yesterday

i woke up at 5:30 to the sound of a jackass pounding tent stakes into the ground about 18 inches away from me head.

i was sleeping on the ground at the beach in santa barbara.
i was sleeping off a whiskey drunk from the night before.

who the fuck needs to set up a tent at 5:30 in the morning. he had just rolled into camp. he was gettign ready to go out and explore the area and had no need to set up a tent. tink tink tink tink tink... fuck that hammer on the steel tent stakes. and fuck that jackass.

i'm just crashed out in my sleeping bag, no tent. the guy is looking directly at my head. my poor drunken head. the guy is literally pounding steel less than 18 inches from my EARHOLE!!! FUCK THAT.

then he decides to move the tent. after all the stakes are in. he moves it CLOSER TO ME. he's about 8 inches away and starts hammering again.

it took every bit of strength i had to _NOT_ choke that fucker to his demise right then and there.


he stopped when it was all setup.

i tried to sleep but it wasn't happening


so

wake and bake on the beach with the waves tickling at my toes.

a few morning beers, cowboy coffee and a bit of last minute flirting with the new hottie i'm working with; we'd had a wonderful night ;)

one of my coworkers, who happens to be the biggest hippie you've ever seen, needed a ride to LA, so i hooked up him and we headed south for The Speakeasy and Bran. Was looking forward to kickin it, old school... at roscoe's motherfucking C&W.

half a delicious bird later, full as fuck, trying to get the last bits of grits down, and deep into a discussion about the similarities between zombpocolypse and the ancient mayan calanders' ending in 2012, a hunger that had grown inside me for two months was finally quenched.

had to cancel some plans with a friend who wasnt feeling well.

(get better hays)

dropped bran off and went to drop off said hippie.


took him to his buddies house, who happened to be a guatamalan shaman who had studied for years with Lakota Sioux holy men as well as his own traditions. the guy was awesome and i wanted to learn so much from him.

he makes a living carving wooden flutes.

the guy was awesome.

he took us to a nature preserve in Torrence, the place was beautiful and we actually felt like we were away from the city for a bit. playing flute, listening to sacred songs of the lakota and smoking fatties by the pond. we were visted by red tail hawks, skunks and a blue heron. perfect place to catch the sunset.


then we went back to the shamans' house, played some home made instruments in out own improvised band. and had dinner.


finally made my lagging ass to fullerton in time to catch the tail end of a poker game.

all in for the double up in my first hand.

ended up winning $54.

passed the fuck out on the couch at 3:30am.

not a bad run for the last 22.5 hours.

Workin blues

getting ready to go back to work guiding.

i like the work, it's great to be outdoors in nature all the time, but any job gets to me. having no control over my time while i'm 'working' is lame. its just having to be somewhere, every day, at the same time.

still, it's silly to complain about a cool job, i'm glad i have it and glad to be making some money in the next few months.


packing is taking me forever, i'm distracting myself with twitter, facebook, and now, my blog.

also laughing at #melo taking over twitter. it's like a swarm of rats jumping ship for the next closest thing to a "wall".

like blue balls

years ago, i was in college... i was the editor of the paper working with a well respected journalist and beginning to get some recognition for my writing. I had the option to go work for a number of newspapers, but i didn't want to write news.

I wanted to write books.

I looked for inspiration to my favourite authors: george orwell, hunter thompson, mark twain, jack kerouac... and i realized, they went out and lived before they became writers. they all had amazing lives of adventure then they started to write about their experiences.

as a young, middle class american in college, i had very few interesting experiences in life. it was mostly the same old, same old. my experiences revolved around television, movies, video games. sure, i had done my share of partying. i thought i was pretty hard core from the handful of drugs i'd tried a time or two. and there were a few i even did regularly, if you can believe that. of course, none of it went beyond the usual youthful experimentation, which we all do.

so i realized, i needed to go out and live life. passive entertainment had eclipsed active experience for me, i was merely existing, finding ways to pass the days.

i finished my last 6 weeks of school. it took forever.

i quit my job. i sold and gave away 95% of the things i had accumulated for the last 23 years. i put the really sentimental stuff in storage, packed a (oversized) bag, and hit the road.

my mind was full of Kerouac and Evasion... it seemed so romantic:


"… then life began, and since then we remember each dumpster, abandoned house, and foot-chase by retail security. At night, after running around, plotting and scheming, our checklist items all crossed out, we paused to think — 'What to do tomorrow?' and the answer was always, 'As we please …" - Evasion


that's when it started, and why... i began traveling, living free, hitch hiking, squatting, dumpster diving... i began defining the rules of life for myself, not allowing them to be dictated to me by my parents or teachers or society. i wanted to live life to the fullest. i wanted to have amazing experience. i wanted to have something to write about.

and since then, i've done amazing things:

i hitch hiked across the country twice, squatted abandoned high rises with punk anarchists in New York City, lived 13 miles off the nearest roads in the hawaiian jungle, lived in hippie communes in Oregon and sex communes in LA.

tear gassed, beaten and arrested to defend true freedom and a healthy planet

chased cows across open land from horseback

built monster bicycles

learned to live in the wild off of what the land provides

met and impressed my heroes

had amazing trysts with incredible, beautiful women

But, the recurring problem; i just cant get it out
i cant find the right words to describe all this stuff
i cant find a starting point
i can do it in little blurbs, here and there, a couple pages.
but it lacks cohesion
time and again i sit at my computer, or typewriter, or with blank page and pen, but i can't get it to form in my fingers.

its incredibly frustrating, i just keep thinking: "keep living this life, the time will come to write it down, you'll know, it will be inescapable" i hope thats how it goes down

i want to get into the details, the intrigue: why did the FBI arrest me in the streets of Des Moines, Iowa; what's a suicide girl like in bed? (well, not that personal) but for now, i cant seem to find the right ways to phrase this beast that lurks inside of me. i can just let little bits of it slip out here and there, but without context, without flow, they make little sense.

i hope i can get it all out one day. i hope i find the words. i want to share the magic that i've found in this world with everyone else, i want to inspire people as i was inspired.. i want to write a book that sits on someone's shelf next to 'On The Road', just waiting to demand the youth of the next generation go out and live like they only have one chance; like life matters. to make their days amazing.

i want to repay the favor.

until then i'll keep coming back to the computer, and sputtering
and sighing

and writing about
how i wish i could write.

it's been so long

i moved out of the speakeasy.
life keeps getting better. a small road trip, found an ammazing love, now i'm helping some friends out for a few weeks who are about to give birth to my godson.

sad about some things, looking forward to others.

proper updates coming again soon

love... who knew?