i make a date with the sun, the future is arriving, my calculations point to december, maybe the 20th or 21st. the wave will arrive in earth's atmosphere around that period and i will be ready. that's all. mutation is adaptation, adaptation is evolution. my rituals are prepared in advance, i have a date with destiny.

big night out, wandering around the city with some long lost friends, in and out of bars and pubs, i'm at the italian film festival with some celebrities whom seem to have adopted me, an actress and director and we agree to watch the new version of pinocchio which is rather good, much more loyal to the book than the disney version.

my new round of herbal cookies are amazing, quality cake. wow!

news from europa is bad, lockdown high mortality and infection rates, this c-19 thing is moving faster than we can.

anyways, here's the issue.

all governments (except china) are in the dark, they have to make it up as they go along. they have to balance economy with infection. it's notoriously hard as they must appear to know what they are doing, the illusion of control. yet if they had power over their masters they would make one simple announcement.

build your immune system by exercise, diet and joy. spend time with your family and loved ones, life is short and then you die. balance work, rest and play. 

no govt. has made that announcement, instead they are instructing people to isolate, stay inside, wear masks and ppc, don't go out to the beach.

the issue is this virus is not as deadly as cancer so why are we never seeing a worldwide race to cure cancer. because of money. because of control. the vaccination for c-19 will be compulsory, you won't be able to travel or work unless you have had the vaccine. and the vaccine will not be the cure.

so i'd suggest keep calm, keep reasonably healthy, build the immune system and don't buy into to much hysteria. in fact turn of the news, watch something more creative and relax. 

fleeting moments in the water at the beach, watching the supermoon, the stars sprawl across the bay, it's picture postcard, a zen night garden, a lullaby for the motherless children as i think about the dead.
thoughts to the dead, the old people, the people who are in graves, the people who are lonely and isolated because the family can't see them in quarantine zones, the dead-end streets, the tunneled vision, the obscured by clouds, the people who lost their jobs, the people who are without. 
i saw a film clip of a woman in a big modern city apartment standing on the balcony yelling out at anyone who could hear, 'help me, help me, i am trapped here with the dead body of my mother, please someone help me.'
it is now a terrible situation for humanity as fear sweeps its way through the world. conspiracy and paranoia, infecting minds. stockpiling in survival mode. people clutching at straws while others hold hands.
in fear the amygdala shuts down compassion, care, kindness and understanding. we only think about survival.
listen to the media words:
lockdown, virus, disease, death, surveillance, military, recession, depression. 
watch the new global sport as countries play the dead population game show, numbers soar, the world watches.
i think the virus is the antidote.
it takes no prisoners, ignores borders, ideology, race.
now it is time to contemplate what we have surrendered to. 
what's important baby?
money?
ambition?
fame?
recognition?
these things do not matter to the soul.
they are requirements of mind.

richard dawkins a scientific fundamentalist whom i have never really endorsed says 'we are just progenitors of dna and it is every living object's sole purpose, our prime directive.'

yet if you think about it, 'it is the rationalism of frogs living at the bottom of wells that deny the existence of mountains,' so says a much wiser man frithjof schuon.

materialism is the wrong road. as i have been writing for eons, ideologies, all of them, they are fundamentally wrong. capitalism, socialism are atomized reality infiltrating our lives and reducing life into valueless paper or constructs. the money is not real. debt is a side effect but so is mental health and the natural environment. so is love.

the world has been visited by covid-19 which reveals a house of cards society exposed now as it falls, globalism has ended. money has ended. even in affluent societies like iceland everyone is in debt.

the average household debt in au. 200%

covid 19 is showing us the value of toilet paper over diamonds.

i'm captain mission and i'm going to fucking save us all.

one of the most intelligent video's ever made, and a very subversive song in my opinion. i love the fact there are bands that can still subvert the dominant paradigm, see through the paradox of ideology and the sheep mentality. 

while this was mainly interpreted as a meditation on social media, it's much much more. 

click here

an absolutely brilliant movie, possibly the best one i have seen after 'dead man' 

everything about this movie is perfect, i loved it. i think christopher nolan is my fave director, and he would be the man for 'manifesto.'

ironically another novel i have an idea for would fit right into the nolan universe. mmm, christopher are you reading this, shoot me an e mail. i love your work. 

the answer is in the pineal gland.
it's been in my vision for weeks, i see the signs all the time, they are pushed into my face and begin to overwhelm me. the universe has been bashing me over the head with a soft instrument and now finally as i dissolve i see what the information is really saying. dmt. its many forms represent themselves in my reality but i know the universe i am in currently is not my own, it's a mirror so i apply my mirror mind to the mirror to get the truth and the answer lies in the pineal. it's melatonin.
the front line defence is levels of melatonin. 

meanwhile i am having a strange moment. i purchased a bag of books, specifically one on colour, one on a mental yoga and several novels which i threw into my car in a large bag. the next night i began searching for the bag. i look all over mission control, search the car but to no avail. it's a mystery but as i fall asleep to a you tube video of jorden peterson talking about some kind of jungian psychology, the night envelopes me and i must have fallen into slumber. i wake up several times, the video still playing, it's very long, and i'm now convinced someone must have taken the bag off books from my car.

i begin to feel angry and disappointed in myself. i tried to go back to sleep but i was so angry it became difficult, eventually i did. now, in my dreams jorden starts telling me to take responsibility and not to jump to conclusions, he talks a lot about how dreams and reality overlap and then when i awake in the morning i wonder if i dreamt my books are missing. so i go search and find them immediately. i head to the surf to clear my head.

two hours later i am listening to an interview with charlie kauffmen, whom has just written a novel. the interview is great and suddenly the interviewer says, 'charlie your book is filled with dreams and often i couldn't tell what bits were the dreams and what was actually happening to the protagonist. then i myself started to dream about the book.'

as far as books go i'm halfway through ubo by steve rasnic tem, a sort of alien abduction type story where the experiments are actually quite bizarre. subjects are sent back in time into the bodies of various 'evil' historical individuals. when they return into their prisoner consciousness, they are all traumatised to some level as you would be, and slowly they attempt to understand what the purpose of these experiments are. and also who they are. interesting, and i'm getting a bit of a history lesson in stalin, himmler and various other nutjobs, not light reading at all. 

                            NEW MISSION

late last night as i drive in my headlights illuminate the top of my postbox, it's a stone pillar and right upon the top of it sits what i think may be a cat. it's dark and furry, i stop halfway in my drive to have a good look.

it's a huge owl.

he's got big eyes and lovely brown / black feathers but he's sitting down. i watch him stand up, present himself. how strange. he's so cute i smile at him. then continue driving into my driveway and park. i go inside wondering what owls eat apart from mice and other animals, none of which i have on hand. i could make him some vegemite toast, at 1am in the morning that's possibly the best i can come up with.

up at long jetty, in the yoga place where they do great food i meet some english girls who seem amused at my 'fish out of water' aura, as i look bewildered by the people all looking glamorous and healthy in their alternative lifestyle choices and voices while my head is buried in a book called, 'big bang.'  

'are you ready to order,' a young girl with vibrant skin and a natural smile asks, her eyes are amazing and so wide open.

'just bring me something healthy and an almond latte thank you,' i say smiling because she has a soft friendly voice that is not irritating or harsh.

'okay, i'll bring you something yummy.'

'sure, i have complete faith in you.'

my books is good, i'm getting really into it when a new character appears, it's william burroughs so i'm even more captivated by this remarkable novel.

she returns with a large plate of health and a steamy coffee. it's all to perfect.

later i stop off for a milkshake, blackberry and blackcurrant with coconut milk, it's incredible, so thick and beautiful my body just absorbs it like osmosis. i'm on a natural high, my book has just reached stratospheric heights and the input of the best quality fuel activates some natural power inside of me that blooms and sends a turbo charge to my energies. 

later i am in the city, wandering along in the sunshine like a well behaved civilian when, hark! 

my supersensitive hearing tunes in to the distant sound of a guitar strum, a beat so mellow yet pleasurable, a funky cool rhythm that reminds me of my santa fe days. oh yeah i'm caught in a tractor beam of aural pleasure. it draws me closer and through the people i see a man sitting on a crate in the middle of george street. he's strumming a guitar and starts singing, a smooth silky deep base voice like a well refined soul singer from the 60's, so fucking pure i drink it in. next to him in another milk crate is a puppy, curled up asleep. not many people stop to listen, not many people leave him cash. but i am standing there listening to the most amazing voice. when i look at the man i see the disfigurement, a sort of weird growth protruding from half his face, i mean it's pretty brutal. it's like a tree sprouting from one side of his face and hanging down over his nose. he's a young guy, about 40ish, singing in the sunshine. i leave him some cash and think how god has given him a terrible condition yet bestowed him with a beautiful voice, it's a strange thought and it makes me ponder. i must say i am supremely happy for hearing his voice, it's the best thing ever. 

oceanic morning as the dawn light comes casting itself along the horizon in an electro-magno glide pathway right to my feet. i adress the cosmos, input values, calculate conditional ratios, output the frequency of flox. 

cats come to me, it's a strange thing, something to do with the energy hovering around me, it's quite bizarre and a number of people notice this. 'i thought you were a dog person,' they say.

well i am an animal person, never been one to single out any particular species except moths. can't say i have any love for those erratic things. the thought of moths makes me shudder. it's phobic. completely irrational.

i'm reading a new book, called 'big bang' it's well written, easy and reminds me of don delillo's underworld but without the amazing opening chapter, although big bang is powerful and smart.

mission control, taking shape as i make my way through some big changes.

 

the idiot wind and the zombie apocalypse have arrived, don't like the surname of a cheese manufacturer so we change it, yep 'coon' is a name with connotations but it's also someones surname and if people find it offensive where does it end. are blackouts changed to non denominational decrease in electricity power, can we actually evolve as language is censored, the answer is no. 

i work with some of the dumbest people i have ever met, a guy that thinks the earth is flat, a woman who had no idea the client she case manages has schizophrenia and another woman who cannot understand any word that has more than 5 letters in it. i'm offended by their moronic existence but i don't fucking walk around expecting them to change anything, i have to just tolerate working with inane boring dingbats and outside of work i am very selective about whom gets my time. people i like and love. 

the person who thinks the world is flat also thinks everyone else is a sheep and brainwashed. he's so aloof yet knows nothing about anything really, he feeds diabetics doughnuts he buys for them to gain favour whereas he and his cronies complained because i dared make banana bread with the clients from wholemeal flour, real bananas, crushed walnuts, cranberries and honey. these petty battles occupy the minds of zombies and i am surrounded by them still. 

fortunately i have an excellent boss whom i respect because she has humanity and wisdom. therefore not a zombie.

well it's very rare for me to do anything social but a few days ago a guy came to my house to..okay, wait for it...clean my oven. it was a quick job but my bicarbonate and vinegar was not working on the door. so he walks in, all dreadlocked and smiles, we exchange pleasantries and i comment upon his origins. brazilian, i recognise it straight away.

we chat about some brazilian writers, poets and music and the jungle. obviously ayahuscia comes up and dmt. 

the guy gets super excited and invites me to some party.

well it takes a lot of effort, mental will power and general enthusiasm to convince myself to attend. it's only down the road and i don't have to stay long. 

well let's just say olde captain mission had a fantastic night, what amazing people, brazilians and cubans, dancing, music, great conversations and grilled treats. we sit around a big fire and i listen to incredible portuguese songs, reggae, folky blues and i share a waterboys song with a sexy lady who rings me the next day. we chat a little and she invites me to visit some sacred site she knows. i take a raincheck as my social calendars quota is exhausted for the month. later i get a text from my brazilian friend whom invited me saying every one of the people at the party asked him where he found such a beautiful soul. that was nice, and i stumble through the day wondering how i managed to pull the wool over their eyes. 

anyway it was a great night, and i have a very interesting new circle friends who seem to like me.

mission

now i look respectable i can get away with anything.  

the captain

talking to some one, can't quite recall whom and it was only yesterday but so much happened yesterday / today, it was action packed tuesday / wednesday, i was building something and arm deep in wood and sandpapers and fucking doing stuff i never do like painting and going to bunnings, what the fuck! 

anyways here i am mr, handyman immersed in being handy and somehow i'm talking to someone about my travels through mexico a place i fell in love with and have good memories off. 

i was a kid, barely out of my teens and i was lving in a cool pad in la when i somehow had this fixation about going to mexico. every single person said, 'no don't!'

i never listened to any one or anything they said, it was like i'd already gone.

i recall getting an old tattered last legs bus from south la greyhound terminal where a transexual pulled a gun on me, pointed it at my head and said, 'your in the wrong washroom son.'

sure enough i had walked into the womens toilets by accident. i walked backwards outta there eye on the face of the woman with the gun, i still recall his / her pinned eyes. anyway, in the same terminal i met a friend a few hours later whom was travelling around the usa, i told him i was heading south across the border. 

he pleaded with me, come north with me, don't go, it's too dangerous. i returned to my book and waiting for the fucking bus to turn up immune to peoples concern for some reason, maybe stupidity or youthful arrogance.

i was reading the magus at the time, john fowles. it must have been a trend as a few people i met on my travels were reading or had read it.

the cross into tjiuana was okay, i stopped for the connection and hung around the markets and bars. it was chaotic and colourful and everyone was drinking tequila or buying or selling it. actually the whole place seemed to run on the stuff, all those reds and yellows, my eyes had to adjust.

then i finally hopped on the bus to mexico city, and about two hours in we stopped at the real checkpoint in juarez, where the real mexico begins. i think we travelled west and south, through sonora, mostly desert but where hallucinogenic frogs come from. the bus was packed and i was the only westerner on board. everyone was very friendly once they found out i was from england and despite being squished up with chickens, goats and people i found it really pleasant. people shared their boiled eggs and tortillas with me, old ladies smiled and younger men all high-fived me as though i were the soccer player whom kicked the winning goal. 

at the border it was a different story, armed soldiers and border police all came aboard and made us march up to a huge shack where they id'ed everyone. i watched money exchange hands and figured out the young men were workers who were paying the border guards so they could re enter into mexico from the states where they had bee working illegally. 

back on board i relaxed and watched the country roll by, occasionally trying to communicate to the friendly natives in a very inarticulate infantile spanish. we stopped twice over a period of 30 hours, i had taken the wrong bus, the mexican bus. the american bus would have taken me 13 hours. so when we rolled into the bus terminal at mexico city i was ready for a hot shower and bed. i'd bought a packet of marlborough outside the hotel and on my balcony lit my cigarette up only to find it tasted horrible. the tobacco they used was different than american, it was rough and hard to smoke. what i really wanted to do was peyote with some indians but mexico city was a vital swarm of modern people, students businessmen, traffic and culture, i walked out onto the street and wandered around falling in love with the whole place. the metro was one of the cleanest fastest most efficient services and so simple to use, i was unbound and travelled everywhere by subway if not on foot.

every morning i'd go down to the shop outside and grab some cafe and eggs (huevos), eventually the owner of a shoe shop came up and chatted with me and offered to show me the city. every moring he offered to show me something or point me in the direction of a tourist point. i declined his offer to be my tour guide but always bought him a breakfast as he sat and explained the intricate politics of the place. now mexican has a culture that is fucking amazing, it starts in the art gallery which is the most impressive gallery i have ever seen. it's magnificent. i was impressed by how political it was and how the revolution was part of the artistic pursuit. anyway, the architecture was incredible to, the zocalo was just an wonderful place to watch the city pass by while looking at these beautiful mighty buildings. 

the whole city was built upon the aztec city of tenochtitlan which was destroyed in the 16th century by some crazy spanish conquistadors. 

one of my fave spots was the 'place of coyotes' where i would relax sitting on a bench as time filtered through the leaves and the fountain spray caught the light as the ghost of frieda khalo whispered in my ear.

i not only felt safe in mexico, i felt part of it. adopted.

so i have always had an affinity with the country, the geography is etched upon me soul like a tattoo. 

when i was there the main drugs slipping into the usa was weed and coke, i was never into coke but i enjoyed mexican weed, it was strong and yet friendly. most people i encountered outside of the city were smoking it, growing it. coke was  a different story and i avoided that vibe. the mexicans began to grow weed as the californian students used to pay them a good wage per sack and it was easier than growing vegetables. as far as farming goes, all they had to do was plant it and occasionally run a hose over the crop. the students were friendly and cool. they worked out certain methods of carring it across the border and distributing it, mostly to students in the late sixties. it was the colombians who discovered the routes the students used for weed could be used for their product, cocaine. and eventually the students gave up the weed business to the columbians who were heavy dudes unencumbered by morality of value of life, they literally were the first narcos. the vibe went from peace and love and chilled to brutal violence, the califonians never carried guns, the columbians did, and machetes which they used. 

so with the colombians the mexicans upped their ante and began competing, and thus the narco wars were born. 

in 2005 i read power of the dog by don winslow which was an incredible read, it basically used the personalities of the drug wars and wrote a fictional interpretation based upon real life. it was harrowing and sad, becuase i felt what had happened to the country i had once walked in. to read power of the dog and it's two sequels is to put yourself through sleepless nights of tension, as a thriller it nails style, character, pace and construction. as a story it's fucking brutal and yet beautiful. winslow delves deep, touches upon every angle and does not fail to show light where it needs to be shone. on the consumers.

while it is very fashionable for people to preach about woke politics and how switched on they are, how spiritual they may be and their illusion that they know better than everyone else, any one of these individuals that used coke is not only directly responsible for the murder of thousands of innocents they are snorting up a whole lot of very bad karma.

it's rare for me to suggest reading a book unless feel passionate about it, and when it comes to 'the cartel trilogy' i do, drop everything you are doing, go and buy them and read them. prepare for violence and brutality, prepare to laugh, prepare to cry, prepare for sleepless nights page turning anxiety and prepare to face the truth.   i miss mexico, the mexico i knew was very beautiful and it was the people whom made it for me, so friendly, kind and generous i was spooked by their hospitality, coming from london you don't expect people to be so generous. 

the demon of dispersion

by any other name

only plays in the dual nature

of the aspirant's brain

projections and illusions

self-deception and lies

the duality of self 

is the war within our eyes

the beast that kills the beauty

the beast that slays the true

the beast that inverts me

lives inside of you

there is no way out but in

this is the cosmic war

in chess you always won

becuase i cared to win no more

my ego may be, but it is 

in total checkmate

defeated by cruelty 

and your unbridled hate

keep deception for yourself

i hold no grudge or blame

you will always have my love

but never know my name 

  

  

jesus, the recent past seems to pull me backwards like some anti gravity ray gun has zapped my mind. i feel i need to respond to something i let go off. i respond, it's honest and the truth but i know it's going to meet resistance and the usual barrage of hate. however, it must be said else my mission is not complete with this particular individual. i just hope she understands it's possibly the most honest thing she will ever hear in her life. 

so the day finally reveals as sunlight trickles through the cracks in details, the shadows all have harder lines today and there's a certain sharp edge to the temperature. i sort my car out, it needs a service and clean, i have not used it for a while and mission control needed a good airing, ahh, crispy cold breeze sorts everything out as i create an interesting corridor of flow.

i return to work today, the prodigal sun. 

the other night someone invited me for dinner and i caught a ferry across the water. the house was warm and had a huge fireplace so i settled in and lo and behold two uninvited guests came to visit mid dinner both whom knew me. very old friends from an ancient past life. the first ziggy gave my a huge hug and we went straight into conversations about tarot cards, the next was a guy called lucas whom seemed to recall meeting me with a girl down at his place near the water ways of the hawksberry. so he says, 'ah yeah your the guy that did all those shamanic journeys.'

'yeah i guess i am, it was a long time ago.'

we discuss travels, europa, plants, india, we discuss all sorts of things and i seem to make everyone laugh. i'm a good accomplice when it comes to dinner parties, people seem to like my tales.

there's also some supermodel there that my friend wants to hook me up with but i don't feel it to be honest, in fact i just want to close my eyes and sleep.

in the early hours of dawn i catch the first ferry back and stop off at the bakery for some mighty fine sourdough and coffee. i wander around the small italian suburb and notice a whole new section i have never seen before, it's amazing. i explore deeper. eventually i return. so much travelling, it's nice to be home. i miss my dad. i miss my son. i miss europa and the pirate twins. i'm really done with australia but, it's winter and i always feel unsettled at winter. i sit and dream about driving my car across the usa, listening to a new church cd, and smoking johnny cash. i look at the landscapes and smell the flowers, i look up at the big skies and smile.

i gotta hunker down for a few weeks, sort out some stuff and then launch my next deep fix publication. i got to find a graphic designer and illustrator i like. someone who can work with me as an equal. that's my new mission.  

HOW I FUCKED FATE AND ATE MY OWN KARMA BY CAPTAIN MISSION

strange dreams and formulas have infiltrated my nights and days, messages from outer realms as contact is made and connections reaffirmed with my cosmic condition, everything reformats itself as if on swift defrag. again i find myself in a multitude of tributaries, all with their own currents and flows, i follow all simultaneously into several different realities and domains but as one individual everywhere. a blend of something into something else, a strange newer aspect. reestablished in the paradox of a condition. everything deconstructs down to something, even atoms. i'm seeing the illusion and the truth at the same time. the glamour attacks with no mercy and despite heightened awareness i have been unable to discern what's what, my instruments are worn out, my aura leaking energy, there's no compass left i can trust in, no star to guide me, nothing but all. all but no thing. 

as usual i am pulled out by cosmic intelligence's and agencies whom employ me. i serve the light and the light comes in many forms, including captain mission. 

i found myself on mercy street, bashed up by some thugs in colour vision. they left me brutalized and hurting, my face was swollen up like a watermelon and apparently i lost a lot of blood. i guess it was inevitable, all roads to the glamour lead to a hospital bed and a drip. the nurses fussed over me and enjoyed my jokes, for some reason or treason that old comedian was back, asserting himself as the rest of me just lay there numbed out and passive on salvation drugs.
later the police came to ask some questions, 'who did this?'
'it don't matter anymore.'
'don't you want us to find them and throw them in jail?'
'no, they are in one already, best let them go.'
'but you were beaten up quite badly,' one of them says.
'yeah, it was quite bad.'
i gaze out the window at the blue sky, it would be nice to eat something solid i think.
cathy comes to visit, she brings big bright flowers and a magazine called 'warehouse interiors,' she's looking like a sunflower in summer, all yellow and golden smiles. 
'what's this?' 
'it's a magazine, you love interior design, and you're always going on about warehouses.'
'am i?'

'yeah, always.'

'cath, is that really you?'

'yes, it's me.'
everything speeds up, three new faces appear and sit at the end of the bed. i don't recognize them, any of them, but they are talking to me as if i know them well, asking me questions and laughing. it's hard to laugh at anything now, not only does it hurt but it's just no longer funny despite my inner comic who cracks jokes and tells humorous tales independently. i close my eyes and feign sleep but these persistent women take no notice and keep prodding me to listen to their stories.
'so i went skiing and had a great time. you would have loved all the ghost towns.'
'oh so and so has a nice new husband, he's like a buddha, all-wise and knowing.'
'and you should have been there, it was so much fun. fun fun fun you need to lighten up, life is fun, it's fun fun fun..'
i fade out into my own head, detaching from these people and that comedian ghost who fades away again. 

eventually they all leave and the nurse returns.
'okay well dr. zen will be around to check you, i think you may be discharged tomorrow.'
'how long have i been here?'
she looks at my file, 'admission date, let's see, oh about six weeks.'
'i can't recall anything, apparently, i was beaten up.'
'yeah, pretty bad by the looks of things, i think you will be discharged tomorrow.'
'i hope my fish are okay.'

the nurse turns to leave and as she is halfway out of the door i call for her, 'hey, can i ask a favour?'

she returns to the bed, 'that depends on what it is you ask.'

'that's a good answer. i need to dictate a letter, is there a way you can type it out and print it for me.'

'sure, i'll come back in my lunch break.'

when she returns she has a small macbook in her lap, she opens a fresh document and waits for me to begin.

'who's it to,' she asks.

'superman.'

i dictate my letter and like a real pro she says nothing but at the end looks at me sadly, 'no one deserves that.'

'obviously someone thinks i did.'

this dr.zen chap is quite the oriental, he's wearings some sort of sequinned suit and quite happy dispensing painkillers like they are jellybeans, 'take a load of these, often, numb the pain. i think you should be okay, after all we need these beds, there's a pandemic.'
'really, a pandemic, what's going on?'
'some chinese thing, nevermind, just don't stand near anyone.'
'why?'
infection kills plus there's a $1000 fine.'
'oh.'

later i find myself attempting to get dressed, the hospital gown slips to the floor and i see the bruising on my torso and back, it's pretty bad. no wonder it hurts when i breath.
i somehow independently manage to dress myself in a pair of black jeans and a faded church tee shirt with the pyramid, putting on my baseball shoes is impossible so i end up just carrying them in my hands.
i swallow some of the pills as walking sends shockwaves up my legs and lower back, i should be in a wheelchair i think, and then unthink.

they give me some crutches but i only require one.
outside i'm surprised at the air, it's fresh, the morning light is bright and hurts my eyes, sydney hospital is busy already and it's not even 9am.
i get the train and bus home, walk up the road like a crippled soldier coming back from the frontline. was i in a war, it feels like it.
at least the birds love me as i find a trail of white feathers on my homeward journey. home, i laugh, it's where the heart is but i quickly stop laughing as that joke is not funny anymore.
it takes me about an hour to get to the front door from the bus stop, a few random people stare at me like i'm some sort of freakazoid, which i am. i don't go inside immediately, i have to check my fish. 

fucking hell! 

i'm surprised they are alive, and not surprised they are ravenous. 
it's an ordeal enough to get that key in the door, its a challenge for my dexterity and nerves, as i shake slightly, tremor, is it a side effect of the drugs or just my new disposition.

mission control looks like it's hosted a party for tornados, my books are everywhere, paper scattered across the floor and piles of clothes strewn randomly. a woman walks out from the bedroom and leaps down the steps, 'mission, you're back.'
i'm not sure if that's a statement or question so i look at her blankly before asking softly, 'who the fuck are you?'
stacy babe, i'm your wife.'
stacy, ha, this some kind of joke? look i lost my sense of humour a while back so whomever you are just leave, now please.'
'babe, it's me, stacy, i was so worried, you went out to get some coffee and croissants and never came back, it's so good to see you.'
'are you? did i? is it?'
she hugs me and kisses me on my cheeks. i drop my bag, lean the crutch against the wall and put an arm around her for support and affection.
'just help me get to my sofa.'
she walks me to the big sofa at the back of the house. we fall into the seats. i notice she is only wearing a tee shirt and some pink socks (my clothes). she smells of the south of france, 'very irresistible' by givinchy, and she is in a soft, cuddly feminine way. the drugs are wearing off now, i can feel throbbing and some sort of swelling, not the good kind. 
'hey stacy, can you pass me that weed, it's in the kitchen near the tea.'

'i know where you keep it baby.'
she jumps up like an enthusiastic porpoise.
i catch a glimpse of her upper thigh and smile, she looks good in my tee shirt. 
we both kick back and smoke the joint, pain dissolves away, and i relax for the first time in a long time.
'so how did we meet?' i ask bemused by what circumstances have delivered. 
'we never really met, i think you just made me up in one of your stories.'
'mmm, that's possible, i do tend to have a powerful imagination. so are you just a figment.'
'yes.'
'that's sad, i wanted something real.'
'sorry,' she whispers as she fades away, 'i wanted to be real but i'm not.'

later i wake up on my sofa, i've drooled all down the cushion and my mouth feels very dry. 
i get a phone call from someone, 'hey are you okay, i've been trying to call you for days,'
'hi, yeah, er no, yes i think so, i don't know. i've been dreaming, a bit disorientated, i think i'm splitting apart to come together.'
'oh, well do you need anything?'
'no, nothing. actually what's my name?'
'mission you idiot, captain mission.'
'oh yeah, thanks, who are you again?'
'jesus it's me you fool, are you sure you are okay?'
'yeah, yeah don't worry about me.'
a voice in my head whispers, 'but you will never really be okay again.'
the cat jumps up upon my chest. it looks me in the eyes and i start to panic, did i have a cat. 
'who are you?'
'i'm the cat of wisdom. ask me anything?'
'what the hells going on with me?'
'you're in flox.'
'flox! you mean flux, is that like flow, what the hell is flox?'
'it's basically a nexus of possibility, where you are not just faced with its multitudes of choices, options and pathways but existing in all of them at the same time.'
'ah, okay. i'm no good at knowing what's good for me anymore, i feel so... dirty, soiled by recent events. i am not sure i know how to make good choices or choose anything anymore?'
'the illusion is the choice. flux is a null state, a pointless phase of being as the influx of choice causes a form of paralysis so what is necessary is to surrender to it and allow it to flow, that's what normal people do with their lives, flow. you can't though because you are far from normal.'
'mmm, so i am caught between flux and flow?'
'not really, you being you captain fucking mission are in flox as i said originally.'
'okay define flox smarty cat?'
'wise cat.'
'smart wise, all-knowing freaky feline.'
she moves further up my chest and puts her face in mine.
'flox is an anomaly for anomalies, it's when all possibilities happen at once. very rare that anyone human experiences this, you either have to be lucky or unlucky in fact it's a temporal anomaly itself.'
'ah well i think that's me. so what happens now.'
the cat of wisdom nestles its head in my face and purrs, 'it's happening.'
suddenly i realize someone is still on the phone, a voice echoing through, 'mission, mission are you okay?'
a croaky voice says 'i'm never going to be okay?'
the phone goes dead. she must have hung up. my eyes close.

when i wake up my house is tidy, some naughty and scantily clad elves have rearranged my room, maybe it was the zen girls, they assist me in my times of trouble. it looks better. less clutter.
i shower. in the bathroom mirror i notice my bruises and cuts are still pretty bad. there's acute pain again, in my ribs and chest.
days must pass by like a soft blurry shadow behind me, my shoulder aches, maybe i slept funny on it. i wander along to the studio and plonk myself down on the chair in my boxer shorts. it's turned quite cold and i wrap the blanket around me. 
i should feel motivated enough to make toast and some eggs but instead i just look at a half-smoked joint and reach for the lighter.
the physical pain still aches, it sends a little shockwave through my back but there's another feeling deep inside that hurts more. i figure the weed will just numb it so i inhale deeply and kickback. i feel tired, i hardly sleep, every night it's a few short hours and nightmares where i'm being crucified tortured and pulled apart. one where i am dissected by someone who just laughs at me. it's awful, the face is familiar but a different version, a brutal harsh stare gazes down upon me and pulls out my tongue. it gets so bad i end up staying awake most nights far to frightened to sleep.
eventually someone from victoria sends me a bag of valium which helps more than the dr.zens painkillers. i never take these pills but since my new found anxiety and panic attacks i gobble them up just to get through the awful day. 
in my valium haze i drift back into sleep but the nightmares still come penetrating the veil. it's furious and relentless, i fear sleep.
this time my protector turns upon me and slits my throat, my best friend buries me alive, my bride fails to turn up to a wedding, my love says she hates me and then proves it by sleeping with another man, my moment of bliss is shattered by it's opposite and then i'm subjected to a bombardment of words that tear me apart like tiny daggers and blades razor-sharp stripping my flesh. it's endless hurt and pain until i am no longer even flesh my nerves are destroyed and pain stops. all that remains is a black skeleton. at least your familiar we say to one another at the same time.
i wake up.

 

i look at myself, taller now, slimmer, darker but a still dead god walking amongst the living. osiris seeking isis. a sun-seeking a moon, a soul seeking its twin, eternal love seeking...

...a chance encounter, i never expected this but it is an enlightening exchange. i hear information that shocks me, yet it does not surprise me. however truth is revealed and the true nature of what i have been dealing with is finally exposed. it lightens my load but i'm none the less shocked by circumstances of its revelation and content, then another strange chance encounter and i am poured into another vessel, my spark is live. 
yet the shock of the new information sits with me, it's revolutionary, like the universe has shown me a secret and i understand everything now, clarity cleans away the filthy feeling i have within. 

i'm really dumbfounded by truth, that's no understatement but consequently ironically for the first time in over one year feeling blessed and liberated by The Truth. it was a harrowing journey that almost destroyed me, i understand what it all means now. i have the fucking truth finally, the universe is a strangely beautiful place and it does love me. i am so blessed. 

i am so very grateful. even my regrets are transmuted.

now i am a someone else, a new me. it all happens instantly, the fork in the road becomes many forks. one version of me is a film director, another an editor, another a writer, another an interviewer,  another a playwright, another a thespian, another a musician. everything happens at once again.
i laugh out aloud. 
i escaped.
i did it.
i escape.
time.
twice in a lifetime. 
it's all happening again but differently, millions of events infiltrate the space-time boundary, there is no illusion or separation i am everywhere and everything. the implosion of my original selves made no sense. it may have healed something but the cost was 'damage' greater than the healing so that is not real healing, merely an attack. 

i heal my split, the schism but by staying true to what is true, my savior said, 'don't forget who you are.' 

bless you. i remember who i am. 

i've understood it all now. 

why the glamour loathes me so much it sent me it's agent, a manchurian candidate. nemesis indeed, a black sun agent. the enemy of love and truth.  
the attack was devastating, everything that is wrong with humanity, selfishness, betrayal, lies, no loyalty but lies lies lies lies... left only hate and destruction all thrown upon me in the disguise of love, like a terrible curse from a fairy tale. ugly disguised as beauty kills the beast and suddenly perspectives change. i was the target but not the victim. 
my black bones are strong again and ravenous. 
i was killed by set twice in a past life and in this one set attempted to come at me disguised as isis. 

the false queen. 
set rules trickery.
set is the trickster.

so it was a short story, not what i wanted. i only seek the truth and isis. i will move through the deceivers, one at a time and eventually i will find my great novel and it will have the ending i know is destined and i feel it is close at hand, for after the ordeal of evil comes the reward. 

the days are glorious, i move fast again, not confined to the slow snail like pace of a zero machine. there are magnificent options ahead, massive change upon me. a sexy american singer has asked to record some music with me, she is based in salt lake and we chat about my travels through the city. i went to a gun show there as i had 4 hours to kill on a connecting greyhound bus stop, it was the only thing happening and seemed like such an alien experience so i took it. 

when she sends me her files i am impressed with her style, it suits my gothic nature and sentiment.

i do need to return to the studio, the mike is picking up some ambient noise. i fiddle around, ask a few people and discover something called audacity which is a pretty effective software program. 

all this occurs while i'm working on a documentary with a friend that kind of hits a wall and we put that in deep freeze. but i have mastered an editing software program, something that really challenged me, and now i can edit video. yay!

other projects fall out of the sky. the deep fix publishes and edits for a number of writers now, it just happened. i'm looking for collaborators, designers and marketeers, agents and pr people. mixing in strange art circles with eccentric creatives, for some strange reason i am popular with everyone. i get a good review from a reader. that's two good reviews from independent source's so i am encouraged.

i push the eye inwards, my beam is focused and wide. apparently the virus is global and still effects travel, i have information sent to me from deep space and thankfully my travel documents and passport are ready, i have time on my hands having been offered a huge chunk of leave after my assault. i seem to be fixed. the bruising is down, body functional and my mind alert. i kicked the pharmaceuticals but smoke a lot of weed. well wishers call around, bring food, gifts and kindness but i am discreetly organizing myself without anyone knowing about my plans. throwing clothes into my bag, a few books and some charts. there are flights out to northern kathmandu with stop overs in abu dhabi and bahrain. i discuss all my options with my nepalese friend sabi and then i book a one way ticket although i will return, it costs $4020 and takes 21 hours 

.

i'm in nepal. cold as fucking it gets, rats freeze in the overnight ice, sleeting heavily and ice bound, it's nuts. a place i always wanted to visit but never thought i would make it to and now i'm here on a quest. so many people, i never thought it would be like this, traffic, crowds, colour, noise, jet lag and the altitude makes me light headed. computers and internet hard to find, connection slow.

i have to find a flight to anissa. no one seems to know anything about it except on the 3rd day i meet an american guy who has a friend whom he suggests i speak with. 

we meet at the bar of the dwarika's hotel, let me tell you this place is great. it's plush and something from a lost time. i think about that time, where people had time, people put love and care into their craft, it's nice to see so far away from everything i know. the bar area is beautifully relaxing and empty save for one man drinking a scotch on ice. even the barman's missing in action. 

i sit down next to him and introduce myself, i don't have time for fucking around with small talk, i just need to know if he knows, and can get me to anissa.

'yeah, but it's going to cost you.'

now that's the answer i want.

i notice he drinks johhny walker red, he's bought a bottle and leans into the bar and plucks a clean glass out from somewhere. 'let's drink.'

'i rather smoke some hash, i'm not drinking these days.'

'suit yourself.'

i get the details and jump in a taxi back to my cheap dive. we fly out tomorrow.

thus begins the next strange part off my fucking life.

so there you have my last few months, although i could have sworn it was seven years. 

i been on a strange adventure, survived a beating and a terrible crash. it all seems so long ago but i'm heading home now. and i have the story.

                                  

   

  
    




  

dylan false prophet

i have a lot to say, it's mostly a reveiw of things i experienced and where i am at and i write furiously. i finsihed with something i wrote and cannot post it because i am conflicted as to what right action is. 
i have been this way for many months now and it has really stifled my energy.
i'm not sure how to resolve this because therein lies a paradox. 
when i started the blog it was for me, a way to write, think, process, reflect and put it out there in the thought that others may find something worthwhile in my strange mind. it worked a treat until last year when it was pointed out everything i write comes true. i can't deny there is an element of this but it also traps me as a writer. 
a writer writes irreverent to rules and laws, a writer is a  creator and my particular style is to break conventional rules and laws and advance writing as an art. i see it as magickal but never figured it would influence anyone i cared about so much. it has and i have to be mindful. but then why limit myself, why restrict myself to someone who has not even been a good friend to me. why should i fucking even feel weird about it. 
i need to express myself the way she has vocally to me. i have the right to respond and also channel my anger and feelings. 
for over a year i have put boundaries upon writing and today i must decide weather this is a reasonable action in light of circumstances. 

the days dissolve me, i watch the life around me, birds, insects, flowers and animals approach me in my st.francis moments. from a soldier to a hip priest, from a lover to a fighter. well i guess thats how the dice falls old mission. time for the new mission, although i will never recover from this, part of me just died in the loss. my enthusiasm, that little tigger inside my heart just retreats now at the thought of anything. what's the point i think, what's the fucking point. 
the point is now to get healthy, fighting fit and beat the defeated blues. fortunately i have some very interesting events to keep me focused and maybe do something constructive in this period. 
the covid 19 virus means isolation, it means restriction and distancing, it means russian roulette in the game of life and death, no matter race, age, religion and who you vote for everyone is in the same boat. so, don't panic, it's easy to navigate this period, all the things we think mean something mean little, the idea of being right, materialism, the acquisition of wealth, power and jewels, the pursuit of ambition, attachments to constructs, we have to let them go. the only thing that matters is love, hold on to that. it's the only thing that matters. you may never see your loved one alive again, make it count. god bless you all.

the frontline dispatches.

everything happens fast, each day a new challenge as we are confronted by a very high-risk environment and clients that have no conceptual understanding of events outside their routines and the predictable safety they have known for a few years. 
last week i tried to explain the situation using graphics but i'm not sure how much info gets through. not much on the virus and the social implications. they have no idea why they are in quarantine and after a few days, behaviors begin to escalate. 
i think about the mental health issues that are going to cause untold problems, not just to the clients but to the wider community. the only way forwards is to let it all go, this is the real front line, let of everything. money won't fucking help, attainment of ambitions won't help, being wrong or right won't help. art won't help, writing blogs won't help. only help will help. sure we ascend but everyone worth anything knows that to be there for another is to the greatest gift. so i'm here being there. 
i am not in a position to take time off work now, we are very short-staffed and considered an essential service. i get a special pass that allows me to drive around in case i'm stopped by authorities, i had no idea the public are not allowed to drive unless it's for groceries or emergencies or to an essential service like a hospital. two people maximum in a car!
fines are being implemented by the cops. it's surreal, although i like the roads empty, makes for fast driving. i like the clear skies, look up at the stars. there's a lot happening, strange objects.
we have our temperature read every day and infection control in the work environment is very high, masks and gloves disinfectant sprays handwashing every 30 mins etc. it's like working for the cdc. the authorities that run our service are doing their best to protect us but i guess if you are frontline staff you have a responsibility to be professional and turn up, enact the procedures as best you can and keep yourself and clients safe. most staff are taking leave and abandoning their posts, some have families and loved ones they want to be with so i understand. if one of us goes down, we all do. there's a lot of responsibility in that.

circumstances are extreme and it's nice to watch people re-prioritize what's important in the face of chance against a virus that does not care about your race, age, religion or political stance. me. i'm getting healthier every day although i miss ms. mission more than ever.

some weird germ from china has escaped into the world causing havoc and peoples response is to buy up toilet paper. mum and dad say it's god but i think it may be me. 

if the inner effects the outer then yep, i'm fucking responsible and i will fix it up as soon as i can. it may take a while for me to make necessary adjustments but please understand i am commited to the task. in the meantime don't panic, be peaceful and creative.

early morning i discover the zone near the south end of a remote beach, some interesting people come my way, all wish to speak for some reason, me i just mind my business, 'leave me alone' vibe not working so i talk to them. the sun drenched water is beautiful, i feel the sunlight upon my skin and do some bone breathing, light eating. i'm blocked, energy not flowing anymore but i am in a zen space and it feels okay. hope it can stick around.
i gotta lot of stuff i need to sort through, my blocked energy, my broken heart, guilt, remorse, fucking self worth, i gotta get myself sorted out fast and the only way is go deeper in and fix my own damage. my white light has a leak. my black light has a knot. i saw a fucking great black dragon tattoo this morning in a shop at long jetty. it was awesome. i'm not sure if i can get that tattoo now, i need to do that in consultation but i would like something soon maybe in june when i am consistent and back from the dead.
we did speak briefly, she the clockwork binary universe, me, i see it as a vast intelligent organism constructed from spiritual material that has no analogue or digital dualistic quality, only the illusion of one. i do know this, not from study but from experience.  the raw and real is even an illusion, it all is except love. the only thing that matters is the soul and mine is half beautiful the other slightly wounded.  
i'm going so far inwards i can't say what will appear on the out.
let's make it sexy again.
i stop at some strange yoga place and ask this crazy girl to make me something healthy and nutrition packed, she fixes me the most glorious green drink ever. it's absorbed by grateful cells who dance around like james brown, the girl looks at me in bemusement as i can't stop thanking her and she asks if i want to stay and have lunch. 
'no, i can't,' i say, 'i have to keep dissolving.'
she smiles, 'cool,' she replies.
i think she gets it.

i must acknowledge how amazing ms mission is. she really is much better than me. all my ravings and writings have been very one sided and selfish, me working it all out. she had to work it out as well. she had her drama and challenges and i should have responded instead of reacting. 

i have had to learn this lesson hard. face myself, my own inadequacies and failings. i have to let that go as well. just go through what needs to be gone through.

my mistake, my lesson. it is all about unconditional love. i understand this now, in more clarity than ever because it is a twin flame process so everything was really fucking intense. this is what i have to transcend, my own mind. love brought me to duality and this is such a problem for me because i wanted an expression of romantic love, i wanted to be wanted and thought of as special to her but the twin flame relationship is not about this at all. my mind wanted this, and when it didn't get this, in fact it got the opposite i found the process unbearable. 
all i had to do was submit to it.
let it go. be detached.
not want the other person.
not have any attachment yet of course i did. how hard is it not to have an attachment to someone you are in love with?
how do i turn that down?
how do you stop?
how does that work?
you have to let go. 
let it go mission.
let go.
now!

taking the hits, reeling from the blows, ya get kicked in the guts, punched in the face, your feeling bloody and a mess, covered in blood and drool like a first class looser in the game of love. you stumble around in confusion, up against polarity blues, up against love is pain, up against your twin flame anxiety and you don't have any salvation drugs, no cure for the intense feelings, no redemption, just the stench of failure and loss. teeth are falling out, bones hurt, hair wild and dry, eyes burning with tears, mind fragmented and confused in a pea soup fog, face scratched up with claw marks from the vengeful rage, the hideous anger that takes you out. 
you splutter inadequacy and impotence, you feel like a dethroned king shoved out by some imposter knight who really was her king which makes you the imposter, you feel sad and fatalistic and you require some nursing so you retreat to the barren wilderness where nothing can ever touch you again. you shut up your heart, you build a fortress around it and protect it from her fury and bladed words. 
you let her say all the things she needs to, a barrage of critique, heavy artillery, it's pummelling down like a clusterfuck, you can't hide, you can't move, you just have to hear each sharp instrument as it penetrates everything you wanted to be and reduces you down to an infinitesimal nothing. 
and now you know what you know you knew. it's not what i think of me, but it's what she thinks and she is me, and therefore it is my self worth. i hear what it's valued at. it's not worth much, less now than ever. maybe a handful of magick beans down the market of shattered dreams.
still i stand, still i breathe, still i am.
i know what to say, how to defend myself but this is not the time or place, this is just self indulgence, negative energy fuelled by rage. happy birthday to me i think as i compare my birthday to the magnificence of his. 
it's not healthy thoughts that lead me here, this whole thing has been unhealthy as i am told to take responsibility for everything i do.
it's all my fault. no one else is to blame. 
so i travel onwards on my own. the best and worst experience i could ever imagine. a process that proved i have a soul and she is beautiful and yet terrifying. 
what have i learnt?
i have learnt that love is as strong as death and hard as hell.

weird energy slips through today, ominous feeling and wrought with dread. i don't know what's going on but it's crippling as i make my way through the day. fuck this energy, i twist and turn it, yet i can't deny it's presence. 
it's very painful as if being the carrier of some impending catastrophe vision.   

things move fast, things fall into place, things circle around me, things spiral with me at the centre, things come together, things conjoin, things materialise, things morph, things pulse, things connect, things attract. unusual people seem to drift towards me now, strange as i don't feel attractive yet i'm attracting. i am an expert at isolation, i been doing it for years and now it's c-19 trendy i listen to people who find it difficult whereas i found it easy and productive.   

sunrise over avoca, i'm sipping my coffee watching the lake shimmer as the sun makes it's way across the dawn. crystal forms dance at my feet. i feel the breeze penetrate my skin, the sound of nature blooming for a day of harmony. in the distance i see the market take form, it's vast winding corridors sprawl around the lake and colorful people begin to give it shape. i wander through like a stranger in a stranger land and find myself staring at a large format children's book, it's called 'ancient egypt,' and it's identical to one i made up in a novel i was working upon last night. 

to be honest i am stunned as i flick through the pages, it's not just identical, it's the one i describe. things get stranger.

across the path i notice a magnificent set of drawings, i wander over and stare at the mushroom image which is obviously magickal in origin. this lady comes to me, the artist.

'did you do these drawings?'

smiling she says, 'yes.'

'they are amazing. i love them, truely you are in tune with the magickal realms.'

'yes, i am a fairy.'

i laugh at her smile, of course she is.

we speak about my experience in the faye realm, about certain alliances and she recognizes me as a wizard.

she says, 'i see you in a house filled with books and candles.'

we swap a few stories and i comment again on the magnificence of her work and walk to the next stall, en route to the bagel stall. here is a stand filled with strange jewelry made from crystals and right at the front is a book called, fairies and the magical realms. i show the fairy this and she smiles, 'you are magickal.'

'yeah,, i am. i'm very magickal. it was a pleasure meeting you.'

i wander away, heading for the bagel stall where i get an amazing bagel with lox. the bees fucking knees.

i work around the house, the garden is wild and lush like a jungle. i tear into some fallen palm fronds, i weed the dead leaves and fill my green bin with foliage. i speak with family and friends, i make a loose plan, i eat a banana, do some writing, read some magickal stuff and do my energy work. 

power surges through me, i feel it igniting my bones and building up into something. my mind is disciplined now, i must keep focus and not steer from my path. i have to push forwards alone, pushing and kicking against the pricks. it's time to fight back, time to move forwards, time to let love go and take some action because no one else will. i make a plan for the usa, i make a plan for paris, there are people whom want to actually be with me, and for the first time in a long time i make space for others. 

we go to the movies, see the film we stared in, our own movie. at one point the scene is infinite mirrors as we watch ourselves watching ourselves in the same movie, that's when i tear down the screen and you smash the projector and we finally see there is only one screen, and it's not a screen.
all is true, the truth is all that matters and the truth is love. i feel the pain sharp stabbing in my soul, not sure if it's projecting inwards or out but it hurts. i sit with this, there is only ever one event that starts this and a few hours later i have managed to alter the energy so that it's less intense. obviously i need to confirm if my instinct is correct and thus make the call. thankfully my twin speaks the truth and although it is usually very hard to hear or accept i respect that about her.
the pain has left my body although i'm disappointed but mostly in myself for being so fucking sensitive to energy.
i make my peace with it all.
other actions are occurring. interesting how this works. i stand amongst the wreckage of a projector and the shreds of a movie screen, fragmenting illusions.
all i have done for the last year and a half is fight illusions, hers and mine and other people who seem to want to project upon me. it really did destroy me, pure torture intermittent joy when we truly are alone and our mind is not in fear.. i've never cried so many tears or felt so hurt, it's been hell but it's been so worthwhile, she is worthwhile. i'm the door. she was the key, i am the key she the door. everything unlocked and now all that awaits is for us to walk through or close it.
my mind is wandering into my next arrangements, i am indecisive, having a few interesting options now. i can't out-think myself, information happens fast, my processes are kicking in and i am being pulled in two directions, one east one west. both seem appealing. myself, both now immediate.

information influx, anteries is the 5th brightest star in the sky, it was discovered by a man named tobias, it is ruled by the archangel ariel.
very strange