Still in Goa and made it to Palolem Beach, this seems to be where all the kids are partying. At a bar called Cafe del Mar. Packed. They even have a niteclub, club called Alpha Bar, where everyone wears headphones on account of all the new noise ordinaces all through the Goan state. Heard it is something to see.
I was welcomed with open arms at the Cafe Del Mar, I played pool with the head dudes or owners of shack lands, Saby and Blaze. And I met people from all over the world, the UK, Poland, Sweden, Italy, Australia, etc. I needed to drink alot to get the courage to sleep in my $3.75 dollar per night shit hole. Success.
The Paneer(cheese curd) is keeping me solid and the Palek(spinach) is keeping me strong, but yesterday afternoon I think I took a smash that expunged my criminal records. But healthy so far. Trying to figure out where to go next and I am lost really. Probably Dehli. Got a sleeper train ticket from Margoa to Dehli on Sunday, we'll see if I make it. Still unsure if North is the answer?
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Ajuna Market
Well I pulled out of the nose dive, and with a shorned nut sack I have left Arambol. To look for India. A Bus ride to the Wednesday market i anjuna. Well the countryside is crawling with women, Indian women in particular. It seems the Female Infanticide of Bombay ran out of steam. The women are assertive sellers and fun to flirt with, but they will make you pay for it, trust me. I am still in search of the fullmoon party that is gonna happen tomorrow night somewhere??? shit! It aint in Vagator where I am now. The famous 9 Bar is empty, with proise of a crowd tomorrow night/ I dont know/ But my room is $5 so I can't cmplain, and the market was a scene! to be expereinced! Endless rows of colored sheets waving in the captain's breeze coming off the Arabian Sea, by the way he Euro Backpackers in this country are FUCKIN INCREDIBLE and if India isn't enough, they will be!!! See ya. Oh and that red on my forehead I got dotted, pretty cool. I dont know what it means though???No Return to Indigeny
Sitting around a thousand year old Banyon Tree in Goa India, Checking ot the characters among the flat clearing in front fo the tree and a small idol of Shiva. I ball up the rest of the Hash from our roach, hold it over my head and place it in a small metal dish next to a gorgeous purple grape, at the foot of the statue. After a few days in Goa I am convinced there is no return to indigeny. I am now on my first day alone in India, and Arambol, my first stop in Goa is getting stale. So I wake on the 20th and shave my junk, I now have the balls of a 15 years. I use the goto chakrah in my pants, and a head full of dancing Thai Sugar Plums. India here I am...Wednesday, January 30, 2008
UNEMPLOYABLE 8
Boogaloos Cafe, San Francisco
She is 'urban' cute. And she draws a heart around the total of my check. I start to think, just maybe she communicates in symbols. I am a suburbia guy, unaware, maybe this is how it goes down with these city folk? So I causally stare at the check on the table next to me, did she do the same for that guy too? Is the heart just her hospitality trademark? I can almost make it out, it appears to be another shape, his does not have the arches of the heart, but I can't be sure. Just as I re-focus for a second look the guy reconsiders the lie of his bill and refolds it tightly three or four times before replacing it on the table. The money hangs out through the folds, that is all I can see now. Shit. The dude lays his head back and closes his eyes while he waits for her to retrieve it and relieve him of his post. The waitress is in the kitchen taking a break, drinking tea. I turn and realize the average looking girl who I thought would eye me up is pregnant.
She is 'urban' cute. And she draws a heart around the total of my check. I start to think, just maybe she communicates in symbols. I am a suburbia guy, unaware, maybe this is how it goes down with these city folk? So I causally stare at the check on the table next to me, did she do the same for that guy too? Is the heart just her hospitality trademark? I can almost make it out, it appears to be another shape, his does not have the arches of the heart, but I can't be sure. Just as I re-focus for a second look the guy reconsiders the lie of his bill and refolds it tightly three or four times before replacing it on the table. The money hangs out through the folds, that is all I can see now. Shit. The dude lays his head back and closes his eyes while he waits for her to retrieve it and relieve him of his post. The waitress is in the kitchen taking a break, drinking tea. I turn and realize the average looking girl who I thought would eye me up is pregnant.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
UNEMPLOYABLE 7
Condo Renovations are coming along swimmingly. Got a great contractor from Arlington, VA named Julio Perez, through a reliable reference, DD Thanks! His team is coming along. When I return I will manage an Ikea Kitchen and Cable Railing installation.
I am off to photograph and videograph Bangkok, Manila, Mumbia and all over India for a few weeks after a brief stint in San Francisco. I will be an assisant/co-photog for Dave Lloyd, collecting imagery for a book called, Beyond Growth for his company. Should prove to be a great learning experience. And push my career further away from Office Computer Graphic Design and closer to more creative work and Fine Art. My next blogs will come during my trip through the hostels and internet cafes of Asia. So the waiting has come to a close and progress is abound. Come Spring I should be out of Reston, Virginia forever, depending on if I can find a condo buyer.
Peace out.
I am off to photograph and videograph Bangkok, Manila, Mumbia and all over India for a few weeks after a brief stint in San Francisco. I will be an assisant/co-photog for Dave Lloyd, collecting imagery for a book called, Beyond Growth for his company. Should prove to be a great learning experience. And push my career further away from Office Computer Graphic Design and closer to more creative work and Fine Art. My next blogs will come during my trip through the hostels and internet cafes of Asia. So the waiting has come to a close and progress is abound. Come Spring I should be out of Reston, Virginia forever, depending on if I can find a condo buyer.
Peace out.
Friday, January 11, 2008
UNEMPLOYABLE 6
Knee deep in the wreckage of my stalled life. With lots of time for sleeping and selling off all my acummulated possessions. I am chilling out developing interesting nuerosis'. It feels very productive and profitable at times. It even feels like legitimate work. And maybe it is. The gross profits are high but the net is really much more humble of a figure. More like me (minus the major attitude.)
After a blissful 2000 day stretch of gainful employment, I have been awakened from my sleep-trottened routine. And looking back, I have learned a few real-world tricks this time around, and this unemployment will be different, better, last longer, maybe even parlay into something like the life of an artist that doesn't grab ankles for 8 hours a day.
I am at Misha's Coffee House, RJ's favorite place, unless Blue Bottle has surpassed them, and on second thought they definitely have for me. With a Back-hoe and a Jack Hammer in the street right in front of the open air shack, Blue Bottle is still better. The expresso still managed a silent perfection. A smoothness that stopped the world and when I came to the city works guys were giving out earplugs. I declined with some sort of east coast gravity toward the negatory, but what a city! I say. I guess that is why its been called the most livable since the early teens of the 20th century.
But right now back in VA it's raining outside and the traffic is crawling all over the place from the mixing bowl to Silver Spring. So I am just waiting it out. Fielding questions about my possessions on the table in front of me. And wondering when the hell I will ever follow through and meet A.M. Wood again for a movie.
I am real excited about two new illustrations that have come to me lately for my vintage wood series. The first is the 'Death Hoax' illustrated with a smiling double-ended noose and will be followed by all those in participation. The second is the Impotent Blimp, this illustration is a bit fuzzy.
I have interviewed another contractor to help rebuild my suburban modern 70s condo. Things are looking good, this guy could be the one to finally free me from my nest on the east coast. Hopefully things will be wrapped up by March 11th and at 38 I can try again to relocate to a place with a pulse and maybe even start fucking things with a pulse again too, the martz vase with the surgical glove taped over the mouth and the middle finger pulled through the bottom and the moaning soundtrack just aren't cutting it. I could go on and on about my social life but I don't want to push you beyond boredom. This is just an illustration in reality to show how overdue the attention to myself has been. Maybe after denying my true-self these are the consequences. I don't know. I am just a small selfish man with a bit of talent, and like everyone else I have a bucket full of unrealized potential. This bucket will probably follow me to my grave. I think my key to failure thus far is not knowing what I want out of life or simply wanting it all. I gotta marinate on that for a while.
"Do not lead a life of quiet desperation." (Ed Korac from the GB Coffee Shop.)
After a blissful 2000 day stretch of gainful employment, I have been awakened from my sleep-trottened routine. And looking back, I have learned a few real-world tricks this time around, and this unemployment will be different, better, last longer, maybe even parlay into something like the life of an artist that doesn't grab ankles for 8 hours a day.
I am at Misha's Coffee House, RJ's favorite place, unless Blue Bottle has surpassed them, and on second thought they definitely have for me. With a Back-hoe and a Jack Hammer in the street right in front of the open air shack, Blue Bottle is still better. The expresso still managed a silent perfection. A smoothness that stopped the world and when I came to the city works guys were giving out earplugs. I declined with some sort of east coast gravity toward the negatory, but what a city! I say. I guess that is why its been called the most livable since the early teens of the 20th century.
But right now back in VA it's raining outside and the traffic is crawling all over the place from the mixing bowl to Silver Spring. So I am just waiting it out. Fielding questions about my possessions on the table in front of me. And wondering when the hell I will ever follow through and meet A.M. Wood again for a movie.
I am real excited about two new illustrations that have come to me lately for my vintage wood series. The first is the 'Death Hoax' illustrated with a smiling double-ended noose and will be followed by all those in participation. The second is the Impotent Blimp, this illustration is a bit fuzzy.
I have interviewed another contractor to help rebuild my suburban modern 70s condo. Things are looking good, this guy could be the one to finally free me from my nest on the east coast. Hopefully things will be wrapped up by March 11th and at 38 I can try again to relocate to a place with a pulse and maybe even start fucking things with a pulse again too, the martz vase with the surgical glove taped over the mouth and the middle finger pulled through the bottom and the moaning soundtrack just aren't cutting it. I could go on and on about my social life but I don't want to push you beyond boredom. This is just an illustration in reality to show how overdue the attention to myself has been. Maybe after denying my true-self these are the consequences. I don't know. I am just a small selfish man with a bit of talent, and like everyone else I have a bucket full of unrealized potential. This bucket will probably follow me to my grave. I think my key to failure thus far is not knowing what I want out of life or simply wanting it all. I gotta marinate on that for a while.
"Do not lead a life of quiet desperation." (Ed Korac from the GB Coffee Shop.)
Saturday, December 29, 2007
UNEMPLOYABLE 5
Here goes wordy...PillGirl!
A gig like mine? ahhh an unpopular artist! *(unemployable waste of space, 12 hour sleeping, clueless, unfocused, girl-less, aging, rotting, non-productive, non-professional, non BA holding, Selfish son of a bitch, etc., etc.) I will try to stay positive here, sorry. But my 12 year gravy-train with biscuit wheels rolled right off the tracks, and left me high and dry in Everyoneismarriedwithkidsville. Wondering who I am and if the last 12 years that just went by was anything but a waste of time. A bunch of stones thrown by my friends under my footsteps. The stones behind me have drowned and vanished in the soft sediment of my memory, and me on the last one like a fucking Doh Doh frozen in mid step. A dot on the exclamation point at the end of a big joke on myself.
Yea, your bro is helping out through the hardtimes. I am trying to get my condo back into shape after living like a lunatic for almost 2000 days there, wore that shit out. Putting in floor and drywall and a kitchen and whatever else I have lived without plugging away at dreams that have not matured too much yet. Dae is such a do-it-yourselfer. It is incredible. He has focus. A focus I could only attain with a highly complex daily psychotropic cocktail made by Freud himself.
Fun. It's kinda not on the menu right now for me. Trying to get my shit together. I did watch too many episodes of Californication one night and went to the mall and drank too many jack and cokes at Clyde's. But seriously, since the weather turned rotten I have fallen out of my daily routine of mountain biking which I was surprisingly religious about since April, first time I have really biked since 1995. I made it up to almost 2.5 hours a day and commuting to work. But with every autumn my will dies with the leaves and with the light goes my brighter side.
So we are here in the darkness of winter warm, watching Korean movies in Port Deposit, Maryland. And the Midnight Chef has struck again. We are eating spicy pork thin as paper with sticks. The commercial grade slicer, a streamlined machine age auction piece, glimmering on the kitchen island like some star in the center of Dae and Lori's McMansion universe. It's so nice here.
I guess my job now is get the condo ready for rent or sale. Selling most of my possessions. Beginning a stint as a vagrant. Being smart about my new buying investments. Broadening Modern50.com's selection into vintage mountain bikes, skateboards and other trendy cool things I am learning about. Not sure if that will pay the bills, so here and there am I looking for a non-corporate creative outlet, something I have never imagined. Which should prove to be hard to find, being the spoon fed sissy my easy life has guided me into. I gotta figure out a way to stop ending every sentence with a preposition.
See Ya PillGirl!
A gig like mine? ahhh an unpopular artist! *(unemployable waste of space, 12 hour sleeping, clueless, unfocused, girl-less, aging, rotting, non-productive, non-professional, non BA holding, Selfish son of a bitch, etc., etc.) I will try to stay positive here, sorry. But my 12 year gravy-train with biscuit wheels rolled right off the tracks, and left me high and dry in Everyoneismarriedwithkidsville. Wondering who I am and if the last 12 years that just went by was anything but a waste of time. A bunch of stones thrown by my friends under my footsteps. The stones behind me have drowned and vanished in the soft sediment of my memory, and me on the last one like a fucking Doh Doh frozen in mid step. A dot on the exclamation point at the end of a big joke on myself.
Yea, your bro is helping out through the hardtimes. I am trying to get my condo back into shape after living like a lunatic for almost 2000 days there, wore that shit out. Putting in floor and drywall and a kitchen and whatever else I have lived without plugging away at dreams that have not matured too much yet. Dae is such a do-it-yourselfer. It is incredible. He has focus. A focus I could only attain with a highly complex daily psychotropic cocktail made by Freud himself.
Fun. It's kinda not on the menu right now for me. Trying to get my shit together. I did watch too many episodes of Californication one night and went to the mall and drank too many jack and cokes at Clyde's. But seriously, since the weather turned rotten I have fallen out of my daily routine of mountain biking which I was surprisingly religious about since April, first time I have really biked since 1995. I made it up to almost 2.5 hours a day and commuting to work. But with every autumn my will dies with the leaves and with the light goes my brighter side.
So we are here in the darkness of winter warm, watching Korean movies in Port Deposit, Maryland. And the Midnight Chef has struck again. We are eating spicy pork thin as paper with sticks. The commercial grade slicer, a streamlined machine age auction piece, glimmering on the kitchen island like some star in the center of Dae and Lori's McMansion universe. It's so nice here.
I guess my job now is get the condo ready for rent or sale. Selling most of my possessions. Beginning a stint as a vagrant. Being smart about my new buying investments. Broadening Modern50.com's selection into vintage mountain bikes, skateboards and other trendy cool things I am learning about. Not sure if that will pay the bills, so here and there am I looking for a non-corporate creative outlet, something I have never imagined. Which should prove to be hard to find, being the spoon fed sissy my easy life has guided me into. I gotta figure out a way to stop ending every sentence with a preposition.
See Ya PillGirl!
Thursday, December 27, 2007
UNEMPLOYABLE 4 Spoon Fed Life
Perhaps there is specific division between people. It's black and white, but bear with me here, its only in a certain light. Spoon Feds and Improvisers. This is a separation that is very significant to me because I am a 'spoon fed' and have been my whole life. I was born into this category. I guess now I will have to add it to my various internet profiles. And as a true spoon fed idiot I am back at the old crossroads, been here many times before, and by some major head heating deduction, I can conclude that my life has been going in circles. I am back wondering but how to finish that nasty college BA. Damn. Oh these petty odes of the middle class. My selfish search for productivity and placement. And my endless search for no potential.
Have you ever looked through job postings in the creative sections of the newspapers and craigslist? After one day I am thinking of a NON-creative career. SInce I have been unemployed I have learned how to put a subfloor down in a sub-grade cement floor, change my oil/filter, and get my paypal account restored. Hopefully these useless new talents will serve me well in the future. Then again I don't want to get to optimistic or think that all the things that I do with my life are adding up to something relevant. Because I am far from relevant.
My life will become full of maintenance that will probably bury me beyond the point of ever contemplating anything beyond, career, fame, relevancy again. It is already mounting and I want to solve these problems myself.
FUTURE PROJECTS
give my van a tune-up,
fix drywall,
put in a wood floor,
put in steps,
put in a slate foyer and exitway,
sell all my possessions.
HAPPIEST MOMENTS OF MY LIFE
driving my 1972 pontiac granville convertible from AOL to my home in between vacations, coming home from trip to CA and then heading out on a year abroad,
telling people I was rich when I was rich,
getting caught fucking (everytime,)
making over 40,000 a year and never having to cook again (until now)
dropping in on a fast head high wave at montara beach with d lloyd
riding a giant wave at happy wanderers pointbreak in durban south africa
leaving portland for the last time
Saturday, December 1, 2007
UNEMPLOYABLE 3
So the death of Anna Nicole Smith has me all up in arms today. It's messing with my belief system. It's got me thinking of a Crackhead who quickly rose to fame after saving a kid on Broadway from being hit by a cab. The Crackhead managed to pulls it off with just a broken collar bone.
He starts down the yellow brick road with a stint of appearances on late night shows and it turns out this Crackhead has a hell of a personality. The public is smitten with him, they want more. He quickly surpasses the level of the Geico Caveman and starts gaining somewhat of a life. A life that has the power to fully distracts him from his old daily routine, to transform him. He finally is able to kick his 5034 day binge of crack, vagrancy, complusive masterbation, petty crimes and homelessness. He even gets a small office space way uptown and hires an undergrad dropout to take his calls. Things are good, things are moving, a piano has landed right on his head and he is wearing it like a sombero with style and grace. Rock bottom is well below, he is floating in the ethers, out of the crosshairs. Things are cool in his world. But has anything really changed inside.
Staying positive for what to keep an altitude far above rock bottom. Shit is that negative? Maintaining a speed of life faster than pain can move? Pain is a god, Pain is omniscient, Pain is the mind, Pain is very patient. Its got a name something cool and mythological, but the Crackhead doesn't know it. It is always there loitering around. And after 534 days of the good life things start to slow down for the Crackhead. And he starts thinking about a theory that he has been trying to formulate. A theory of disentanglement. He wonders while he walks his dog Jed through Central Park. How many days of the good life does it take to conquer the gravitational pull of his old one? Is there a ratio of new life over old life that he can exceed to assure himself of victory over a relapse. Money is a savior to the Crackhead. Anyone with money who still can't get up from rock bottom really challenges the Crackhead's base ideology. He knows about Anna Nicole Smith and he is not very happy about it. Then Jed takes a shit and the Crackhead pauses takes a breathe and watches it steam in the cold air. The Crackhead bends down with a plastic bag over his hand and palms the hot stuff and reverses the bag over it and they walk on.
He starts down the yellow brick road with a stint of appearances on late night shows and it turns out this Crackhead has a hell of a personality. The public is smitten with him, they want more. He quickly surpasses the level of the Geico Caveman and starts gaining somewhat of a life. A life that has the power to fully distracts him from his old daily routine, to transform him. He finally is able to kick his 5034 day binge of crack, vagrancy, complusive masterbation, petty crimes and homelessness. He even gets a small office space way uptown and hires an undergrad dropout to take his calls. Things are good, things are moving, a piano has landed right on his head and he is wearing it like a sombero with style and grace. Rock bottom is well below, he is floating in the ethers, out of the crosshairs. Things are cool in his world. But has anything really changed inside.
Staying positive for what to keep an altitude far above rock bottom. Shit is that negative? Maintaining a speed of life faster than pain can move? Pain is a god, Pain is omniscient, Pain is the mind, Pain is very patient. Its got a name something cool and mythological, but the Crackhead doesn't know it. It is always there loitering around. And after 534 days of the good life things start to slow down for the Crackhead. And he starts thinking about a theory that he has been trying to formulate. A theory of disentanglement. He wonders while he walks his dog Jed through Central Park. How many days of the good life does it take to conquer the gravitational pull of his old one? Is there a ratio of new life over old life that he can exceed to assure himself of victory over a relapse. Money is a savior to the Crackhead. Anyone with money who still can't get up from rock bottom really challenges the Crackhead's base ideology. He knows about Anna Nicole Smith and he is not very happy about it. Then Jed takes a shit and the Crackhead pauses takes a breathe and watches it steam in the cold air. The Crackhead bends down with a plastic bag over his hand and palms the hot stuff and reverses the bag over it and they walk on.
Friday, November 30, 2007
UNEMPLOYABLE 2
Hello little folksieys. I have returned from the nether regions of my mind. To join you once again in this existence. To share recently gathered nonsense given unto me by the most dubious of sources. The great omniscient El Peepeh! The thinker of the thoughtless, the baby momma of the cosmos. Or simply Rodger's pipe. And the idea that pierced the brim of my hat was that all things with a hole are divine. A hole can be an all encompassing entry and exit point. A loophole. The alpha and the omega. The slime that groped its way up the muddy earth on some distant bank of discontent to evolve, to learn, and ultimately to love.
I am on the 46th day of disentanglement after 1994 days of employment. I am a practicing artist once again. Excited and creating. Some might say stuck on the same shit from last year but it feels good nonetheless. My open book life has started on vintage wood panels or canvas. That most personal of journals to you with the most limited of liberties taken has begun. My ejaculate is at present looting the city streets looking to conceive some immaculate man conception. It's always sexual, pointless and wallowing in its potential. Trying to pawn it off as BLING. Thanks for the drink you lost little vixen, call me back! Damn it!
So the question I pose is, "How long must I wear this helmet before it saves me?"
I am on the 46th day of disentanglement after 1994 days of employment. I am a practicing artist once again. Excited and creating. Some might say stuck on the same shit from last year but it feels good nonetheless. My open book life has started on vintage wood panels or canvas. That most personal of journals to you with the most limited of liberties taken has begun. My ejaculate is at present looting the city streets looking to conceive some immaculate man conception. It's always sexual, pointless and wallowing in its potential. Trying to pawn it off as BLING. Thanks for the drink you lost little vixen, call me back! Damn it!
So the question I pose is, "How long must I wear this helmet before it saves me?"
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