a lot goin' on these days....

The Epitome has officially launched a website. The focus of it is based on all forms of media, photo, film, and essentially anything and everything that I can dig up that I feel should be shared with everyone. It's a bigger soapbox to shout from in hopes that others will shout back and contribute ideas and things they feel are important too. The Epitome will be updated and added to on an almost daily basis so you can visit every time you're online and find something fresh that just might make your day.  Check it out and spread the gospel.

www.epitome27.com

Also, I'll definitely continue to write about life and everything in between on this site so don't forget about it. There's a link to it at the bottom of The Epitome home page.

Have a warm holidays.

Big Love,

JW

Do what you can do with what you got

I’d like to set the stage a little bit here, in attempt to explain why it’s been almost a month since I’ve come through with a decent update. It’s got a lot to do with getting established in our new setting and accustomed to our arrangement of unordinary weekly activity, as two happy go-lucky “forang” in a lesser-known town in southern Thailand that has proven to be more resourceful than we ever could have expected. We seem to be blessed with what I would call the Kramer effect; fifty percent instinct and fifty percent dumb luck allows us to fall ass backwards into some groovy situations. I’d also add to that, an extra seventy-five percent factor that we’ve got both of our mom’s looking out for us from beyond.

Like every new world of discovery, there are characters in place to make you feel not so far away from home and others that make you feel like you’ve landed somewhere in a realm of time you could only read about in old, faded issues of Rolling Stone.  Since arriving here, Charlie and I have experienced an interesting privilege of communal living on the property owned by the Thai family we rent from. We often eat together, cook meals for each other, exchange language lessons, and they take us on field trips to orchards and mountains to meet their friends. There are 3 other houses of characters involved in this peacefully eccentric union. The first one I met was Peter, a witty old Englishman who spends most of his days drinking and watching European football, of course. I made the innocent mistake of asking him what he does here and he told me he’s just waiting for the lord to take him. I know he’s got some crazy stories, but so far he hasn’t mentioned much about the past, which leads me to believe he’s definitely killed someone with his bare hands. He’s still got class though, and I look forward to drinking with him and shouting at the television.

In the far house, there lives a group of boat-builders from Germany, Finland, and somewhere I’ve never heard of. We’ve only hung out with them on a few occasions as they work long, dirty days for nothing but food n’ booze. We often catch them for a quick conversation at night as they head off to the Rama 2000, the town’s one and only discotheque, which can pretty much fit the population of Chumphon inside it. The boat-building days are almost over now and the crew is ready to set sail for the Gulf of Thailand. The owner of the boats has commissioned me to write an article about his company.

Our immediate neighbors, Bob and Oh have become good friends. Oh is a beautiful Thai woman who is somehow in sweet love with Bob, a parrot head from Oregon. Bob should have been a game show host in the 70’s but instead he and his brothers owned a meat packing plant that was somehow involved in overthrowing the communists in Chili, during the revolution. I can’t make this shit up. He talks about it often on the many field trips we go on. They stick Bob and I in the flatbed of the truck and let us bring booze for the ride. We talk about writing and Dylan albums and stories from back home. Bob opens up about the possibility of leaving Thailand one day and the horrible reality that Oh will most definitely slit his throat if he tries to leave her. He’s helped me to realize that Buddhists are very calm, very kind and fearlessly crazy. The four of us have gotten in the habit of going to the beach every Sunday where Bob gets drunk and I drink Kratome tea and get elevated. I don’t take any chances here with smokin’ ganja. I blazed with some local Thai-rastas in Chiang Mai and that was it. When I arrived here though, I was introduced to the Kratome tree, which has leaves on it that produce a Tylenol 3 type buzz when boiled and consumed as tea. If you eat them straight up, your mouth will go numb. I’ve learned that every Thai family is granted one Kratome tree for the use of its’ leaves to cure cough n’ cold symptoms. Unfortunately, the tree on the lot that we’re on got hacked down about a month before Charlie and I made our debut, so every week or so, I venture of with one of the helpful ladies to pilfer leaves from nearby trees in other yards.

There’s no uncertainty now that I need to become a known writer, and if I ever reach that level of success than this period of my life will be proudly recalled as the birthing grounds of the possibility. Everything seems to be leading to this in my head. A writer needs a place with endless inspiration and very little distraction. More importantly, in my case, a writer needs a place where he can take his time to perfect his craft without going broke in the process. Thailand seems to be the answer for all of this, provided you get off the tourist-beaten path and into some real culture. As I write this, a skinny cow is chewing cud loudly in tall grass, not even twenty feet from me.

Writing will be my number one focus until mid-February, when the new school term begins and I’ve pretty much been guaranteed a full-time job, but I’m damn sure gonna follow up on that before the date. Until then, I’ve teamed up with Joy, the best English-speaking girl in the family. We are hoping to arrange some part-time private lessons for this month, which will give me enough money to run-around with when the onslaught of brothers from back home arrive in the new year.  I don’t think I’ll truly realize how lucky I am to be living here until I see those familiar faces from a place and time I left behind.

"Punching the clock"

Nov. 1 ’09:

Around 6pm in Chiang Mai

We’re in the middle of hunting for a stir-fried street dinner when Charlie gets a call from an agency in Bangkok offering a well paying replacement gig, teaching kindergarten in a place called Chumphon, in the south of Thailand.  “If you’re interested, we need to meet you in the city by tomorrow” says the broken English voice on the other end.  We know that’s not gonna happen, but we’ve also learned that when Thai people give a time, they always leave a big buffer.

7:00 pm - Back at our Buddhist abode, The Tah Phae Gate guest house, we research our new and potentially more permanent whereabouts and get stoked. Chumphon appears to be an un-tapped area, in terms of beaches, caves, mountains and jungles, all with virtually no stain of tourist non-sense. Decision made. We leave tomorrow. 

8:00 pm to 11:30 pm - With a fresh new anticipation of the days ahead, we hit the streets for one last night in Chiang Mai, which surely could not have been a better night to be out and about, as it is the 2^nd night of Loi Krathong, a very big celebration of rebirth or “letting go of all the bad shit to make room for good” as one local explained to me. The way they do this is by sending candles on small rafts made of bread n’ banana leaves down the canal, as well as sending floating lanterns of fire into the sky. On this night there was also a parade, which we fast-forwarded by walking to the end of it. 

Nov. 2 ’09:

11:30 am – we check out of our room and head straight for the café advertising the biggest breakfast. Today is gonna be a long one. During this time a text message comes through from the agency; “when can we meet?”

12:40 pm – Charlie books our bus tickets for the long ride back to Bangkok, while I stock up on snacks for the journey.

1:00 pm to 4:45 pm – We set up on a grassy area to read n’ write and hang out with wild dogs while we wait for the bus to pick us up at 5:00.

5:30 pm- still no bus. Charlie shaves her legs in public because she’s a radical chick and I’m happy to sit beside her and read as if it’s normal.

6:15 pm – a sporty lookin’ Thai dude comes running down the street at us yelling “we leave now!” He grabs one of my bags and we follow him quickly to an enclosed truck with a handful of other travelers in the back of it. We throw all of our luggage on the roof and gun it out of town.

6:35 pm – at the city limits, the truck unloads us at a gas station where a huge, ratty bus is waiting to take us on a 12 hour night ride. 

10:20 pm – as we progress farther n’ farther out of the north, I’m almost in tears at the surreal window view of hundreds of floating lanterns ascending the sky in the distance. They look like spirits of hope.  I go deep into a state of indescribable happiness. 

Nov. 3 ’09: Somewhere on the super-highway to Bangkok

1:00 am – the bus makes it’s first and only stop at a small, side of the road food stand with not a lot of options of weird shit to eat. I split my meal with a wild dog who knows how to shake a paw.

7:15 am – 8:08 am – we get off the bus, just a block away from Khao San Road and troop our way to the closest hotel to hang out in the lobby, grab a bite, and await instructions from a lady named Chilipa who offered Charlie the job. At this point I realize I might have dropped the phone out of my baggy pockets on the bus.

8:12 am – I call our phone and talk to a man who can only say “I have it” but all other efforts of communication are useless. I grab a taxi driver who can speak decent English off the street and get him to translate for me. I know already I’m going to pay extra for this. We settle a long debated deal for a cab ride there (and back) to the man with my phone for 700 baht. The phone cost about 1000 baht. Let’s go you prick!

8:40 am – I meet up with the bus driver, who has my phone. He wants 100 baht for it, which is only $3.00 but I’m beginning to see red.  I wanna wipe my ass with the money first, but instead I put it in his hand and grip it with a firm handshake. We both smile fake smiles.

9:00 am- my taxi friend and I get stuck in morning traffic on the way back to the hotel. He teaches me some language tips and lessons on Buddhism. My 700 baht is going the distance.

9:17 am – I get back to the hotel, where Charlie is ready to rock for an interview in wrinkled dress clothes.  I grab a quick meal and we try n’ figure out where the hell we’re going.

10:10 am – After some confusing talk with Chilipa, we hop in another taxi to her agency office.  We’ve been awake and on the move for 24 hours now and my gut is doing some twisted stuff.

10:25 am to 11: 11 am – The interview goes smooth, despite the fact that we probably smell like hot garbage.  Chilipa is a super nice lady. She arranges our taxi ride to the bus station for a 6 hour journey to Chumphon.

11:40 am to 2:00 pm – the clock spins like a loose wheel as we wait for the bus in a station that is more like a shopping mall. I finally get a glorious ten minutes in the bathroom and then have duck soup for lunch.

2:15 pm to 8:15 pm – during this trip we listen to audio books on the Thai language and watch a horror movie. I finally get some sleep but Charlie is a god-damn trucker.

8:45 pm – we lug our bags down one of the main streets of our new town, looking for a place to temporarily die. Not many people speak English here. I like the challenge but not tonight. We run into two Brits who direct us to a hotel just around the corner.

9:00 pm – this hotel sucks. Good night. 

Nov. 4 ’09: Chumphon

9:35 am to 11:20 am – up n’ out and ready to find our way in this place. Western style breakfast in the hotel café while I get on the internet and Charlie contacts the school she’s teaching at. They want to bring her in for the afternoon.  No time to relocate to a new hotel so I stay in the café lookin’ for places online, while my teacher girlfriend goes off to school.

1:08 pm – I venture out on a mission to locate The Farang Bar, where I know I’ll find some other travelers who can point me in the right direction to find places to rent. I sniff it out with no problem and meet Ivar “the diver,” a Brit who runs the place. He tells me that another Josh, one from California came around asking the same questions yesterday. Ivar gives me one name to check out nearby, but I go back to the hotel for food and to meet Charlie who’ll be done her first day of work soon.

4:15 pm – excited teacher Charlie and I seek Suda, the name that I was given. We tell Suda what we’re looking for and she makes a call.

4:20 pm – a truck pulls up outside Suda’s house and short, round lady gets out for a brief introduction and understanding of what’s going on. We leave our luggage at Suda’s and hop in the truck to go see the house for rent.

7:40 pm to 8:15 pm – we find ourselves at the dinner table of another Thai family. The short, round lady introduces herself and her 2 siblings; Poom, Pom(the sister) and (the brother) Pui. Her mother and father are also at the table. The father has recently gone blind and is still coming to grips with his new challenge. He asks us questions about where we’re from and draws a conclusion, proclaiming “one young man, one young woman, nice people.” After his approval we indulge in the food, which is the spiciest I’ve tasted yet. I make a silent fool of myself, but nobody seems to mind.

9:09 pm – after picking up our luggage and taking a quick walk through the night market, we return to our new home; a half furnished 2 bedroom, one bathroom, with a kitchen and all the necessities – a very difficult thing to find in this town. We put on Elmore James tunes and un-pack. Finally, a more permanent address, with everything we need, in quiet jungle area of a town we already like, where we can relax…. and then get back to work.

 HOME!

*Writer’s note:

I kind of wrote this all as it unfolded for us, which may come across now as either a really lucky expedition, where we rolled with everything and trusted everyone or as a frustrating ball of many hours, hoping we’d end up somewhere safe. I guess it was a bit of both, but that is what I love most about traveling. And to set the record straight, I always carry a spyderco camping knife, as sharp as the devil himself,  in a bag that is always slung around my shoulder. 

The Jeff Darling Long Weekend

This Video was recorded on Saturday the 24 at around 5 o' clock in the afternoon in Chiang Mai, Thailand, which would make it around 6 o' clock in the morning on Sunday the 25 in London, Ontario. Both times and dates are significant because 5pm is when Jeff would typically start getting pumped for the night, crushin' beers, makin' calls, and trying to arrange getting food without having to leave the house. Then 6am is the time he would typically be staggering through the door the next morning, feelin' rough around the edges but still lookin' pretty good. If Big R was still up Jeff would definitely have a story for him. If he wasn't then Jeff would likely have his way with a block of cheese or a jar of peanut butter. Then downstairs to the leathers for shut down/re-boot time.

The 24th and 25th of October just happened to fall perfectly on a weekend this year and I know that Jeff would turn it into a long one for sure, so I'm taking Monday off.

I hope everyone had a positive weekend with lots of laughs and memories of our good buddy, the one and only Jeff Darling. I haven't felt homesick at all, but I definitely was thinkin' about the whole crew back in London yesterday and today. Wish I could have been there.

You really need to picture this...

You’ve got me, a 200 lb. fairly big dude on the back of a powerful but very rugged dirt-bike. You’ve got Charlie (Lindz), on the front, straddling the gas tank. And in the middle, driving this gnarly thing, is a big-bellied red bearded American vagrant named Zak! You’ve got Three “farang,” (that’s foreigners, in Thai language) riding steady up a steep hill that leads to a serene waterfall at the city limits. Picture us a little closer now, because this is where it gets a bit ugly; our new friend Zak isn’t wearing a shirt. I’m wearing a helmet with goggles, looking as dumb or dumber than Lloyd Christmas. As we start to ascend farther up the hill my ass begins to slide off the back of the bike. I got nothing to grab onto but Zak. “Just grab near my ribs,” he says with a laugh, “they’re under there somewhere.” Fuck it! What choice do I have. It’s do or die. My hands gripping under sweaty man tits or my head bouncing off the hot cement of Huay Kaew Road and then eaten by the lawless traffic. I contemplate for too long and almost lose my shit, but finally grab on for dear life. Then I begin to observe how entertaining we three are to the locals zooming by us. “We’ll be here all year folks.”

I’m not even a full month in on this new chapter of life and I’ve already met some hefty characters. So far this dude Zak, he takes the cake. The whole fuckin’ thing- candles and all. I wish I could be brief on explaining this cat but it’s not gonna happen. I’ve only known Zak for a few days now, but he’s what you’d call good people, on the first impression anyway. He looks extremely similar to Philip Seymour Hoffman. He’s apparently traveled and squatted all over the world and has no reservations in talking about serving time in California or being locked up in Samoa. But that was all in the past and it makes sense to want to believe that he’s a genuinely nice fellow. He’s also a self-proclaimed “Crustian,” which is basically a play it to the bone punk-rocker who found Jesus. The second night we hung out we went to a punk show and I literally witnessed him get drunk off of the love of Jesus. We got deep into talking about spiritualism and somehow both ended up laughing very maniacally out loud about all the different gods from all the different religions and how they would feel about how their names and images are being used for such profiteering and division in the world. Then he started speaking in tongues and so I went and got another drink. I’d like to say he’s crazy but I even felt something profound as well, just talking with him about how, where and when he “found Jesus.” It’s not like looking for your house keys, but I’m happy with the divinity I find in good music.

So that’s Zak, and you probably think we’re stupid, but Charlie and I trust him enough to take a ride up to the waterfall and check it out for the afternoon, which we do, and it’s beautiful. But just before we’re about to head back home, the sky goes black and a torrential downpour begins and makes no signs of letting up. We take cover under the rickety old roofs of the locals and their candle- light vending tables. A dog and her three pups join us as well and when the fun of playing with them wears off we venture farther into the big hut, feeling safe and welcomed by the locals. Zak happens to speak quite good Thai so we send him ahead of us. At the back of the big hut there is a dining area built out over the drop off of a decent size hill that looks onto the jungle with the waterfall in the back ground. The planked wooden floor feels like it’s gonna cave in some spots and pretty much everything else is made of bamboo. There are vines hanging down everywhere outside, but Tarzan is dead n’ gone. Instead there is a group of ten Thai people of all ages. Zak says some shit and they answer back in English… “stay for dinner.” We aren’t reluctant at all. What the hell else are we gonna do. The meal gets underway and we learn quickly that the majority of these warm people don’t know a lick of English, but at the dinner table that doesn’t seem to matter. A variety of authentic home- made Thai food is passed around and most of it is eaten by hand. It’s all spicy as hell, but there’s Chang beer with ice in my glass to put out the flames and every time it gets low someone seems to fill it up with a smile. I love these people. At the head of the table is a lady named Tata who is the cook, the evident leader of the family and also quite a good English speaker. She is very motherly and surprisingly loud for a Thai person, but it could be the booze. She tells us she used to be a Muay Thai boxing contender and I find it hard to believe that such a sweet lady could ever be violent, but then she pulls a knife bigger than my dick out of her purse and begins to cut up an apple. We laugh it up and get nice n’ full on bona fide jungle cuisine while the storm puts on a loud, wet light show all around us. At the end of the meal, I do my classic lean back n’ stretch and break the chair, but nobody seems to mind. I learn how to say “sorry” in Thai and then we all proceed outside, where the storm has passed and there is a truck waiting to take us all back down into the city. We cram as many people into the flat bed as we can – probably about 8 or so, then we head for Tata’s house in Chiang Mai for fresh fruit and more drinks. Once we get there everyone else seems to wonder off, leaving only Zak, Charlie and myself, hangin’ out with Tata and her daughter, who doesn’t talk at all but will not allow my glass of beer to ever get empty. Tata is proud to show us her small living quarters and pictures of her many travels all over Thailand, helping hill-tribe people with education and clothes. She is an amazing lady. Then she reads our palms and blows our minds with her accuracy. After that, Zak passes out on her bed while Charlie and I speak with her about teaching jobs and living a good n’ true life in Chiang Mai. When I look back on it now, I’m glad the three of us all fit on that dirt bike.

Wide awake in the Kingdom of Thailand

In room 2510 of the D&D Inn, the air conditioner is off on purpose, making the temperature damp and perfect for getting next to a lady. Unfortunately mine is still sound asleep. It's not even 7AM yet and I'd be crazy to wake her up for anything less than an inbound tsunami. As I write this I think of my buddy, Matty Munro. I know he'll be proud of the early morning rebel I've turned into since this whole adventure began. I don't sleep much more than 5 or 6 hours a night and so far I've suffered no negative effects.
The D&D Inn is located in the heart of Khao San Road, which is more famously known as the backpacker's Mecca of the world. After staying the weekend with Martin and Tik, our first friends in Bangkok, we arrive here with plans to stay only one night, then catch the cheapest bus ride we can find to Northern Thailand. But after only being here an hour, we know we have to stay longer. There's just too much beautiful madness going on in all directions and it would be some sort of blasphemy to leave this living landmark without seeing all that it has to offer. I've never witnessed so much internationalism before; thousands of Nomads from all over the globe, coming together on one long stretch of road, where food and drink and adequate boarding are cheap, and anything you can think of can be found for the right price. It's one of those places straight outta the movies. In fact Leo Dicaprio was here in "The Beach."
The cost of a room with AC, here at this particular Hotel is 750 Baht, which works out to be around 23 bucks n' change. This includes an amazing breakfast buffet and access to the pool on the roof. " The best pool on the strip!" according to Israel Bill, a returning Khao San Road Veteran of six years.
On the day we rolled up here, it rained off n' on and when it finally stopped to let the sun out, all walks of life revealed themselves on the rooftop to swim and tan. That's where we met Billy, amongst a heap of others. It wasnt' much of a guessing game to figure out where everyone was from. The Americans were loud, the Europeans were half naked, the English were English and we were drinking beer and lauging, wondering if they could pinpoint us. We spied Billy discreetly sniffing cocaine off the back of his hand before he joined us in the pool. Pretty nice guy though.

The days are going by slowly, but everything else is changing fast. I'm learning how far the money can go here, as well as the possibiltiy of other jobs aside from teaching. At this point, a liberating realization has begun to set in and it feels like the ultimate summer vacation. For the first time since I was just a kid, I've got no pressure of any kind on me. No deadlines. Nobody to answer to. No worries. Just the everyday joy of my traveling companion, the thrill of new environments and the love of writing about everything. I know already it's going to be hard to come back. I'll go down in a blaze before I let this lifestyle end.

How the west was won ( in 3 days ).

Postcards from the Pacific

Click on em' to make em' bigger and more detailed.

one last thing before I begin

Fellas, Ladies, and anyone who cares,

I’m outta here by now and I know I’m gonna miss you all. If I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye in person and give you a solid hug, then just know that I tried and that I love ya regardless. There's a little bit more I want you to know...

This last summer here was a big chapter for me. Perhaps more so than the adventure that awaits overseas because it was all about preparation. Beyond packin’ shit up and tying up loose ends, it was big because I feel like I shed old skin and emerged as a new dude. I really didn’t do anything different, but I became a lot more aware about myself, my friends, my surroundings and the fact that I’ve still got a lot more life to live with maybe not as much time as I need. Without getting too tragic here I have to admit that losing my Mom at such a pinnacle age had some interesting effects on me, both positive n’ negative. The year we lost Jeff was without a doubt the worst year of my life. We all lost something huge there and we all deal with that shit in different ways. I lost all motivation to do anything for myself. Since then I feel like all I’ve been doing is crawling out of a hole. It’s taken way too fuckin’ long and now that I’m back on the surface all I want to do is head for the edge of the map and breath some new air. It’s difficult to explain this to people like my Aunt La because she can’t understand why I’d want to be so far away from everyone I love. You guys know I’ve got my reasons. We’re all good at something. So far I seem to be pretty good at traveling. Whatever the reason may be, the urge to live abroad again is in my blood and I’ve learned that you shouldn’t mess with instinct. At one bonfire or another you’ve probably heard me ramble on about not being afraid of dying because I strongly believe that we all get to meet up again in a way sweeter place. Death is what it is. Everybody wants to get to heaven, but nobody wants to die.

What does scare me more than anything is the idea of not seeing, hearing, and experiencing the things that I’m supposed to before its’ all over. For the first time in my life I can hear the clock ticking and it’s lighting a fire under my ass. With all this new shit comes a shaky feeling of not knowing where I’ll end up or when I’ll come back. I hold a steadfast commitment to refrain from returning home until I’ve found my place in the world, found a career that I love as much as everything else that I love. And with that being said, there’s a very small chance I may not see some of you guys for a long time. It’s fucked up to think like that but as we all know by now, anything can happen.

The thought of that helps me get it all out in this letter and whenever I get deep into writing something like this, my mind seems to let go and something more profound takes over. I space out and trip back to a million different moments shared with the people I’ve known forever. Most of you I don’t even remember how we first met. It’s like we were always just there, hangin’ around from the beginning. And the meaningful characters that I’ve met along the way have fit right in there as a perfect part of the story line. It doesn’t really matter how far away we are or how long we’re gone from each other’s day to day. What’s important is that we keep each other posted on what’s up in life. If you’re drunk n’ happy, if your stoked about something coming up, if you got laid by that girl you’ve been gunnin’ for, if you’re getting married, if something crazy happened, if you won the lottery, if you just need an old friend to talk to…. I’m never that hard to reach. Don’t hesitate. I’m your boy for life.

It all keeps going. We keep living our lives the best way we can and we have the luxury of living vicariously and proud because of the amazing variety of lives that we are all living and sharing with each other. You guys are my family and I couldn’t have asked for a better crew of genuine people to inspire me and help me through shit and buy me drinks and keep it all so everlastingly interesting. For everything you are and everything you do, I gotta say thanks. I’m a lucky bastard.

I’ll see you all somewhere later

Love n’ Brotherhood,

Josh Wicks

livingthedream@rock.com

when music connects....

THE BEAST AND DRAGON, ADORED.

YOU BEEN GONE SO LONG. WHERE YOU BEEN FOR SO LONG?

I went to places unknown, rented a room

and I forgot my pen, shook my twin

and I had to find that feeling again.

Now all I need is a crew.

One that can act as if

One that can slay on cue, and sneeze n' sniff.

I'm goin' back to the water

Been land-locked too long.

I got a feeling, it don't come cheap

I got a feeling and it got to me.

It took it's time a-workin' into my soul

I got to believe it comes from rock n' roll.

WHERE DID YOU GET FOR SO LONG?

I been learning my scene.

I been watching my friends move away.

I summon my love back to me.

And I went down by the sea wall

that's when I knew, knew they never got to you.

Great Dominions, they don't come cheap.

Great Dominions, they just want you to leave.

I got the meaning, the meaning sat tight.

It's not what you expected but it could be right

I got a feeling, it didn't come free.

I got a feeling and then it got to me.

When you don't feel it, it shows, they tear out your soul

and when you believe they call it rock n' roll.

*Lyrics by Britt Daniel of SPOON

LIVE FROM FLAN'S HOUSE OF HEALING

It’s August Now. Some might say this summer’s been a rip off but I rest assured I got my money’s worth. I’ve been living here for a little over a month. I’ve worked my ass off, renovating it back to health, in exchange for rent and so much more. For piece of mind reasons of what friendship is all about. Buddies helping buddies. I’ve drank a lot more beer, smoked a lot more herb, and eaten a lot more sushi than I probably ever have. But I’ve also got a lot more accomplished, a lot more figured out about where I’m heading in life. This is only a springboard.

With only 7 weeks remaining until I plan on leaving London again I’ve taken a good look around and realized some sentimental things. Aside from Flan, I may be the last of a solid line of good friends that have lived here throughout the years. It seems as if everyone has made their mark on this house in one way or another. My favorite is the black futon with the bent frame, on which I sleep. This uncomfortable hunk of tossing n’ turning was once a fine piece of furniture that belonged to Jeff Darling. It was purchased with a white furry rug to compliment it. He was going with the black/white motif for his pad out in Burnaby B.C. I remember waking up face down on that rug after nights at the Roxy-Burg. The fuckin’ thing shed more than a dog and I always had to pick the fur out of my mouth and dreads. I don’t know what happened to it, but somehow the futon ended up back here. I’m glad it did. On the nights it won’t let me sleep I stay up and write and every thought or memory that I can spill out makes me feel better about every aspect of life. As long as these words are here for someone to read. Even if its’ only me. A back up plan for amnesia, Alzheimer’s, and/or if I should sell out. I may never grow up but eventually, I’ll grow old and with a boat load of hope n’ determination I won’t make too many compromises so that when I read this later on down the road it’ll still be the same person doing the writing.

It's almost time to move again. We've done our part here. Left some scars n' holes and then patched em' up for the next onslaught. This house, at the dead end of Cambridge street looks better than it ever has, all dressed up and ready to ball with tenants. The Flan Man just got it rented out this Tuesday. And so, like the last season of your favorite show, we’re counting down the days n’ the episodes left until we say that famous “last line” and walk out the door. 

KEEP MOVING

I made one phone call to the Flan Man for a place to crash, then I packed most of my needed and cherished shit into 2 backpacks, the infamous powder blue LTD Bowling bag and 1 environmentally friendly grocery bag, wrote a rather un- thought out note, ate some leftover pizza, and walked out.  It was time. Everything was telling me this, from within and without.

Yeah, I know, one would easily question why a 26 year old in about ten grand of debt and no car would choose to pack up and move out with no real certainty of a firm place to stay. And I myself question this move too because on the outside it looks like I’m heading backwards down a very unknown road. The circumstances aren’t as noble sounding as that dude from “Into the Wild.” He knew what he was doing, or wasn’t doing, but me, all I know is that for some outlandish reason, it’s written in the blueprint… I’m meant to be doing this; bouncing around, all over the city, anywhere n’ anyway I can with a backpack on, music in the ears and a million different thoughts waiting to be put to paper. How can I feel shitty about my situation when the resilience of writing is at an all time high. Label this as the summer of self-discovery for me. A vastly growing awareness that there are still people I have to meet, places I have to find and experiences I have to endure in order to fully understand who I am and what the hell I’m really here for. Because right now I’m only going with what feels right and that is to keep moving. Once again, I hope you understand.

Idle will kill.

There’s a chance that I’ll look back on this later and shake my head with mild flavored embarrassment, but I highly doubt it. Maybe it’s the Bukowski I’ve been digging so much lately. Maybe it’s the Iggy Pop in the headphones. Maybe it’s something I’ll never totally be able to explain to the ones I love and they’ll resent me for it. But there’s nothing I can do about it right now. Whatever’s happening to this kid here is too refreshing to turn back. I only worry about Charlie. I only hope she understands and finds herself and everything else she needs as well. That she doesn’t give up on me. I’m preparing for a drastic change of lifestyle in a future I still can’t see yet. But it’s very hard to imagine without her. What’s meant to be will be no matter how bleak it can feel at times, I remain positive.

As time rolls on, decisions are made and the money is saved I feel stronger and happily separate from the pack but still, like everyone else, I wish there were more damn hours in a day.

always the last place you look

I was not even halfway through sanding out the first coat of the drywall in the basement when my brain pumped the brakes a couple times n’ squealed and it said “hey what the hell are you doin’ down here, workin’ your balls off on a beauty of a Saturday and who the hell are you doin’ this for anyway?”

But then my soul swung in –on a chandelier made of recycled gun parts, like it’s occasionally known to do- and it said;

“You damn fool! You’re working for you!  You’re on a mission, like everyone else but you haven’t forgotten it yet. Came pretty close though, idiot! Be grateful. Most people work for nothing but money and that’s all they ever get, be it a lot or a little.  You may not make a pant load, but when you’re working to profit the kind of currency that truly makes you happy then all you need is enough tangible cash to buy a ticket to the next destination. “

“Things are changing in a big way again and you my friend, are workin’ for purpose, to fulfill things you’ve always wanted to do, but you may not have always realized. Hard to believe I know, but that’s why I chimed in there, because I’m your fuckin’ SOUL and it’s about time you started utilizing me and my services again. Idiot. Remember when you cut it n’sealed it, for like 4 months on the graveyard shift, out at the Window factory without windows, then you went home, slept for 4 hours and got up to go paint Andrew Parr’s aunt’s house until 8pm, but you didn’t give a shit, no, you ate it up cuz you were workin’ to get to Vancouver. Remember that? That was me baby! Your soul- all cylinders firing! Remember when you arrived out west and you worked at Calhoun’s as a night manager of the damn graveyard shift again, and then you got off at 7AM and went to film school so you could make your first movie? That wasn’t your brain. He helped a little bit, but remember when you had to work at DQ to buy a plane ticket home? That was him. No inspiration, just action. He got the job done but damn, what a strange time- feeding the homeless from a satchel of cheeseburger experiments on the walk home. That contribution was your heart. Everything else epic and memorable was me. Soul, okay…… so don’t make me call you an idiot again.”

 

I figure the brain, the heart and the soul are the three different viable sources within us lucky ones aware of what we got and if you’re reading this than you most likely fit the profile so congratulations to the graduating class. Use these gifts and try not to be an asshole, at least not in public.  It gets too damn easy to fall into the rut of the rat race so check yourself daily. I’m pretty fuckin’ serious. A lot of those early Jack Johnson songs were onto something. I think. Either way, I had to write this piece to give props to my soul, fresh out of doubt rehab and ready to guide the way again. Let’s do this. 

missing out

I never really listened to the Beatles much at all.
I still don't lest I'm baked with nothing to do
and I guess that's just what happened. On Canada day, of all days
why did I choose to stay in?
I blame the music and the crazy effect it can have on a person
in times of up n' down.
On this particular occasion, the suspect is "Dear Prudence."
Do you see the irony?
It took me a while.
Still doesn't explain why I wasn't getting hammed up somewhere.
I stood up for a back stretch and realized I was still in my work clothes
writing this.
My hands, speckled with paint and dirt and half-healed cuts.
I come up with lines like that last one and it feels like
there's another character speaking out from inside me
and he's a better poet.
I've tried poetry before but I tried too hard.
Truth is
tonight I figured out what a writer is...
When you sit down to write and everything hits at once
and you know that you'd be missing out on something
if you went out.
So you stayed in.
And a greater gift than karma prevailed.

untitled

got a friend finding his way out in California

got a friend who found it out in the middle of nowhere, B.C.

got a friend playing in the U.S. Open

got a friend with a successful business

got a friend in heaven who knows all the scores

got a friend workin' his guts off for the next chapter

got a friend holding it all together with heart

got a friend in England, gonna be a great actor one day

got a friend who's strugglin' 

got a friend who's strugglin' more

got a friend who's a DJ

got a friend who's happy where he is

got a friend that doesn't know where he is

got a friend that won't give up on rock n' roll

got a friend who's my cousin

got a friend who's my cousin

got a friend who's a girl

got a friend I haven't met yet

got a friend in more debt than I am

got a friend in Indonesia

got a friend I miss

got a friend in Scotland who's married

got a friend of a friend

got all the people I need to keep me writing, going, laughing, hoping, living....

I was painting a friend's house today when I realized all this and there was the perfect amount of heat outside that sparked something in me. I could have packed up and called it an early day to go find a pool to swim in but I suddenly remembered that I had a tab of "white dog" Ecstasy that a friend had given me the night before. I made myself a small sandwich to chase it down with and cranked up Rod Stewart and the Faces, a serious diamond in the rough of feel good rock n' roll. Then I got into my work. I thought about everyone and everything about them that I dig as I put color to the walls. I didn't need a chemical motivator to do this but I took the little pill because I was already in one of those rare and amazing moments of clarity where you comfortably know that everything in life has a meaning and you feel closer to it all, whatever it all may be.  Hope you understand. 

Born in the bottom of a wishing well

The very first point to take notice of was the faintly evident sound of shoes being worn without socks. There’s a certain kind of low squeak to it, and by now you know it well, because you, yourself never wear socks with shoes in the summer time-sometimes no shoes at all. Just like this guy….

He didn’t walk with distinction or confidence. He definitely didn’t saunter. He cruised as if he didn’t have a care in the world, which in this day n’ age is pretty much a bullshit term. But the sound of his feet moving in and out of rhythm meant he was skipping the odd cracks. The sound of the small stones and dust meant he was on the fringe of the road, not the sidewalk. He must have had a song or a girl in his head, or both. It was impossible to tell if he was on his way to or from something purely divine.

Hopefully that last paragraph drew a descriptive scene in your head.  A scene put together by your ears and your brain. You wouldn’t be able to realize all this by looking at the young dude because you’re blind. Not metaphorically either. It’s for real this time. In this story YOU ARE blind.

Don’t waste your time wondering how or why- you’re out on the street without anyone else, it’s a sweet, warm day, and the sun is shining so hard on your shoulders that you must be wearing a black t-shirt. You feel free. You picked up a hell of a good vibe off the young dude that went walking by and now it’s about time for your own  strut. You don’t have a seeing eye dog either. It hasn’t been born yet.  It’s just you, with heightened sense of sound, smell, touch and happiness. 

When you see a blind person do you ever wonder how happy they really are? Of course not, you’re blind too, remember, you don’t see shit. But you know that you’re happy. What choice do you have? You’ve got other choices instead. You don’t have to worry about half the worthless distractions that the rest of us must face on a daily basis. We can’t escape what you can’t understand. Don’t sweat the self-esteem either ‘cause you never have to look at yourself. In fact take all the time that us visual fuck-ups waste going nowhere and do something meaningful with it. It’s a success story no matter how you slice it. There’s so much more than seeing.  Music is all that is life so learn it and preach it. Touch everything n’ everyone. They’ll understand. Move in close for the “scent of a woman”. If she doesn’t let it happen, she’ll never be a blind man’s baby. Walk on.

Back on the street you’re literally aimless as you feel a perfectly cool breeze and then moments later it begins to down pour with the rays of the sun still present on your skin. Forget about rainbows and everybody else. You’re so money and you don’t even know it. Find yourself a nice long stick and utilize it like never before.  You won’t need much money or distance to have fun.  The neighborhood is a universe when the lights are always off.  Just try n’ stay on the sidewalk.

 

Note: This piece was not at all inspired by that movie “Blindness,” which was a god-awful film by the way. 

Discovering Alcohol (a flashback)

It started as a joke,

the way most long stories begin.

This one is really no different and it still has not come to an end. I doubt it ever will, however one day it might be best.

I'm 26 now. Back then me and my droogs were in Grade 7, which would make us uh, 13 years old. The whole lot of us young pups, trying out cigarettes and stealin' bases on our way to the top of the public school food chain. 

With only a few days remaining 'till summer vacation, Jordie Preston pulled out three piss warm bottles of brew from his back pack and we all celebrated and passed em' around after school. Not the best memory of a first taste, but it triggered something. Serious interest in how and why this foul juice somehow led to a level of fun we couldn't imagine. 

It was during the first week of that summer, of course that we collectively organized a mass drinking party to be held at the most epic location we knew of. A place that was big and open and felt far enough away from anyone that could bring the hammer down on our experiment. In Byron, at that time, there was only one place; the London Ski club's HILL 2000. After all the lame projects we had to complete in Grade 7, we finally had one we were proud to put our names on.  It had three phases:

1) Steal booze from parents without getting caught.

2) Make it to Hill 2000 without any questions asked.

3) Drink without regard.

It seemed like the entire grade showed up. Nobody in their right mind wanted to miss this historical event, and surely it was to those that were there. 

There isn't much to go into detail about. We drank. We felt our blood temperature rise and our voices become louder as the sun began to sink lower beyond our vantage point. We acted  out merely every recollection of the cliched drunken scenes that we'd absorbed from T.V. and movies. And why the hell not? Every character I ever wanted to be like was a fun lovin' substance abuser. But there didn't seem to be anything "abusive" about this. 

There is no real discovery to be made with alcohol ( I was drunk when I came up with that title). For the grand majority of North Americans, drinking is just another step on the path of growing up. I believe we can learn a lot from inebriation.  Alongside my mates, my introduction was both lucky and memorable. I got loose. Everyone had brought something different, and I tried it all. Wine, beer, the hard stuff, I drank it down. The party in my belly was raving n' drooling, but it met no comparison to what was happening on the highest plateau of Hill 2000.

The fun, attractive girls were experiencing a new kind of freedom and sharing it with everyone by throwing off their shirts and running around giggling, almost floating, while others manifested into instant drama queens, freaking out about things as insignificant as chicken feed. The boys shouted Chris Farley quotes out at the view of the suburban sprawl, each line more louder than the next, until we were all on the ground, laughing and sweating and encouraging the girls in their topless antics. 

I felt like I was everywhere at once, with eyes in the back of my head and enough pure energy to light a sports field. We stayed long, and drank and loafed all over the monumental hill grounds until there was not a drop of alcohol left. It was our first big -time bonding experience as a group of small town kids who left the night feeling and knowing that there was a whole lot more in life to discover. There always will be. 

While walkin' through Mount Pleasant C n' C

…. On separate occasions I’ve seen the ghost of a fire man, I heard children laughing, and I smelled the distinct aroma of birthday candles. It wasn’t the body burning in the crematorium with the door open, but  I saw that too. Different kind of smell.  But it’s all relative and pretty self=explanatory. It’s a cemetery, where dead people are buried. Some of em’ are at rest and glad to be there, while others are still pissed off about something they forgot to do.  Some, I think, just want to be seen. Why should things be any different on the other side, apart from all the pain-free amazing-ness.

The squirrels in the cemetery are above average on all fronts. They make up a very elite and intelligent mafia and nobody touches them, because nobody knows anything. This might sound like a conspiracy and I wish I could prove more but all I can really disclose is that they know how to read. They hide their stash of nuts and other paraphernalia at the base of certain tombstones and then they remember the names written on them.  I’ve seen it. It’s astonishing. They got that place monopolized. Don’t underestimate them.

Discovering weird shit like this makes me hungry for new life, the way I used to be in Vancouver. I keep walking, looking for side roads I’ve never been down. I haven't been this glad to lack the use of a car before. And now I go out more than ever.

I’ve been taking the streets a lot these days. It’s a combination of the weather mixed with the fact that I know I likely won’t enjoy a true Canadian summer for a few years to come, so with that in mind, I’ll walk anywhere, I’ll hoof it through a storm, like last Saturday, as long as I’ve got music on my side. I’ll say “yes” to those innocent offerings from people that I’m not sure if they mean it. I’ll roll with whatever’s happening, rather than dwell on what else is goin’ on elsewhere. I’ll make sure the empty spaces on the calendar from April to August are filled with something worth reading. Then I’ll keep it going further. And further.

“one day I just started workin’ hard and I forgot to stop”         - Shad

Fights... and my role in them.

Tyler Durden said something that has always stuck with me and caused me to look within myself a bit. And every time I find myself in that situation where I know that a fight is about to go down, a strange feeling washes over me and I hear his words; " How much do you really know about yourself if you haven't been in a fight?" 

I'm looking at the age of 27 coming 'round the bend this year and I'm still wondering and waiting for a one on one, hay-makers to the face, full out fight! I've never learned what I can deliver and what I can take from another dude in the heat of battle.  And this makes me a strange kind of curious. I'm not lookin' to start shit for nothing because I know one day I'll get into a serious tussle for a good reason. I'll have the fuel inside to drive me to inflict pain without regard. 

Wow, I wonder what your thinkin' about me now? I never said I was a pacifist. 

I've been in a few brawls over the years. The kind that begin with a one on one tilt, or more typically, a dirty jumping at a bar, where all hell breaks loose and everyone else jumps in to even it out or break it up. I'm a "break it up" kinda guy. The problem is there's these other clowns that ask questions last and go straight for the break it up guy. Only makes things worse. In my experience I've been fairly untouched because I'm a decently big dude that knows how to make an effective crazy face. But when the all out brawl out gets underway, I'm what the British would call a "tosser." I grab anyone I don't know by the scruff and throw em' with everything I got. I keep an eye out on the main fighters (usually Flanny or Darling in my group) and I make sure they're winning with no dummies on their backs. 

In almost every brawl I can remember being in, we've been outnumbered and I've thrown a lot of dirty bastards off my buddies. But I've never thrown a solid punch. At least not one I can recall. The instinct doesn't seem to be there. Yet when I grab the son of a bitch and toss his ass to the ground, he doesn't come back because I tend to stare at em' with a fucked up face like I'm gonna eat em'. They stay out of it. 

I threw a guy into an oncoming car during one memorable scrap on Halloween, up in St. Catherine's. It was one of Flanny's bouts with quite a few of us involved. The whole thing stopped instantly when the dude smacked onto the car. What was even better was the fact that we were all dressed up in costumes. I was Ron Burgundy. 

meet Charlie Lovebottums

I know this girl. She's insane, but in a good way. Crazy like a fox, if you will. I've known her since I was in high school. I had a class with her, which lead to us working on a project together, which lead to us kissing like a really good episode of Dawson's Creek, in the back of my buddy Braden's car as he was driving it. Such a night. I didn't know shit about anything back then so she dumped my eager ass on my 18th birthday. Then I went to a party, raving like a wild dog and I bit a good man known as Gordo until I drew blood. Your boy's a savage. I know a little bit more about life now. It's important to stay positive and keep lookin' out for the bright spots, 'cause they keep coming back around. 

She is the brightest thing I've ever fucking seen. 

One time, during the peak of a solar eclipse, my buddies and I stared up into the ring that your not supposed to look at because it's so bright that it can potentially blind you..... well she's brighter than that. And always good for the eyes. 

In the year 2005 she appeared again, thanks to the guidance of the late great Jeff Darling. 

Somehow we found our way out to Vancouver, living in the humblest of an abode, attending the same film school and getting closer and happier together than I ever thought I'd get with a girl. 

I guess I still didn't know shit. But I definitely knew that this one was different from the rest. 

Charlie Lovebottums is the epitome of what Billy Joel was singing about in "She's always a woman to me." Check that one out. 

She falls up and throws down. She spits words n' fire like a beautiful paradox. 

I'm talkin' about an open book of mystery here. A muse that remains as young as I do at heart. 

I doubt I'll ever be able to totally explain my special lady friend. 

I've lived with this girl for about 4 years now, in a shady flop house on 7th ave, in the bowels of a cruise ship, on the shores of Mexico n' Alaska, in the many hotel rooms across the Trans-Canada and of course, in a tent. She's the only one I can live abroad with. The person I've been looking for since I figured out how big and endless the world was. I'm a lucky bastard and I know it. But I'm grateful too. 

Now we live in the basement of a condo she owns with her Sister. It's too simple for us, this time n' place.  We're on our way outta here again. But before we go, I wanted to attempt to explain why I love this girl.  'Cause I do. 

a brief education in counter culture

So Loop and I went to see RESET tonight. Amazing punk band from the late 90's, recently resurfaced in 2008 with a new album and a tour that finally hit London, ON. It was good to have em' back. They still shred. 

Last time I saw these guys I was still in high-school and the show started n' ended at the same time when they came out on stage n' announced that they literally just broke up and they weren't playing. A huge bummer that turned out to be one of my wildest memories in live music history. Count how many times one of your fav bands came to town to tell you they were done. No soup for you! 

I learned a lot tonight. It didn't take a lot to learn it. Phil, the guitarist and sharing lead vocalist of the band is the only remaining member of the original RESET. He is truly what this whole article is about. He showed me along with everyone else, who knew it or not, what devotion was all about. The show was awesome enough to please a sold out crowd, but there was a bare minimum crowd there. I think Loop counted about 22 people, like the deadest I've seen it after ten o'clock. But they still gave it. 

Afterwards we helped em'  move their shit into the van, supplied the papers and smoked an "un-filtered, no ta-back" joint with Phil and I think the drummer, Marten.  Loop n' I realized pretty soon that compared to Phil, the other two dudes in the band were still pretty new to living in the counter culture, but they were on their way . Only a matter of tours, a matter of time. Meanwhile Phil broke it down to us, exactly what the hell he'd been doing to resurrect the once stellar punk band, and how he's now a goddamn phys. ed teacher. He's a smart cat who some would say got left behind, but I would argue the opposite. For reasons I don't totally understand, yet I still respect, he chose to remain. Playing music he wants to hear. Music he loves as much as we do. Probably more. Either way, he showed us some true colors and I still haven't hit my point here. When RESET broke up, some of the old members emerged as new band that made us all throw up in our mouths. They were called A Simple Plan.  I'd like to think the die hard RESET fans got their angst out when we peppered Pierre with garbage while Simple Plan played their first warped tour and he called us all "racists" because we didn't like their whiney pop-punk bullshit. Some people would argue that Simple Plan does have some catchy guitar riffs n' licks despite all sucky lyrics. I had good laugh tonight when I found out that they paid Phil quite favorably to write the majority of awesome guitar parts. They couldn't even do it themselves....  wankers.  

As Loop and I walked to the show through the galleria parking, which is free after midnight now, we talked about the tempting difference between the moral majority culture, which makes up about 80% of our population and the counter culture (20% beauties) who fill in the rest with a sweet vengeance.  Phil is one hundred percent part of that twenty percent. He's been on big tours, he's tasted how good it could be. A solid band on the forefront of Canadian punkrock and beyond and he didn't brag about any of that shit. He didn't slag off in the hotel room and talk about how much better it used to be. He hung out like it was happening for the first time... all over again. And he still dug it. He was on a mission to bring it all back. And although the crowd at the office tonight was crushing to the ego, well, he read one of those Ekhart Tolle books and said fuck the ego! 

I guess in the end, I didn't exactly lay down in great savory detail what tonight was all about for me. But that happens sometimes. You get inspired. It leaves a mark, but you can't give it back quite yet. I don't know. 

the temporary hood

My temporary neighborhood is bigger than I'm used to. It consists of very tall apartment complex's, rising up like miracle trees of modern science. Except, let's shoot the metaphor right now without regard and face the facts. High rises and smart-centeres are appearing out of nowhere much more than they should, where they are wanted a lot more by the yuppies than they are needed by the down-right real cats who choose to read stuff like this. 

Fuck me, I'm already getting way outta hand and off topic here. I enjoy these new surroundings for the time-being. Good amenities nearby. But definitely temporary for me. A few more months time and I'm sure I would start to become noticeably unbalanced. For now it's all just the humble beginning of yet another chapter in my life. Chapter 9.  How I got hear is pretty irrelevant. Doesn't really matter for now. All you need to know is what I know; I'm a 26 year old dude, still making moves to find his path. Here's a chart.

________________________________________________________________

>DISCOVERY OF SELF 

WITHIN SURROUNDINGS/ SOCIETY

>>DISCOVERY OF PERSONAL LIFE PATH 

(this path, if chosen wisely and followed diligently leads to...)

>>>DISCOVERY  OF PLACE/ FINDING THE NICHE

>>>>LIVING THE DREAM OR SETTLING DOWN CONFIDENTLY 

________________________________________________________________

Some people never even get on a path to find out where it leads. Some people spend a great amount of their years tripping down many different paths, trying eagerly to find their place in the world- their title. Where everything in life becomes a lot clearer. If you're lucky enough to reach that then you can pretty much breath easy and know that you're livin' it up the way you're supposed to. Good time to start reproducing. 

I've been hopping from one path to another for what feels like quite some time now but when I talk to cats on the cusp of turning 40, they tell me I've only just begun. I really don't know who to listen to anymore. But another freshly seeded path is set to be journeyed down and this time I'm ready for damn near anything. Just gotta get my taxes done before I take the plunge. Only the spirits know how long it'll be before I emerge again. Possibilities are endless once again....finally. 

I walked in tonight and found this fortune cookie script laying on the floor...

" You can't build a reputation on what you're going to do."  What a skull-fuck! The forces are talking more specifically now: get off your ass!  

I thought I was already up n' going, but I'm still jogging through the haze of a half ass motivational front. Sure, I may have some people fooled, but they don't know me like brethren. The ones I would kill for and die for make up a very short list, but I suspect that they know I'm only going half ass on this devotion. And I am just as curious as  they are as to why I'm not giving this my undivided attention. I'm more than half way to getting there and I still don' t completely understand why I'm not one hundred percent into it 100% of the time. I'm still trying to find my old inspired self again. Maybe another visit to the cemetery is in order. Maybe for a longer, more significant amount of time. Don't leave until you honestly feel you've got some sort of direction. It worked before, just be open. I really don't have any guaranteed remedies to finding answers anymore, but lately I've found just walking around and taking the bus like in my days of innocence, as I refer to them, seems to conjure up a better sense of who I really am to the rest of this good city's people.  Unfortunately this is only a very small margin of  the audience I hope to get "indirect" feedback from.  By this I mean, not verbally but by body language and mannerisms. I have found an affinity in people watching, and I haven't truly realized it until I was forced to start taking the transit system again. I actually declined a ride today, knowing that it was a peak period to ride the bus and read my book as well as the fellow passengers who hoped on at every stop. Everyone on this planet has one great story that can be shared with the rest of us. This is a fact that blows my mind and keeps me talking to strangers. Eventually they're gonna share something significant. 

I'm beginning to feel things swinging my way again, setting up to launch out of this state of limbo and into a fast-paced future with lots of communication amongst everybody. It'll be an exciting time and I hope it lasts as long as possible and spreads like wildfire.