A profound realisation is upon me.

Since the last post I have continued in my extended state of euphoria until this afternoon, when I crashed dramatically into misery. Having arrived at a plan which assured my poverty (whilst denying my freedom of movement) until April 2014, I fell into deep despair.

You see, for some time I have been labouring under the delusion that I am destined for "greatness" - all the while aware that this was nought but vanity and would give me no lasting satisfaction.

Today, having committed myself to a filmmaking program with this greatness in mind, I hit rock bottom, wondering just how the fuck I would satisfy this most petty of desires.

Four hours later, with the help of loud music, alcohol and deep thought, I have emerged transformed and my ego is gone. What I knew before about its futility I now believe. What my smart brain once thought my dumb heart now feels.

At around 6pm tonight I was in tears at just how I had got to this point having always been so happy. Now, at 11pm, drunk, I am once again dancing alone in my room to whatever music will play through my beautiful speakers. I am saved. I am cleansed. Fuck you ego. Fuck you "greatness". We are all dead men in the end.

I want to travel and make films. I want to teach and write, shag chicks and have fun. I want to explore what is. I want to leap in faith. I want to sing and laugh and dance and breathe and, finally, as I return to the dust from whence I came, I want tears of rapture to stream down my enlightened face.

Pray for me, for in the morning I shall hurt. But for now, goodnight.

This blog began as a medium through which I could express my confusion and yearning for the freedom of travel. Well, something has happened to me. Something big.

I've found what I was looking for. And I feel fucking magnificent.

A drunken euphoria has swept over me and I am unable even to sit down in my chair, compelled, instead, to get up and dance to the music of the universe - music which, previously, played for me only abroad. Travel, formerly my sole source of bliss, now has a companion.

And hallelujah.

So here it is then. From this day forth I, b.free, will inspire. No longer will those who cross me remain content with the material trappings of the West. No longer will the masses go quietly into the night never having chased their bliss. No longer will we all wear masks pretending to care about profit margins, and productivity and competitive advantage. No, as a teacher, as a writer, as a filmmaker and as a friend, I will wake my small but universal world from its resigned surrender.

It is a lofty dream. But I want this and I will try. And the previously baffling question of "so, what do you do?" will baffle no longer. From today until the grave:

"I inspire."

And hallelujah.

Enough is enough. Australian politics must be no worse than any of the world's. But I wouldn’t know about that. All I can say is that, without ever really entering the fray, I’m done with it.

There is clarity on the periphery. The pettiness of trivial discussion is amplified by my passing attention. I am immune to the spectacle. The drama does not ensnare.

I pray for the day when the opposition demotes its obligation to oppose to a position below its obligation to speak reason. I pray for the day when politicians use their rhetoric and charisma to show actual leadership and convince us all that our politics is worth our attention and that someone, somewhere is willing to do and to say what may not, at first, be popular, but what is born of reason.

Mostly, I pray for the day that a politician emerges that doesn’t want to be a politician. Someone disgusted by the lies and the bickering, someone sure enough of themselves to waive the soap opera and await some genuine debate.

Do I think this person would stand a chance? Well, I have to. It’s the only thing I have to hold onto. And it's the only thing that could ever win back my attention.

Have I lost the capacity for clarity? My mind feels dull, as though the effects of my recklessness are finally taking their toll. Will I regret my commitment to the present when all the nimbleness of thought that I was born with has left my body, replaced by assortments of rum and whisky derivatives?

Perhaps. But would this be a testament to the fun I've had? Would this be a sign that I lived twice as furiously, half as long? Or will it mean that, when I am finally ready to create something, I instead find it lost in a sea of murky, clouded thoughts.

An experiment comes to mind - self-imposed prohibition will reign, and I the scientist will examine the regenerative powers of my own brain.

Results to follow.

It's not as if I didn't know I couldn't be trusted.

I'm back, you see. This morning, as I woke, everything had come back to me and I was free once more.

I spent most of the morning singing and dancing in my basement room, high as a kite from my liberation from love - the most debilitating of afflictions.

There is clarity once more. I can make plans for my life. I can dissect things with reason. It is a sad, cynical and unromantic existence in theory. But in practice it is a celebration of optimism, fun and freedom from pain, responsibility and obligation.

I will be back there one day. I know this. But today I will rejoice, for I am free.

So there's this girl.

This is not uncommon.

But that there is a girl is probably the only common thing about it.

It makes absolutely no sense. It is fucking ridiculous actually. And it has no place in my life.

But there's this girl. And I can't get her out of my head.

I've known her for two years. She lives with my best mate. I never felt anything for her. I've slept in her bed a hundred times and only thought about trying to shag her the last two times - and even then, only because I'm a boy and that's what I do with girls now.

She came to my place for New Years. So did many of my friends. I had absolutely no intentions for her. There were other girls. But I was watching her dancing on my dining table in her underwear with one of these friends, and suddenly everything made sense. Everything and nothing.

My world is upside down. I have lost all sense of self. I have no clue where to go from here, except to her. But that's nowhere I've ever gone before. And could I possibly stay?

There is much to be said for the steady monotony of the masses. But it's not for me.

Do they cry with heartbreak? Do they cry with joy? They fear being afraid, but is routine such an effective cocoon?

My mind flirts with various philosophies throughout the day. By noon I've settled on at least two. By dusk they've faded as the sun, setting with at least two more. Not to worry, the dawn will come with chance again.

There are some constants.

My existence serves no higher purpose. There is peace in that. My time here is all I have. The ego demands something spectacular be done with it, but provides no answers, leaves no hints, and I haven't an inkling.

But I will seek it for the rest of my restless days.

I am an old man. I am a young boy.