The night Kerry flipped my lid I actually ran to open the gate on my way out. He stood at the top of the hill looking down at me, cackling his mad laugh. I ran because I knew I was becoming unhinged. I wanted to make as much distance as possible before something happened. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but everything within me screamed “Get out!”

I was driving my mums 1990 Mitsubishi GTO at the time. As I pulled out of his gate onto the highway I wound the turbos up so far, the whole car shuddered. I slammed it into second; third; fourth; fifth – out into the empty highway in the cold hours before dawn. I didn’t know where I was going, but I wasn’t going home. I drove back toward the coast – toward some place of fond childhood memories. As the cats-eyes flickered passed me on the road my face began shifting. It slid from one to the next, each one to the left, like the many faces of brahma clicking into position. Each face held a new reality, and each reality held no echo of the last. I experienced the gap between realities, but could recall nothing that came before. All I knew was that I was driving, and that this is the reality I landed on that night.

I arrived at the Marine Gardens at around 4.00am I suppose. I reclined my seat and put on Deeds Of Flesh – Mark Of The Legion. I remember the savagery of the riffs in red and black like cauterised lacerations. I felt good. My body was full of crystal meth and THC. Kerry had forced me to smoke that last joint. I told him I was okay but he spun it around. The room was decorated in masks and home-made knives. Black Sabbath’s Psycho Man played on the stereo as we smoked. It was the joint that sent me over. I knew I didn’t want it, but I knew I should do as the psycho said. I listened to the radio. Those voices in my head were sacred. I trust in the sacred fear.

Then something happened. Before me I saw a great dark figure – 8-foot-tall – standing silhouetted against the trees. Around him danced two orbs – one large and turquoise; the other smaller and deep orange like the colour of Mars. I remember I wasn’t scared of the shadow man, as within the chamber of my soul I felt the Egyptian sun staff rise like a barbers pole through my interior, and the winged sun like the embodiment of two beautiful darling angels giggled playfully as they ascended to the top. When they reached the ceiling of my interior, as the Tower in Crowley’s tarot, I felt my head erupt, hot like a volcanic orgasm – lava running down my interior, hot and cleansing. I can’t be sure what song was playing, but I may have cycled the album twice. To this day there are riffs I recall hearing that I cannot find in that album.

The orbs danced and chased one another all over the gardens. I remember the perimeter of every shadow just before the dark man appeared. I could see him standing behind this world, trying to step through as though every object were a cut out set-piece with a black void just behind it. Is this theatre?

In the black spots where no light reached I saw everything under the sun – schematics and sketches of figure, object and form of all manner. They flashed through rapidly as though there were a catalogue of infinite potential reduced to structure, and everything was created by man, as though the mind of man were simply the blueprint for god.

Somewhere I have the writings for this hidden away. I’m writing now from my recollection. I had a red pen in the glove compartment and I scrawled it all down immediately. I think the experience passed as the sun came up. I don’t remember going home.

For a day-job I work in film set fabrication, but that's not nearly close to the feeling I get when I'm writing or creating music. I'm currently working on several screenplays, but this site is where I come to dump my quick-fire ramblings and expunge difficult emotions or experiences. I hope you take something from these writings. Each and every one of them comes from the heart.

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