For exactly 10 years now I have been meaning to travel. I came back from a year's travelling in 1999, did a course in London, and meant to go away again. I arrived at Heathrow the day after the solar eclipse, and looking at the newspapers in the newsstands, I could no longer relate to what was going on. I had felt the flow of travel, it had given me strength, and a wit, an optimism and a flexibility which removed me from the herd. At the time I did not know about the Control System, and was a long way from knowing about conspiracies and the deep historical corruptions which powerfully manipulate the minds and souls of all under its umbrella. But I knew something was not right. I also felt it - that there's something out there that is right.
I felt it first whilst deep-sea fishing in South Australia - cracking open a "stubby" whilst heading home at sunset, freshly-caught red snappers in the hold and dolphins following us, sillhouetted against the orange sun.
Ever since I was never the same, and the experience of travel galvanised me in everything I did for the next decade.
Bear in mind I had come off the back of twenty years of indoctrination. Schooling, universities... that's all I knew. And now I was free.
So it wasn't books, it wasn't thought per se. It wasn't even the beautiful sights I saw - the scuba diving on the Great Barrier reef, the working on vineyards, the vibes of Melbourne. It was the people I met along the way, it was the motion, the constant improvisation, the knowing I could go anywhere, do anything.
In New Zealand I met an amazing, crazy Austrian girl who loved the Pogues and Irish pubs, and we bought a car together and drove around visiting just about every pub we passed in the misty wilderness.
Travelling alone, you are forced to confront the bounds of your experience, of your existence. Loneliness bites, so you got to get out there and talk to someone. You've got to have the resources, so you get resourceful. The idea of thought manifestation becomes important. And you always get what you ask for.
So I came back, and always intended to go away again. As soon as... and here's the rub... I had earned enough money.
Yes, I began to worship that false god. But I lived in London. An expensive city at any time. I was living it up and found it almost impossible to save money, espeically since I was still paying off debts.
And I got caught up. Long hours at investment banks, followed by long hours of drinking and whoring. I started to forget that elemental joy, once more.
But that's over. I've been out of work for a while now, as I can't join the slave-force, not now that my third eye has been polished.
Ever since that day of touching down in London, I knew where I really wanted to go next. A mystical land where they play football with magic, with joy.
It may be that the place will change in the future. The fact that both the Olympics and the next World Cup are to be hosted there, suggests that it is set to be the next place to be fed upon by the psychic vampires. Indeed it may be that it has been left alone, like a farmer leaves fields fallow in order for them to become fertile once more. Given how barren my homeland has become, how utterly desolate, surely the soul-suckers are going to have to move on. Mission accomplished, nothing left to eat here.
This is conjecture - after all, I haven't been to South America before. I haven't seen it yet. To me it still has that quality of dreams, of exotic smells and hot sun, of smiling beautiful women and dancing and music that comes from the soul. But my intuition has been pulling me there for a long time, and I was held back by... programming.
No one deserves the life that people around here have. It's not even a life - these people are, unfortuately, already dead. They're gonna be going back round the ferris wheel in the next life. Reminds me a bit of a snatched bit of programming from one of the major soap operas in this country, which I overheard as I was passing. Even when you avoid the idiot box its tentacles still reach out to you. One character wanted to go live somewhere else, and the reply was, "what, you think you're too good for us?"
What a statement. Guilt-tripping, implying callousness and delusions of grandeur, ridden with disdain for advancement, for movement, for travel. How about this, mate - we're all too good for this shit. Every one of us. And you can either stay here and wallow in it, or move on. Inside and outside - just move on. Grow. Let the light in, let the light out. Should I stay here and fight the World Order? Loyalty and attachment to a certain nation is some kind of psychic disease. If there was any semblance of community around here, there would be a reason to stay. If my family weren't the dysfunctional set of friendly strangers that the Control System modelled, I may have a heavier heart leaving them. Sure, I could work on myself, get better and better. Broadcast my message far and wide. But I can do that in a beautiful place, too, one that feeds my soul and speeds up my spiritual metabolism.