here's the definitive, from the best historical esoteric researcher around, you think you know about egypt, you think you know about the bible, you think you know but the truth is always much stranger. it's not what you wanna know, it goes against your bias and conditioning. 

an excellent book well worth reading as churton explores the archeology and excavates the hidden antediluvian world from the depths of mystery, to the surface and into the light.

 

 i wake up and the first thought is buy a lottery ticket, which i didn't and regret, however i have a pile of lottery tickets i have not checked, these date back iterally 4 months so when i get a chance i have to check them. i did have a surprising day. on my way down to terrible beach someone rings me and insists on calling over and taking me out for fish and chips. this individual has asked a few times and i've been reluctant as time is limited and he had covid a few days ago and in the position i am in, can't chance it. plus it looks like a huge big rain cloud hanging low over the central coast.

despite my pleading this person forces themselves upon me, it's a battle of wills and in the end i give way. i dunno, i just run out of steam, i haven't slept, i am in pain and i have to start planning for an adventure.

i go down to terrible and grab breakfast, a few moments of peace as i take in jaz colemans book, it's so rich and interesting but it's epic and requires deep concentration.

then i have to head back to mission control and prepare the day. when they arrive we immediately go to the health food emporium down my street and investigate some products. this person likes supplements and takes a lot, so they stocked up, me i stick with my spirilina. i quite like the blue one, it's more feminine. then we go for the fish and chips, which i have to say are exceptional, even as we eat them down at terrible they are in a sort of bliss state and we actually have a laugh, and suddenly i realise i'm enjoying today. doing nothing. being no one. later we drive around cococabana and avoca as this person wants to buy up here, so we look at some houses. later i give them a little weed and we say goodbye. i do some domestics, watch shameless, eat some protien, skype with friends in brighton and much later take a magnisum bath and then thankfully sleep for 10 hours. the best sleep i have had in a while.

almost finished riding the centipede, a homage to william burroughs in the form of a strange detective story as terrence blake attempts to escape the trauma of his past and alcohol present by solving missing people cases or in this story attempting to. the case has lasted three years and his employer jane teagarden is turing up the heat as she attempts to locate her brother marlon. but marlon is on a quest in the dark frontier, he's riding the centipede and each leg alters him slightly and gets him closer to the goal. and as marlon progresses psychopathic mutation rudolf chernobyl is tuning in and hot on his heels. all the characters are about to catch up with one another.
i am enjoying this book for a number of reasons, it's william burroughs territory, the characters are great, the pace perfect and the debauchery marlon has to endure is both perverse and creative as he passes through each leg, each trail, the algebra of need to get to the ultimate experience.

blah blah blah, like a regurgitating machine, endless drivel in and endless drivel out, harping on like a tormenting old crone, do you really think your last three years have anything to do with me, it's not my fault your life turned to shit after you treated me the way you did, that's just a karmic hit. welcome to the universe baby. honesty and transparency, those words would be alien to you being such a sociopathic narcissist. 

ha!

talking new projects with an old friend, he suggests a soundtrack to go with manifesto, which i am still working on. i like the idea as he speaks about an experimental theme, a succession of avent garde styles which would work well. i discuss a designer and he says, 'do it yourself.' 

this is the most plausible idea given my original designer cannot assist.

i have to work out each section, how it will look, the first one is easy but what program should i do it on?

can you blend word and photoshop, how can i get everything ready in one file to print. i will need to speak with a printer / publisher.

later we eat hash cookies and see a bad movie about a man who cures his incurable disease with bat blood but turns into a bat himself. i fall asleep halfway through. 

we wander around looking at street architecture, i'm planning what i would do to improve the look of some places, i must admit there are some interesting city dwellings off the beaten track in newtown.

i discover a drink i really like, and decide i will perfect the mix at home for winter. the drink is called 'negroni.'

equal parts gin, vermouth and campari over one large ice cube and a slice of orange peel. there are variations upon this theme but one must source with expert taste as the quality matters. a red vermouth, a london gin will counter the flavour of the campari perfectly. as far as variants go,  coffee negroni and cherry would be interesting.

before time i was there, a point. everywhere in no time and no space because those things did not exist. in order for me to exist i just had two options

1. stay in this state

2. begin creation

in order to create i required a canvass or medium in which to create. 

i created 3 dimensions, front back, left right up and down. these do not exist in form but are energetic states off consciousness i project in these three directions in equal measure.

i had to move outside myself, but what would i move into if i were everywhere so with these three dimensions i am halfway to creating space. to complete the process i needed boundaries. in order to do this i just need to connect every point to the end of every other point. 

thus the octahedron which is also when viewed at the right angle a hexagram or star of david. 

thus i created space, and moved inside it because boundaries are defined, thus relative movements are no possible.

my single point of consciousness could now move away from a point of central location whereas previously there was nothing to move relative to.

the male is straight lines, esoterically the generating principle.

therefore i created a female curve. this was done by spinning the octahedron around, and it makes no difference which direction because the outline would be the same. a circle.

eve has been created from adam. i created a perfect membrane which still gives me two options:

1. remain static and explore this imaginary shape for eternity

2. or i can repeat the process.

the only difference is i now have a reference point, the spherical membrane in which to repeat the process. it makes no difference where i begin, all points are equal on the sphere. i move to the surface of the membrane, and project another identical sphere. known as the

thus i continue to create another sphere.

i always move to the inner most circle points before projecting another sphere. i do this 7 times in total and create the seed of life.

this basic pattern lays the foundation for the creation of matter and the universe itself. if spun around the central point it creates a tube torus and it is composed of 7 equal segments.

the only shape that can fold in upon itself. 

however i did not cease at seven, i added six more following the same laws, i call this the 2nd vortex motion. then i repeated in the 3rd vortex motion and i am left with what i call the flower of life.

(the flower of life is found through cultures of many civilisations, in one form or another. the oldest was found at the temple of osiris in egypt etched into the stone using a process modern science considers unknown.)

after i created the flower of life i continued adding two more vortex's which result in the final layer, the fruit of life. or what i call metatrons cube. from here i have the template for all creation in the universe. 

this pattern is purely consciousness, it does not physically exist nor is it visible but it is my consciousness.

the universe is a holographic representation, an expression of the creative force of consciousness within structure which ironically and quite paradoxically is also birthed by consciousness. 

i am.

captain mission (terton) receives the information in zip file download, the process is much faster now i have discovered the twin aspect, d plus d. life experience will reveal the details especially if one is versed in traversing the dimensions that are nested within this dimension. i usually accept mini satori's as part of normal existence, my memory states these as 'perfect moments' whereas crowley called them 'ah ha,' and archimedes 'eureka,' the words may be different but the principle is the same. for this tantric ritual the 'terma' (download) must be comprehended completely, there is no room for mistakes as not just the fate of the terton is at risk, the current trajectory of humanity will continue to entropy. my deductive reasoning and research into the art of nemeta explains the lightening flash approach to transmission, i will pass on the data by lightening bolt inoculation encased within joyous rapture. 
the paradox is that despite the hedonistic impulse, i must forget the pleasure and focus upon the weaving of it, thus the direction of energy is where my skill and discipline reside.

finally everything falls into place, it was a strange phase but i have cracked another code, which in turn will assist me control the weird vortexes i seem to have created along my time lines. the process was always intuitive, and i trusted that, the vortex took me where i needed to be. now thanks to the grid map i have of the planet i know what's going on, and how to tweak it for my advantage. the history of the grid comes from prehistory, shamanism, to plato, to buckminster fuller, through some western magickal traditions right to the modern age. 

there is also a theory that connects memory to the grid, specifically memory loss an issue i have had organic problems with but thankfully repaired. the theory is very complex and assumes the concept of simulation, which i am not convinced about but drawn towards as something to disprove to myself. so far the only evidence the universe is not a simulation is many say it would not be so bad, but that's a subjective position. to me it's quite beautiful and i still find fascination when i loose myself within.

the idea that the soul can detach itself from an energy line and therefore loose it's memory alludes to the concept of a circuit. it's not something one can reject totally.

mastering the voids that seem to follow me will be interesting, these vortexes have always been very helpful and i am somewhat indifferent to the experience, all part of my nature, however to control these will change everything. i mastered remote viewing almost 20 years ago, but now it's time to play with einstien rosen a natural progression. the geometric patterns and energy points i listed yesterday will be the key places to experiment with this while conducting my nemeta.

i must find the dakini to do this with, it must be someone whom is safe for the energies involved will be cosmic and powerful enough to transform the planet. i will be vulnerable and require protection. 

  

not often do i come across a book rich with the kind of information i require for my brain, my mind and it's imagination, especially in the autobiography field. biographies are mostly filled with ego based models of constructed fantasy and illusion, the are a few that are breathtakingly bold, crowley's is brilliantly engaging but his smack addiction pours through some of the book as his writing becomes more gregarious as the book progresses, however it maintains it's readability and was illuminating and enjoyable. klaus kinski's biography is brilliant, i loved it yet it probably could never get published nowadays in todays repressive climate. i read dylans book 'chronicles' which is well written but didn't hold me as well as others, but it's hard for a rock star to write a biography that breaks rules and smashes through the idea of bestseller. elvis costello's was middle of the road, steve kilbeys was just like having him pop over for tea and chat about the high and low points of his journey, donald fagan's 'eminent hipsters' was literate and atypical, a real gem, the rest of them not worth mentioning. i would have liked to have read bowies, he would have doe something creative with the genre.however at the moment i am reading, 'voyage to cytherea,' by jaz coleman and i have to say here is an autobiography that is simply outstanding. not only is it well written, well laid out and presented. this is a book filled with information, a totally inspirational book. i don't necessarily agree politically with him but my respect for him has increased so much. i recall seeing killing joke just after their first album was out, a hard funky post punk band with a tribal energy. they were great but after the 'brighter than a thousand suns' album i lost interest as they became harder and more metal based. occasionally i'd hear a track i liked, some melodic type of tune. jaz always was an energy man, onstage and yet he was also a renaissance man, which i am just discovering. this book will disappear for a while so grab a copy while you can, because it will be considered the greatest autobiography by a rock star ever written in time. in fact it's not really an autobiography, its what jaz calls a ludibrium ( a word i had to look up) and it's filled with esoteric knowledge and wisdom. yeah there are verbose moments, but i feel genius has the self capacity to avoid aggregating themselves, and as jaz says in his jungian passages he is composed of many selves. i've very rarely read a book where i completely relate to the persona of the author but i feel like i know this man very well or that we will cross paths. maybe in new zealand  in the not to distant future.  he seems to have uncovered a rich tradition and pursued it with such passion and reverence, while maintaining a hedonistic approach, he conquers intellectual boundaries and penetrates self education, realisation and synthesis or as jaz calls it super synthesis. 

everything, everywhere all at once

history, fail safe, the forgetting of things past the remembering of things future. i have through a series of traumatic accidents and violent blows to the head, with a mixture of conscious brain change, mind expansion and the pursuit of my own individualized abstracted magick sees what's coming by seeing what came before, and when history is laid out before you, in a pool of bile, stomach acids, blood soaked organs and entrails sister, it's easy to read, i'm the high priest of reading, reading is knowing, i know everything, i know so much that i have to store it outside myself in the banks of the dark matter, in the ocean of space. 

dressed in my black robe, the one with the red serpent embossed on the back, in the depths of temple mission control, the future spills out and reveals itself. my  robe splattered in blood and bile, the stink of an abattoir and atmosphere heavy with the taste of metallic doom upon my breath. oh i have seen the future and it made me weep.

the oracle foretell a reckoning, unholy daze, the hanged man, death and the tower a savage omen to reconcile with the savage nature of mankind. the cycle of time cycles onward backwards and forwards, the spinning earth knows where it has to traverse because it has been there before, the ebb and flow. my dark mirror shows me the abyss. only the infinity of the aeon not only stares back, it engulfs my history, and all history, it is as if, the abyss meets the abyss. 

i carefully step over the blooded floor towards my alter, adorned by my athame which is used as a bookmarker in the agrippa grimore, i think i may be able to stop this but it will require a personal sacrifice. some pride perhaps, to save the world or pride before the fall. sometimes when you unwillingly find yourself in the role of saviour or superhero you have to just do something insane. 

the twin flame burns in eternity.

the points upon the planet are revealed to me, i have the meridian map the red centre of the great southern land, lake titicaca, glastonbury, mount shasta, mount fuji, mount kalis in tibet, the crater at maui, somewhere in capetown south africa, lake taupo in new zealand, palenque in mexico,  and of course mount agung in bali. all that remains is to work out the sequence and a suitable partner.

 

the day started the night before when i noticed my tyre was flat, punctured by a nail penetrating the rubber, splattering nitrogen into the atmosphere and corrupting my plan for tomorrow, i sleep on it. the next morning i have a very early appointment down at terrible beach, so i shake myself awake at dawn and get my car tyre fixed, make my connections just in time. it's a big day already behind me, and i have not even had breakfast. i have a big day ahead of me. under the full moon, i meet up with agent wild and we make our way to a town in the shire whose name i can't spell or pronounce, because tonight we are about to see the church play for the first time in years. i literally have been jonesing for them, my soul dried up and wilting. agent wild looking as excited as i am, we disembark at the station and make our way towards the venue. everyone on the streets is super friendly and helpful, i'm getting a strange mild form of culture shock, this part of sydney is very different from the northern beaches, the north shore and areas we know. it's very australian in a classic sense. and inside the venue a multitude of church family reunite for the first time in what must feel like an eon. 

seeing bands these days is a bit tricky for me, not being as youthful as i once was, i can't get into the front and dance around like a teenager anymore and standing up for two three hours invites various spasms, pangs, nerve pains, joint aches etc so we find ourselves at the front but to the side where we have a table, right in front of the speakers. 

the church come on stage, steve kilbey the only original member onstage with some brand new musicians, excluding ian huag whom   has been playing with them for a few years and craig wilson whom has been playing with them even longer. although not an official church member craig is part of the furniture to me, his parts would be missed.

the church onstage are like nothing else, immediately i relax into some sort of weird bliss, an altered state i feel at home in. however sitting in front of the speaker was not such a great idea as a wall of sound engulfs me, feedback, distortion and discordant sound waves, the mix not good, the venue didn't feel right but the audience were great, enthusiastic and appreciative. the church kick off with destination, then progress with a great selection of songs and one new one. for the encore i slip towards the front and enjoy a more clearer sound, perfection. steve still exudes positive energy onstage, he's healthy and radient, a real inspiration. i reflect on the many things i have learnt from him, ambient things, the information that never gets quantified, things like devotion, authenticity, humility, humour and honesty. i can't say i know steve well but i travel along a similar path, and without him i would have been lost so i feel grateful. 

when the church play 'block' i smile, a perfect song, a brilliant song, majestic in many ways. i like the new church, same as the old one but different enough to notice. a different type of sound, a different type of feel yet true to the classic principles fans adore. i'm looking forwards to the new album, to the next church gig, and as i stand outside with steve and company i can only imagine how wonderful it would be to travel around america watching them on tour. it would make for a great book / film/ tv show / podcast.

i get home at 4am. start work at 6am. i shower, change clothing and head back down that highway, happy and content.

my cosmic radar attuned and accurate again, picking up frequencies directing me in line with my own navigations. i am on track. first mission control, a few more constructions,  my kitchen area needs a new look and i'd like to convert my garage although i don't know where to begin, i feel it will happen this year. another issue is the garden which after all that rain requires a vast incursion, hacking back the jungle that has grown over the last few months. i plan to cultivate some new resources, however this will require some adjustments. finally the most simple task of all will be a-fixing a shade sail to my deck so i can buy some garden furniture and enjoy the winter sun while sipping on my tea and reading in the mornings. the shade will keep part of the deck covered from elemental forces and offer me a protected area to enjoy in summer. these laborious tasks will give me something to ground myself with while i focus upon the next phase of life. abundance, is close at hand. it surrounds me, it radiates from my pores like invisible light, people begin to feel it although they cannot understand it. it is growing, it fertilizes, nourishes and sustains. and like all things that make people feel good, acts as a drug for people who get to close, which is why i like a little bit of protection.

very sad to read of the death of one of my fave actors, mr. william hurt who i admired a lot. we actually have a strange history as after watching him in ken russell's 'alterd states, which was based upon the experiments of dr. lilly a man i had greatly admired not just because of his work with leary but he invented the float tank and researched them under the influence of mescaline and lsd. i'd watched the original movie in london and it had influenced me greatly, i still recall blair browns line after that infamous sex scene where she says, 'sex to you is like a religious experience.'

how can you have sex after hearing a line like that that and ever wonder about the religious experience of it. i did.
the next time i saw him was in australia in the movie 'children of a lesser god' for which he won an award and then later 'smoke' which is based upon a paul auster story which he developed into the screenplay, in which william hurt played paul, the main character.  this was an incredible ensemble film, independant and yet with some heavy weight actors and the story, like all austers work was both funny and tragic and thought provoking. 
william hurt returned to my life in a very strange way when i started going out with a canadian girl who had worked in the hotel where william had stayed while filming, 'children of a lesser god.' 
she told me how every night he would return to the hotel and get so drunk in the bar she would have to walk him to his room, take of his shoes and tuck him into bed. yet the following morning he would return to the set and complete filming.  apparently this went on for the duration of the production. she spoke very highly of him, but of course it was all abstract to me, until i crossed paths with william hurt in sydney many years later when he was filming 'dark city.'
at the time i was doing a lot of acting, i must have stood out as i was being cast in quite a lot of different productions, mostly tv shows, commercials and occasionally movies. my agent said i was her wild card, and would send me off to these strange locations. often i would be cast as an undercover cop, or a criminal. usually a drug dealer or pimp. one summers day she sent me to balmain for a role in a film. i turned up at 5am and wardrobe dressed me in a suit, it looked like a zoot suit and when i walked onto the set there indeed was a jazz scene being filmed. it was a small bar/ restaurant with a few tables and a small stage at the other end. the band were a bunch of back guys all in immaculate suits as they jammed some jazz blues numbers out, and the lead singer was a glamorous girl in a glorious emerald dress that looked stunning as she swayed there in front of a mike stand, it was the goblin kings nemisis, jennifer connelly. the bar was filled with smoke from a smoke machine and i took a place next to a tall guy who was standing up in a trench coat and hat. the guy turned to me, he was a fellow budding actor i had worked with before and while we were waiting for the director to finish placing people we exchanged hello's. 
as i didn't have or ever watch tv i never bothered to ask what shows i was acting in, i never saw any of them anyway but i felt obliged to ask my fellow actor what his role was. he looked at me and said, 'i'm just the stand in.'
i had no idea what a stand in was, so i asked him. 
'i'm basically here for continuity, i stand in for the main lead actor and when they are ready to film he returns to where i am and i leave the set.'

'how long have you been doing this,' i asked.

'about four weeks since we started filming, it's really boring but the film looks pretty good, the sets are amazing.'

'what is this film?'

he went on to describe this sort of science fiction, fantasy story but even he didn't now the full story, and to be honest i kept phasing out as jennifer connelly competed for my attention. 

so after about thirty minites i asked the inevitable question, 'so who you standing in for?'

and there it was, william hurt.

at first i had to ask if it was the same guy i had seen in some of my fave films, including, 'until the end of the world' which i had watched about a week previously with my canadian girlfriend. 

'what's he like,' i asked.

'he don't speak to anyone. i've been working with him for weeks and he has not said a word, he only speaks to the director, he comes on, does his lines and disappears. he wont even speak with the rest of the cast. he's really weird, he gets the bus to the set everyday as he stays in a motel somewhere in western sydney, he refused the limo and won't even catch a taxi.'

mmm, how ironic i thought, i'm going to be standing next to one of my fave actors and i will not be able to say a word. 

it seemed like hours but eventually the director came on, my friend said goodbye and disappeared. the director got everyones attention as he cleared his throat and gave us a serious pep talk.

'now william will be here to do his scene very shortly, he's just finishing with make up. i want you all to remember, do not engage with him, he does not like talking, he will just come on do his lines and go, so everyone take their positions and we will start in about two minites. and sure enough in two minites william hurt dressed in a trench coat and wide brimmed hat was standing next to me. he looked at me, actually looked down at me as he was much taller and then to everyones surprise he introduced himself to me, he stretched out his hand and we shook, i could feel his pasty skin, pale and fragile, an ex alcoholics skin. 'my names william but you can call me bill.'

and thus we began an incredible conversation, while the whole room just stood with the jaws wide open and tried to figure out who he was talking to. in fact when the director wanted to start filming william held up a finger and said, 'just a moment alex.'

no one could believe their eyes.

we spoke about a few things, about float tanks, lsd, john lilly, we spoke about wim wenders and how there was a 5 hour version of 'until the end of the world' floating out there waiting to be released. we spoke about william hurts time as a young man in western australia where he was a jackaroo, we spoke about paul auster and the film smoke. he confided in my a conflict he experienced with paul auster. we spoke about music, about cities we had been to and i told him a little about how i ended up in sydney and we spoke about girls. then when there was a natural pause he just looked at me, shook my hand again in earnest and with a sparkle in his eyes said, 'i guess we better do some work, it was a pleasure meeting you.'

when i got home i wondered if i should tell my girlfriend about the strange meeting, and i wondered about her and own meeting with william hurt but for some reason i just kept quiet.

anyways vale bill hurt. an interesting gentleman and a fantastic actor. 

 

on the eve of my 60th birthday i am stuck in a johnathan lethem's utopian novel 'the arrest' which is refreshing in subject matter, i mean who don't like the idea of small farming communities growing organics and weed, a society where most of the machines no longer work, yet this novel is a chore, a bore in some ways. i like his writing style, it's very readable and easy but the story is just, dull. it has a super machine which is a cross between a giant drill and a thunderbirds, but for most of the book it just makes good coffee. i mean i need more, much more. 
so i walk along the beach looking at the deluge left by high tide, it's devastation all the way, not just the huge amount of seaweed but the wooden remnants of wrecks, trees and ancient history. where does it all come from, where does it all go?
it's shark attack weather, it's not raining, today must be the first day in months where there is no rain. everything is damaged and pools of water are everywhere. it's overcast with huge threatening black clouds, and i have time. time to drink a coffee, read a little and maybe write some e mails. 

 

individually

collectively

about to leave mission control when i see two vehicle have parked over my driveway access, getting out will be very hard even for a seasoned driver like myself. getting back in impossible. there are ditches either side and opposite my entrance which make the manoeuvre very difficult at the best of times. i bang on some doors but the car is not claimed by anyone, so i call the council, whom despite a massive rate increase do nothing. i ring the police whom are to busy busting people for not wearing a mask. so i can't leave mission control. 

such is live in australia.

 

two very excellent novels by what i feel; is a remarkable writer sara gran, obviously a woman i just want to fuck, after dinner if necessary. she's so fucking sexy and intelligent.
'dope' is a noir type novel sent in nyc in the 50's, it's junk fever, jazz and cheap hookers, bent cops, criminals and dealers. it's dirty, it stinks of cigarettes, weed and sex. 
josaphene, moves through it all seeking a missing teenager, weaving a trail of lonely shadow figures who haunt her past live before she cleaned up, a cast of grim dangerous individuals all with one thing in common.

poor josaphine twists, and turns with a plot that can only lead to the inevitable conclusion.

someone put chandler, thomspon and burroughs in a blender and got this intelligent gifted and brutal beast.

next novel i read,  'come closer' which puts the modern gothic back in horror. a possession story told by an immediately likeable protagonist as she attempts to accept the inevitable fate that awaits. this really was a horror novel worth reading and totally credible, ms gran writes with a natural flow, a gift for prose, character and  story, i really hope she gets the recognition she deserves, i think netflix or some movie company will adapt her books and she will become a name. it's great to see writers like this putting out books with their distinctive flavour in a bland world of publishing. 

i'm really looking forwards to getting hold of her 'claire de witt' novels and reading them. 

and fuck me dead, when i looked her up i see she wrote for my fave tv show 'berlin station!'

makes perfect sense why i love her.

vale aunt uriella, a woman i remember as being a vast intelligence with a cheeky smile and naughty glint in her eyes. last time i saw her she showed me the result of years of research into my ancient family, something i already knew intuitively but here was the confirmation. i still have it somewhere in mission control.

uriella had two beautiful children, my cousins whom i hold dear and my thoughts are with them.

  

i'm travelling through the night time, with it's creatures and features, the 24/7 vibration blues as salvation drugs kick in deep and hard, the forecast says rain but its crystal clear night with abundant stars sprawled across the curvature of space. a cosmic orgasm by some life giving being we could never comprehend. the milky way comes over us all creamy way. 

i'm wrapped up in clothes and scarves like a troubadour gypsy expelled from the population along with his compadres, a vagabond bunch of desperadoes and heavy hombres, badasses and desperadoes. we have south american pine cone voodoo happening, a shaman waves some palo santa and mutters some icaros. we don't need to be part of your mass population, we don't need friends like you, we don't need validation from ghosts and zombies.

a girl in the front seat passes me a cd, 'is this okay captain?'

one glance at the cover tells me it is, 'oh yeah, that's perfect.'

the shaman nods, the music kicks in and we approach the city.

she smiles, clambers into the back, falling onto us, snuggles up close to me. her hands are cold, fingers link mine like some sort of organic locking device. her other hands clutch her compadres hand in a tight clasp.

the bass kicks in, we smile, i nod my head and click my fingers on my free hand. 

'i wanna love more.'

she passes me her half blazing joint. 

the city streets swarm, the drunk hordes, the unregulated body temperatures of girls in skimpy clothes, tight tee shirts, unstable heels and short skirts. boys following impulses that can only lead them to girls. it's a loved up symphony, a hadron sex colliding machine, chemical ecstasy a short term solution to the intense situation we all find ourself within. 

i am the voyeur of utter sensuality, orchestrating hedonistic impulses that are followed through like a satanic indulgent pleasure. my dissolution leaves me absorbed in pleasure only, the only truth i find is in the lie.

it has integrity, it has authenticity, it has so much more value than the truth. i rather accept the lie for it is what it is, than the truth for what it is not. that's how dedicated and committed i am.

pleasure. give me danger little stranger, pleasure principles, pleasure of indulgence. living in the moment is a satanic concept really, an abolition of responsibility, let's face it human nature is selfish and now i want to be selfish. at least for a night. 

mikhalia pulls up and reverses into a space on oxford street. she waits for the song to end before switching the engine off. 

between her alexia and emily i share a trust. 

the zen girls are unpredictable. it's like casting the i ching or playing chicken in the bermuda triangle. they create a zone of possibility and probability, it's taken me a while to understand their physics and in all honesty it's not the physics that one needs to even understand it's the acceptance of being in the non determined state. it's nice and easy to live in a place where you enter a probability and then have a choice but the zen girls are not about choice, they abduct and then inform. reformatting, imprinting. when the experience is over you are in a different place or different mind. it's like molecular structure is completely rearranged, an unholy trinity, born again in theory. 

usually they come visit and smoke weed, share some mushrooms, sometimes it's just sex, sometimes it's to play a cd or do some housework for me. i'm not sure why they take an interest in me, it's not like i lead an exciting life. when i ask them they just say, 'we like hanging with ya mission, you're the most interesting man we know.'

so right now mikhalia is adjusting her clothes. i scan her like anyone would scan a venesian milo, she's looking very much like she belongs in the 30's tonight, a sexy parisian nightclub look from a lost era, confident sexy and chic. she flashes me a fast smile and runs her fingers through my beard which has grown wilder than ever.

i hug the shaman who is getting into the drivers seat ready to depart for his next appointment. i thank him for driving. mikhalia grabs me tightly and pulls me away.

'come on, we gotta go someplace special tonight.'

she takes my hand and emily takes my other arm while alexia goes running in her leather boots into the newsagent to buy something essential, quite possibly skins for joints. we wait outside some weird window display, guessing at what kind of products this shop would sell. the display is very ambiguous. a structure sculpture made out of coat hangers with no discernible shape. 

when alexia catches up with us she's wearing a wide grin and marches past us pointing to what i think is the neon sign ahead, 'oh this is going to be a great night guys, i can feel it in my bones.'

great night, i don't really need a great night but the girls are set on entertaining me, i just hope the music will be right else i'm doomed. no doubt they will want to dance and persuade me to join them. no doubt i will be subjected to the horrors of social activity and integrating in some weird club with strangers and having to reverse engineer scrambled eggs conversation from people i will never know and whom can never know me. the girls will protect me but eventually they will dance and leave me alone and no doubt someone else will invariably find me interesting. aggggh! 

i'm quite the reluctant hedonist these days not sure how to have a good time anymore, jaded and worn out, no, i must dismiss that thought lest it send me back into a reclusive misanthropic mode. the new me is all about good times. i have untold resources now, money is not an issue thanks to a strange and ridiculously large windfall. i have no stress anymore, no needs for any kind of monetary security as it's all taken care off. i can basically do what i want, only limited by these strange conditions of another year of plague 2022.

but big nights out, getting wasted, dancing and carrying on... my old bones just seek a quiet life. my gears should be going downwards, instead they move into turbo and accelerate me forwards.

the girls now pick up their pace, walking into the heart of darlinghurst like an elite gang of colorful glamorous assassins after a successful big hit, it's the big payoff. i'm their prisoner or handler, blurred lines, hard to distinguish.

we walk passed the neon signs. a few bouncers involuntary turn their heads to face the women i'm sure it's not me they are interested in, they are all compelled by the force of beauty, it's natural biology. we take a left into a dark alley and my curiosity is sparked, this looks like a place to get mugged more than dance.

suddenly the trio stop and gather around me.

'we wanted to surprise you mission,' emily whispers as mikhalia and alexia grab an arm each and gently make me face a steel fortress like door covered in graffiti and sporting a keyboard industrial coded lock. mikhalia's elegant finger stretches out and i hear the sequence of discrete blips as she punches the numbers. she pushes the huge mighty door open and then one by one we file inside.

'what!'

'it's our lair, you have mission control we have the lair.'

i'm amazed at the contrasting interior, as soon as i walked through a small passageway i was looking into a massive warehouse space, mostly decked out in a plush, very feminine living space. 3 different coloured chaise lounge, purple, hot pink, and black all from different periods. the black a classical goth chic, the hot pink straight out off 1966 and that purple elegantly detailed sculpted finesse is pure french baroque. they triangulate around a beautifully ornate circular coffee table littered with a mix of up to date fashion magazines, travel journals and computer tech mags. there was the open copy of the collected works of baudelaire looking well worn and a copy of nietzsche's 'beyond good and evil, and lastly a closed book with a lace bookmark sticking out a third of the way through. it was jung's 'red book.'

we sprawl out on the lounges, emma starts rolling a joint, 'shall i put some music on?'

'i'll do it, something classical i think.'

'rackcy number 2 please emma.'

'yes that would be perfect,' alexia says.

the soft piano drifts in from hidden speakers, and i sink into the cosy atmosphere.

'let's play a game,' emily suggests.

'i have a game we can play. mission has known us for a long time, he's a smart cookie. lets see if he can match the book with the girl. each one he gets correct he gets to fuck.'

'hey, come on mikhalia. i'm not that easy you know.'

'ah come on mission, play with us, guess the book.'

'he's going to do it, you know he is.'

it's obvious. i did it straight away, emily the poet, alexia the shadow dancer so jung leaves mikhalia the darkest mind in the room, obviously beyond good and undoubtedly slightly evil.'

they start purring and fawning over me like i was the cream and they were starving cats, it's a mixture of erotic and humiliating at the same time, but what the hell, i'm done with values, nobility, fuck that, lets just indulge in the fickle wanton flesh, after all it's kinda hard to resist and why....my moral compass points up.

i kiss all three of them and we giggle a bit and smoke more weed. 

later i say, 'hey are you going to show me around your lair.'

'ah well i think you have seen more than enough for one night.'

emily whispers, 'we could introduce him to yuri.'

i perk up, 'who's yuri?'

'oh you know him, well off him, we sort off know him to. in fact we have him downstairs.'

'okay look i know you zen girls are into some weird shit but now i wanna see yuri, i'm curious.'

'well actually it is why we brought you here. we kinda got side tracked.' 

more cute giggles and coy looks.

they lead me past the open plan kitchen area, i can't see any food but do see a very swanky looking silver coffee machine.

mikhalia opens the large silver fridge and pulls out a bottle of champagne, she grabs three glasses from somewhere and places them in a line on the bench. then she pops and pours, each girl takes a glass. 'to mission, our friend.'

they know i don't drink, they know i loathe champagne but mikhalia throws me a cool bottle of water so i can acknowledge their toast.

'that's so very kind, here's to the zen girls.'

'oh your an honoury zen girl mission.'

'i smile, 'okay, l'chaim, to life.'

taking our drinks i am led towards a silver doorway and emily pushes a red button with an arrow pointing down. a door slides open revealing a plush elevator. the mirrors on either side reflect us to infinity and i wonder if this would be a good moment to die. 

i do this a lot in life, find my peak points and identify them, usually with girls and sometimes in nature or after catching an amazing wave, or seeing the church play live. i figure i done it all now, what's the point, i rather exit on a high than low. my life is intersected with these points, perfect moments.

our decent is so elegant i hardly notice until the door opens again. 

this time i'm greeted by what looks like a cross between nasa mission control, the batcave and some sort of hi tech survivalist bunker.

the lighting is strange, executed in a way certain key points are illuminated while others are hidden in the dark.

'now this is a very lair like lair,' i say as i follow them around the maze of lighting. 

'it's the lair inside the lair,' one of the girls whispers.

after a moment we stop and a large column and array of desks, computers and digital equipment that sprawls out. i'm speechless, not sure if i am in a state of shock or disbelief, for there in a science fiction styled glass container filled with liquid and what seems to be nutrients and bubbles is the head of yuri bezmenov. from his neck are a selection of floating filaments that appear attached around a central stem, a cpu.

yuri's eyes are closed, his nostrils indicate a deep breathing although it's possibly instinctive as there are no lungs and oxygen seems to be passed through the water in a light gas bubble cloud.

'how?'

i stammer, it's just one word but it's a huge concept and i'm overwhelmed with what is not just inconceivable but also incomprehensible.

'oh mission, you hate details, it's not important. what we wanted to do was introduce you to a hero of yours we acquired. it's our gift to you.'

i grab the nearest glass, it happens to be alexia's and i drain it, letting a long breathe escape when it's done. i find myself sitting down, looking up at his face. it's him, the bald head, the heavy eyes, the angular features, all that's missing is the spectacles.

'let's wake him up.'

emily activates something, and the density of the bubbles increases. 

his eyes open slowly, and they move from the girls to me.

'ah, mission. i am honoured.'

i fumble for words, 'oh no, please, i am, please, ah forgive me...i'm ...somewhat shocked.'

he laughs and then his eyes sparkle.

'i read your blog every time you make an entry, some of those posts are very interesting.'

'you read me?'

'ah yes, you are inconsistent but interesting. i'm sorry for that twin flame period, it seems you suffered but suffering is relative correct?'

'yeah, i'm okay now, that's what matters right. and it's just experience. a really bad one but experience nonetheless.'

'yes, experience. it's all experience. until someone gets poked in the eye. ha! ha! ha! the girls speak off you so often, so i am happy to finally meet you.'

'mr, bezmenov can i ...'

'please yuri is fine.'

'what the hell are you doing in a glass jar?'

the girls acquired my head and brain, froze it and began reanimation when technology was proficient. they were young, 11 year old kids, i didn't want to disappoint their ideals. they kept me in deep freeze for 25 years. then i find myself here, catching up with time. events.'

'you were correct about everything yuri, a visionary in many ways. your life was worthy, i thank you for an incredible education, you shaped my political life in the same way orwell did.'

'i wish i were forgettable individual, a man who history abandons as being fruitcake. a man who got it all wrong but unfortunately for humanity i was correct right?'

'exactly like you said.'

there's a silence for a few seconds. yuri smiles and says, 'you have a much wider spiritual experience than myself, i am conditioned in the politics of man, whereas you are the spirit. i am spending my time understanding this spirit.'

'does it help you?'

a wry smile, 'i am already dead, i need no help, you do.'

i've never been good at accepting help, always been so independent but yuri is right, i need help when it comes to living. i can't keep pursuing hedonistic impulses. self destruction is so passe even if it's very stylish.

'how yuri, how do i move forwards. i'm a man who has everything, money, friendship, family and the grace of god but i reject everything as i slide into the meaningless of it all.'

'it is all meaningless mission, but you are not here for meaning, meaning is what you give. it is your mission to write yes.'

'it's my will, my true will. nothing else matters, it's so compulsive.'

'then continue to write the meaning for the world.'

'but i'm no saint, no one likes my stuff, it's all pulp stream of consciousness meta fiction. i write for my own needs and impulsion.'

'you believe you follow a star but you are mistaken. you are a star.

'now, go write. i must sleep.'

his eyes close slowly and remain shut.

i watch the bubble activity slow down and return to a gentle stream.

'we can't sustain him for long, maybe a few minites max. it's getting shorter every session.'

i turn face the three, 'it's remarkable you have him.'

'ah well we acquired him for you mission,' emily says.

'age 11?'

'we have always been very forward thinking.'

mikalah grabs my hand and we return through the labyrinth of the basement.

'what now?'

'when was the last time you had a spa?' 

 

joan rivers was a really funny woman

she knew how to aim her blows

that outrage and barbed witticism

she had no shame when it came to the female orgasm

she knew a thing about men as well, how they operate 

she was outrageous 

and courageous

you could never extinguish her

yet many tried 

she was no old jaded tragic

she just gave back, the comedienne

what a piece of work!

her big old heart was no small thing

joan rivers went out making me laugh

that's gotta count for something

 

 

 

 14-02-22

strange occurrence.

i found myself in a second hand bookshop i used to frequent, i'm having a great discussion with the owners father whom i have known from the old days. he is a jazz aficionado and i always loved the music he played when i used to peruse the shelves, we exchanged hello's and he pointed to the science fiction section as he knows that's where i like to peruse. it's a big shop, filled with rooms, corridors and nooks. the area he pointed to was half filled with books while plastic bags piled over the rest of the floor, sometimes several deep.

'as you can see we are tiding up,' the jazz man sayeth, 'but we have some shelves filled with science fiction.'

i peer in, noticing that yet again book shops always make the mistake of mixing up science fiction with fantasy.

'there's a big difference,' i say, 'science fiction appeals to a smaller cross section and is a more challenging read.'

he's bemused by this and we embark upon a long interesting discussion upon writers and how they should be categorized within these genres.

a lovely young lady stands at the counter with her pile of books, all classics and i suggest that he serve her, as he does he explains that i am a writer and we are discussing the differences between sci fi and fantasy.

she agrees with me and then asks what i write.

and at that moment the jazz man says, 'hang on, i can show you and pulls out a copy of my book which he has under the counter.

i'm bemused by this strange occurrence as the girl buys a copy and the jazz man gives me the cash, which in turn is used to buy an andrew vachess book by me.

the young lady asks if i can sign the book for her and i do, inscribing it with a dedication and i notice my book piled up with her purchases of chaucer, charles dickens and keats. how very strange life is. both myself, the young lady and the jazzman agree we have shared a beautiful moment. 

happy valentines day

memory of me drawing a sketch of this idea to explain it -

when i was 14 i came up with a theory about humanity evolving towards what i called the matrix. i explained it to a peer of mine as each individual has a role to play, and by finding their true nature and working towards their destiny, the matrix will evolve and activate. on a global level it will be akin to a massive evolutionary leap. this was way before the film the matrix and the internet.

what i had no idea about was thelema, the philosophy of true will which coincidentally aligned with my idea. thelema was looking at an individual level quite correctly whereas i was looking at a collective. 

it's weird how this memory surfaced today.

an unnamed washed up drunken misanthrope hides away from humanity in the mexican jungle with a small group of indians known as chiapas who see more than just a washed up failure who drinks, hunts and sleeps. 

when he gets very sick the shaman 'black ant' saves him and while he's at it, also exorcises the alcoholic spirit and they dub the man 'wise owl.'

in his recovery wise owl listens to the mosquitoes, their buzzing and noise appears random and meaningless but as he listens he begins to hear patterns and formulates a theory of language which can be communicated by wise owl's home made flute. 

thus begins a strange and brilliant tale, first written in 1947 a tale which is relevant now in terms of ecological devastation,  the idea of colonialism and what happens when one species assumes they are in control of the universe over another.

this is an outstanding book, rafael bernal is a mexican joseph conrad but with science fiction overtones, and a style that is compulsive. this book will blow your mind!

come closer 

by

the deep fix

sara gran has a beautiful mind
it's dark and gothic 

like an old druid

something eerie leaking out her psyche

on a haunted typewriter

in strange loop time

come closer baby

lets follow the signs

now wave your wand

hold my hand

jump in the void

let your mind expand

sara gran wrote it down

in her book of shadows

filled with spells

turn the pages

whats that symbol

come closer baby

and do the ritual

now wave your wand

hold my hand

into the void

let your mind expand

sara gran

you are the one

with your weird poetry

and detective eye

with your words and tales

and hideous truths

such beautiful lies

come closer baby

close to me

come closer baby

close to me

  

those idiots, a legion of power crazed crocodiles salivating at the thought of more. more this more that, i want more. 
your thoughts betray you. 
more power, more fame, more control, more glory, more money, more sex, more accolades, more more more, till you can't get any more in. then what?

i'm reading max seeck's novel, set in finland, a place i like in summer. all that snow and long endless night in winter time would drive me nuts but my visit during summer was quite beautiful. home of moomintroll, my childhood escape. i remember a few years ago walking through a market down near the ferry in helsinki, a women selling tiny statue figures of strange little creatures. 'you put them in your garden, or under plants, they encourage growth,' she said with sincerity. 

'yes, i have many friends who live within my garden.'

we smile, she asks if i will catch the ferry.

'yes, i will.'

helsinki in summer is profoundly beautiful, the sun gets into everywhere no matter how concealed, it's like the light that curves around corners.i visit the momin shop, it's two stories and filled with every momin product you can think off. i think about tove, wonder what she would make of such consumerism and market capitalism. it's a global empire now. she would probably turn in her grave and then on the other hand proudly feel how her art has influenced the children who couldn't quite dig mickey mouse.

i was that kid, a kid alone looking at the stars in wonder. i still am, only the stars have lost a little shine, and so have i.

hey you!

i enjoyed 'threshold' very much, particularly the ending which is excellent and completely paradoxical as it is the beginning of something else. everything ends with dmt and everything begins. i think personally the reason they keep it from us is 'they' know once experienced humanity has to re evaluate everything, history science, health, language, everything including cosmology.

i moved through the ayahuscia into the dmt, into the machine that runs the simulation. it's an alien experience, complete in every way known, it's the unknown. in order to access it one requires not just courage but madness, the same kind of madness is found in the poets, the idea of piercing the veil, breaking through, it's a shamanistic impulse to tear through the bullshit and behold the truth.

there is no language for this truth, no symbol, nothing can communicate it, just like the flea can never understand the fact it lives upon a dog, in a home, in a street, in a neighborhood, in a town, in a city, in a country, on a continent, on a planet on system, in a galaxy, in a universe.

dmt opens the door and through some quirk, for a fraction of time, allows you to see into the void but not long enough to ever establish a base there.

i've had large doses, met the machine intelligence.

ayahuscia opens windows but dmt opens the door.

 sex in the city?

sex in the country?

sex in the bed, kitchen, garden, hallway?

sex in the church?

sex in the pool?

sex outside in or inside out?

sex to go?

sex to go go?

sex to come?

sex sex sex!

i am peculating on a project, looking for a really innovative designer to work with. some one outside the box and with a gothic sensibility. i don't want no light worker on this one, i want someone who has a vividly dark imagination and twisted creativity. in fact the project requires more than one individual as stylistically it will be very diverse. multi media would be good.

from threshold

adam szymcrzyk a man so cool he did not have any vowels in his surname declared that the festival would adress the multiple crisis the world was currently enduring, mass migration, the renaissance of the far right, looming ecological catastrophe and so on. leaving aside the crisis of his unpronounceable surname, you could see his point - it really did feel like an emergency time on planet earth - but this institutional yoking of an art to political engagement seemed symptomatic of a broader cultural synergy, everywhere you looked, art was becoming indistinguishable from social work, progressive politics, liberal guilt. to join the tribe called contemporary art it was required that you loudly declaim a humanitarian worldview and place your work at its service.

threshold is like reading the 'fear and loathing' of the modern age. it's a travel book about books, philosophy and drugs. rob makes some great observations, ironic, poignant and creative, a writer i have taken to immediately. 

 check my blog on august 24 2020 then click this link

playing some nice tunes around mission control, the groovy morning spills the beans, in strange explosions of sunlight and fragmented waves, i plug in to the signal. 

changes, turn and face the strange.

well i'm not nailed to the cross but i was, it didn't last long just a few hours. i was not bleeding badly and there were no cuts, although things happen around me fast. 

fast love, fast life, fast death now, i'm not on any track, path or road. i have no idea what's next, i'm a crazy jazz cat doing what i do, moving through love, moving through life. 

the book i am reading has me, it's 'threshold' by rob doyle, a first person narrative of the author as he travels, takes drugs and philosophise, its part confession but one any middle aged boho could relate to, and i do.

i kinda like the writers cynicism, his internment between youth and middle age, his lazy lifestyle and hedonistic impulse, i like his honesty and it's what missing from modern writing, it transgresses, it offends and it's original although influenced by a succession of great writers, hst, burroughs, sebold, dwyer. cracking open the head, spilling the bubbles, lets have a look at life amongst the humans. 

hanging out in the faux italian villas of the central coasts cultural center, the small niche coffee shops, alternative fashions and  lovely little groovy areas where interesting objects de arte are on display, we wander through like old druids. man and son, cleaved from the same flesh, it's uncanny how alike we are and the strange karmic thread that weaves through us like some sexy double helix.

i dunno, i don't write often about my son, but he is amazing.

when i was 16 i left the UK and traveled, ending up in sydney australia. he left sydney and traveled and made a home in london, same street i was born. he worked hard to find his place in the fashion industry and now travels the world, having been to all the places i went to, even the north beach in zanzibar where the remote and infamous beach bar lay. 

time and space have been kind to us, both immersed in the same books, films, politics, health regimes and family. he replaced me and i'm living the life i always wanted.

when it's time to say goodbye we hug and it's some hug, it's the best hug ever and there are a few tears. i drive home, passed empire bay, i smile all the way knowing i did bring something beautiful into the world. there's not much i am proud off but i'm proud of my son, he's intelligent, worldly, independent, kind and gentle yet strong and powerful, he's sensitive and empathetic, he's true to who he is. what more can a dad ask for?

yeah we make some plans for the next year, groovy plans, look out world.

so we meet in a cafe where the music is soft low frequency jazz, dwindling sonatas, moonlight outside, candlelit interior. i'm in a movie, the one where the guy smokes all the way through, jazz cigarettes. he wears shades and a looks like a west coast cultist, on the run from the masters of the galactic corporations, on the run from the heat, on the run from the past as it blazes a trail at his heels. comes a moment in that movie where you have to turn and face the strange right. else you just keep running. 
this past looks good, wow, impressive and sleek, like a thermo nuclear porn star exuding confidence and control, every structure bends her way, gravitational forces are at work. i perceive it with my seventh eye. 

i order some coffee for us, the coffee here is very good and there's something interesting about a city that allows people to smoke indoors a small slice of liberty in the cake of oppression that is forced down our throats until we choke.

zendra gives me the look. the wry one, the one that says everything i need to know. 

let's have sex, lets travel. she's ready to hitch wagons, i'm ready to ride. how about we finish our coffee first, i'm not quite the man you knew. 

really she says, i never really knew you.

no i was a different person, i'm still different, an anomaly apparently.

she smiles and takes the joint from me and puffs on it, she says she likes holding the joint, likes the way it smells, but doesn't really smoke at all anymore.

i take it back from her delicate fingers, and replace it with a sugar sachet. 

i always recall you had a sweet tooth and loved your lollies.

yes, and i still have my teeth, all good, shining like stars she flashes me her immaculate teeth, they do look amazingly white and dazzling. 

coffee arrives and we drink it down fast.

what now?

pack a bag, meet here in an hour?

i need more than an hour, let's make it noon.

that leaves me 4 hours. 

come on, don't you have loose ends to tie up.

no, they are tied up, put in a sack, driven to the docks and thrown into the bay.

she stands up. i hope you put weights on that sack.

don't need weights the loose end was heavy enough. 

noon. i will be here, she leaves.

we are deep in the simulation

on the verge of something new

despite all this fascination with 

the disappointing truth

an underground super collider

an overground god machine

technology has us by the balls and 

it is not going to set us free

i recommended 'when we cease to understand the world ' to a friend who absolutely hated it, he said his hero's, the scientists mentioned in the book were degraded and exploited by the author. he said it was repulsive. he certainly didn't mince words.

i took a moment and reminded him it was fiction but he continued as though the writer had transgressed some kind of code about deconstruction and post modernism. 

it's fiction, i said again but to no avail. i endured a barrage of opinion and apologised for recommending it, then he said, 'keep recommending books to me though.'

mmm, well i may just suggest 'william burroughs' next.