back where it all started the ouroboros of the mind, a pattern of unending significance as skins are shed and faces worn. the trail of time in life, a serpent eats its own tail. from seed to death see the strange pathway, chrysalis psychology on it's evolutionary manifestation. going this way and then that, one moment you are floating through zen peace with monks, the next in a seedy motel snorting lines with a dark blue skinned vampyre, all things being equal it's neither a bad life nor good.

someone knocks at the door and the party stops suddenly, it's the nova kid and his posse of wild boys breaking down the door, it's the heat from the stars, some intergalactic task force hunting you down for the code wars. you snort a quick line and clamber out the window, the vampyre moves fast, she's everywhere, a visual blurring of decisive action. 

on the streets you push through the crowds, neon rain falls as a multitude of advertisements lights up the skies like a technicolour ocean, social commentary from the controllers. the stink of cooked beasts hangs in the air as venders sell all manner of cooked flesh. you see some people eating insects from small paper cups, it's repulsive but you are curious.

'what are they eating' you ask.

'gras opper, eet is flied en see see me. vant to try?

i look at the vampyre, 'let's go to a bar.'
'i need to feed, she says,'i av de thirst.'

she pulls me down a flight of steps into another crowd. music pumps out and the atmosphere is filled with thick cigar smoke and pheromones. she leads me towards the bar and speaks to a barmaid in spanish or portuguese, they seem to share a joke and the barmaid points into a crowd of men. 
'i av orr derr ed you drink, stay, vait for me. i go feed.'
she disappears into the crowd.
i've finished my dark and stormy, standing there waiting to catch someone's attention when she returns from the cloud of haze, a glorious stride of confidence and certainty.
she smiles at me.
i catch a glimpse of her blood stained teeth and pass her a paper tissue. she daintily wipes her mouth and licks her lips, her face is flushed and her eyes sparkle with some kind of frenetic energy that surges through her body. 
we drink a few more dark and stormy's, although alcohol is not our choice of stimulants it does help us blend in, it takes the edge off the coke.
some more people come crashing in, the place becomes hotter as though someone turned the heat up full whack, more smoke fills the atmosphere, the stench of humanity in full hedonistic mode. 
a tall woman in a red dress bats her eyes at me, i can't help but smile back. she orders a drink and turns to face me.
'are you with her?'
the emphasis on the with not the her.
i shake my head, 'she is with me.'
'come,' she commands, 'both of you.'
we wander along a red plushed corridor down steps towards the bathrooms she pushes open a door and we all stand around in the marble elegance and velvet opulence. 
she's chopping up some powder, it's not coke i can tell as the colour is slightly purple and there are glittering crystals in the mix.
she's done this before, a gold credit card moves like a conductors baton through the air as the powder forms a small cloud, the dust twinkles in the strange ambient light.
finally three long lines on the benchtop all equal in length and size.
she offers me a rolled note and i nod approval, it hits my brain instantly, like a cold shower inside my skull. i'm immediately shocked but almost before shock registered a warm euphoric wave overwhelms me, it's sensual and intelligent. my spine straightens and my brain seems to kick start. immediately i notice  details, the lips of our new friend, the curve of her body, the soft scent, erotic and exotic. 
the vampyre took her line and smiled, 'is good, vat is dis.'
now it's the lady in the red dresses turn, she turns her face towards the powder and delicately places a gold tube into her nose. she does this exceptionally efficiently, the line of dust disappears consistently and when it's gone she turns her head towards the vampyre and stands up to look in her face.
'it's called many things, i use the generic term lust dust the anterians call it charm.' 
suddenly i wonder if my cover is blown, does she know who i am, is she undercover nova. the charm counters any paranoia quickly, in fact i just want to kiss her but instincts hold me back and then the vampyre steps between us. 
i start backing away slowly uncertain if my instincts have been compromised.
the girls are kissing, i catch a glimpse of the vampyres teeth in the mirror as i slip through the door. i run back, push my way through the crowd and back up the steps onto main street which swirls around me like a wheel of fortune. i gasp for clean air and look up towards the stars but there is nothing but neon, buildings and sky ways. 
my options are limited, there's no way i can get off world from the cities spaceport, there's no way i can use any public transport. the only escape route is to get a lift or stowaway upon a private ship or reconnect with the vampyre she's loyal and connected, so i head towards our meet point.

the citadel is made from neon plasma polyp, a hybrid of coral and plant dna, it's almost crystalline in structure and so high the upper floors are above the clouds, almost outside the atmosphere. oxygen is pumped into the upper levels as the air is so thin, there's an observation deck encased in a transparent dome that swings 360 degrees right at the top, our meet point. 
the security is easy to beat, i use the charm, plant a few suggestions and sweet talk my way inside past the two guardians. even the computer system falls under my spell as i soft wire its interface with a smart code.
the lift travels at 100ks an hour, it takes two hours to reach the o - deck and as i unstrap myself it's hydraulics kick in, a soft hiss of compressed air and suddenly the door opens.
a cold oxygen rich blast is the first thing you notice then the stars. i can make out the omega 3 quadrant, i follow cassiopea to rigel six and then see the nova planet by following a line north.
that's where it all went down, my home antaries.
i check the time, three hours until sunrise, which gives her one and a half hours to get here. 
there's no one note-worthy up here, a few casual romantics and a few interplanetary tourists. i edge my way to the acrylic window and look down at the polyp structure disappearing below me, spreading out into it's various branches and sub levels. the charms beginning to wear off, i feel the anxiety creeping into my bones.
as i turn back a flock of wings swoop towards me, hundreds of tiny bats, i can make out their sharp teeth and wings, their claws and penetrating eyes, they implode inwards and i react by pulling away shielding my face, waiting for impact. when i remove my arm from my face. she is standing before me.
'my captain,' she whispers.
'we need to leave. suns up in a few hours. tomorrow night we can think about getting off this rock.'
the ride down is almost in silence, i don't ask her about the girl i left her with, i know. 
police are everywhere, the streets swarm with operatives, they think they blend in discretely but we can spot them. every time they come for us we know, the vampyre sniffs them out, she has acute sensory abilities but the novas will learn soon and disguise their scents with chemical tracers. we both know we have to move fast but there's short time for a quick embrace.

there's a slow time now, headlong into dawn, we move through the streets still teaming with the hordes of party goers, mostly all chasing some dragon.
the bunker is secreted away in the city, a few levels down, an old underground shelter, re enforced walls and shock wave proof shell of a basement warehouse secreted away from the surface. it's accessed through a small mechanical elevator. the decent is bumpy and noisy but she makes it in time, i check the clocks, the sun would be out in a few moments. the rattling metal doors clank open revealing the interior to be slightly reminiscent of the french style back on the original earth.

the red commissionaire paces his office, he's been awake for hours coordinating the search, monitoring the transmissions and data feeds. 
his team had failed him, they had taken up the chase and lost mission and the whore somewhere outside that hotel they were in. the nova mob were on his back, he hated interplanetary opps but these nova shits were breaking his balls, putting the squeeze on him and his whole dept. the last thing he needed was them finding out his men had blown it and lost the trail.
so far he had managed to keep them off world but they were close at hand, orbiting in that fucking stealth ship, handing down orders like some divine authority. why had the minister capitulated, they were supposed to be independent. 
his com - unit buzzed, he stopped pacing and sat at the desk, he took a deep breath and answered.
his secretary put through the minister.
'i need an update.'
'we lost them, we got close and lost them.'
the defeat was in his voice, hard to disguise. it was pointless fighting the inevitable.
'these nova bastards will be landing about now.'
'do we...'
the minister cut him off, 'i have no choice, i kept the wolves at bay as long as i could. you better comply commissionaire, give them whatever they need. let them catch these fugitives and leave us. i hope i never have to deal with them again.'
the door swung open, two men in black skin suits marched in followed by his protesting secretary. still holding the com he waved her out.
he stood up to greet the novas but one of them pushed him back onto his seat.

i smoked a joint while the vampyre slept, sunset in thirty minutes. time for a shower, change of clothes and a new battle plan. 
we wander out in the early night time, shifting sideways through the shadows, the cityscape looms in all directions, a vast maze of structural ingenuity, part organic, part synthetic, where space allows you always catch a glimpse of the citadel towering up penetrating through the clouds.
uniforms are everywhere, police cars swarm the roads. i ponder the safety of being overground but the vampyre has an escape route and leads me towards the monorail that weaves around the cities architecture like a sleeping serpent.

nova prime watched the screen as surveillance footage of the citadels lookout platforms flashed by. the screen showed a grainy image of a flock of black shapes being sucked into form, a body.
'that's her, the woman. we can trace her movements to here,' the images flash forwards to the monorail snaking it's way through the city, two figures jumping down onto it from a low bridge, 'she's with him.'
'the live feed will show us all their movements, i have two satellites in place and a squad of our men ready to move.'
'let's see where they run to, i'll have my men waiting on hand.'

the problems were diminishing, we were in transit, on the m rail our only problem would be leaving it but the vampyre seemed to be confident she could get me out of the terminal. she was gazing out the window, looking down at the city below. we were high up, in a silent vacuum sealed environment, we leaned back and enjoyed the peace, our heads turned towards one another. 
i watched her eyes, cobalt blue. her face looked almost human, except for the dark bluish sheen of her skin.
we were a strange couple, me dishevelled fugitive and her. i cast my mind back to our first encounter....

'vake up mission, diz situation iz critical.'
i tried to speak but she clasped her hand over my mouth, 've must leave the carriage soon, but you must not speak words now. eye's ears everywhere.'
i nodded and we wandered along the carriage trying to look inconspicuous. 
every carriage had a vacuum sealed escape door, once opened it would send an alert but she was opening all of them as we pushed our way forwards through the interior. passengers jumped up protesting but then sat down again as they met her stare. a guard ran towards us but once he saw her fangs backed off, he was talking into a small monitor on his lapel, time was trickling away. 
'dis one,' she shouted as the wind blasted out her words, i felt something grab me and push me through the door, my eye's indistinctly closed and when i opened them i was free falling, the monorail was continuing its journey and getting further away from me in all dimensions. 
i grabbed a mouthful of air and trying to orient myself, my eyes darting here and there for the vampyre but the skies were empty, my mind panicked and the last thoughts that flashed through my mind were of the oceans of earth, the beautiful waves. i blacked out.

the nova prime watched the feed screens, a neon lit sky and the strange black shape of a falling man at terminal velocity. his men couldn't intersect fast enough. the mission was over, the target would be dead before he hit the surface, he had failed. he switched the screens off and relayed a final message.
'get the body and lets get off this planet.'

the bats clutch at the body, they were struggling with the weight but managed to keep it from impact. it now moved horizontally parallel to the surface, weaving through the skyscrapers and following a cryptic path through a maze of neon, plasmic brick and polyp. some of the buildings had a iridescence about them, the polyp coral gene luminosity spliced dna was an artistic expression made practical, an obscure art form gone mainstream.
the vampyre remembered when she was human, an eon ago it seemed, yet it was relatively recent. she had travelled alone for many years until she found the captain. she liked his indifference at her, she liked his detachment and the way he never judged her for what she was, he was the only one who just accepted her nature and for that she never killed him, in fact she stuck with him.
now both of them were being hunted by the nova police. she was an accessory to his crime but now she was an accomplice.
the captain had embedded a sigil inside a book, it was written in plain earth english and appeared as a simple collection of short stories. each story an element of a whole, as the reader read the book the intention was released inside the reader's subconscious. the idea was far to powerful to have floating unrestrained and uncensored out in the universe, and the nova police controlled all consciousness. despite the illusion of freedom everything, every thought was finely controlled. 

it started with the rise of technology back in the 2000's as a generation grew up and away from the generation previous. where their parents played free and wild, in the countryside, cities, communities free from fear a generation of parents started adopting new societal norms. the imposition of restrictions, watchful eyes and community values, the newspeak of orwell, false compassion as political emotive stings were pulled, the rise of conspiracy theory, the end of independent critical analysis. 
one generation were allowed and encouraged to go out, explore, use their imagination and develop their own ideas while the next generation were thwarted by various perceptions of danger. this generation instead took to internet communities and games, built their own adventures and explored online while under the all seeing gaze of web nannies and protective parents. the one aspect that the users couldn't critically think through was these online contents were the invention of someone else. while they thought they were playing free they were not at all, they were in the parameters that some one else had set, there were rules that confined them. fast forwards a few generations the parameters were even more controlled, and the idea of original creativity through imagination was not even a myth, peoples brains had become calcified, neural networks and pathways re routed and controlled from a distance. everything was ordered, nothing random, chaos was outlawed and banished from the mind, even the recreational drugs were inhibitors, dumb drugs designed for dopamine response rather than tryptamine. 
the nova police control the imagination, they police the galaxy and captain mission had broken their codes, hacked their net and placed a trans dimensional virus deep within. the sigil was an ancient one, misunderstood, misrepresented and feared through ignorance. 

she had to get him off world and there was only one way to do it but there was a risk, a big one.
       
the early decades of the internet were innocuous enough, most people played on google and assumed the world wide web was it. however the world wide web was only just the layer, in wise circles it was just called the surface net because 98% of the web lay underneath in two sub categories. first was the deep web which was the landscape of the academics, military and research facilities. it was harmless enough and filled with papers that most people wouldn't understand but below this was the dark web, domain of the nefarious. assassins, dealers, illegal pornographers, occult and various questionable practices. here users could navigate this area inconspicuously and freely, thus escaping controls and law enforcement by using proxy software.
after the discovery of wormhole technology the interplanetary web was established and the nova police attempted to control the deep and dark net, forcing a new level of use. the ether web.
mission was an early user, heightened psychic abilities, paranormal awareness, and esoteric discipline had made him a perfect portal for the ether web, and he had started to infiltrate the layers above with the provocative sigil embedded in his stories.

mostly people on the surface reacted by repulsion, aversion or fear, it was an an ancient image that had many connotations depending on the observer's brain and conditioning. as a model it transcended all religion and political ideology and contained spiritual knowledge of liberation thus powered and supported by the fundamental laws of the universe. the nova police began shutting down the sites and the people that had become activated but they really wanted the source, they had chased him through wormhole after wormhole and now they were closing in.

the wings fluttered to a halt, and the hundreds of tiny bats imploded into human form, the skin bled back to a dark olive shade and the vampyre took a violent breath through her nostrils, and then slowly out through her mouth as she assumed her form.
they were outside the illegal laboratory of dr. ossmand sparse, eminent quantum physicist, splice bio technician and all round general psychopath, some said he was a genius in hiding, others said he was the devil himself, but to her he was her father. her creator.


'no body, then they escaped.'
'the camera feeds show the vampyre heading south, out through the warehouse districts, she is in her multiple.'
'warehouse district, let's see who's there they can turn to.'
nova primes face turned towards another screen as he thumbed his way through the data feeds, his team standing by.
'if they want to get off world the warehouse district accommodates pulsar technologies inc, that would be my guess.'
'sir, that stuffs all experimental, almost theoretical. there's no chance they can use it. i don't think there's any hardware or design even.'
'let's go. i'm coming with you this time.'


she pressed the keypad and waited for the doors to slide open, re-enforced polycast, they opened into an airlock and the vampyre propping the captain walked through.
'where are we?
'i'm home, but you are different story captain, i'm sorry. i just ave ran out of options.'
a strange mist filled the room.
'do not panic, this is sterilization process, my father keeps his lab clean and these are a common feature on warehouses built after the nuke attack four years ago downtown. the older buildings don't have them.'
they walked forwards and into another chamber where two s-suits hung waiting.
'get in suit fast, ask no questions, let me do talking.'
i followed her instruction, i was exhausted from running. sooner or later it would come to an end, and sooner was coming faster than i could outrun it.
the workspace was huge, almost cathedral like, massive stained glass windows depicting various iconic horror, inverted pentagrams, demonic faces, unholy symbols and strange beasts or demons, strange scripts ran along the walls etched into the walls, and in one area stood a huge egg sculpture, diagonally across it's twin. 
'it's beautiful,' i thought and wandered across to inspect the designs.

'you have returned daughter,' the voice was deep and rich, carrying an authority and presence that filled the chamber.
'yes.'
'and who is this, a friend or victim?'

i span around and waved at the figure before me, he was huge, a giant of a man but then my brain kicked it, he was encapsulated in an exo skeleton, reinforced alloy with various luminous attachments and accessories trailing on into the background. i realised he was on some sort of life support.
'i am captain mission, it's a pleasure to meet you sir.'
'nonsense, there's never pleasure in meeting me, and call me dr. please, i'm not much for formalities.'
'okay doctor it is.'
'dr. sparse actually, now what can i do for you.'
the vampyre explained the requirements, the doctor listened and occasionally inappropriately laughed but agreed to help. they whispered a little more than i would have liked. dr. sparse disappeared off into a darkened area and the vampyre approached me. i could tell something was wrong from her face. she looked at me and explained.
'i'm sorry, can't get you off world, run out of viable options so i brought you here, to my father. you know ee's considered quite the psychopath, the work ee does is, well let's say is unsavoury for most.'
'what does he do?'
'he creates monsters.'
'that's a subjective term, he created you.'
'yes, and i'm freak. not of nature but of man. my genetic codes were infiltrated and sequenced to configure me, whatever i am, i'm part of a jigsaw puzzle of biology, created by a designer with an gothic imagination and reckless abandon for the sanctity of life. they only let him stay down here because occasionally they get him to do their dirty work. technically he was executed decades ago.'
'why the suit, is something wrong with him.'
'ee's hooked up to a high concentration oxygen, it keeps eem youthful and free from disease, plus the workspace needs to be free from any bacteria, it's got to be sterile.'
'you said there were no more options, where does that leave me?'
'it leaves you here, in my fathers hands. i am very sorry, i just couldn't think of another vay.'
'it's okay, it's fate i guess. let's see what he can do with me.'

time was running out, the pulsar technologies turned up to be a dead end, nothing even remotely suspicious as his men searched the area. nova prime hacked into the energy grid. this was a long shot but if there were any spikes he may have another lead.
he scanned the screen diligently, you don't get to be prime without diligence. 
his men wrapped up their frantic attempts to find any clues, they started approaching nova prime when the first spike revealed itself.
'get an address and let's go.'

the helmet felt like having my head encased in a jelly substance, there was no firmness about it, yet the outer surface was a shiny red metal with a fast burn wire sending signals to the web. the crazy dr. spoke with authority like a shakespearean stage actor, 'now the idea is simple, i extract your consciousness into a coded algorithm, send it into the web, into your own coded stories. it's a meta program, you have placed elements of sigils into your stories that activate components of consciousness within those that read them, now i am merely feeding your consciousness back into them.'
'what happens to my body?'
'you won't need one, you will be everywhere on the net anyway, able to use whatever systems are available to you, download yourself into replicants, computer systems, any electronic device hooked up to wifi, you can be cross solar systems in no time, a sentient web, i have always wanted to create this. the only way they can kill you is by unplugging the whole thing, and even then you can inhabit the ethernet.'
'you make it sound so simple dr. why are you helping me?'
'i create new life, some say i am a psychopath, out of control, a dr. frankenstein, i created my daughter a vampyre. i made her from human dna spliced with bat and some artificial code, she needs blood to live as her body cannot create it, instead she feeds on the living. some say she is a monster, some say i am the monster, but to me she is my daughter, just as you will be my son.'
'that's an interesting way of looking at it.'
'i have many children, many. you will be part of an extended family of unique creatures,' he stopped and peered down at me laying upon the slab as he fixed the glowing helmet upon my head and tinkered with the electronics, 'since the wormholes humanity has extended far beyond the reach of our home, we inhabit several planets now and access them all through the worm technology, it's like the early middle centuries of earth as europe extended itself and reached out to the rest of the world.'
'colonised the world, the empire fucked up everything they touched.'
'that's one way to look at it,' he smiled and for the first time i saw the psychopath. 'they brought progress with them, science, technology and ....'
'cholera, spanish flu, slavery, domination, guns, gunpowder, mining, exploitation...'
'we can argue the benefits and disadvantages of colonization but the fact remains england, france, spain, portugal and the dutch expanded while other countries didn't. why is that?'
'flip the switch doc. i think the history lesson is over.'
as his hand reached over my face, i heard his words, 'they expanded because they were filled with diversity, whereas the other cultures were mono cultures. it is the same now, diversity will explore the frontier and survive, it will dominate the expanse of space and spread, not the nova police. oh, we are almost ready.'
i lay there breathing, the vampyre came and kissed my lips.
'goodbye captain mission, i've enjoyed travelling with you.'
i smiled, 'soon i will be quantum code in some endless ocean of information.'
'you already are, as we all are mission.'
i closed my eyes as the dr. activated the process. when i opened them i was born into light. it swallowed me until i was nothing, stretching in all directions, a vast cosmic body without boundaries, knowing everything from the atomic structures of every particle in existence from the beginning of time to the future. it was beautiful.


in a slice of time, the doors flew open and a pack of novas in full battle combat marched through, guns in classic formation, arms moving like they were part of a giant multi armed machine.
for a moment the dr. saw something beautiful, a new kind of creature but it was an optical illusion as the strange unit disassembled into mere uniforms one of which marched towards him, weapon pointed firmly at his skull. 
'where is he?'
the dr. moved aside his arm waved towards the bench where a body lay.
'what is that helmet on his head?'
'it's to late, only the body remains.'
they formed a circle around the bench, 'bring him back dr.'
'there is no way to do that now.'
nova primes fist slammed down upon the bench to, 'fuck!'

i watched from a multitude of perspectives, cameras, satellite, head pieces and perceived everything, my old body laying there with the strange helmet as the novas detached it and tore apart the lab. i could see their own systems, read their body scans, monitoring their suits. i could access life support systems. one by one i shut them down until nova prime was left looking panicked.
'what the fuck is going on. what is happening to my team.'
'i'm switching you off nova prime.'
'where are you mission, where the fuck!'
'i am everywhere.'


    

no time for anything, straight back into the thick and thin of madness as i work for the dept. possibly the most backward thinking organisation one can imagine. man, one day i'd love to write a book about how useless this dept is, how they are run by power crazed bullies only interested in self preservation and covering up their own mistakes. one day i will spill the beans and name the names. tick tock it's only a matter of time. 
australia is so backwards, it's as clear as day, we are stuck in a bubble of 1950's thinking and it will bite us. our traditional industries are digging up earth, all other manufacturing is discouraged. the trade agreements mean we now pay more for australian products than americans pay for australian products. chinese farms buy up australian lands, houses and politicians. this govt is not interested in australians any more than it's rivals, all are bound by global agendas. is there any hope for us. it's depressing man, seeing the fucking idiots in charge making the same stupid mistakes over and over, it's the spin cycle of stupidity. i'm all for spiritual anarchy, rule thyself and be true to that but do not pretend superiority by politic. 

finally i clean mission control, it's reasonably presentable and conducive to create something interesting. my books should be here soon for proof reading, and then i must sell them while writing more.

everyone knows the church has undergone a transformation, the recent absorption of powderfinger's ian haug in lieu of martin wilson piper was greeted with some distain by acolytes of the band, hostility in cyberspace and tensions in the musical world. despite this ian has proven himself equal and as a side effect the band appear to have changed trajectory somewhat. it's a difficult quality to quantify but if you were lucky to catch them live in europe and on friday night at the factory you would know exactly what i mean. 
its very hard for a band to rise from its own ashes, a band that has meant so much to so many. i understand why people resented a change in line up, the church could never be the same without martin. but do we want the church to be the same? sometimes change is a good thing for everyone and on friday the band sounded so vital and fresh, so energetic as they played the whole of the blurred crusade right through from beginning to end. the songs are over 30 years old yet they sounded brand new, the two guitarists completely meshed while tim the barefoot drummer played with the skill and dexterity that has been consistent since he joined the line up. yes, they survived that change and they went on to record and play outstanding music for many years, and now is no different. 
the cold sydney air and bracing winds threw together a sell out crowd jammed into the inner city warehouse, all waiting expectantly as the band began their pre stage rituals. that esoteric music coming through the pa growing louder and louder, strange chanting and deep vibrational tones, the smoke machines kicking in, that powerful blue oceanic light, we waited and waited like soft tropical fish underwater waiting for the full moon to trigger some natural response.
when it happened it was truly miraculous. the first chords of 'almost with you' and the great surge forwards, yes it was happening, it is happening now. effortlessly the band marched through the album, it wasn't until 'just for you' that the magic took hold. yes it was magical, the air electric with the ambience of something very special, steve as usual giving everything, some kind of barrier was penetrated and the audience was won. none of the blurred crusade sounded old, in fact i think they should re release it with a live disc. it was ever more powerful, more intense live than on record. and when it finished steve whispered knowingly, 'wait, there's more. there's always more.'
and there is. for the church have always been very generous to their fans. 
if god sends his angels then we were all blessed with a live version of 'life speeds up' an incredibly compartmentalised tune that sounded so organic and powerful i was knocked out by the way it was played and the inherent power of the song. i think we all were.
20 mins later steve confesses that they will play some of the new cd and some classics. who can argue with that?

'vanishing man' with it's dark lyric contrasting against the love tunes of the blurred crusade, 'delierious' sounding so much better live with it's harmonies and pace changes, 'toy head' oh my god can it get any better?
the church play their new songs with precision and a hint of chaos, steve's base playing always perfectly match his showmanship. rock and roll is all about attitude right? steve projects right in your face, not only the presence of rock but of theatre and dance as he inhabits 'the disillusionist' and takes over the stage. transcendence, such a difficult space to attain but the band open the gates and we flood through on a wave of admiration, devotion and understanding. some things are sacred.
ah but it's only rock and roll they say?
yeah well the rolling stones may say that but they have ever seen the church play. it's not just rock and roll. it's something else. we all slide into whatever it is, poetry, grace, sublimation, whatever you call it, we love it.
'love philtre' divine music, carrying us onwards into new places, more pink floyd than pink floyd, more like a spiritual hymn than pop song. 
'block' was incredible, such a remarkable song preformed with such passion and commitment. this is not music by numbers but by intuition, i can't imagine a better song than block that clears alway the debris of 21st century blues. 
so many songs in the second set i forget where i am, what city, it all just becomes a perfect moment, i'm at the end of a long long journey.
word is there can't be an encore, the band ran out of time, the people who run the factory said no, the gods of electricity and power say enough, the daddies and mummies need to get home to pay the babysitters. but the church come back with 'day 5' accompanied with a bongo player. then they launch into a magnificent cover of 'waiting for the sun' which is just glorious and finally blaze out with 'reptile.'
the crowds disperse, the people depart, the skies are clear and sydney's ice age reappears. as i wait for the bus i think about ian and how hard it must have been to step into the shoes of one of the worlds greatest guitar players and i think, 'not only did he do it, he did it with such style and grace, such individuality, it's like he has been in the band all the time.
but for someone who has in reality been with them for a year or so, the band sound reborn. better than ever really. ready to go onwards and are we not lucky people, we get to come along for the ride.

i return. the blog locked me out so i have been unable to post anything for over a month, i was locked out my e mail account to. technology enslaves us people, it's here to stay, i may have to embrace it in order to evolve although there's a huge philosophical argument as to if we are evolving or not. i went to stockholm, stayed on a boat in the older part of the city. i found a science fiction bookshop, an underground bar, some runes and a runestone.
i arrived in london, saw an amazing church show, i went to brighton met my very good friends tez and jean, had an awesome week even recorded a tune, i returned to london and went up north to manchester catching up with my aunt, uncle and niece. i came back to the south where i hung out with jake and my immediate family. i went to finland where i found a brilliant city, helsinki which i fell in love with. i must return there. helsinki in the sun is splendid, such a beautiful place.
i return to sydney for the church show, blurred crusade and some further deeper, my god it was amazing. i travel home, back to mission control. my fish are missing, presumed dead and buried. it's nice to be home although it takes a few days to settle into things. my book will be out soon, in it's updated version. 
i may do a few signed limited editions for a launch in the city. 
i miss jake, i miss him heaps but i know he is where he has to be and i'm glad for that. proud dad, it's a strange feeling but i couldn't be happier with him. what a guy. we spent a lot of time walking around london, he showed me the new london, it had changed so much, for the better, it really has the vitality and innovativeness that sydney lacks. i understand how backwards we are here in australia in some ways, and why jake doesn't belong here. he looks great in london, leads an interesting colourful lifestyle and is surrounded by great friends, travels the world. his dream is to live in brazil or buy a home in london. he will.   

normal chaos pre overseas trip, usual suspects, everyone else. i'm good to go however legal peeps are on my tail, dept. bureaucrats need to pin me down, papers need signing, numbers need crunching, letters need shredding, posting, writing....
it's hopeless really, the endless things one has to juggle, the balls in the air, the hoops you are required to jump through, the money that you burn. part of me wants to be going to bali where i can just sit down read and relax, part of me wants to be on an empty beach with a girl living the good life as we drink out coconuts and watch the sunset. but instead i'm a frenzy, whirlpool of conflicting emotional tangents as people need their pieces of pie, jesus i'm doing my best not to get stressed out watching everyone else stress out. 
bags still not packed, money still not sorted, amenities still not settled, i will just leave it all in the air and deal with it later. it's pointless depending on people let alone the council, let alone....telstra, the evil corporation behind it all. 

looking forwards to seeing jakob, my dad, hanging out with martin in some bar, looking forwards to catching up with tez and jean in the south, looking forwards to seeing my crazy family, the aunts and uncles and cousins, looking forwards to sweden, the new language, the casual healthy stress of an alien culture, new environment, new faces. gotta be good for the soul right?

there's a strong wind blowing through the trees, the leaves swirl around in their currents and gather at my door yet i myself am blown along, various different currents fighting over my trajectory. work one's pull, social ones tug, responsible ones heave and selfish ones ho but all in all i have to take some responsibility and chart my own course. my sights are set on a city i have always wanted to visit, my strange mental landscape already made a home there long ago, in another lifetime when i was a scandinavian, a sailer, voyager, solider, slave, i don't know really, maybe i was never there but the longing always has been. i will know when i wander the streets of stockholm, certainty will enter my heart through my blood vessels and activate some memory junction. whatever is ahead, my course is true despite strong winds, despite squall and whirlpool, i am on target.

if i had a super power it would be to stop the bloody rain, just a break in this horrid weather as it begins to soak through into the world around me, the dampness in my bone, water logging my brain and thinking process. strange how the body reacts to it after a week. years of london weather should have made me resistant but it has made me very resentful towards the endless grey skies, the layers of clothing, the mud, the horrible effects of mould and wetness in walls and cars and socks. i don't like the rain because it always takes me backwards, whereas the sun offers blue skies and hope, there's always tomorrow in a sunny day.  

21st century blues, everyone has an opinion, people ram it down yer neck in social media irrespective of the fall out, the repercussions of hate. has it always been like this, social media becomes masterful at fine tuning one's own prejudices, it offers community to haters and various lost causes of conspiratorial agendas, speculators and cynics, propagators of ancient animosities. one day an alien race will trawl through the rubble of the internet and see all we really were capable of doing with it was digital graffiti. 
then occasionally you stumble across the connections that actually are like neurone networks across an ocean of synaptic impulses, creative pulses of energy, bending space and time, pulling together in hive mind some kind of synergy worth investing in, not just web sites and communities, individuals who have a love of other individuals without all the bullshit, without all the fucking pretence, intellectual wanking only gets you so far, it may even get you off but what comes next. 
who comes next?

i'm in tanyas bookshop.
now this is no ordinary secondhand space, it's run by a very attractive and intelligent lady and her equally impressive father. always interesting jazz flows out from old tin speakers, always books everywhere, and always an interesting conversation to be had. it's rare for me to have time for a long chat but i was fortunate a small window of chance presented itself...

so we are discussing the idea of redemption and are joined by a customer. we all have a story to tell and i lay down mine, 'there are three truths, my truth, your truth and then there's The Truth. but no one ever knows The Truth.'

it was a magistrate whom shared that with me, and i believe it so. 
my truth is this.

the conversation came to an end when i suggested compassion has limits, i really think this is true for everyone, unless you are buddha but remember even the ancient buddhists were cruel war mongers who tortured and killed thousands of chinese. now the chinese lord it over the buddhists and the poor falun gong people imprisoned, tortured and left dead as their organs are taken from their bodies and sold, yeah patterns repeat, the persecuted becomes the persecutor, history is just a cycle of patterns, like everything else in the universe. i wander through the day, doing whatever it is i do, my minds half here and half there, its always somewhere else. 

suddenly dawned upon me i have no suitcase or travelling bags, my old bag fell apart on me. it was held together with tape and string, i'd used it for years and watched it fall apart in seven different countries and ironically on my last trip it disintegrated as i unpacked when i arrived home. it was a loyal case, it got me home before falling apart, things could have been much worse.
so i have seen some interesting cases but i feel like getting something in hot pink, i figure it will stand out at the airport and everyone will expect some glamourous supermodel type in high heels to own them when in fact it will be old captain mission, dishevelled, unshaven, stinking of airport fatigue and looking stoned and disorientated after travelling cross the planet. 
i like that whole concept of fucking peoples expectations and i also like the fact hot pink suitcases will annoy people, disorientating with their strange sense of sexual certainty. yeah fuck it, hot pink for me, but should i get the bold pink one or the leopard spots or the pink zebra striped ones, see these are the things i have to think about and i have not even had breakfast yet. 

afterthoughts.
i've worked for this dept for decades, seen stuff you would not believe so after a while i started to process the meeting and i just don't feel right. i really don't. it was almost to good to be true, but there was some added element where they said a legal team of their own would coach me in what to say and what not to say if i take the stand. at the meeting itself it sounded like support but then later i was thinking and i confess, i don't want to be negative but experience has shaped my perception of how 'stupid' this dept. can be. could they just want to stop me talking about the terrible debacle they (the dept) have made in dealing with this client. time will tell i guess. 

the rain here is amazing, winds that have savaged the state, killed and broken people. my driving around northern sydney through what looks like the aftermath of warfare, homes smashed, trees and debris everywhere, roads closed, flooding and all the while the rain falls. on my drive home last night the freeway was better but the small country roads on the central coast were hazardous, inaccessible and required some deft four wheel driving manoeuvres. my own street was hammered and this morning i look out at my garden which has been savaged, trees out of whack, plants overturned, river running wild.  

well bless my cotton socks, the meeting was much better than i thought and the guys who attended were okay, offered me a bit of support and generally were supportive of what i had done although there was a lot unsaid. anyway i was pleasantly surprised, it wasn't as bad as i thought it would be. 
diving home at midnight was outrageous as the terrible winds and rains had flooded the freeway turning it into a frictionless sliding track as cars moved in all directions in the most unpredictable of ways hindered by the trucks that raced past leaving a tidal wave in their wakes. roads flooded everywhere, trees fallen, abandoned cars, crashed cars, i am glad to be home. 

strange dream, different time, alternative universe. i missed a bowie gig but my father gets me there for the second half. no deep meaning or anything, i'd just spoken with him on the phone, we had a short conversation and i always enjoy our chats although skype was better. 
i'm exhausted when i wake up, the rain seems heavy and relentless, the birds downstairs are making a racket, the garden looks great, getting that tropical feel. down there past the trees i see the murky river and wonder what it's secrets are.
there's no skies today, just grey darkness. 
i contemplate a big meeting i have, should i do some preparation or wing it. they have summoned me, they have not issued me an agenda so i have no idea what to expect. am i about to be fired, given a warning, offered a new position, transferred? 
it's impossible to know with these guys, they probably don't know themselves. one thing i know will not be happening is they won't promote me or acknowledge my work. 

my job always brings up interesting challenges, i love my work but the repeating pattern is always my relationship with other staff. i never wanted to work here but was transferred against my will by the usual governmental bullies and thugs. the excuse they used was i got on to well with my clients, and other staff were not able to develop relationships with them. despite the fact the other staff had been working there for much longer than i had. instead of building up relationships they sat around eating sandwiches and gossiping about bullshit, neglecting clients needs and generally doing what the public service does which is get paid for doing little as possible.
anyway's i gave up fighting and ended up here, now the same pattern repeats. while my peers sit around watching sports on tv or taking long cigarette breaks i built up relationships and trust with my clients. we have healthy trust based relationships and i'm more productive than anyone else. the clients like me, they want to be with me, and they have fun with me. so once again the weird professional envy has crept in. 
the facts are i have far more experience than anyone in the dept. they are kindergarten level compared to my training and expertise. i never flaunt it or shove it down anyone necks, i just do my work and leave feeling like i accomplished something. managers fall by the way sides when they come up against me, some have had to deal with my wrath which i peruse through proper channels and always get a result in my favour, the current one is fantastic and i like her a lot but she has limited powers of influence. if i know a client is under any form of abuse i act mercilessly. i know no fear despite the attitude to staff that report controversy from our management. 
so when i walk into the monthly meeting and am attacked for 'waltzing in and having a great shift,' by someone that sits and watches sports while he gets the clients to do all the work, i'm in no mood to defend myself only attack back, twice as hard. there's a lot of fall out, everyone else is shocked disturbed and upset but i don't fucking care. i really don't. no one has worked as hard as i have in the last two three years under adverse conditions with complex case management and legal issues. no one has had better outcomes than me, and no one has more trust with our clients than me. and there lies the problem. i come across it all the time in this field. envy, jealously and the biggest sin is rising above the expected standard of care. one day my story will be told, i'll be on a tv show and able to tell you all about my experiences as a social worker. the truth is really much stranger than fiction!  

higgs boson blues NICK CAVE

so very busy as time slips away under my feet through my toes and fingers, can't seem to hold on to it at all, the days pass through nights, the nights seem lost in the dreamscapes of other realms, everywhere i'm a tourist. sleep is a station and i've missed a few stops pulled this way and that, demands from people, money is a burden, everyone wants something from me and that's okay, i don't really seek anything but they should recognise me and acknowledge my part in their result. this annoys me, so many people racking in the clams yet i seem to be the one doing all the work. i get phone calls on my days off, i get called in for meetings. yet my own needs are unmet, i need certain things, material objects, a working computer would be a start, i need money, to pay my ever increasing debt, i need time which is a precious resource, however i am writing, i am creating and i am getting some objectives met so all is not lost.
in fact to counter my trails is a wonderful tribulation. it means something to me anyway, a few months ago i decided to buy a ticket to london, via stockholm so i could see my dad and son. i chose various stop overs to break up the flight, finland, singapore etc, but the day i arrive in london the church play their one and only london show. my brother has acquired a ticket for me, and then the morning i return to sydney the church play the same evening. i just picked up a pre-sale ticket. 
now this is probably not such a big deal to you humble reader of blog, but for me it's incredible. it's definite proof of higher powers, it means life has meanings and is beautiful and whatever you are going through do not despair, for there is always some light at the end of the tunnels.  

some towns are not on the map. some towns don't have official names they may just be known by some historical event, or some landmark. 

i drove west into the desert.
the car was dying, a steady black burning cloud of smoke escaped from the grill. i was out of drugs, out of luck and out of time. my skin was blistering up, the heat was slowly making everything slow down to a stop, i could feel my heart beating, each beat slower than the last, blood sluggishly pumped its way through my body and the sun was blazing down. i figured i had less than an hour, either the car would seize up or i would.
the red dust was everywhere, on the windscreen, on the dash, on the skin and in my throat, it was finding its way into my eyes past my sunglasses. i wiped the petrol gauge with my hand, smearing the dust, it was in the red. everything out here was in the red.
the road stretched out, hazy and half there, i couldn't even be sure if there was a road any more. i just drove forwards instinct, my eyes must have been more closed than open, slipping into some sort of micro sleep.
when i opened them the town was looming.
must have been an old mining town, the tin huts and shop fronts all boarded up, a few shops on the high street and a hotel and pub. the car gave up right outside the hotel.
i must have fallen out from the car as i awoke in dust bruised and battered and burning up. i lifted my head and saw the doorway to the pub, some clanky piano music seeping out and a crowd singing some strange tune.
i crawled towards it loosing my sunglasses in the process. every movement sent throbs of pain along side, something was not quite right inside me. dense pain, throbbing guts, my eyes streaming with water, it was all getting blurry now, the door the music, the desert skies. my arm pushed against the door and it swung open as white light flooded out swallowing me up, white radiant light beautiful and perfect. when my eyes closed the light swallowed me up.
    

the biggest mistake made by people who read the old testament is they read it in english. it has to be read and understood through the prism of the hebrew alphabet. each letter is a language itself, each letter symbolic and placed very carefully to the others in complex codex. the old testament is a doorway. 
it is in kabbalistic philosophy that the pattern is understood. supporting books like the zohar are the key to understanding the old testament.
those old mystics kept the mystery to themselves, they didn't go around spilling their knowledge to anyone, it's not spiritual fast food and it's not part of the process of any enlightenment to force feed your neighbour with a spiritual truth because in all likelihood they will say it's a lie. unlike most religions these druids don't care if you like it or not, they don't need numbers and followers and it has nothing to do with belief. the committed truth seeker comes to them. there is two criteria the druids expect from you.
one. you are over 50 years of age. this is because they want you to have some real life experience under your belt that you can apply to the theory and practice.
two. that you reject everything you think you knew about the old book, which in practical terms means all your preconditioned ideas. even the so called followers of the hated tribe have to unlearn everything.
only the ignorant would take the old testament literally, only the ignorant do. it's a mish mash, fragments, the history of a desert people, the rules and controls for a society to function, the stories fables and tales that guide a civilization towards some kind of moral code. as a step on a ladder of spiritual evolution just like all other religions have, it contains aspects of mystical truth for the time. there is one ultimate conciousness and we can enter a relationship with it.

most of the stories are allegorical fables or mythological tales that pre existed long before. no follower really believes god created the universe in seven days jewish people are not stupid generally although they are a strange bunch and difficult to relate to. 
to the discerning scholar the only books that really matter are the first three books of genesis for here is the secret of how mind creates. emanation. to the critic one can see how prejudice and fear has manipulated perceptions, a slow creeping eternal paranoia. the god in the old testament is many things, it manifests as many faces but the most known is obviously the ego, the super entity that controls every aspect of peoples individual and collective lives. yeah it's amazing how many people hate that particular god and take any opportunity to bash it over the head motivated by...their own ego i guess.

there are not many qualities i like about this tribe to be honest and i don't live amongst them but i think the quality that sets them apart from others is humility and i think that's not a bad thing, maybe that's why people irrationally hate it. some say it's all about israel but if they are honest, the hate existed long before israel ever did. 

fantastic book, slipped right under my radar, halfway through it, totally engrossed in the world david zindell has created and his beautiful writing. why this was never as big as dune in the sci fi world i will never know. it's the precursor to a trilogy and i'm really looking forwards to reading them all. 

when the rain comes it's a slow drudge, it don't really fall out the sky but kinda just hovers around above the ground. i wander around like a strange beast out of luck and out of coconuts. my skin clammy, made of seaweed, stinking of sweat and slimy translucent oils, i get myself under the fan, it feels like 1950's burma, some half smoked joint and some water with lemon.
i pick up the only paperback in the room, it's an airport thriller by some guy called greg iles, it's called 'the quiet game' and i start to read it. completely different from any novel i would chose to read under normal circumstances but i can't leave the room until my package arrives. 
hours must pass, the sun must be in a completely different spot i can tell by the way the shimmering haze in the black clouded sky hovers, just penetrating enough in diffuse obscurity, everything fuzzy and smeared by watercolours.
i'm half way through the novel, it's brilliantly written and i'm surprised at the quality of narrative. i stretch my legs, pace up and down like an english assassin. for a while i leer at the window and can make out the street scene below as a cart pulled by an elephant passes. a few figures in white on an otherwise empty street, the water now a river flowing down the road. under a lone palm tree stands a tall man in what seems to be a white singapore suit. 
it's him, he's smoking a cigarette like a spy from 1954, faux coolness trying not to stand out while standing out. i put out my joint and put on my sunglasses, locking the door behind me.
he spots me immediately, after all only an english man would be wearing sunglasses in the rain. 
we meet one another in the road, a cart manoeuvres its way around us effortlessly. a small wave of water washes over our shoes.
'let's get out of the rain mr. mission. there's a cafe just here.'
he leads, i follow.
inside i shake myself dry, take off my jacket and empty my shoes. i even squeeze out my socks and hang them over a chair. they will all be dry soon, the heat is outrageous, even the fan makes no difference it struggles slowly to rotate through the thick atmosphere only churning around hot stinking air.
we order teas and he flicks through a newspaper, folding it carefully in half and half again like some origami, he pulls out a pen and circles something and shows me.
it's my advertisement.
'so mr. mission how would i engage your services.' 
'you must be under some misunderstanding, the moment you engaged my services is the moment you receive them it is not my job to take orders on targets but to target the order givers.'
the look he gives me is not quite confusion, more denial as the truth slips through his mind.
'the tea your drinking will take effect in a few seconds, it acts as a paralysing agent initially, after which you sink into a coma. chances are the hospital will terminate you. there won't be any traceable evidence, only that you died quite naturally.
the look of horror that crossed his face was familiar, i'd seen it many times.   
i stood up to leave, returning to finish 'the quiet game.'

saw the waterboys last night at the opera house, a completely different set from last time, they played most of the new album, glastonbury song, don't bang the drum (a powerful bare version with mike singing and playing piano while steve wickham played his electric fiddle. they tore through songs with incredible professionalism, a band that actually enjoys playing together their energy was so infectious that the audience which started as reserved and sedate ended up rocking. 
to watch the waterboys is to watch a band playing with energy, mike shifts, changes and manipulates the whole feel of the live sound, adding flourishes, little diversions, (song for cynthia lennon was beautiful and spontaneous).
the stage was fundamentally bare, some nice lights and the album cover hanging in the background, that image 'modern blues' looking powerful and mighty.
the band was a mixture of english and americans and they were incredible, the keyboard player brother paul was just a joy to watch as he made his hammond sound. mike seemed to be in fine form, jumping from guitar to piano and his voice was near perfect. 
the sound was spot on, the opera house either gets it right or wrong but this was magnificent sound, the big music honed for intimacy. wow! what a great night of music and joy.....'purple rain' made the audience go nuts. 

the machines fail, incrementally my technology ceases to work, it all comes down to glitches. internet glitches, freeze glitches, start up glitches, battery glitches, program glitches, some where some one is the glich master pumping out strings of code, rouge java scripted gremlins destroy fatebook, safari, yahoo, skype, one by one they infiltrate my machine.
the experts say my model is vintage, it's far to old to fix. they charge me anyway because like all things it's a rort, thankfully i have a desktop that works, another antique but what the hell, it does what i want it to do.
i consider getting an ipad but figure after the ipod, iphone there may as well be some other new technology, the iwatch i will skip becuase i can't wear them but when they have the next i thingy i may invest in one.
a beautiful woman reads my work, to many commas, use dashes she says - so i will.

at the age of twenty i had my first time machine, mostly from stuff i had picked up from ancient mayan calendars and architecture, the concept was complex but functional. machines couldn't really fold space but the mind can. i'd outsourced the mathematics to a small team of peers, nerdish math geeks who had always been sympathetic to my passions. these geeks were to frightened to take hallucinogens but loved the idea of me reporting my experiences to them. they were drawn in by the hard chemistry writing's of alexander and ann shulgin and the time wave zero theory of terrance mckenna as i explained it to them in my non mathematical way. they speculated that the universal teleological attractor could be accessed by the pineal gland under the right circumstances, a gnostic approach that incorporates some mathematical models with the cosmological constant. 
at this point everything would happen simultaneously, time would no longer occur as we understand it, the i ching would determine the time lines i could travel along from this point to others.
i'd spent about four years working out various dosages of mushrooms but dmt was far more effective and accessible, it's in our national emblem the wattle for gods sake. 
my task had been working on dose while the team worked out trajectory via trigram.
together we figured the trigrams matched certain epoch defining events that match the change in conciousness according to mayan prophecy.
for example trigram 1 the creative force would take me to the birth of the universe. from then on it was tricky to know exactly where these focal points would occur, for example t6 would have to be the 1st or 2nd world wars, the moving lines may chart a tangential course towards a defined point within that period, there were inner and outer aspects plus the added complication of the wilhelm interpretation vs the modern, the wilhelm gave us more control so they stuck with that.
there are side effects, i mean nothing is certain, we can only estimate the trgram with the position in time and space and i have made mistakes. it's an imperfect process and fundamentally eastern, the western mind is at a disadvantage, our history is focused permanently upon colonial matters, western interpretations, philosophy.   

irony being the last available meaning before the significance of anything decays to random chance, we can't believe a rational god would have a hand in this chaotic universe but we are not quite ready to accept there is no meaning. god may not be just but he has a sense of humour, as if that offers us some comfort. 
my life is filled with irony, that i believe in a non rational god is itself ironic, that i would never attempt to second guess the plan with my puny human brain, that i would be persecuted for the conditions i was born into and have no choice but to accept it despite my non affiliation with most of it's cultural aspects. 
who gives a toss about imaginary lines in the sand, about the way people perceive their gods, about histories mythologies and conspiracies. 
the truth of it lies in the black sun.
when they come to me i laugh at them, they plant suggestions in my mind when i sleep, they feed me lies and disinformation, they dance on my nerve endings dressed as angels, they hide between lines of newspaper print, they embed themselves in the new age, they inhabit city coffee shops, they infiltrate the disunited nations, green groups and concerned humanists. indeed these are the days of deceptions. 

to call myself a coward when it comes to the dentist is not actually quite fair, i've considered this over many years. 30 in fact, since i last saw a dentist. i'm an obsessive teeth cleaner, and i am sophisticated in my dental product knowledge for the last few years i use miswak toothpaste from saudi arabia, which is herbal and suits my palette.
over the 30 years i have not had much problem with my teeth but last week i was kept awake in intense pain as my back upper wisdom teeth rebelled and made themselves known, inferring a pain upon which the like has not been seen since the inquisition. jesus, every night i'd wake up covered in sweat, shuddering and disoriented. i'd stumble to the kitchen where i'd smear high quality organic clove oil into my gum and over my teeth. the effect was instant numbness and therefore relief. two hours of sleep until the clove oil wore off.
i thought perhaps i could just wait it out, psych out the pain, just ride it out. the days i'd wrap myself in a blanket and watch tv smoking weed and attempting to get some relief but to no avail, although i enjoyed smoking until i was numb for an hour or two.
when i was a kid in london the dentists were nightmare figures drawn from dickens novels. i think i was traumatised by being hauled out of skool to visit dentists and have them stick metallic tools and implements in my overstretched mouth. then there was the lights a panorama of them invading my cones and rods. i was very sensitive to light at an early age, burning up my brain, imprinting upon it's young neurons. but it was the fucking drill that clinched it for me, the unbearable torture of intrusion and it's overwhelming sound penetrating any childish illusion. 
the dentists were paid by the state per extraction so we young working class kids were the dentists cash crop. i had fillings when i never needed them. 
under those lights the face of the dentists was distorted and being an imaginative young waif i saw myself in the hands of some sadistic mad doctor with his array of alien implements. 
thus my dental aversion begins.
onwards as i stand outside a big white and blue building with a photograph of a smiling family all with perfect teeth. i take that step through the door, because i am in terrible pain, and i have no choice. 
i explain myself to the dentist and ask for mercy, financial mercy as well as physical. 
she takes me into a small room and places me on a comfortable reclining chair, puts some glasses upon me, cool dark shades and then i find myself sinking down as she adjusts the chair.
she straps the mask on, and tells me to breath and i find myself almost relaxing as the nitrous oxide floods into me, wow, i'm so relaxed, my arms flop down. this feels good.
the injections come, i feel nothing. she places some sort of clamp around the teeth and pulls them. i don't really care what she does now, i'm zonked. 
afterwards i can't stop thanking her, she shows me the teeth, big bad molars i donate to the creatures beyond the veil.
blood fills my mouth and she offers me a swab to bite down on, 'don't eat or drink anything for 6 hours, don't smoke.'
'mawahjku shyuggthus,' i respond.
i get my antibiotics and return home, i lay down on my sofa and close my eyes, sleep comes fast but brings with it some horrific nitrous oxide nightmares. 

strange events move into being, something shifted in my astronomy, a series of challenges. my teeth needed fixing up and it cost a fortune, my car, my tickets to london, my bills, my fucking computers all fail due to some strange bug, i'm loosing money faster than i can make it. for the first time in a long time i feel stressed out, it's eating my bones and making my hair stand on end, it's fluttering off my eyelids and putting my spine in a knot like a pretzel. 
my nights are interrupted. i get panic attacks, strange skin conditions and some horrible itching, my left ear produces an ocean of wax in a matter of seconds, like that peter gabriel video sledgehammer, my head is sprouting vegetables, they dance around me in cabaret. what the fuck?
my diet suffers, i'm exhausted and working double shifts, getting called in on days off. it drag by, up and down the freeway, sometimes i don't know if i'm coming or going. 
i grab sleep on the run, a few nightmares make me feel worse, one particularly nasty.
i juggle some accounts and manage to pull a rabbit from a hat that may just save my skin if the tax man decides to go easy on me. i scan my payslips picking up errors. no wonder i'm going under. 
eventually i seize control, i don't want my body falling apart quite so soon, no one's going to save you mission.
you gotta save yourself. 
so i do, i cross things of my list of challenges but the biggest one is fixing my computers, apple make it tricky and costly. ouch! 
this is going to hurt.



  

few nights ago i had what i can only describe as contact with lamassu, in some strange sand storm the war machine god rode towards me, concealed by the clouds of sand and dust, it only presented its face when it was at mine, and then it entered into me and i awoke suddenly.
dream or nightmare, the line is blurred and distinction is impossible for this was something much more. my dreams are usually whimsical but there is an order of dreams that occur with such vivid precision i categorise them in the realm of magick. 
i build my relationship with lamassu a few years ago after reading about some of the ancient magickal systems of the middle east, lammasu travels in sand clouds. i felt a strange connection even then, most gods feel an affinity to me, i'm loved. i'm never sure why.
in the dream lamassu was running in terror from it's sleeping state into mine, which is now waking. lamassu has slept for eons.
on awakening i was shocked by the violence and intensity of the dream, the detail was so vivid as was the circumstances, i noted it and began the day, but yesterday i see that islamic forces have destroyed much of the ancient representations of lamassu as well as many other icons into middle eastern mythology and legend. for me these myths are very real, they always have been. despite my jewish history i'm aligned with all representations of god, and the hierarchy of gods, angels and demons. all of them have a place in my psychology, but lamassu is part of the evolution of baphomet, an early representation of cross species dna union. the life force is not tethered by separation of species, earth is populated by many species but one life form. much like many eons ago there was one land mass pangea. 
lamassu is a symbol of the journey, it is also a powerful meme, a desert war machine, five legged lion crossed with bull and bird. it's spirit entered me profoundly, i felt it violently penetrate my skin, my very consciousness. isis can destroy the statues, the art but the idea lives within my blood and bones, within my imagination lamassu is alive. 
   

finally a day to myself, blessed peace. i sleep late which is extremely unusual but i'm exhausted and my body weary from my work.
i manage to investigate flights to europia, i'm reluctant as it's expensive and not my ideal destination but i am committed. i investigate a strange flight via stockholm, a place i've always wanted to visit along with oslo.
i investigate other routes but i'm feeling a pull towards a nordic state of mind.
london will be interesting, jake and i may head down to see my friends in brighton, we need a little get away together. i'm excited by that idea, catching up with my friends and spending time with jake. gotta do the family thing, and even that feels right this time, maybe it won't be a difficult as the last attempts.
i'll travel light as usual, come back heavy.

  

must be on slow time, bones ache, flesh weighs me down, symptoms of gravity and sleeplessness, silk night steals my dreams as the day my time.

driving here and there, highways lost and lonely, fading melancholy blues, i watch the sun rise drifting across an ocean. the waters are still and tranquil. we are siping on early morning coffees, the metallic bridge just zooms in the foreground like some impending structure of rusted decay, mans stamp over water, by passing nature. a few tiny boats cut a fine line across the glass surface. we talk a little about boating adventures, my sailing away days, adventures on the hawksbury, mored of jerusalem bay with no signs of life, no civilization save for a boat and some minor luxuries. i'd swim in the water, splash around like a character from the old italian movies from the fifties, a girl in a bikini would drink champagne and smoke as they watched. 

memories drift away, back to now. i'd like to sleep, just drift away but the day has only just begun. time is about to march. breath it in captain mission, snort it like a line of colombian cocaine. let the day engulf you in it's beautiful moments. 

part of me steals a boat, down near the little beaten up jetty, a small one with a good motor. it starts first time as i draw the anchor, place my hand on the throttle. wouldn't it just be prefect to burn everything and set sail north, start again, a new life. sigh. not this time. 

healing time, resting time, down time, introspection blues. the water dragon and i share some grapes, pan chews upon a bone. the birds chirp, the frogs make amphibious conversation and my fish are enjoying a new high grade japanese fish food product that looks like tiny black canon balls. peace ascends upon libetaria, all is calm like slow motion liquid motion, almost emptiness. some zen moment, flickering in intracience. 

no energy left after massive tooth extraction. the nitrous oxide came in handy, i sucked it down like a jelly fish mantra, my bones floating in painless europic daze, eyeballs must have glazed over as the dental assistant looked quite glamorous in her strange medical uniform and lipstick, big eyes and groovy smile. she said her name was mallory and i was taken in to a literary fantasy. even when i came back, mouth filled with blood and a dent in my finances i thought it was good value for money to have shared a little mallory fantasy. it was a romantic period piece with some bold problem solving as we solved the riddle of the ancient and lost city out in a desert somewhere, in a field of ice, on a tropical remote island, underwater, in deep space mallory and i foiled the villains, rode off into a laughing gas cloud of false hope and childish fantasy.
off course there's always the residual downside to these drugs, nightmares and peripheral hauntings but for a girl like mallory it's all worth it.

the day goes from stinking hot to cold, to wet and humid to strangely tropical and the cockatoos swarm outside mission control, making a racket, swooping and carrying on like punks of the skies, these feathered friends don't care if they wake up the neighbourhood. i find time to watch them, even though there's some sort of 'spill' in canberra and apparently people think it will make a difference therefore it's news. in my heart i just know it's all degrees of worse to worser, politics is the problem. the birds play, they swoop and criss cross the skies, they all line up on the telegraph wire, hundreds of them. one comes over and sits next to me. he's massive, sulphur crested. i don't know what to do, he wants something but i'm to fucking wiped out to consider feeding him. he nods his head and flies off back to his mates. the noise is amazing, it's so loud and raucous. i sink back and imagine myself being a bird, swooping and flying, riding thermals and playing bird games with other birds. i'm like the young king arthur from 'sword in the stone' t h white, such a magnificent series of books. yes i feel like that boy, grown up into a king with all the weight of the world upon his shoulders. looking back at being an impossible kid.    

long strange gold road by the waterboys

i thought i was well informed about the war on drugs but halfway through 'chasing the scream' i find myself shocked and appalled, in tears and angry at what the usa has inflicted upon the world. the war on drugs is like all political constructs, it's a racket. johann hari's past ain't squeaky clean, he's a journalist whom had to hand back his awards after he was discovered to have manufactured most of his quotes or stolen them from other interviews so this book comes with a web page where you can hear the interviews, unedited. despite what the author has done in the past, his integrity is glued back with this book, meticulously researched and constructed, brilliantly illuminating and at the same time will make you want to scream at all the wasted resources, lives, money and lies in the mythology of war against drugs.the american institutions that perpetuate this idea hunted down jazz musicians, doctors and anyone who counter claimed their myth, poor billie holiday, what a life she led and then the mothers of the disappeared in mexico whom are disappeared themselves for standing up to the cartels, the corruption and the us government who are part of the problem because they refuse to allow mexico to decriminalise drugs. decriminalise, regulate and taxing drugs will eliminate all the crime, death and violence that the drug wars create. 
it's a racket just like everything.