's a kind of dumb drink but there are moments when it's perfect. i sat down in my lounge and drunk some beer, smoked a spliff and generally melted into the strange space between awake and asleep, to hot for thinking, to hot for moving around, to hot for anything. at 3am a breeze hit and i retired.
awoken by the phone, always penetrates my sleep. always bringing me back from other realms.

i wrote a while back about creatures from another dimension telling me when they look at humans they see time differently, they see the span of our lives, from the moment we are born to the point of death, they see that shape as a series of progressive stages, like a sort of worm shapes. it's a strange idea but think about it.
i think when s person produces a series of art or music they are are all the same work. i started with a love for reading and writing, my imagination was always excellent, i was always captivated by others. hence my love of sci fi, a genre people criticised me for reading when i was a kid but i figured it was their loss. i spent my skool days reading the most amazing books while every one else learnt how to be practical and pay the mortgage, earn big bucks and all that jazz, me i'm not good at those things, i live in my imagination and it's beautiful.
cultivate your imagination.
it's reflected right back at you.

margret atwoods book payback which was written just before the global meltdown is a brilliantly thought provoking treatise on debt and slavery. it looks at the history of debt pre bible and in the bible and post bible, it looks at the value of money and debt, it looks at the constructed system we mass produce to give it it's power and then it looks at the future which is really the present, where resources are depleted.
this book basically confirms some of my ravings, about the way we all live and the cycles we have been trapped in. it's is a very important piece of work that is exceptionally well written and researched.
i implore people to read it.
most of my readers know i have strange political viewpoints, i see all governments as guilty.and the idea that we continue to see one government as an enemy and another as an ally is crazy. they are all guilty of betraying someone. those idiots that marched against the war in iraq did nothing about the awa scandal, they did nothing when australia was complicit in the invasion of east timor, yet they are highly motivated to scream and yell over some dictators regime change by america. i'm not saying that it was wrong or right, just that moral objectivity is wasted in these realms. just the same as the people who live in palm beach and drive a fleet of mercs, drink expensive champagne and suck massive cuban cigars all complain about evil america and evil capitalism.
payback concludes with the idea that we need to wake up, change our personal life then we can change everything. i concur, you global warming people out there who want to make a difference, it's easy, don't eat meat. yet i know most do.
so how does someone in that position have the right to criticise anyone else.
be true to yourself, the rest is bullshit.

watched a very good film last night called 'the internationalist' about a big evil bank and some secret agents who attempt to stop the bank from being naughty. i thought it was a good story but the acting, and photographic techniques were outstanding, beautiful architectural panoramas, cities portrayed as cold monolithic aesthetic structures where the people who inhabit them are detached and soulless, there was a beautiful realism to this movie and a big shoot out in the guggenheim new york. excellent soundtrack to, finally a movie made by adults for adults. and wow naomi watts is sexy as hell.

the karmic implications in family are complex and confronting, it is not just genetics, the dna that must be unwritten (this requires enormous self insight as who really knows what should be unwritten from the script and what one leaves alone) , the imprinted patterns that must be untangled, the past is always present within these and then there's the future. i have always been aware of this in regards to you jakob, always it has weighed upon me with our interactions, i hope that the work i have done on my own self has prevented passing on negative imprinting that i have from my family. this is prescriptive evolution or meta programming, i have always attempted to be responsible when it came to this.

what a day, what a day.
i was up early, walking the dog, then went in to babylon met with hotrussianbride.com man who was outside the bank, we chat, then i meet jakob in the back of the bookshop where we read international magazines and papers, we chit chat and zip over to the newsagent, he's looking very funky these days, short hair, op shop clothes, the designer man to the wise one, he looks at the fashion mags, i look at the music ones but we both settle on nothing, we jump around saying goodbye, decide to look at a few other places in avalon, he nags me for my sunglasses which are round purple lenses, i say no, he tries to convince me but it's not convincing enough but then we decide to have a coffee together, joined by evan and leanne, jake talks about amsterdam, he says he is not going to take drugs, i try to convince him but he says no, i didn't try to hard. then he goes off with some girls in a car as he leaves i give him the sunglasses, 'pass em down to your children' i say. i have a lovely lunch with evan and leanne and we go looking for cakes. then i come home and fall asleep, i sleep very deeply. i wake up at 6, cook some food, start watching a movie, then towards the end my phone rings. i seek out the phone, it's dark, the floor is covered in books. by the time i find the phone, they have hung up. i call my folks we talk about my trip and somehow it degenerates to a horrible shouting match and mum attempting to make me feel guilty and just making me angry. she goes mental, i slam the phone down, a text arrives, i phone my brother so i can let him know i am thinking about not going to london, my brother says,'go smoke a joint have a beer' then think about it. good advice. i look at the text, it's gravy, i call him, he picks me up, we go for a smoke at our spot. fucking hell i relax. gravy is like that, a good friend. he says some wise words, tales from the far east, these are good tales, i like the far east, it makes me want to catch a passing ship. we go to moon base alpha, gravy's place and smoke some more, he plays me some tunes, they are excellent, i suggest which ones he record for a cd. they are really good, very different yet the influences are very present, xtc, daniel lanious, the beatles, dylan, the cure and then some planet gong in the mix. the songs are very gentle, subtle and great words, the guy is a genius.
i walk home off my tree.
feeling much better.

i first began receiving transmissions at the age of five. of course at that age i was completely devastated by the event and frightened to really talk about it with anyone, so i just said i was an astronaut and hoped people would see me as a imaginative child. i spent many years staring at space, looking out of windows at night time, navigating my way through asteroid storms, radiation clouds, dodging the intergalactic police and escaping the evil lizard empire. but my real enemies were earthbound. skool teachers, adults and the spirit crushing army of defeatism that attempted to crush my spirit as it soared. they damaged me considerably, wounded and dazed i reoriented myself with sex and drugs and shamanistic magickal pursuits, i followed my own drum beat, a drumbeat that took me overseas and a drum beat that led me to escape the clutches of duality. i courted favour with various forms of maya, each leaving me disappointed and somewhat shaken and stirred but eventually i harnessed my outer space skills towards inner space and found my secret weapon. you cannot destroy me.

when i first read the etchings on nevins guitar i knew he was part of the deep fix.
when i first heard louis laugh i knew he was part of the deep fix
when i first had a conversation with val i knew he was part of the deep fix and the deep fix part of him.

finally
vision manifest.
energy flows.
tides ebb
tides flow
one wonders
does one know
eternal night
infinite day
words and music
are just a vibration
the deep fix
is just an idea
but when it vibrates
it's something more
the mind is dissolved
and reassembled made anew
spirit released
in a feed back loop

sleep the luxury of middle age, i drift into a deep sleep sometime after midnight, profoundly deep, an earthquake would not intrude. faces come a haunting my dreams, strange cities and structures from a middle age, a time before time, someone says, 'human civilisation only exists at one minute to midnight on new years eve' if time is a year.
well lets get right back into say march, here i am, riding my dragon above the clouds. we soar down through the wisps of moisture and glide over the ravine and lush rainforest. my dragon is purple, a beautiful wing span that stretches wide and soft intelligent eyes that sparkle. in the distance lays my castle, upon the mountain top, impenetrable and yet exposed, there it is.
four majestic towers spiral upwards from each corner, in the distance i hear the trumpets announce our arrival.
my wives come to greet me, a dragon master comes to take my dragon away and give it food and water. i walk into the chambers, a massive throne room. advisors bring me news, the high priestess awaits patiently, she has news, there are several minor issues, housekeeping to attend to, i drink some water, i eat something sweet, i listen and address each issue as it arises. then the high priestess comes to me.
'we must tend to the plants.'
i'm no gardner but i know what she means.

so here i am in mission control, an invisible man wearing my face, generating ideas, here's one for the times.
the govt recently spent a fortune on offering homes insulation, there has been some sort of fallout as a number of companies were not qualified and jumped on the bandwagon, insulating homes without qualification, and because of this people died. this was part of a stimulus package the dudd government handed out in an effort to buy votes and save companies from collapse.
what if they had given free solar panels installed and working on the roofs of all homes, every single one, from which households use the energy and the excess is fed back into the grid. a simple but more efficient way at solving energy issues.
as well as homes suppling energy in the middle of the desert 30 feet above the ground, massive solar panels are installed, the structure is massive and goes on for hundreds of miles, this energy powers australia. underneath irrigation is used and in the shadow cast plants are grown organically, hemp. for internal use or export.
those people who want to enter australia, now work in the desert constructing such architecture, they are trained and paid a wage, a reasonable wage not a huge one, but meals and accommodation are supplied. after construction finished the people that contributed are granted citizenship, they have saved money, they have contributed and a free to live as citizens of australia.
this is the future i want to live in. the one i will make. vote captain mission now.

i have just finished reading robert harris's book 'the ghost' which is obviously based upon tony blair and the war on terror, the novel is well written and very engaging and the twists and turns are well thought out although i had worked out the final twist about a third of the way through. it's a great book to read on an aircraft, or if you want a good quality escape yet the issues are depressingly real, politics, war, terrorism and the grey areas that they have in common.
i'm about to start 'antipodes of the mind' now by benny shannon. this is the most serious book written about ayahuscia and the most important in many ways. i'll keep you posted.

i guess i am not the most popular person in the world but i never really felt that was anything i needed, i have a handful of friends, people who i trust with my life and that's all i need. i know who i am and what i am here for, this makes me dangerous and generally most people i have got to know end up wanting to destroy me or see me fail. in fact this is the norm. therefore i have to retreat into my inner sanctum, and those enemies that i have will eventually learn that they cannot defeat me, only strengthen my will. i suffer greatly for my own misgivings, my failures and weaknesses and this is really enough. the idea that people want me to feel worse says more about them than me.

captain mission gets the call early afternoon, cooking fish is an area of expertise, the one menu item i know about, and my friend amalia is making a big fish but not sure how to cook it. i head to her place weighing up my options, grill, fry, steam or bake. it's a dinner party for an old friend jp who will be arriving later.
i can see the fish laying on the kitchen table, it's dead eyes, looking at us. it's decided this fish will be baked and amalia scoops out it's guts while i avert my eyes. i don't like playing with fish guts, the stink gets under my skin, it pervades and stays around attracting cats, possums, rabbits and various pesky beasties but it also makes people think i am a fisherman and i end up in bars explaining to people i have no concept of bait, lures or fish species. i just eat them. fishing types don't speak my language, i don't get it and they don't get me.
so i let amalia do this, she is an old hand at gut scooping, i sneak a look and watch her agile fingers grab handfuls of fish intestines and cast them aside, smiling while she does it, it transports me back in time and i have to admire this ruthlessness. ever adaptable amalia presents me with a gutted dead fish and some foil, i chop up some garlic, lemon and chives and we roll the fish in silver foil.
while waiting for people to arrive i raid her itunes, wow millions of amazing cds waiting for me, i rip some miles davis and oscar peterson, some jimi hendrix and massive attack.
jp arrives. it's good to see him, he looks well, healthy but confesses to being anxious, amalia sorts him out with valium and starts pouring alcohol down his neck, some one arrives with sambucca and before to long he rolls around on the floor off his head, he seems less anxious now, almost child like.
the evening dissolves and after much laughing amalia slips away, i think she must have either gone out or gone to bed and i am considering jumping in with her but i'm worried that jp may follow, he's french, so i decide i will just talk to these boys about whatever... books, internet filters, travels, the romans, tv shows.
later it's just jp and i talking about life, where we are, how we got there and it's good. i slip away.

i'm an invisible man, faceless unseen, i slip out doorways and onto the streets, lit by neon signs advertising sex, i wander through the crowds, past the bars and high heels, past the police cars and taxi's, a rat in the gutter, a dealer making deals with an assassin, a one armed midget on a skateboard, a transexual in red pvc miniskirt talking with a priest, some gay guys eating cakes from an all night cake shop. i dive into a corridor, up a flight of steps and past a room filled with mirrors.
the room is bare, empty of everything, except an old magazine that lays on the floor face down. i lock the door and gaze from the window. down below the crowds still flood the street, going about nocturnal business. no one seems to have a kind face. i skin up a joint and wait, flicking through the magazine i read an article on a pop singer from iceland, i like her, she's a singularity.
the joint feels good, i stole a big bag of grass from the scientist who was probing my brain, he didn't notice when he left me to take a phone call, i grabbed it from his desk but now i'm wishing i had taken some cash as well. stupid choice, cash or hash, my body was on auto pilot. just grabbed for need. should have used my mind. the grass is good, it's jamaican skunk, not asian. i can tell the difference. i wish there was some music but theres just the sound of traffic. i wait.
after two hours a package materialises, my instructions, my orders. there's a roll of bills, a passport, a laptop some matches and a small can of lighter fluid and a book, it's the book of enoch. i switch on the computer and see a single file on the desktop. i click on it and the word file pops open.
i read it quickly and then delete it as instructed. then pour the fluid over the laptop and strike the single match, igniting the laptop, i stuff the magazine on the flames and leave carrying the book. i have my orders. i don't know why they didn't send a phone instead it would have come in handy, i guess there are surveillance issues.
i need a face, i need a face man.
the best face man lives in a high rise apartment uptown, i jump a cab, hide the book under the seat, hijacking a ride with some drunk kids, they are talking nonsense to the driver from the back seat, i am up front, as they drive past i jump out, the driver yells as the door opens and the kids laugh.i walk along the main street and turn left into an alley way. slipping down a small street i press a security buzzer.
the face man is home, he buzzes me up.
'any idea?' he asks.
'yeah male, 40's, kinda distinguished and hip, a cross between a shaman and a beat poet.'
'i have a face for you.'
his work is good. first class a true crafts man. i like the shaved head and the facial hair. i like the dark penetrating eyes, fierce intelligence and yet something sad lurking beneath. i like the feel of this face, and the hands are a perfect match, yeah, i can live in a suit like this.
i pay him a large sum. we drink some whisky and i use his phone. i need a place to stay, i have some people find me something outside the city, a beach shack in the north. i smoke a few joints with the face man, we talk about the old days. around morning the phone rings and i am informed they found a place for me. i go check it out. it's perfect. i order some equipment. i start to write.
following my orders.

post trauma i'm walking around like an egyptian mummy, the doctors are amazed at my regeneration powers, dr. who has nothing on me, i heal fast. some head shrink asks me questions
'what is your first memory?'
'well there was this huge explosion of light.'
'what day is it?'
'today.'
'where are you?'
'here'
'why are you so elusive?'
'a fish'
'what will you do now?'
'everything'
'how did you heal so fast?'
'will power'
'what is the meaning of life?'
i start to laugh and they inject me with more drugs. they peel of the bandages to see i am invisible.
i don't mind the drugs, they space me out a bit, it's like a holiday from myself, i go travelling through while they prod, poke, scan and chart me.
when they send me through the magnetic doughnut machine i cause an electrical blackout, the system crashes.
technicians run around, a man in a suit comes from his office and gawks at me, he pulls out a mobile phone.
at night i sneak outside and cclimb up on the rooftop with adrianna the sexy nurse, we smoke joints and watch the stars, i point out sirius.
'that's home baby, i'll take you there one day.'
she giggles and starts to kiss me. we make love on the ceiling and spend the night star gazing. she peels of her human skin revealing herself, she points to pleades and says in her husky voice,
'that's home baby, i'll take you there one day.'
later they put me on a bench and strap some wires into my brain and inject me with some kind of sedative, i slip into a sweet erotic dream. when i wake up the machines are burnt to a crisp.
adrianna and i start to fall in love, we know there are connections between us we can not yet unfathom, we speculate we are agents deep undercover. on a mission we can't quite recall, working for different teams but thrown together, destiny.
one day they hypnotise me and interrogate me. the interrogator attempts to send me back into my early years and he is shadowed by a neuroscientist who has my eyes hooked up to a screen magnifying them thousands of times. unfortunately the neuroscientist has some sort of epileptic seizure and the interrogator begins to regress to his own childhood, he starts crying for his mother.
one night adrianna and i decide we must hack into the mainframe and find a clue to our mission. she surfs through the terminals and accesses the secret files and folders, she breaks through the encryptions and codes, she is navigating her way into the darkest parts of the zeros and ones when she finds the doorway. she gives me a confirmation look, i nod and she descends through the gateway.
seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours, i watch her unable to assist. then suddenly without warning she returns.
she looks at me, i can register the shock in her eyes. it's inevitable, we are looking for one another, we found one another, now we must kill one another.
love has a strange way of working.
'come on adrianna, we don't have to do anything, we are free.'
but i am looking at the weapon she has pointed at my head. she is crying.
'i'm so sorry, i have to follow my orders.'
'do we have to follow orders.'
'i love you so much.'
she says, her fingers start to squeeze the trigger and her eyes begin to close.
she never saw my blade coming at her neck.
as she lay on the floor gasping i stand over her.
some one speaks with my voice, i don't really recognise it,
'everyone is programmed to follow their orders adrianna. they think they are free but they are not. even if they don't follow their direct orders and attempt to rebel, they are just following higher orders. it's a fucking closed system baby. theres no escape, except one.'
she can't believe it. she gasps to speak but can't quite manage. it and the words come out distorted, i think she starts choking on her blood. i make out her final words
'thank you.'

over here at mission control we had a massive dose of summer, very hot, unbelivable, people just chilled out, drank and slept, it was to hot for anything, then suddenly a week of rain. not just normal rain, a years worth in one week. it was incredible, you couldn't drive or walk anywhere, people wore wetsuits to the shops and canoed to work.
i must admit i dislike rain, plus i have a leaky roof which is home to some cute furry creatures, so the wildlife moved in with me for a week, i tell you man, i had had wallabies, possums, bats, spiders and my dog all holed up. i was attempting to play scrabble with them but they don't play by the same rules as me.
anyway the rain stopped and they returned upstairs, which is just as well cos they fucking trashed my place.
summers resumed and back with a vengeance. that intense sun bites the skin.
i went to tims house for dinner, he has a nice place, it's 3 million bucks of beautiful architecture and interior, he was playing some very cool music, indian stuff ragas. we planned some amazon stuff and talked about cuba being a possibility.

many years ago, 18 perhaps, you (jakob) was obsessed about a book i was reading, called 'rule of bone' it had a bright cover and i carried it around but never actually read it. he would always ask me what it was about, he would always ask if he could look at the cover and kept repeating the word bone. he asked me what the bone was, and i could not tell him as i had not read it.
anyway last week i moved all his books in to my place and he told me 'rule of the bone' was his fave book ever. so i picked it up and read it. strange how the past catches up, circles everywhere. anyways it is a great book a huck finn for our times and i can see why he licked it so much. what a fantastic novel.

now i am reading 'renegade' the autobiography of mark e smith from the english band 'the fall' and i have to say it's one of the best music books i have read. he is brilliant and i totally agree with his points except the drinking. i don't really like drinking much. he comes across as a total individual, unique in the same way as steve is but from manchester. his observations are just spot on, he really has a perception that i enjoyed. a man out of time, ahead of his time. very funny to.

halfway through life, am i closer to what i needed than before, yes, but also further away, life is paradox, like some chinese puzzle. i look back in reflection and i think i have travelled far, journeyed over land and sea but also the other landscapes, the terrain of the explorer is multi dimensional, it comes in all directions emotional, physical and spiritual and mental, it's the quadrant formation, but it exists in a sphere. and then when you think it's fixed the boundaries change, one cannot observe and measure the particle and the wave.
the weather churns me up, i don't like rain, it takes me to an unhappy childhood in the streets of london, a place i do not like yet have to return. rain takes me to skool a place that destroyed me and left me with a deep resentment. i was a quiet, introverted boy lost in his imagination and despite the anger and wrath of my teachers stayed in there. years of humiliation and looking for escape routes, hitching around the usa was my first taste of freedom from this. i travelled places, met people, saw the vast unbounded nature morph from car windows, slept under stars in deserts and lived in abandoned shacks in the woods. so from that oint onwards i knew there were other ways. mystical experiences are born from wonder, my path was shaped by a strange eccentric family on my fathers side, especially my grandfather who i have talked about in these blogs.

now i have a better understanding of who i am, where i am in space and time, why i am, the wonder is not so strong. the ayahuscia experience has helped me greatly determine what i am. the intelligence of plants is much more useful to me than human. i am done with humans.

but then i look at them sad and lonely, trying to figure out their way, going through the motions half asleep and dazed from the constructs they cling to. i feel like reaching out to those i do love, the people i really fucking am grateful for to have in my life, jakob my amazing son who is so beautiful and brilliant, my band who i fucking love and respect and my friends, evan, the high priestess, tim, gravy err okay im short on friends but i'm happy with these special people and i'm most grateful for the teachers of lessons, they have ranged from writers who i have absorbed to musicians i respect to ex girlfriends and most of all to my enemies. i love my enemies. i really do. and that is where i am at halfway through life.

the god part of the brain again, i am convinced that the author is mistaken, his early reaction to hallucinogens created an imprint that stayed with him and his rescue by pharmaceuticals confirmed and validated his perception. he talks about this in his introduction. with this imprint he is already formed the part of the brain synaptic network that will lock this belief in, therefore it is true for him, and science will validate it. ego remains alive. yet the aya experience is death, how can this death be meaningless and concerned with genetics when it is a process that can only be navigated by a spiritual surrender. the science would say that this is neurology and they are correct but the same applies to the spiritualistic view of shamanism, belief is the key.
if i looked at some one with a mental illness i could cure them with medication or shamanism which would mean banishing demonic entities from the mind. they are the same, just different language only the shaman is much more powerful as it is natural. the chemical approach would involve suppression and brain chemical alteration. in the end the god part of the brain actually proves nothing, but acts a theory exactly the same way shamanism is. both are constructed measures of reality in a way. however science is a cynics path towards god. and there is nothing wrong with that because there is nothing worse than blind faith.

dream - i am driving a van with a passenger who is in a wheelchair, i have instructions to take the an to a specific area, a sort of educational facility that is part of the old university i went to where i studied photography. i park the van and push what appears to be an empty wheelchair through a small shopping area and restaurant. we have parked the van near a small air strip and i watch the planes take off. then i enter the educational facility and report to what appears to be my old lecturers classroom where ex students are gathered to finish some kind of exam. each student was asked to list a book or books that influenced their images, i have chosen henry millers 'tropic' trilogy.

i think tis dream has something to do with a return to the uk, and old faces. it's like a journey but i'm travelling with my experience (symbolised by the wheelchair) where i have gone from (the university) to the return. the 'tropic' series i have not read, yet i know they are about henry millers stay in paris, an americans adventures, here i am the henry millar in australia, an english person returning to the uk.

one mans woman is another mans
well i am travelling through my life on minus hours sleep, through the rain, the lightning and the thunder, i am in the floating world, numb like i'm on some weird illegal anaesthetic. come on sister take a ride in my bubble, we can cruise past the supermarkets of your desires, picking up some soft porn breakfast cereal and jack up on seventeen varieties of milk, me i like my rice milk. the bubble wants to go left but it's having navigation issues, sabotaged by weird energy beams from the solar flares that penetrate the morning we take a sharp right. i meet up with a friend who has returned from the ukraine, he has been internet dating, spending about one year trawling through the profiles and building up cybernetic friendships with hundreds of girls desperate for escape, and by the law of numbers he found one, now he has returned with a sparkle in his eyes and the hope of return. he shows me photographs on his lap top, looks pretty cold, the girls all look unreal, the photos are glamourous and i see the glamour. i have to escape in my pod as a wave of nausea hits me between the eyes, the desperation bleeds onto the streets and i find some moments sanctuary with another friend tim who has recovered from a dose of gout, but he still laughs about death, crop circles and energetic vibrations and frequencies and general perfection. i like this conversation, i enter into it and we agree an all points metaphysical. the bubble takes me home, i shower, clean my teeth several times, and fall onto the bed, no sleep just a kind of stillness. i have not slept in 48 hours.

wake up, from awake state, a sleep i never had, missed rem, dreams with eyes open is just life, i travel in to the city, i meet martin my brother for a quick lunch and to pick up some posters he has very kindly printed for me. i wander through the bookshops, adyar has nothing new, i wander through the dead can dance section in the cd shop, oh how i have fallen in love with that band, i travel back to my friend mike who is dealing with his mother, she has dementia, its very difficult, i feel for him and his poor mum, i travel to sue and simons for fish pie and lots of wine. i have a good evening, pansy eats some sardines and rice, he is happy laying on the floor with sue. i am relaxed and drive back on the strange roads black with new surface, there is no traffic, no sounds except mick harvey on cd.
i feel inspired and like i have purpose.

the high priestess and i have been drawn into a war with some islamic cult leader, called wahid, who has gate crashed the aya forums with his own syrian rue influence. the war started when the high preistess called him on the fact ayahuscia is not syrian rue. i joined forces with her as wahids posts were extremely nausiating and derogetory to hers. then some dude called woody woodpecker starts to join in, deconmstructing my posts with some weird sacrcastic bent. anyway the out come is the islamic ego cult have backed down, acknowledging that syrian rue is different from ayahuscia.
wonderful result.
this morning i meet my reckless friend amalia who is a kind of globtrotting rock chick with nice feet, we decide to get our feet pampered at one of those feet places but it's so ticklish i can't stop laughing. very funny morning except for the parking ticket.
i have unpacked jakobs books, they are identical to mine, we read the same books.