Mock & Awe (Or Instant Gratifuckation For a Facebook Generation)

(Rough cut)

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If misery loves company

Suffering deserves a parade

Can you believe your life isn’t butter?

Mine’s fuckin’ marmalade

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Got food, got water, got clothes, got ends

Got words, got time, bad jokes, good friends

Holdin’ our hats straight into the winds-

We’re sellin’ fame to the nameless and faith to the faceless

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Cus blood is raceless like

New-Agers are baseless

Run my tongue through empty places

In teeth, pockets, ear-holes, & faces

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Want true religion? Buy my book, forget thyself!

You’re sick, you’re battered, you need my help!

Trust no words & pursue true wealth

Keep reading more for a ladder into Hell

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People won’t like you forever

And Deepak Chopra can’t make you better

Positive thoughts will change with the weather

Hang tough, remember: pain beget pleasure

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Follow the threads, unravel the sweater

Religion aims to negate sense pleasure

While ad execs tryin’ to get to know you better

I’ll be knittin’ a shield if the weather gets wetter

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A million ways to get paid and slain,

Punished by time, fines, and canes

Whipped in the gallows and tricked on the plains

Illusion makes slaves from both the sick and sane

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Loss found himself cheated by Gain

Just as Abel was murdered by Cain

Praise was accosted and accused by Blame

While Infamy slandered Fame’s good name

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Follow the muff, and swallow the bluff,

They say, “death is emptiness, life is hollow ‘n stuff

Fuck for a thrill, better live & shoot to kill

Life is a boot made for walkin’, footed by a physical bill!”

.

Advertisements wherever we go

Coulda traded bitcoin for a house in Oswego

I put all my savings on a Hail Mary free throw

While a little distracted from TV static free flows

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How many likes to get to the center of an ego?

One, two, three, leggo my eggo & pass the chorizo

Blame chemtrails, chemfood, chemdrugs & tv shows

Cheap Neanderthal thrills for the man from Encino

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Before we go, some questions burning up my loins:

How does a nation under God divorce its coin?

How come the news makes everyone paranoid?

Why does post-industry man seem to destroy?

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How many dimes dropped before a banker’s fined?

How much vegan coke gets a burner high?

How much acid turns your problems wise?

How much medicine heals a sick twisted mind?

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Tighten up the space and loosen the form

Our peasant hopes and dreams seem to feed worms

Persistently, our ideas spread like seeds on fallow farms

Resilient and firm, our love carries no harm.

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Categories: poetry | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Opiate Detox Recipe (At Home With the Blinders Up)

Opiate addict friends: I know some of you want to get off your habit. Maybe you don’t want to go to rehab because they’ll forever banish you from the glorious kingdom of doctor prescribed painkillers.

I mean, what if you get really fucked up? Like, shanked in a bar fight and staph starts creeping up your pelvis. Your asshole is throbbing in the ER, and the doctor looks at your chart and sez,

“Aw, another junkie. Give him some naproxen and a salt tablet. He’ll walk it off.”

You better have a good bedside manner with them doctors or they won’t give you much.

So I get it. You wanna kick at home. Maybe get high on weekends still? Go on a quick spin dry cycle to get your tolerance down so you can actually afford and enjoy your habit again. No? That doesn’t sound good? You actually want to be clean? Good.

You’re pretty hard when you’re high but you’re not gangster enough to kick cold turkey. That’s fine. I have a way out that’s not as painful as some. Only thing is, this involves the use of multiple other addictive drugs. So, remember the cross-tolerance factor and don’t be a train hoppin’ junkie hobo jumpin’ cabooses from smack to crack to booze to shopping. Use these drugs for your kick and drop ‘em. You’ll figure your life out if you can ride out the detox and get a good bounce in your step. Sound good?

I gotta say first: I am not a doctor, though I pretend to be. This should not be considered as medical advice. Pursue at your own risk.

Step One:

Go Shopping

Here’s my list:

Kratom

Gabapentin

Clonidine

Hydroxyzine (or Diphenhydramine)

Phenibut HCL

Benzos

Loperamide

Multivitamins

Comfort food

Herbal meds:

Ashwagandha

Ginseng

Kava

Scullcap

St. John’s Wort

Kratom

It’s very affordable. Reddit has a kratom vendor list. Google that shit. Get some green vein and don’t pay more than $120 for a kilo. You only really need a week supply so 4-8 ounces ought to suffice. Side note: reddit also has great detox support.

Gabapentin, Clonidine, Hydroxyzine

These are available by prescription only. Your doctor ought to fork these over if you tell him about what’s goin’ on. But yeah, you don’t wanna get blacklisted off narcotic prescriptions so maybe tell him you’re kicking a booze or a cannabis dependency. Gabapentin for restless legs & anxiety. Clonidine for overall withdrawal symptoms (blood pressure medication). Hydroxyzine for anxiety and sleep (anxiolytic anti-histamine).

(If your doctor can’t deliver those, I recommend getting the following substitutes OTC:

Diphenhydramine [Benadryl]

Dextromethorphan Hbr [Robitussin… make sure DXM is the ONLY ingredient on the label. The pills are a tad easier to stomach than the liquid.])

Benzos

Your mom or grandma probably have some layin’ around. Or your dealer, if you still have any money left. These are habit forming so don’t take for more than a week. Be VERY careful mixing these with the other medications. Go sparingly. Dissolve small doses under your tongue until you feel better.

Phenibut HCL or FAA

If you can’t get benzos, these are legally available online. They are a nootropic drug developed by the Russians and used on astronauts to help their anxiety. It works similar to benzos, best taken on an empty stomach. The HCL version is highly acidic and harsh on the stomach. The FAA version is neutral PH and easy to stomach although a bit more expensive. Can be habit forming. Do not take for more than a week.

Loperamide

Also sold as Imodium. Not to be underestimated. This is a fentanyl analogue. It can be potentiated with quinine (found in tonic water). Figure out your own dosage; likely you’ll need to take 3-4x the recommended amount for the first 3 days. Don’t take for more than a week.

Multivitamins & Comfort food

Self-explanatory. I like whole food vitamins and lukewarm soup.

If you can find any ketamine, I think it works wonders for withdrawal and depression. Just don’t get your dumb ass addicted to that shit too.

Step Two:

Prepare for post acute withdrawal by taking herbs immediately:

Ashwagandha, Ginseng, Kava, Scullcap, St. John’s Wort, Turmeric

These herbs will help with the post acute withdrawal symptoms. Without any dope in your veins, your brain will be learning to regulate natural production of neurotransmitters. Ashwagandha and Ginseng are adaptogenic herbs. They’ll help regulate your endocrine system. The Kava and Scullcap are nervine tonics. Helps with anxiety. St. John’s Wort for depression. Turmeric for pains and mood. Combine these herbs with a pinch of crushed black pepper to increase bioavailability. Take as directed, multiple times a day. Take for at least two weeks up to three months. Most of these need at least a week of daily consumption to start working.

Step Three:

Engage Acute Withdrawal

The basic rigamarole is- STOP DOING DOPE. No more. Embrace the suck. You’ll be okay. Gotta earn your life back and stop being a goddamn puppet slave.

Take the kratom with grapefruit juice for best results. Works better when your stomach is close to empty. Use ginger if you take too much. You *should* be able to transition off the dope and onto the kratom without a whole lot of discomfort. You may have to take a lot and it won’t be easy to stomach at first. Use ginger and psyllium husk (or Metamucil) to aid your digestion.

Use the Phenibut to help with your anxiety and sleep. Do not take more than 3000mg in one go. A safe and effective dose for w/d anxiety is 1000mg – 2000mg.

DO NOT USE ANY OF YOUR OTHER MEDS (Unless you deem it necessary. You’ll need them for the real kick.)

After you’ve taken kratom for at least four days straight, you should have effectively disrupted your dope habit. Now you can taper off the kratom slowly, or just jump straight off and get it over with. Your call.

In the event you get stuck on kratom for a month or two, don’t worry. There is a way off that, too. It’s called stem & vein kratom. You can order that from most vendors. It doesn’t contain very much of the alkaloids that get you high but it’ll be enough to help you make the switch without ruining you. A kratom kick lasts anywhere from 3-6 days. Take the stem and vein as a strict taper and gradually step down to zero over a week.

If you haven’t gotten addicted to kratom, congratulations! You’re ready to get through a few shitty days of your asshole falling out and your face dripping onto the floor. It’s okay. You’re gonna get through this and what doesn’t kill ya, doesn’t kill ya.

Now you can begin utilizing the other meds. Take plenty of showers, walk when your legs get restless, and overall THUG IT OUT! Get through it. You are tough. You will make it and you will earn your balance through perseverance! Also, I love you. I’m here to help. Ask if you have any questions.

By the end of the first ten days, you should be good. Stop taking all the auxiliary drugs, even if they seemed fun. Keep taking the herbs. Start eating healthy. Brush your teeth. Take showers. Go to an NA meeting if that’s your thing. Don’t hang around with your junkie friends. Hang tough.

If ya can’t seem to kick it still, there are Ibogaine clinics in Canada and Mexico. They last about a week and run between $3,000 – $8,000. They seem to have great results if you’ve got the coin. Ayahuasca also has reported abilities to pull your head out of your ass and put the fear of God into you. The same with most other psychedelics. Yoga & Vipassana work wonders as well but they’re slower. Consider these approaches if you need a psycho-somatic reboot. Don’t go it alone if you’re not experienced and don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Categories: Ailments & Cures, Recipes | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Sour Mash Doubts

Doubts and guilt, doubts and will

I want a bout with honesty, but still

It ain’t right that I write only to share,

so I walk ‘til I’m naked, alone, and scared

 

Working on a world made up of lines

a jagged sawtooth, I am dusty hammer tines

aging slowly, rusting like nails in the times

relevance buried in the “who, what, where, why?”

 

I watch you succeed, I watch you spiral and fail

I watch you unbridled, through a window unveiled

This whole time, we thought our calling had sailed

It was tomorrow we were following, on road & on trail

 

Yesterdays poem becomes todays advice,

biting me in the ass, these words I read twice,

You counted the cards ‘n I loaded the dice

Who could expect an asshole to play nice?

 

Every bee stung me, walking to the hive

I can tell you that I’m lucky to be alive

Back on battlegrounds we strive to survive

Us crossing lines, so quick to chance lives

 

I chamber a round, ‘cus death shoots hollows

Most men just want a war drum to follow

To give them some honor, sacrifice, and bravado

warping the story ‘til each man is Picasso

 

The drones are marching through sweltering heat

While others dodge illusion and deceit

They see a carpet crawling, rats up to their knees

Fighting for a feast while spreading disease

 

One beer at a time, one breath at a time,

Wasting money, it’s peace I can’t buy-

Could you spare a little peace of mind?

Or else cut a line and pour me some wine

 

If you accept my conditions of suffering,

I’ll accept myself and everyone else

I am my own hostage, couldn’t you tell

Pay my ransom or throw me in the well!

 

Envious of those who grow rich beyond riches

knees grow weary, digging penniless ditches

Rolling the bowl, inhale both genie & wishes

Life is joke between three laughing witches

 

Mash in the chamber, I am the changer

my experiences distilled be the only remainder,

Gulping and splashing drops upon strange anger

sharing libation and handshakes with strangers

 

I walk in the woods to stalk a truth I can kill

I’ll beat it and twist ‘til it lies naked & still-

kill or be killed, fulfilling a beast of will

We’ve got a full bottle and I’m a-cooking still

 

My song is a fly humming through wide open blue

My darling is a harp, playing faithfully and true

My heart is a snake, made of flesh and sinew

We left the apple on the limb, and a new tree grew.

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Oregon Hitchhike Trek Loop: Medford to North Umpqua Trail & Back!

With a few days of hang-time in Southern Oregon, I decide it’s high time I head for the hills. I’m ready for a break from all the fuss and bustle of the town & city. Dupree drops me off just north of Medford in Eagle Point.

It’s around 4pm when I get my thumb out there. Heading up small country highways, I stand for an hour with the sun in my face. Most of the drivers are behind big trucks and SUVs, some towing fishing boats, others hauling construction equipment. Most of ‘em ignore me. A few pass with a gentle wave or a disapproving glare.

I get antsy standing there so I start walking. In my experience, the deeper you get into the country the better it is to hitch while walking than hitch while standing. They see ya standing, they think you’re lazy.

Sure enough, a kid stops for me and takes me up to Shady Cove. He tells me it’s illegal to hitch within city limits, so he drops me on the outskirts of town.

With the sun tucked away behind the mountains, I pop a beer and level my thumb. I hail a ride from a guy named Taz. He grows herb up on one of the local hills and offers me a job and a line of coke. The coke looks clean but the job sounds bad: no facilities, no electricity, and his truck is falling apart.

Not that I mind rustic living conditions, but if my boss can afford powdered drugs but can’t afford solar panels, he probably can’t pay me on time. I take his number out of politeness and thank him for the pick-me-up.

Taz drops me at a day camp near Lost Creek Reservoir. Now I’m drinking some wine and watching the daylight fade. A few rides blast past and I’m feeling downright chipper. If there were more daylight, I’d surely catch a ride.

Dark & chilly, I set up my hammock and go to sleep in the day park. It’s peaceful beside the Rogue River.

The morning brings bird songs and rowboat fishermen landing huge salmon.

I have a quick bagel breakfast and wave to the fishermen before getting to the highway. It’s a bit frosty still so I find a patch of sun on the bridge and wait for well over an hour before I catch my first ride.

He tells me to watch out for his fly rod as I load my pack into the back seat of his Subaru hatchback. His name’s Drew. He’s going up to Bend and on into Washington.

Drew is in his fifties with long hair. He has eleven children by eight women. He shows me pictures of his Haitian and Dominican girlfriends down south. He grows cannabis in Washington state and earns a decent living investing in rental properties. He is full of humor and stories. 

He also teaches survival courses and invites me up to Spokane to take a course in exchange for labor. I take his number before he lets me off near Diamond Lake. He asks me if I brought some hooks and line, then tells me I ought to make a few dead falls after noticing all the squirrels running around piles of melting snow. We’re up in the mountains now.

Rides are slim up here so I hoof it to the Diamond Lake camp store and pick up a couple cold beers and some fishing line and hooks. I can stake the lines into the ground with hooks and worms overnight.

Only a fourteen mile roadside walk until I’m by the section of trail I want. I catch a short ride from a tweaker with an obnoxious laugh. Her baby is hollering in the back seat as she rants about her deadbeat baby daddy. She stops to let me off at an intersection and panics for a moment as a white ford pulls up near us. She’s pretty sure it’s a cop but I assure her it is not.

Walking onward with an outstretched thumb, I hail one more ride, this time from a friendly woman who confides that I’m her first hitchhiker. I smile bashfully and load my pack in and thank her for stopping. Her name is Layla and she lives in LA.

She just spent the night camping in the snow on the rim of Crater Lake. She’s headed up to Portland, stopping to see the sights of Umpqua along the way. I find myself as an absent-minded tour guide as we whimsically explore some of the North Umpqua sights. We hike a few waterfalls together, most notably, the locally famous Toketee Falls. 

The parking lot is swarming with visitors and we are among them.

We hike the short trail to the observation deck, also crowded. I notice a steep, narrow trail going down to the falls. Layla asks if I want to climb down to the falls. We descend, grabbing root, rope, and rock to get down gently.

The water is roaring like a frigid lion, spraying mist all over alien mosaic rock-formations and mossy caves. 

We spend awhile down here, talking with other hikers and admiring the view.

Layla and I ramble about our past, present, and future lives. Passions, careers, and reality. We agree that it’s nice to find spontaneous friends like this. After the hike, she drives me up to the hot springs trailhead and sends me off with warm wishes and a big hug.

Now in the middle of the afternoon, I have a choice to make. Which way to go? I can go east on the Dread and Terror segment. Twelve miles. Very difficult. My other option is continue onward west via the Deer Leap Segment. Nine miles. Moderate Difficulty. 

The decision is obvious: continue onward west, go with the flow and follow the river. Deer leap it is.

Out of shape with a heavy pack, I begin walking trail. The weather forecast called for warm days in the seventies and cold nights in the thirties. I think I brought enough layers.
On the trail, the mosquitoes are thick and hungry. I have a few miles of intersecting roads before I begin my segment. The terrain is downhill and gentle, following Toketee lake. A couple of mountain bikers ride past me.
I cross a road and hop onto my segment, finding a nice bubbling creek to fill my bottle. After a nice long drink, I march onward through the evening air. The trail climbs high into the mountains, challenging my body and rewarding my head with views of the rivers, smells of conifers & cedar, and sounds of the whirling valley below.

I hike until dusk, nearly out of water. I have no choice but to keep moving forward ‘til I find a creek but there hasn’t been one in a few hours. I try to move slow and steady, but end up half-jogging, covered in mosquitoes.

Around a bend I hear a steady, heavy breeze. Getting closer, there’s a slapping splash on a rock. My heart sighs in relief. I get a fill up and round the next bend to find an alpine meadow full of golden-green grass and yellow spring flowers. Almost no mosquitoes here.

I scramble over the rocky meadow toward a small hollow flat with four trees: two cedar, one oak, and a madrone. I hang my hammock here and get a fire going. I counted seven miles today.

I eat a feast of eggs, onions, and peppers and fall asleep to the calm and quiet pulse of crickets and soft wind.
I wake feeling rested beneath overcast skies. I start a small fire and get some tea and breakfast in me. I stretch and warm up, hit the creek to brush my teeth and wash my face.
The morning sun burns through the clouds to give a delightful view of Crater Lake and snowy mountains nearby. 


The sun dances on the flowers as I saunter down the trail to find overlooks galore.


I ditch a stick of butter along the way, deeming it as excess weight. Maybe a bear needs it to bake some cookies.

The trail descends toward some beautiful creek, full of pools. I stop off by a particular picturesque creek, swollen clear and blue with the winter melt. I strip my sweaty layers off and climb down to the edge of a pool. Wading over to a small waterfall, I shriek in cold shock and dip my head under to take a brief rinse off. I chicken-walk back to shore and lay out in the sun feeling very refreshed.

I enjoy a light lunch of bagel and sunflower seed butter before continuing onward. The trail descends back into the valley, following the North Umpqua river again. 

I finish the Deer Leap Segment with plenty of daylight left. It’s hot in the valley so I take a siesta in some shade near a dam.
A bit cooler now, I walk onto the Jessie Wright segment. Four miles of easy trail. I hike a few miles and find a nice creek to rest at. I suspect it’s called Boulder Creek but since I have no map, I’m not sure. I explore up the trail and can’t find a better place to camp so I return to the creek. The water tastes amazing.

I put my only beer in the cold creek and start a large fire on a small sandy beach. I cook up a whole can of beans with some sautéed onion and pepper to fill my belly. I sway peacefully in my hammock by the waterside. Another seven mile day.

The next morning, I fry up some eggs and potatoes and get on the trail after stretching a bit. I stop to climb some boulders to catch a view. I explore some old logging trails and find a power line clearing. The poison oak is dense up here so I tread carefully.

The trail twists along the river for a few miles and catches back up with Highway 138. I start walking down the highway and find a light waterfall trickling into a roadside ditch. 

I decide to wash up here and get the poison oak oils off my skin with soap and cold water. I must look funny taking a shower on the side of the road. I try to ignore the cars buzzing past. I can’t help but laugh.

I dry in the sun awhile and continue down the road a few more miles, looking for the next trailhead. I haven’t seen any signs for it. I realize the trail connects in the opposite direction. 

After pondering awhile, I take the hint from the road and conclude my trail time for this trip.

Walking west down the highway, I hold out my thumb ‘til I catch a ride. First one takes me up a couple miles, near the next trailhead. I debate whether I want to hike the next segment but I have no idea how long it goes ‘til it comes back to the highway. I have one more day ‘til I have to be back in Gold Hill.

I hold my thumb out and let the road make the choice. I’ll give it an hour.

Before long, an old hippie driving a beater sedan pulls up laughing,

“Hey kid, you Rainbow Family?”

“Naw, I’m-”

“Well you were touchin’ ‘em up there at the hot springs! Get in!” He cackles.

I hop into the bucket of a car he’s driving. There’s a big daddy long-leg crack across the windshield but it rides all right.

“How far you goin’ man?” I ask him.

“Oh, I’m goin’ all the way to the coast, down through Grant’s Ass… ha ha! I call it Grant’s Ass because ol’ Grant was a real bastard, him and his buddies went through the west drinkin’, raping, pillaging and having a good ol’ time killing and robbing. The town ain’t too bad but Grant’s a real Ass.

“You know, the Rainbows got a free kitchen near the coast if ya need a bite to eat. They got one near Bend and another outside Eugene. There’s food all over, if ya know who to ask and where to look. They’re good kids. A few of ‘em are misguided but we try to keep ‘em in line.

He goes on,

“My name’s Falcon. I’m Bird-of-Prey tribe, sixty-six years old but I’ll live forever. I can take this body with me after I go. Everybody wants you to believe in death but you can take your body with you.”

I interject,

“Yeah, your astral body-”

“No, your physical body, you can take it with you after you go, man. I astral travel in meditation but I take my physical form with me now. It took a lot of practice.”

“But why would you want the body along for the ride? It’ll just fall apart eventually, all physical things come apart with time.”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

He pauses awhile and is intercepted with another idea,

“You know man, these mountains here look kinda freaky, right? They’re not mountains, these are ancient pyramids under these mountains here. They built ‘em and they got covered during one of the last floods and now they look like mountains. 

I saw a train last night come right up to the mountain and go under it. I saw the headlight and then it was gone, plain as day. The government is building underground cities here for when the water rises, they wanna kill all of us off so they can have the world to themselves. Yep, some fifty million people survive after their next manufactured war and they inherent the world but we’re not in their club. We don’t have enough money to be in their club.”

“Yeah, but even if we did…”

“Yeah man, we ain’t no reptile-brained fools, God’s children ain’t cut from the same cloth. We live with the land, you know, I’m a trained shaman. I go out and touch a mushroom and I get high, I don’t even have to eat it.”

He offers me a hit from his hash oil vaporizer. I decline in favor of the half-smoked spliff in my shirt pocket. 

Falcon keeps rambling,

“So they’re gonna nuke us and the planet is gonna go to shit. I’m goin’ down to New Mexico to take part in a time-travelin’ ceremony. You know the Hopi and Navajo learned how to split themselves off from this time frame and hop off into another fold. Only problem is once you go off you can’t come back. So if I go, I’ll be gone from this time for good.”

I listen awhile but it keeps coming back to “us & them” and “apocalypse”. I’m getting sick of all the doom & gloom prophecy. Looking out the window into the bright green hills, hearing the birds and bugs dance along to a swollen river song tells a much different story. Amidst decay, life springs forth.

I tell him,

“That sounds pretty far out, but why don’t you navigate this reality like a ship, help us drive now to the place that isn’t getting raped or blown up? We gotta pilot this thing together, man, and if people keep buying into the whole apocalypse ending, that’s where we’re gonna go and that’s how the book’ll end. I sure as shit ain’t buying it.”

“Right on, brother.”

We sit in silence for a few moments, winding down the riverside and on through Roseburg. We jump onto I-5 south and Falcon keeps talkin’ at me. He rambles between coherent and incoherent ideas for a while and I just “um”, “ah”, “yeah”, and “hmm” accordingly.

We make it safe and sound into Grants Pass. I pitch him some gas money and we share a meal together at a Chinese restaurant. The portions are huge and we eat in silence, grateful to have hot food, clean air, fresh water, and good weird company. After dinner, we share a shot of the Vietnamese wine I’ve been carrying around all weekend.

Falcon drops me off by the old Highway 99, on the edge of Grants Pass. He gives me a big hug and tells me,

“You’ll get where you’re goin’ kid, all the way. You’re livin’ right and we’re all takin’ care of each other. You got the good energy on ya and you just see- tonight your third eye will be blazin’! You’re Family. Bless you brother!”

I wish him well and thank him again for the lift.

It’s six miles to Gold Hill. I pick up a cold six pack to carry home, just in case Dupree is thirsty. I pop a can and walk down the road along the Rogue River in the evening heat. Nobody is stopping so I keep walking.

Somewhere I see a sign by the side of the road, “Support our Teachers” obscured by some weeds. I hop over the ditch to stamp the weeds down so I can see the sign better.

On the way back over, I find a twenty dollar bill on the ground. I grab it and look down the road to find another twenty, and then one more. Sixty dollars on the side of the road more than pays the weekend expenses.

Just then, a ride stops and takes me a couple miles up the road. The sun is setting golden on the Rogue Valley and I’m all jolly smiles, cradling the six-pack under my arm like a baby.

The sun gone down, I catch a ride for the last mile to Gold Hill. Nice kid from Oregon, said he’s been on a road trip to Vermont. Rare thing to hear on the west coast. Most folks I meet from here don’t make it out east. He says he wants to hitch across the country someday and I agree. I give him some encouragement and he drops me in front of my road.
I hoof it up the long driveway and on down past the gate to say howdy to Dupree and drop my stuff off. A few cans of beer and some belly laughs are shared between us.

Categories: Short Stories | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Alpha Beta Questions

Extroverted pick-up artists: have you found a lasting satisfaction? 
Introverted closet-freaks: does self-imposed monogamy have you wondering “what if?” 
Alpha-humans: are there enough notches on your bedpost? have you found a peak that is high enough? Do you cherish the memories of past triumph and mourn their passing? Are you living a legacy or leaving it?
Beta-humans: Do you accept your current conditions? Do you feel that quality overrides quantity? Do you find yourself settling for any vista the mountain has to offer while others climb to the peak? Does competition leave you feeling defeated? How do you compensate?
Free-thinkers: do you feel that these concepts undermine your innate liberated state? Recognizing that something small can only exist beside something tall & someone loses only when another wins, how do you maintain your detached balance?
$0.02

(Warning: mundane philosophical observations ahead)
There is no virtue in demonstrating competition. 

Practice is akin to a sharpening stone.

True competition is born from necessity. 

Only the resilient & adaptable will endure true competition.
Whether you fuck for sport or fondle for love, fight for glory or kill to survive, we all experience victory and defeat. 
In this way, our experiences are uniquely bonded: the predator and the victim are one as “all life feeds on life to live.” 
As physical beings, we fuck & fight our way through time ’til death while a weird starry-eyed serpent chokes down its own tail.

Categories: Rants | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Passion Fruit Lemongrass Wine

Woodstock Wine #1
Passion Fruit Lemongrass Wine (experimental) Recipe:

Makes ~20 liters
-1.5 kilos sugar

-quart-sized pot of rice

-1.5 kilos passion fruit

-1 kilo lemongrass

-1 tsp honey

-1 strong pot of green tea

-1 packet of Emergen-C (or Ascorbic Acid Pills. / Vitamin C supplements)

-A good book

Sterilize your jug with hot water and a capful of bleach. Rinse and dry.

Cook the rice with plenty of water until it’s pure mush. Cool off and throw into the jug to start your wort.

Cook the sugar until it dissolves in water. Cool and add to the wort.

Cut open the passion fruit, empty into a pot. Add some green tea (just because) and boil the mixture to sterilize it. Cool and add to the wort.

Cut the lemongrass down so it will fit into a pot with water. Boil it down for half an hour. Let cool and add to the jug.

Top the jug off with clean water. Most bottled water contains chlorine, an enemy of fermentation. Ascorbic Acid helps to break chlorine and chloramine down. I experiment by using half a packet of Emergen-C to the jug & mixing it. 

Add a pot of cooled green tea to the jug for yeast nutrition.

Stir a glob of honey into a quafter cup of hot water. Let the water cool and add your yeast packet when the temp is around 38°C/105°F. Cover the cup and let the yeast activate for twenty minutes.

Add the yeast to the jug and cover the lid with a paper towel (or clean rag) for 3-5 days.

After the major fermentation is completed (3-5 days), cover the mouth of the jug with a vaporlock (I’m using a balloon with a pinhole in the top.)

Wait ~20 days. Taste & enjoy. Decide if it should be bottled as wine or made into hard cider instead!

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New Travel Blog (Family Friendly)

Hey folks, my girlfriend Sierra & I are sharing a run-of-the-mill travel blog with occasional absurdist episodes from Southeast Asia. So far, we’ve experienced the tourist side of Thailand and all it’s multi-faceted scams & schemes. Next up: The Golden Triangle, Laos, & Burma.

Stay tuned!

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Surrender to the Mystery

It’s hard when you live away from your home

Not the home where you’ve grown

But the one your heart knows

The places we’re born, some remain until death

 

But I know I will travel ‘til I find my rest

Expand all limits ‘til the final test

I don’t wanna catch the thing that I know lyin’

So I’ll chase that old dragon ‘til the end of crimes

For it’s not what you get at the end of your line

Nor the bait or the hooks or the length of the time

 

Most men know a relief from their defeat

And the bittersweet peace at the end of a feast

But that hunger will awake with the crow & the sun

As sure a some black hole is calling for everyone

 

Now I watch & wait & let the world come to me

I’ve got rot in my teeth and an ache in my knees

I ain’t crazy ‘cus I live with what I cannot see

And it takes all that I’ve got just to live peacefully

 

Beyond yesterday’s answer lies a deeper mystery

A body doesn’t have to move in order to be free

I surrender to the mystery so I can be free

I’ll surrender to the mystery so I can be free

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Pre-Travel Ponderings

There is something which changes the mind before traveling to a foreign land. As if in preparation, the mind renders the sight of daily routine into something naked & foreign. While driving the same roads in the evening, I hear each creak of the gas pedal as the body hims & haws across chipped pavement. I pull in the salty breeze and let it tickle my nose hairs. Copper sunshine pierces through a veil of stormy clouds. The hills of the Humboldt coast are like so many healing bruises with peaks of gold. Gusts from the ocean whip through me. Going to far on a one-way ticket, I wonder how long I’ll be gone for. Have I always been gone?

I look out onto the bay, following salty dock posts and depth markers stretching out to the breakwater. How many men have lived here, worked here, died here? Who inhabited this land before us and how did they live? Did they toil, live, and die like we do? What will the land look like after all the men have traveled away or died?

Will I be here again?

I have a job here. I have security. I have a bed to sleep in. If I stay and work a few years, I can make a lot of money and build a life for myself somewhere. I should think about my future. What if my health fails? How will I afford the hospital bills? What if my mother falls ill & I am to care for her; how will we survive?

We will survive the way all creatures do. We will eat when we are hungry. If there is no food we will forage, hunt, and fish. We will work gardens and raise hens. If the land is fallow and the hens are not laying we will dig through trash cans and dumpsters. We will attend Church dinners and wait in line at food banks. Onlookers will gaze down upon us but we will stand tall, knowing that all creatures are equal in death. We will eat silently with gratitude and we will share.

When we are tired, we will sleep. We will stir the coals and throw on a big log. We will make our beds. Whether they are beds made of feathers or beds made of cardboard, they are beds just the same.

Here in America, even the poorest of bums are rich on a world scale. We have nearly constant access to clean water. We have electric outlets and wifi in nearly every town. We have churches that hand out blankets and clothes.

Whether I have the finances or not, I will live how I live and I will die how I die. I will die like all things, which also live.

Here, “poverty-stricken” is a term meant to inflict damage upon a mans sense of pride. These things cannot harm the man who possesses strong will. The truly poverty-stricken are those unable to find food, warm clothes, or clean water. They may die as a result of their poverty.

What am I? I live under the table eating scraps. I collect enough to live & travel. I was dealt pocket Aces. Each time I capitalize on currency exchange by taking US dollars to foreign countries, I use my Aces against 2’s and 3’s.

It’s the game of men. Most men play by the rules or else find themselves alternately victorious and defeated by alienation. There’s that saying, “it’s not cheating if you don’t get caught.” A chosen few live as true kings; above, beyond, & without the games of men.

This is our privilege and this is our curse. Playing the games of men has dangerous consequences. We can dimly fathom the interplay of cause and effect. Like ocean waves, we are subject to laws of rhythmic correspondence. The surface sings songs knowable, yet beyond the depths lies a darkness each man imagines yet few men can prove. To light this darkness & catch a glimpse of the all-pervasive pressure is to make friends with enemies & make sense from confusion.

A handful of cold sand between my toes, I piss with the wind and light no cigarettes.

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A Sheltered Heart

 

A sheltered heart lives

As an inmate of the chest

But through a slit comes light

For the songs of all things blessed

 

 

A sheltered heart is safe

From the ache of the outer call

Yet it knows not itself

Nor why it exists at all

 

 

A sheltered heart contemplates

And grows beyond all doubts

The space between walls shrinks

In joy, the heart cries out

 

 

A sheltered heart longs

For a world beyond the walls

But it knows not how to escape

Nor why they were built at all

 

 

A sheltered heart moans

And blames the other ones

Yet the etchings on the walls

Only this heart could’ve done

 

 

A sheltered heart learns

The origin of its pain:

The design for the cage

Were made in its own name

 

 

A liberated heart sacrifices

Protection to be free

A gift, well-deserved

And trusted unto thee

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