i wake up, it seems like just yesterday but it was a long time ago, nothing changed except everything has changed. the skies are electric blue, the birds dart around hidden by their colours and markings, yet you can see their shadows, they make sounds that cover the world in a blanket.
i've been asleep, dreaming, i had some terrible dreams, nightmares, i dreamt my son had been murdered, i woke up and wandered around, wondered if i should call him up and eventually fell asleep only to dream my dog had died. after that i stayed awake, went for a walk at 5am, we walked down to the beach, grabbed a coffee and read the newspapers, but then i seemed okay. returned to mission control where i fired up my alethiometer, took a reading, it gave me some information.
but the business of the day unfortunately is this dear reader, and it is a sad day when i have to write such words.
something has gone terribly wrong, our governments no longer serve us, the people. in the western worlds we have not had an uprising, assassination or revolution for a long time and although i don't subscribe to these things, there is one obvious advantage. they let the powers that govern us know they are are our servants, not the cash crop that we have become.
the relationship is vampric, they suck us dry charging us for whatever they can squeeze from out blood, for what, where does that money go, into funding ridiculous inefficent schemes, wars and bureaucracy, it's one huge rort at the publics expense and it's time to let the governments of the world know about it. we are not sheep, or are we, we are not all brain dead zombies, we are not your cattle for you to milk or slaughter. the only way now for things to turn around towards some decent government, left or right, green or blue, is to let these fuckers know they represent us and are there to submit to our will. it's not the other way around.
vote for me.
i'm going to do three things
legalise ganja, put a huge tax on cigarettes and alcohol. 
turn australia into a self sufficient nation.
keep it real. that is nature wins every time, what ever we do must be in harmony with nature.
simple isn't it?

sometimes you gotta cut your losses, know when enough is enough and when to let it go, i'm getting very good at this although it hurts really hard each time as all those bits of me are lost, and i find myself getting angry, however non attachment, right?
anyways, onwards we go, into the future which is the past only different. the merry go round of times spiral, impossible to escape, ask any heroine, ask the myth makers and poets. 
okay, i picked a battle with a bureaucracy, my own fault, they are an archaic machine, sluggish and ridiculous emphasised by the fact they all know it but are trapped within the machine they depend upon. the line of management ended when he said,'look at it from our point of view, we want you to just go away so we can just carry on as normal.'
'but it's not normal to work like this, your part of the government sucking the life of the citizens it's theoretically supposed to work for.'
'we know this which is why we want you to go away.'
'is there a complaints procedure?'
'no.'
what can you say to this kind of logic?
anyways being a good citizen i wrote to the ombudsman, not because it will change anything but it makes me feel slightly empowered.

obscured by clouds

clouds roll by, it's all moving rapidly, ocean and skies, we watch from the hill, the clouds are coming in fast, they are reaching, spreading, exploring space on their migration across blue skies. i love watching clouds and waves, everyone should do it, get out there and look at the clouds, look at the waves, see the movement of the earth, feel it speak to you, it carries information, everything has it's place, put the puzzle together and what is there but a beautiful planet, our home.

more drama from waynes world who seems to be lost in some sort of weird passive aggressive control freak nasty behavioural loop. he's done all these awful new age type courses and diets, joined weird trendy cults, preaches on about them to random strangers, attempting some sort of wise man persona but it's hopeless, may as well just dose up on tranquillisers and anti depressives and accept that you're part of a greater problem.
some one once said to me, there's two types of people in the world, those that get cancer and those that give you cancer. i'm not saying waynes world will give you cancer, he will most defiantly gve you a headache with his chronic whining. jesus i never met anyone so controlling and aggressive, he wants to talk with me all the time but won't listen, every conversation revolves around his twin obsessions, work and russian girls dot com, he's the ultimate victim, a man who is in total conflict of himself, twin opposing natures are at war with one another, trapped in the spin cycle of banality and hypocrisy, not content with friendship, he wants domination, the man is a baby who needs a giant breast to suck on, and that's what i am for him. begone waynes world, for i am no tit.
(no comments please) 

went to see dark shadows with johnny depp last night, johnny likes dressing up incognito smoking a big spliff and going to watch his films, he and i looked like a pair of beatnik undertakers, both dressed in black and wearing strange sunglasses. apparently he had not seen the full movie yet although he'd been promoting it across the globe. he said, in his strange croaky voice, 'i've seen snippits of the film, but want to sit through a full screening,' i figured those comfy chairs that recline and you sink into may be the go but when we get to the cinema they have sold out, johnny suggests we just sit at the back somewhere indiscreet.
the movie starts of really well and i find myself laughing out loud at parts especially the lines barnabus gets to say as a response to the 1970's with depp absolutely stealing the whole screen from his co stars, he really is a brilliant actor, the style is very gothic soap opera, and johnny tells me 'dark shadows' was a early american soap that both he and tim watched as children and tim wanted to maintain some sort of relationship to the original, hence the waves breaking every scene change and the sudden dramatic bursts in the storyline, which actually work well in terms of style and narrative. however half way through the film, when a warehouse catches fire, the whole story takes a real dive and degenerates into something quite silly and uncomfortable to watch. i ask johnny why didn't some one tell tim about the fact his very good film suddenly becomes a car wreck and in his barnabus voice he says, 'the dear fellow was on rather a large amount of mind distorting flower extracts at the time.'
yes well the film is a 'car crash' descending into teeth grinding farce, chaos and debacle so on the way home i tell johnny that its best we part company as friends lest my credibility go to ruin even though he is was the star of my fave film, dead man. he's visibly upset but this is the way captain mission rolls these days, sorry johnny.

dramas pouring out from everyone around me, my day started early from disappointment from england to the fantasy of a perfect ukrainian bride, to the passive aggressive behaviour of a friend and me realising that he is sucking the life out from my veins, i can't stand it and have to leave, he's not happy, churning up inside like a bag of boiling blood. i guess all those new age courses, juicing it up, raw food and forum cult courses only get you so far.
the rest of the day is delightful, i make a big lentil, chickpea soup, with garlic, fennel and leek, various herbs and spices. i take pan for a long walk and then i sit in the sun and read stephen baxters book, 'coalescent'

which is three narratives, one set in the roman era where a young lady watches the fall of an empire and forges a new society based on 'hive' qualities, meanwhile the other thread is set in contemporary times and follows a middle aged man looking for his lost sister under the backdrop of an alien object appearing in the kuiper belt, the third where the two timelines coalesce, this series is part of a trilogy but is also part of a wider story known as the 'zeelee' sequence.

im not a huge baxter fan, i read two of his early books but i'm determined to give him another chance and i plan to read the whole of his 'zeelee' series in chronological order, i had set myself asimov as my science fiction indulgence but i think i'm going to stick with baxter and see where he takes me.
there's some very fine stuff coming out of the uk at the moment. baxter is extremely dry, filling his books with the most mundane details but his writing portrays  three dimensional flawed people and i must admit he spins a good yarn. 

in the emerald city, trawling bookshops, i stumble upon the galaxy hidden away, each book an inquiry, the pages imagined by a million me's labouring in seclusion within their own space, it's a random place, crossed by coincidence and the sisters of secrets and mysteries, you can wander this place for days but sooner or later chance intercepts, ejects you back into the mainframe. 
across the busy streets, the hungry shoppers, weighed down with bargain buys, emotional gravity, financial blues biting as they move underneath the monorail, underneath the skies of blue and business man towers. i notice the beggars and they notice me, we are connected by unspoken things, some kind of pain and love i guess. 
some thing pulls me along connecting invisible realms of dots, nondescript zones, i can't know exactly what it is, just have to trust it's there, like a sign or symbol hiding away between spaces and places, in the darkest of matter. i can feel it as i walk through the people, my eyes follow the path, scanning, peering, i stare at the spaces i can't see, i don't look anywhere specific, redundant eyes, empty mind, zen place and there it is in the strangest of places, the coordinates flow into one direction, behind big double glass thick doors, in a city without clocks, i find one clock under the banner that discretely proclaims, 'time conquers all.'


there are people who have fallen on their knees weeping like children, broken hearted defeated and splashing helplessly like fish out from water, rich men, poor men, a few women too, all have stood here at this spot, crushed by fortune, chopped up by fate, toasted by temporal paradox, delivered by providence. you can taste the burden's of grief, the joys of relief, the heavy weight grinding you down, and the lightness of being found. all those lives lived, suffering through history you can see the loss ravage its way like a beautiful nothing in a void eating reality that one day will seek you. like a black hole of emotional pain, the high born and low all fall equally, the lost the lonely, the successful and the fortunate eventually find knowledge in the truth of times great power. all stories converge here and all our paths end. 
one by one they come through the doors, healthy and sick, healed and broken, asleep and awake, they cracked the code, in true democracy everyone is equal, they place a hand on my shoulder, they kneel with me, they are all ages, all manner of dress, the beggars of sydney, this is their place, their knowledge, their church. one by one the beggars come filling the hallway, the brotherhood of inevitability, the truth will set you free. 
we all sit there in silence and i understand this place the beggars congregate, the secret place, in sydney's depths, hidden way in plain sight. the beggars code. 

TV( C15) ON THE RADIO -PROVINCE

yesterday morning i watched the sun rise up from the ocean, apparently it lives somewhere yonder...
those rays, as i wandered along towards the beach, they came bursting  over the streets and houses, setting the bushland ablaze in a red, orange umber of incredibly vibrant light. i was strolling along with pan, on the road between this display, almost operatic, without music save for the birds, parrots seemed to be singing out like some weird bird hymn, they were chirping and cheeping, squawking and squealing, and the trees lit up in reds that i can only describe as a blood coloured hue. i stopped in my tracks and watched it all, morning, dawning, i felt so small, and very privileged. when the rays hit my face the glare made me move away, and i found shelter in the shade while around me day broke out of darkness and everything changed tone. it was a transition that stunned me, left me in awe, the natural world people, sure it's frightening and dangerous, sure it's unpredictable and without mercy but it is beautiful. maybe mahler was getting at this when he started writing all those majestic romantic symphonies, i could almost hear his music in the background, some of those classical dudes reached for the skies. 

the eagleman stag

dr. crack frightens me slightly, his hyper talk leads nowhere, his extremity seems to meet in a strange collision of neo nihilistic philosophies, his friends are fringe dwellers, oddities, freaks and quite possibly criminally insane and on the other hand he mixes with the upper establishment, a cabal of international high financiers, surgeons, technologists, artists and glamourous women who look like they belong in james bond movies, he whispers conspiracy theories and spins fabrications that often are seeded with truth, his eyes burn with some divine holy chaos yet his edward lear logic makes perfect sense. how have i become entangled in his spider web of characters i am yet to fathom, he says it's autobiography but it's more horror fiction. 
today he pulls up in a new car, it's a black sporty thing with two seats, probably some italian type of design, it does look impressive although i am not impressed by these trinkets. it attracts a lot of attention from my neighbours, who are already nervous of the strange dark skinned guy in black who walks his dog at midnight and looks at the space between the stars. 
dr.crack smiles and waves for me to jump in, i do, the seat is sunken low, it's like we are hovering on the road as we spin around corners at a velocity that i know are illegal and dangerous. the car is noiseless and elegant, it plays opera and i close my eyes until we stop. there's something peaceful about this movement, otherworldly almost, like an isolation tank i float in a void, aware of only motion and the expanse of some dramatic love affair going wrong as a voice carries me on a wave of italian madness towards zen detachment. 
we stop and a door opens automatically, dr. crack jumps out, 'come on mission, i want you to meet someone.'
inside i step walking along a long dark corridor i turn a hidden corner and wander into a strange looking room where a very short man, a dwarf or midget stands on a crate and waves a pair of scissors around, as though conducting a secret orchestra.
i try to hide my irrational fear of disproportioned people, i look around nervously trying not to look nervous, scanning for a newspaper of something to hide behind. it's one of those rare moments where i am not carrying a book.
crack shakes hands with the small man, 'lou i want you to meet a dear friend of mine, captain mission, mission this is lou the blade.'
'nice to meet you captain, sit sit, make yourself comfortable, i can cut your hair after i finish with the dr.'
'no no, it's fine thank you, i have a friend who does mine, she shaves it once a fortnight,' i lie. i actually go to a guy in babylon, he's been doing it for years.
lou and crack assume their positions, crack puts the scissors down and picks up a blade, it glints every now and then as tough pulsing with some sort of inner light.
a radio tuned into talkback blurts out angry post budget blues, a man phones in and is complaining demanding an election although it's about john howard and a war, i flick through a newspaper, the headline is about an economic meltdown in america and europe, some riots in southern europe, something about russian scientists developing a cure for ageing by discovering a super antioxidant SKQ1, there's a photograph of a celebrity who has come out of the closet and an advertisement for jetstar, i notice the date of the paper is four years old. i scan through it, it may as well be four days old. 
it's hard to read the print as the whole room is illuminated by a single light bulb which is swinging, throwing out a pulsating radius of light, when it swings near i can read for a few seconds, as it moves away it becomes impossible.
lou and the doctor are discussing some kind of medical procedure, occasionally they slip into a kind of russian or eastern european language, it's hard for me to distinguish and i don't want to draw attention to myself by asking. the radio starts playing frank sinatra and lou begins singing the words, 'fly me to the moon, let me swing among the stars, let me see what spring is like, on jupiter and mars.' 
his voice is incredibly deep, much deeper than i would assume given his height, he dances around on the box, singing and shaving crack's head.
i'm about to return to the old newspaper but i notice this big mark on the top of dr. cracks head. i try to look a little more without being obvious, lou is working around it, a dark shadowy patch, what is that, i strain to look. 
it hits me in the chest, like being punched on the solar plexus. am i in some sort of shock i think.
i wonder how i didn't notice it before, i'd never seen it despite it's obvious location. it was a freaking hole, right in the centre of cracks head.
lou twirls and jumps off his box,'finished' he holds up a mirror at the shaved head although there's no way the dr. can see it, still, dr. crack nods his approval. i'm dazzled by the gleam, did they polish it with some kind of bald mans wax, it's so bright. the hole is there though right in the middle, just like the black hole at the centre of the universe. i can't take my eyes off it, i wonder if it possesses the power of a black hole sucking my sight into its centre because i can't shift my gaze.
dr.crack hands over some cash and we all say goodbye. to be honest i'm glad to get out of there.
we head over to the post office, dr. crack has seven different po box numbers, he gets me to carry a bundle of mail and packages. 
i can't help myself, i have to know what the hell is going on with this hole in his head.
'crack, did you know you have a hole in the centre of your head?'
he looks at me as though i have asked the most ridiculous question, 'off course i do, i put it there myself.'
to say i was stunned would be an understatement. 'what the hell did you do that for?'
'i'm dr. crack, that's my name, dr. of trepanation, what did you think, i was a heart surgeon, maybe a dr of philosophy?'
on the way back dr. crack explains the history of trepanation, i listen and don't say a word.

on the alien landscape of planet earth, deep oceanic tides following the flow, flowing in the atmospheres as nature spans into the expanse, ever changing, reaching everywhere with its emissary life, oh great life in all variety, connected by self awareness of consciousness, what does it perceive, its own magnificence, its own diversity, it's own perpetual replication, evolving, connecting into one. one is the answer.

lichen is an algae and fungi

he's just flown in from old hong kong, i'm flicking through the photographs on his iphone camera device. big chinese buildings at kowloon, under thick heavy skies, polluted and grey doom hanging in the atmosphere, the smell of industry hovering over a city in a never zone, taken from the island. 
dr. crack shows me some large buildings disappearing into the heavy toxic atmosphere, '...going up so fast, completed in six months, that's how long it would take just to get your proposal read out at a council meeting in sydney,' he says, and there is the photograph, a massive construction, it's the size of three street blocks, it's going to be a super tall sky scraper eating up the space like a big hungry concrete monster.

i imagine in fifty years there will be these cities filled with skyscrapers towering up to the upper stratosphere and after a little earth tremor they will be at the mercy of forces that dominate height, gravity will pull them back and anyone unfortunate enough to be in them. my head plays out the disaster movie.
the phone rings and crack grabs it faster than i could even see in a big sweeping paranoid blur.

dr. crack is out and about in the world, he's a desperate character, where did he come from, did i invent him, how did i do that, he's a bad ass mother from hunter s thompson land, i don't know if i can trust him to get me home safe and sound.

he has his fat fingers in to many pies, he's constantly changing his appearance, he's hiding from everyone, juggling his patterns, his mobile never stops ringing, people called nick the fish, harry the axe, swifty macshades, lisa the whore and lamb chop helena, on it goes, an endless parade of characters and caricatures, he's talking about things i don't want to hear, he's a bad dangerous man, my spider sense is tingling, danger danger captain mission a robotic voice screams in my head, an echo from a song i heard, 'get out of denver baby.' 

i'm watching him, those big shanghi chubby hands, big round head, mean underground hong kong eyes, a new york lower east side lips, this guy's face tells a hard boiled story. 
he smiles at me, and hangs up, 'that was my man in tokyo, he's buying me some seaweed, i'm going on a special seaweed diet, green algae. you should try it mission, it's the future of food.'

i know he's lying, he was talking about shipping containers vs air freight, something about australian customs and manifests. i think about eating plankton burgers in the future.

i sip on my coffee, dr. crack tells me about an experience he had on hash, his mind darts from one subject to the next, i'm wondering about how rare hash is these days and the last time i smoked it.

i tell dr. crack about the day i smoked some nepalese temple, a block of hash that comes in big heavy spheres, it was so strong we couldn't move for about four hours, no one could even get up to turn the record over, it was the clash, 'london calling' i remember staring at the album cover for ages, that pennie smith photograph captured the spirit of the age, paul simonon smashing his base guitar up, i recall hearing that song, 'train in vain' through my nepalese haze and thinking it was strange as it was not listed on the cover, i thought that nepalese must be far to strong for me. i couldn't quite understand the idea of a hidden song. all i could focus on was how my body had turned to stone, but crack had changed subjects now, he was talking about gardens, growing vegetables and starting a family, then it was about the type of noodles they make in xinjiang provence, then we switch back to his special system he devised to out smart the australian postal system, he thinks he can use postmen as couriers for untaxed transactions, then he talks about the his travels through alaska, eating whale, arming inuit with weapons, radical anarchist groups in south america, he's citing constitutional law, then we hit the ground running as he talks about the monkey mind and some zen type of parable which i just about grasp. 


i have to go, crack is meeting a mutual friend called minnie the minx, she's a sexy blond ex model type who channels a extra terrestrial entity these days, she has made a fortune from mind body spirit festivals and dvds sales plus a large internet following who hang on to every channelled word.


i get a lift with crack to the next town where i have an appointment with another person. we listen to his mix tape on the way, everything from miles davis to the stones, his car is filled with paperwork and envelopes. my friend is late, but i figure i can kill time in the bookshop, i pick up a book about the moon.
and there walking past is minnie, dressed in a fake fur coat, wearing big riding boots sipping on a take away coffee. 
'the doctor just dropped me off,' i say as we hug.
'i have to drive him to the city, he's picking up a new car.'
'nice, well have fun.'
i go to meet my friend near the library, i sit on a bench and flick through the moon book, apparently the authors believe the moon is artificial, hollow, i start reading but she arrives and we go for coffee. this meeting has taken about six months of planning, myself and her, we debrief and then get down to business coming to the conclusion i can assist her company in a project. i hear her proposal, to which i add another, we agree, it sounds good, we have created the position right there, i'll write about it later but it's quite exciting and will enable me to help a few friends out. i leave and head back to mission control. on the way i am accosted by a lady offering me a free berry drink. who am i to refuse, i wander up a flight of steps into what looks like a strange teenage cults office or a clinic for severely depressed people. there's a bar with some very exotic looking photographs plastered over it, the walls all promote healthy drinks, and some of their products. i sit down and she starts talking to me about her special diets, i chose a drink, blueberry smoothie, which she makes, she asks me what i do and tells me about her son who is some sort of anxiety ridden young man on lots of medication. she says, he should play sport but all he does is sit on a computer. i say he's probably just anxious because life is complex these days. she says he should play football with the other boys, for some reason i think of coney island. i don't want to be here, drinking fruit drinks in a health bar talking about her anxious son, it's making me feel anxious. i gotta get out of here before she asks me more questions, but it's to late, i'm sinking in questions, i have to escape, this is bizarre, i was just heading home when she kidnapped me, started feeding me healthy drinks and making me feel anxious. i look around for an exit, she's chopping a banana up and feeding it to a blender, all the while letting me know about her sons anxiety and how it was never like that when she was young. that's because you didn't have to deal with half the things kids have to deal with these days, you had a bright future, lots of jobs, you could afford to buy a home, you had good food, back in those days the government respected you as a citizen, you had a fucking future, i think, the youth of today don't even have that, they know it's all fucked, i'm fucking anxious now, the awfulness of being young, facing up to the next big conflict, the debt we inflicted them, the useless waste of resources, the poison of growth and technology, that generation will be enslaved, they will be just like the people in the matrix, nothing more than batteries, keeping the few in luxuries the last generation wasted. fuck in the old days the moon wasn't fucking hollow, it was a moon.
outside on the street i breath in, the panic attack passes, i head home back to my dog.

nature by numbers

big moon over sydney skies, giant peach hanging from the night, i wandered up to the alien crash site where i used to hang out before it became popular. in the old days it was the perfect spot of a spliff, we would lay down and stare at the skies on the pristine bowling lawn dreaming about the future we never saw coming. those were great days, before my crash, i was free, felt happy and in love with life. i'd go surfing at least three times a day, my friend discovered a sort of god, he went his way. my broken bones healed and i went into the baptism of fire with the pedophile ring, corruption, cover ups, death and the apocalypse now type horror of it's fall out. we drifted apart, i into darkness him into light. it wasn't my choice or it didn't feel like i had one, it just played out that way.

now under this big moon i am back at our old haunt for a birthday party. it's very popular now, everyone knows the bowling club, it's packed out with familiar faces and friends from the past. some one asks for my autograph, it's my first time and it feels strange, i'm more embarrassed than her. 
in fact i'm very embarrassed and it's sent me on a strange inward like journey but various people around me pull me back, the rolling stones are playing miss you and i find myself chatting to a surfie guy who is telling me about whale beach when he was a kid, i surprise him by talking about the days i lived there and we have mutual friends, the original owners of 'whaleys' cafe, we talk about the night bowie played at moby's. 

there's a nice feeling here, it's very cold, we huddle up, the girls are dancing, old friends introduce me to new ones, i sing happy birthday and we attempt a roasting for birthday girl, it's quite funny, she's a character, everyones drinking except me, everyones loud and cheerful. i practice my flirting techniques but get board easy, these days i like to be home early, i slip away under the big moon, i wander up to the headland, watching the ocean. i think about the days i spent on the beach in tel aviv dancing under a moonrise, those were great evenings, the sound of drums. here it's silent save for the surf breaking and then suddenly the shrieking of girls running for a bus.
well lets assume you have not experienced the late night bus heading from palm beach to the city on sydney's northern beaches, imagine a normal bus, filled with 13-16 year old girls dressed up like strippers, showgirls, porn actresses, all completely smashed already, making so much noise, causing so much trouble for the driver he has to call security to ride with him next stop, the guards jump on, there's four of them and they already look nervous as the girls size them up, i'm surrounded by this drama all the way to newport, i jump off the bus thinking about the power of a big moon, make my way home, back to pan, back to mission control.

pursuit of light

finished reading 'end game' by matthew glass an economic political thriller about the confrontation of american and chinese power as the two economies are linked like a dna strand both dependant upon one another although china could probably take the hit, america couldn't. it's not a brilliant book, but the issues it raises are very important as global financial markets are now propped up by chinese investment. two superpowers eventually will clash, both have old school war machines attempting to deal with a new financial battleground, a new approach to the problem is required, and the end game sets about establishing this but weather this 'fiction' can transcend human need to dominate remains to be seen. 
it's not really a book i'd recommend and at times i wondered why i was reading it, although there's nothing inherently wrong with it, it just seemed so drawn out, like a game of chess where you give up telling one player from the other.  

the last few weeks my thoughts have been with my father whom has been ill, it appears he is much better now, i spoke to him, he was laughing and in his own gentle way began telling me what had happened, his self depreciating humour, his mild way of taking all responsibility and his positive outlook about seeing me in the future gave me an appreciation of dad that wasn't there before, i guess i have to face his mortality and despite my knowledge of death, it's getting through the last period of life that is important, clearing up all the bullshit and stuff i wanted to say, you know, last words the living get to say to the dying. dad's not dying but he's old and unless he gets that vitality back, death will claim him. men get strange when they are old, they feel a burden to those that are around, they can't quite get a grip on their failing body and they resent it. anger builds up, bitterness, despair. more so than women who have a natural inclination to have come to terms with death earlier, they appear to have a grace men seem to aspire to.
last time i spoke to my dad he yelled down the phone, 'i'm in my eighties, i'm waiting to die.'
i was trying to tell him to change his diet, incorporate raw juice, etc. but he got impatient and slammed the phone down. 
i was thinking how ridiculous i must have sounded, my dad's far to old to change his diet, he's in his final years, he should be enjoying his life, living it up, he should be swallowing anti depressants, blocking out all the fucking bad news, walking on clouds, his body is falling apart, his mind is good but negative, his spirit is weak. who the hell am i to put him on some life extension plan. 
this is the dilemma, i don't know yet at which point life becomes unbearable for the old, i think i'd just slip out quietly, gracefully and without much fuss but what right do i have to keep someone alive, he's my dad, i love him and want to see him alive one more time, is that selfish? 
anyway at the end of the day, whatever happens it will play out the way it plays and i will deal with the cards, but it does leave you feeling all the more grateful to be on this journey of life, enjoying the sun streaming through the blinds, the colourful birds chirping, the sound of pan drinking water from his bowl, the beautiful colours of the flowers in the trees and the people who love me. and it also makes me appreciate the strange connections between a man and his father, a father and his son. i spoke with my dad again, heard his laugh at my comments, we shared a few jokes and kept it simple, i didn't tell him what to eat, told him to go out and have some fun with mum, see a movie, catch a play, walk in the gardens. when i put the phone down i could heard him laughing, it was wonderful, but i couldn't help but feel a little sad.

the deep fix detaches itself from the mothership, it travels, far and wide, it is able to look at the whole mothership as it travels through time and space, the deep fix travels away from horizons, it moves so far away it is in void, it gazes with it's minds eye, then it leaves it's mind and gazes with it's minds i, then it detaches and gazes with it's minds and then its mind and then its i. and finally it's i is nowhere, all things dissolve, it's the way, change man, it's the path we all travel over many lives, the road is the same, the scenery changes, occasionally faces seem familiar, they really are friends but they come as foes, it's okay, you learn to control your little deep fix capsule, keep the heading on light, love, liberty, liber lll won't set you free but it will make a great map.
liber lll
what's he on about, revolution rebellion rising the unicorn the horse the ox... 
speech requires discipline?
action requires control?
thought requires will?


i like the way these characters are given something perfect, a beautiful machine with its own ghosts. they hack the hardware and slip in home made code, they don't want the standard operating system, these guys want a much more fluid operating system, they don't like clunky windows vista when they can have apple.


the process is endless, it gets to the same point as mysticism, it's just the road, not to be the confused with the destination.