Sunday, May 30, 2010

25, first half

Cindy was kind enough to pay us with some money, as well as shelter and food for our work, so after getting dropped off in the middle of town, we had breakfast and a cute cafe. The orange carrot soup was awesome. While Steph was attempting to make a call at a pay phone, I decided to throw my hat and some change down while picking the banjo, within thirty seconds I was rewarded handsomely, another moment after that steph was done on the phone and we started cruising down the highway towards the ferry. The rain was a bit troublesome on the banjo, but it was warm outside, so a sweatshirt wrapped it up nicely. No one was picking us up at that point, but the cruise was every so lovely, before we knew it the ferry was in sight and we had an hour to hang out before departure. We swapped stories and watched a child with dreadlocks run wild. Picking some tunes in the waiting room, approving glances and nods abounded. It was a quick ride of 45 minutes to horseshoe bay; while sharing a smoke we saw some porpoises and a older native guy with the word “elder” embroidered on his jacket. Getting off the ferry, we found out we could have bought tickets for the next on on the boat, but instead we walked all the out the terminal to purchase the tickets. I caught an internet signal at a local coffee shop and got the news that the album I recorded last month being carried along in post production. Then we had the notion to try and cook a steak I pilfered (it had been sitting out for a day) from around a camp fire. Our plan was to build a fire and cook the steak in the forty five minute window we had before the next ferry. Racing down a nearby path we found a suitable spot and began to burn a newspaper and some sticks, the fire got quite hot fast, but the sticks were all wet and refused catch. After a few attempts a blowing into and rebuilding the make shift fire, we abandoned the idea. Strolling down the gangway to the boat a slightly smart allecky gentleman commented that the boards should be ridden and not dragged, dodging the pedestrians we rode, striking some notes on the banjo got a big thumbs up. After tracking down a microwave in the sitca lounge, I popped in the steak and cooked it at three minutes a side. The flavor was more or less zapped out, but it was still pretty tasty, especially with the mounds of condiments acquired from the local cafeteria. A young fellow from a small town in Ontario talked to us about his job as a commercial diver, mostly taking dead fish out of nets in at fish farms. The week on week off schedule allowed him to travel all around, being based in Tofino, a spot I need to get to pronto. We also met a young traveler named Lynx with a beautifully painted leather jacket, colored nails, and white dread locks. We chatted about mind expanding drugs, dumpster diving, sweat lodges, busking and carving spoons out of wood. Apparently a carved knife is needed for such an endeavor, luckily he’s into black smithing as well.


Bright and clear morning, although the lack of sleep and bush living were taking their tole on the montrealers who began to snip at each other a bit. Goodbeys were made, Striker said he’d have me back next year, then Steph and I hit the road. The plan was to make it to Nanimo for the next night, my old pal Miles Howe had invited me to perform at his weekly tuesday night gig. Quite sunny, we rode with ease down the highway and were carried forward by a good bunch of people in cars. Outside of Roberts Creek we were picked up by a wild woman named Cindy Lee, she had the unbridled energy of a sixteen year old, but was apparently closer to 50. Right away she began talking about the magic of the universe and I knew we’d be friends for a long time when she asked to hear some banjo playing, she was the only driver on the trip, a group of about 10 people who made the request. She took us to a local beach to smoke a joint, there we stretched, did some tai chi, and she told us about her life creating a healing space in the middle of her small town. According to Cindy we are all healers and it’s simply a matter of finding out what your gift is, her place is open to practitioners of all stripes to come and practice their techniques. After grabbing a mango smoothie and some pie at a coffee shop courtesee of our friend Andrew, we went to see the Richard’s creek mandala. It’s a holy in the middle of a beach walkway, covering the ground is sacred paintings, apparently it’s the border point of Seshelt and Sqwamish territory. I like the idea of a sacred border that focuses on diverse peoples coming together, rather then the notion of a protected barrier that’s passible only by intense scrutiny. Around some bushes were Eric and Molly, the young banjo players from the day before, they were enjoying their daily six pack in the beautiful sun. Teaching them each some licks and tricks, they heaped love and praise onto me, quite the pleasurable experience. While doing a double banjo rendition of foggy mountain breakdown, an elderly gentleman in a brown coat and sunglasses started to do a jib, spin around, and executed a priouette. I couldn’t get my camera out fast enough. Cindy went to drop Andrew off at the fairy, while Steph and I strolled the board walk, we saw an otter up close and the fin of a seriously killer whale. Attempting to make fire with only sticks, the surface area was heating up nice, releasing the welcoming sent of pine into the air, but no sparks. More young folk emerged to congregate around the beach side fire pit, where perhaps every day, they sit and talk and love. It was a mirror of my old parksville crew, who seemed to gather together spontaneously at fire pits around the town. Cindy picked us up and took us up on an offer to do some manual labour, the job was painting the wellness center. Located in a community market, every corner had different styles of clothing, art, cards and nicknacks made and imported by the locals. Opening up a side door, we came into the massage therapy front room of Cindy’s space. A bit further opened into a bigger main room that serves the purpose of holding healing, in many different forms. We mixed purple paint and spent the next few hours taping, cutting, rolling and detailing the walls. Meditative in it’s practice and in it’s long term, painting that room was a great project, a work worthy of the new world and ways to live. Munching on borsh and then Ice cream, we were quite the happy hitch hikers. Cindy regailed us with stories of her youth and spritual growth. She was telling us about the extended spiritual community all starting to come together, all understanding the great shift that’s taking place. She spoke the native elders who cried with joy when approached about the prospect of canoe races, a tradition they thought had withered years ago. The great canoe’s can hold around thirteen people, with a drummer guide. The races have been gaining momentum and popularity in the area, I hope to partake asap. After painting cindy drove us to gibson’s to lay down in a basement apartment of a friends house. We marveled in the beauty and power of the day.


Steph woke around 6 with full excitement of the up coming race, she pecked me on the cheek and took off with gusto. The sound of the rain on the outside of the tarp was magnified by the tent, making it sound like it was raining heavily, also it was slightly chilly, meaning I stayed in bed until about noon, enjoying the sounds of the rain and my warm sleeping bag. Venturing forth, I discovered it wasn’t raining hard at all, quite the auditory illusion. My friend Julian who looks like chuck norris was similarly shocked at the lack of rain. Exploring a segment of the camp site I hadn;t been to yet, I got to meet Jessica from new york, who rode quite well in the slide comp, and I found out later won it. She told me she worked at something called school of rock, she teaches kids who to emulate all their favorite rock stars, as well as helping coordinate orrigionals bands and material. A pretty blond girl offered me the end of her oat meal and a fellow with dreads complimented on my music friday night. They offered a spot in their car to the big race and grabbing the banjo we were on our way. Arriving at the race spot, Daryl called to me and I joined the parksville crew up on a hill. Sitting with those folks reassured my deep connection into the fabric of that little town as well in the greater longboarding, BC and freedom cultures. Since Daryl and I have become friends, he’s taken a radical shift in his outlook at approach to life. Once he worked hard cutting grass, bought and smoked copious amounts of pot, drank a lot, then skateboarded and played punk music when he could. Now he picks mushroom in the woods, had delved deep into taro and seems to have a calmer existence, albeit with many more tattoos. We played a board game on the side of a hill and watched racers explode around “carnage corner” the one deadly corner in an otherwise calm and relatively easy race. We witnessed some wicked wipeouts, recoveries and rene bail, loose her shoe, recover, put it back on, and continue down in front of other racers. The race seemed anti climactic, not much emphasis put on the final runs of the competition, but still incredible to witness such skill and precision ridding. Pilling bails of hay into the Uhal was a fun team experience, my red and black sweater was covered in hay, a fellow with a blow wand gave me a blast of wind. Some free sausages were enjoyed slowly, a bite every few minutes and ANOTHER banjo was enjoyed on the shuttle back to camp. At the site some young locals and a native queen named Tina, all hung around picking and grinning. Molly Kennedy is a name that folks should put in their memory banks, this young lady is a fire brand. Her banjo and singing skills were superb for someone playing eight months, but she also works hard and grows her own food. Pushing Dominique on the tireswing, doing yoga shirtless, teaching youngun’s to play clawhammer was all lovely, then ross the sound guy and hoodie came up, talking amongst themselves I over heard them saying the intended to play before the awards ceremony had cancelled. I offered to play and hoodie asked if I would. After packing up a drum kit we were rolling away in the green painted station wagon of the green team, ridding in style. The kit was set up, someone asked if I wanted a drummer, and all of the sudden I was performing for a packed house again. Some of the tunes were repeated, but the general group clap/stomp/singalong was achieved again. The best part was shouting “ I say danger you say bay. Danger!...” The gig was smooth and wild, calling out to green team, red eye and the various nationalities was a crowd stoker. Ross motioned on more, I was at a loss, the rene said, “big balls”, then came my version of the song “tiger woods” by dan bern. During the set, Striker and hoodie were tossing much merch, it was humorous to see kids of all ages scamper to dive for boards, t shirts and stickers. The awards were a pleasure to see because of the appreciation the organizations, sponsors, riders and fans have for those that push themselves and those top spots and evolutions. The green wagon was full afterwards, so Hoodie and I and scoot’s sister waited in the warm evening. Back at camp, back at the fire, watching, warming, bands playing, then wild techno dance party taking, into the loco and back. Steph and I missioned for various treasures, which we found, then crashed.


Reconnecting with my old pals from team switchback, I rode with the gear in the back of the short bus enroute to the slide comp. Steph had lent me her pirate eye patch in order to test the theory that pirates used patches to train their eyes for varying degrees of light. The results were fairly trippy. Though there was some light coming through a small hole in the patch, the adjustment to the size of my pupil (spelling?) and subsequent optical rearrangement was substantial. It was as if someone had turned up the “brilliance” knob on my covered right eye. Left was the normal adjustment, fairly sunny so things started to look grey, but back to right, bam, full blast of colours. Amusing myself with these vision games, I watched all the powerfully beautiful landscape that makes up the sunshine coast, it came to me that I need a constantly streaming video camera attached to my head, so that everyone at home can see the amazing things that I get up to every day. The purpose of said camera would be to demonstrate that if one engages in the passion (in my case playing the banjo), sustenance will become an afterthought since you’ll be totally emerged in the sweet life. The slide comp was majestic, powerful innovation emerged since last year, impressive athleticism and style, full fun. The jam style was disfavorable in my opinion, harder to keep track of the riders and sharing the course made for some unwanted traffic, still a wicked show though. On the way back in an open ended uhall trailer, nick and I danced our feet on the rushing pavement below, a hand stand was attempted for the guy with a camera behind us. The brilliance of a covered eye was still shocking. More fire surfing and it it was time to ride to Madeira park with steph the montreal crew driving behind us. It was a good run, the small town was in full swing for the victoria day celebrations. Breakdancing for the local old time folk band was enjoyable for all. Chats with a local clam digger were great as well, he was quite interested in longboarding, I told him everything I knew about the sport. Up walked a fellow who had been playing drums that were suspended by springs from a wooden cube that encased it all. Called “bonggie” or something, I recalled he’d been profiled on the classic Canadian television show, On The Road Again. It reminded me of a chat with my mother about that episode, it turned out many of the shows subjects had the sub title “old people making things” and she asked me which of the segments I would remember, it was the drummer. He was in good shape, has patented the construction but hasn’t reproduced it. Wood working is his life of work, there was the possibility he’d sold the same carved bench twice. Rolling down the hi-way, a lake caught my eye, cutting down to the water two brown masses few by. With closer inspection a bald eagle was trailing a slow moving, huge, great blue heron. The heron squawked and changed direction, the eagle spun and followed suit. A second eagle joined the pursuit from above. As the Heron tried to make a move and fly right, the higher eagle swooped down, a great cry shot out, and a big brown bird plummeted sixty feet into the lake One eagle flew back to the next and the other to the fallen heron, splashing around where the bird dropped. Then with repetitive flaps every four seconds, slowly dragged the carcass to side of the lake it took about five minues. Then took it’s time tearing the flesh off the bones, the whole situation was fairly intense. Back at the park mayday festivals I watched the mechanical bull competition, a fellow named “gruff” who was quite handsome with his mustance, rode the contraption with both hands in the air. Little Quinn rode it afterwords. Pumping my legs back to the camp, the french crew picked me up and the rest of the evening was spent experiencing the lack of sleep. Eventually Steph and I crashed in her tent, this time sharing blankets and staying warmer.

Not sure which date

Warning: This blog is explicit in nature. If explicit things bother you, don’t read it.

I took an alternative, overgrown path up one side of the central stream, over a large, slightly rotting bridge which I crossed tentatively, then into the camp site. More roasted onions with Caribbean chicken sauce tasted fine as I made more acquaintances. The next few hours consisted of strolling from fire to fire, chatting with whomever I came across. Paulo from Brazil was one of my favorite characters, voyaging randomly found himself to the race. A number of introduction included “you mean the banjo boy I’ve been hearing all the stories about” or from the security “oh, the one guy we weren’t supposed to let in this year”. Reuniting with “Monster” the large, bearded bald chap who’m I skirmished with was quite amusing, as he was hugging me, he kept saying “they mixed me up for you! They thought I was the guy naked and high on acid”. I told him I fully enjoyed being beaten into the family. A dear friend Rabble, who’s got multiple face peircings, dreds and a crazed look in his eye, invited me to sample the liquid acid, I did two hits. Sound check was smooth, then I shot the shit with the extended family and awaited my turn to perform, and for the acid to kick in. The grand godfather of the race and the most central figure of the longboarding existence is a guy named Striker, who’s a mailman by day, incredibly warm and joyful soul while being a deeply silly goofball, and who happens to put together this and many other similar events. Well he plays bass in a band called loose tooth, total thrashy/metalish skatepunk, it brought me back to being 16 years old and sneaking into the various punk clubs, feelings that deep seated attraction to unbridled chaotic musical rage. The band ripped it up and the audience ripped it harder, moshing with conviction, screaming gang vocals. Punk music is alive and well in the deep bowels of BC. A lit up frizbee was a pleasure to toss as the drugs began to tingle, in pitch darkness, the lights flash and fly, prompting wild visual hallucinations and quick dashes to catch and toss. After Loose Tooth played, it was my turn up to bat. The crowd was ramped and excited, stomping out a rhythm the crowd followed with claps and the energy started to rise. Lights in my eyes blurred the vision of the crowd, by I could hear them screaming, hollering. “ Ole ole ole ole!” Started up and all sang along. With a smooth transition into What I Got, the folks were all singing along, still banging away, raw percussive devises of bottles and sticks emerged, knocking out strange counter beats. Into Fresh Prince of Bell Air theme song, with what I got lyrics, I got the whole gang rapping. Finishing off with a misfits medley, there was a whole moshpit pulsating away to the sound the banjo. A Deeply enjoyable audience, the audience partcipation was key. Black out play and the crowd was awesome. The rest of the night was spent wandering from camp fire to camp fire, enjoying the waves of LSD that flowed through my consciousness. As the sun rose, the upper field was the place to hang out, Logan kept a good eye on the megaphone and his booze, so waking everyone up for the slide competition, by banjo and skat via bullhorn, was fully enjoyable.

May 20

Greetings world, it’s 5 22pm and I just woke up in some bushes adjacent to the camp site for ATTAC OF DANGER BAY 9, the worlds biggest gathering of longboarders. Over the next few days will be some incredible partying, racing, sliding competitions, live music (of which I’m contributing to), and obscene acts of drinking, drugs and general debauchery. Tristan and I left Parksville mid day wednesday, hitchhike to the Commox ferry, rode from Powell river a good ways until camping in the woods. The next day we got a ride to the next ferry, arrived on the sunshine coast and hitched another lift to the the Lions camp ground on in Pender Harbor, arrive mid yesterday afternoon. The trip was super smooth, we rarely had to wait more then 5 minutes for a ride and all our drivers were friendly and interesting. Yesterday exploring the area, I came across an old burnt out cottage with a wood and barbed wire fence around it’s yard, upon further investigation a stable and hay shed were discovered, old tools laid unused and a weather piece of paper in a ziplock sack said “don’t come in, unsafe”. T and I had a nice long fire as we casually roasted chunks of big white unions I’d dumpstered a few days before. The onions were delicious, it was the perfect wrap up to the travel section of this adventure. In the evening we walked into the greater campsite to see what was up. Striker might be the face of longboarding, not only because he organizes the annual epicenter of international longboarding, but because he personifies the best qualities of the scene it’s self. He was welcoming with open arms and we immediately were amerced into the warm group of people I so fondly remember from last year. An good looking Australian fellow carrying a forty in a paper bag took an interest to the banjo and was asking techinal question of the construction, he then told a story about ridding home late one night and hearing the voice of a banjo from a distance. We then stumbled upon Charly, aka Clit, who’s one of the most fascinating creates in the fold. While she did just do a year of art school, she paid for it by pan handling, that method plus hitching got her down to a few races in New Mexico last month, which she both won. Quite crass but not at all rude, Charly is also a great musicians, we sang standards around a barrel fire with a rotating cast while roasting found veggies on a grill. A stroll with a young adventurer named Steff informed me that pirates used eye patches to train their eyes for night vision; allowing one pupil to adjust for daylight one for less light. After wearing the patch all day busking, she returned home one day to discover her vision radically altered. Bumping from fire to fire, I came across Scoot, leader of team green and former world champion. He’s somewhat legendary in the larger community and I’d built him up to be older and more grizzled, his bright face looked even younger then his 23. Chatting about the longboard lifestyle, the notion of “professional” I had heard he was a carpenter “hah, drywaller” he retorted. A youthful montrealer named Emily had an immediately insightful answer to the question I ask almost every new person I meet “what makes you happiest in life?”. Her joy was showing people how to follow their instincts rather then to be a result of their environments. Not listen primarily to their hearts, not the constant barrage of what we “should” be living like; especially in regards to the perceived importance of the material, when really it’s the mental, spiritual, ecological environments that are important. Sitting around a fire with Tristan, Steff and Rex, we did what folks do best around fires at 5 in the morning, talked about the meaning of life. We agreed that people at the party are definitely awakened souls and that more and more people are starting to wake up to the good life, real life, with limited possessions and ultimate freedom. The sun came up and when to crash in Stefs tent because it was raining, however without a blanket I didn’t last long and ventured over to my gear stashed on the opposite side of a creek. Last night was the first that I shared my tarp with my full pack and longboard, we were all quite cozy. Now it’s late afternoon, writing is a nice way to wakeup, I can hear hollers from the camp site, the booze must be flowing. I hear it’s going to be sunny all weekend, far out.

May 16th

Ladies and gentlemen, I was quite pleased with that last bit of writing, a pattern of growth and progress is becoming discernible, metaphysical plains of existence are becoming fathomable. The most important lesson to depart is awareness of breathing, all the way in, all the way out, when ever possible, especially when presented with a daunting or emotionally charged moment. Smoking tobacco is a stimulant, it’s the action of taking long, slow breaths, albeit sucking down poisons, that offers the habitual smoker that sense of relaxation. Combining slow breathing with other activities like washing the dishes, writing or sex, changes the dynamic of the activity to one where pace is understood, maintained and is quite a challenge, at first. Breathing slowly alters the nature of one’s interaction with their environment. Long forgotten nooks and crannies are expanded in the lungs, more oxygen is given to the brain, calmness comes to the heart.
Yesterday I awoke to mountains, beach, ocean, a steep hill, some young and an old eagle, star fish, and yet another group of people who seem to be fully entwined in the marijuana spirit, morning meditation got me going as I ran up the side of the a hill, running near horizontally as fast as I could, as far as I could, before tired muscles and gravity got the better of me, sending me cascading down the hill. The shirt was off in the warm sunlight as washed up trees acted as balancing beam from big rock to rock, piles of purple starfish sat waiting in a crevice, waiting, hoping the tide would return to their spot of rest, dry death being the alternative.

Monday, May 17, 2010

A special day May 15th

This is the sort of day one dreams about, it was a day that caught me early and stayed steeped in the metaphysical realms for the remainder. The couch that laid my body has been discovered on the internet with the purpose of furnishing a room I had for two weeks last year. It had been moved into the adjacent apartment some time ago and was an integral part of this beautiful room, which now looks west over the water instead of east, over the parking lot with dumpster and the couch in the corner, where we sat (and I slept) last year. The night before, Theo mentioned the possibility of waking up early, getting mystical, diving into the frigid water of the Gorgia straight, then doing yoga on the beach. He and James were up with so much glee that I couldn’t resist going along. They proclaimed the ganga mediations shed the fear and awakened a wild spirit that needed to feel that frozen blast. Waking up early with people who’ve excepted, experienced and practiced the ritualistic meditation (or medicinal ritual) of smoking plants, provided a certain spring board into the type of day that seemed to be a certain “next level” of existence, an evolution of what it means to be alive and human. The buzz in the my body was tangible as I calmed my heart rate by breathing slowly, having abstained from wake and bakes since last summer. The rush that hits when toking with a rising sun is majestic. We stood basking after stripping naked and proceeded over the rocks towards the low tide. The water was frigid on my toes and I thought for a moment, doesn’t being free mean being comfortable all the time? James let out a piercing cry as he ran 6 steps and dove, Theo did the say and I couldn’t resist; being free means to test, push, fly, run, dance, scream, love in as considerable means as available. Each nerve did a jig as the water enveloped me; powerful submerged breaststroke pumped warm blood. Flipped over, the sun light up shaken sand and the salt burned my eyes. Back to shore we stretched, posed, balanced, breathed slowly, welcoming the sun and the day. Ridding back on my longboard, I furthered a previous new project that I’ve mentioned in passion, longboard yoga, which is exactly how it sounds and is amazing. All exercises mentioned above, while riding, and turning, a longboard, which is an extra long skateboard (4feet long) with bigger trucks (axel and base) and wheels. Best started on flat ground for anyone wanting to extend their yoga capacities, it can be progressed to a proactive body positioning for competitive racing. I’m positive others have combined these two complimentary exercises, let’s attempt experimentation in this field, we’re onto something. Back at the pad, there was fresh stew and a big bag full of fruit, I read the paper and was merry. As Theo began to clean the apartment, I dashed out to buy a pair of rubber dish gloves. At the gas station down the block there were none, but there were blue pacages of gum with the black letters “black jack” printed in the middle. There was no hint as to the flavor, asking for directions to a rubber glove-selling store, the gum was purchased and sampled, strong licorice, I though that my mother would enjoy this gum. The grocery store was packed with elderly people shopping with all of their might, great determination and poise radiated from the focused, white haired crowd. While washing the dishes a strength training exercise invited by charles atlas, I think, and passed along by C.B., by which one engages muscle against muscle was employed to enhance the deliberate slow breathing and mind clearing techniques. Tall legs supported an engaged core, anchoring a chest and back that was leveraging two seriously hard working arms, which focused on relatively small movements by the hands. It was a fun challenge that improved my dishwashing skills, made me stronger and more peaceful. Reading further, the singer from great big sea seems to have an awesome new job coming up. Around 10 30 our dear friend Riley came over to do yoga with Lucas, who was just getting up. The table was pushed aside and three mats were laid down, the sun continued to rise up into the picture window, into the apartment. Lucas lead us through an hour and a half routine that he’d created himself. After a few yoga lessons, he decided he knew enough and didn’t was to pay for classes anymore, and by god it payed off. His class was rigorous, creative, fun, challenging, rewarding while his body lines, attitude and suggestions were bang on. A new pose came to me for two breaths, laying both forearms on the ground in front while slowly moving all weight forward, then lifting up the body and legs to rest comfortably above. During yoga, old great pal Lea showed up, who had been traveling everywhere in Canada from here to montreal, it was a deep joy being returned to this lovely lady, sharing stories and tales. Her friend was sleeping in a field, we gathered stew as wake up offering. With no shirt I rode the town on Sherlock the longboard, a deep seated sense of joy rose in my gut, the few hours before represented an idealized morning ritual and I was free to adventure and follow various leads from the day before. We came across YAM Youth, Arts, Market, a new drop in center that my friends Anita and Mehdi helped get off the ground, and is constantly populated by artistic folk of all ages. Pirate Brad, another dear friend who was presently moving into the woods, was busily making a mighty banner advertising the open mike that evening. The building had been unsellable by account of the recession, thus perfect for donating to an arts collective, as long as they payed the taxes. Yam is an extensive old wooden shop nestled into a sloping vacant lot which peaks a triangular city block, a lot perfect for the twelve hour youth music festival thrown last month. A grand stage, couches, work stations, massive basement with walls two stories high, for some reason make for a really cool place to hang our and make art, read, jam at almost any hour of the day. I was touched and wrote my very first naughty children’s book called “ How to have fun sexually, without actually having sex. A foldup book by Maxim. 1. Self exploration, researching, touching, playing are important! I didn’t write this in the book but, but men who ejaculate four times a week are about 60% less likely to have prostate cancer, there are carcinogens EVERYWHERE these days, it’s important to flush our the plumbing. 2. Talking, to friends, teachers, anyone you trust and is willing to talk about it, you might teach them something. But be respectful, everyone has different definitions and levels of understanding. For this one I drew two little stick figures, one is saying “I like my anus” there other is saying “awesome”. 3 Writing and drawing. Art offers limitless and private possibilities of exploration “Ex. Horas was a minotaur, but he didn’t have a miniotaur penis” Complete with illustrations, as well as a drawing of helga, the mer-witch, with human genitalia. 4. Experimenting with birth control, find it, read it, practice putting condoms on different sized fruits and veggies and on yourself, impress your friends by wrapping one over your head till it reaches your upper lip, then blowing it up with your nose. With diagrams. 5. Touching. Holding, hugging, rubbing, playing, bitting, ect. is a lot of fun to talk about with a partner you cherish. Have fun sexually is always about enjoying the moment with great company; never try to get anywhere, just have fun and appreciate the energy, feelings and vibe that occurs when you hang out with your partner. 6. Actually doing it. Aren’t you glad you know everything there is to know about birth control? Now’s the time to show off that your comfortable with yourself, your body, condoms and your partners body. The name of the game is explore, have fun, be safe. Then there are stick men going at it in many different combinations. It was a fun book to make, the response has been positive so far, it’s in the washroom at YAM. During that time another friend Brad popped in and out and in, bringing a pair of longboard trucks which he then put on my deck, seeing as how sherlock was sporting skateboard trucks. The new trucks offered enhanced precision and control as we tore around an adjacent empty parking lot. Apparently rob now makes skate boards, one of which I saw at the lost and found at the yam, if I painted it, the board was mine. Beach hill was clogged with young people returning from prom picture’s at the beach, they looked solum in their nice clothes on the way up the hill, too many cars, I only did one quick run, sliding is much smoother now. At yam, I attempted to draw the biblical snake on the banana board that Rob spoke about. The apple is a wonderful symbol isn’t it? My father once informed me that sex was the ultimate sin according to the catholic church, watered down versions of that story say that eating the apple represents the learning self knowledge, finding out we are separate from god, it’s a sin because to accept self knowledge is find your own godly powers, rendering god, mute. Why did god cast them out of the garden anyway? Anyone with logic would see that if a snake in the grass can persuade you to do the one and only bad thing in an ideal situation, he can convince you to do anything. What we have to do is that appreciate that apple to the fullest extent, to know everything there is to know about the world, through better understanding of the self. People who deny the deep mysteries of the body are damned to chaff under the arbitrary heaps of traditional abstractions, imposed by those clinging fast to the rapidly sinking ship of organized religion. As the sex scandals boil over, covering the pope himself with the taint of someone routinely harboring pedophiles, the last of the hardcore indoctrinated masses of Canada rally to support the sadistically malicious prevention of reproductive health services to the worst-off people in the world. But things are getting better, the new cult of pathway to the future is through apple computers, who’s logo is an apple with a big bite out of it. Apple is dedicated to the artist, the great designer, it’s an easy to use and powerful tool allowing people to express their individuality to the fullest, to discover their inner power. Also, is here, if you want to be on the steps to enlightenment with the most thoughtful people in the world, spend half an hour a day searching, watching and listening on Next time you want to watch a tv show, don’t, brows The snake board was coming along well, painting is an activity I rarely engage in, yet it’s so much fun and rewarding. Last time I painted, it was all bad omens, I felt relieved and peaceful afterwards, as if I’d exercised some spirits. Here’s a new terribly tasteless joke btw; While sitting on the toilet the other day, a turd looked up to me and said “you have no purpose”. You guessed it, it was an excremental crisis.” BOOO. Did I mention the cup cakes and juice boxes? Three big boxes of each, the city had too many and just gave them to YAM. Apartment, more stew and fruit! Longboard ride along the boardwalk brought me to Jammie, a woman who’s full of life and energy. Her singing brought be towards her and she performed a tune on a guitar covered in drawing from her visit to south america. Many projects and endeavors of peaceful, healing, teaching, empowering natures make her a very cool new friend. The open mike took off with a bang, lots of young people making fabulous music. Medhi and I had a wonderful moment when he complimented my shoes, then I his, and at the same moment, with the same rhythm said we “ wanna switch?” It was a replay of the first day we’d met and become friends. There’s a good video of the open mike, full of honest music and a dynamic audience, and lot’s of cupcakes, I ate too many. Cameron, Jesse and Amy made my acquaintance that day and with awesome friend and musical collaborator Island L, we ventured off in Cameron’s new blue mustang to his house, with L in the trunk. There we partied and danced and partied and loved each other. At the end, I thought about the wild, possibly perfect day.

LIfe back in Parksville, May 14th

At Simon’s dad’s place I got cleaned up and we got to work on a new song. The evening before we’d stumbled upon the phrase “find your shine” as a central point to our project and existence in general. The phrase means that we should do everything possible to locate and engage in the action which brings you and the universe, the most joy. When we engage in those actions which are mutually beneficial, all parties win and each step into the metaphysical portion of life. We all have the potential to radically alter our worlds for the better, in millions of different ways, it’s about finding the courage to step into that place of personal power, to reject fear and societal restrictions in order to fully manifest that promise that lies within. A banjo track was laid down over some sick beats and we got to writing, magic was flowing and suddenly a series of thoughtful, challenging, humorous and compelling lyrics were recorded. Eventually we took a break for lunch when I ran into my friend Brad, who I met last year and has been living in the area for a long while. His life has progressed in the areas of skateboarding and living arrangement, but not much else, exactly how he likes it. We chatted about this small town that I left ten months ago, things have been more or less chrysalides, it is a vacation/retirement town after all. Everyone we talked about seemed to be happy simply living, working a bit, having fires, smoking pot, skateboarding, playing music, doing small town things. Some went off to namaimo for school, others across the country for travel, but most still just enjoying life in one of the most beautiful places on earth. S and I work on music some more then met up with Bossy and Darma at the Beach, there’s nothing like a parksville sunset. An elderly man approached me as I was picking the banjo and said he’d recently retired and just bought banjo, I did my spiel about the history of the banjo and clawhammer, which he much appreciated. He came from Ontario but had worked all over Canada with the RCMP, he then taught forensics at the RCMP school, but had always loved the sound of the banjo. While busking, I had a few fascinating moments, the first with was a 14 or so month old girl, who saw the banjo lying down and started staring at it, while I joyfully played it, she was transfixed, her two older sisters and parents came over and suddenly we had a dance party on our hands. Twirls and stomps galore on the boardwalk. Later a young local was so pleased with my rendition of his request, he gave me a necklace he’d made with a cool quarts pendent. Busking put a few extra dollars in my pocket, but I didn’t feel like spending them, I did the rounds of coffee shops and finagled myself some good free grub and a copy of the globe and mail. The thai situation I found the most fascinating. I saw some friends going back to their apartment and I followed suit, dropped off my bags then headed for the grocery store dumpster to engage in one of the types of active meditation I most enjoy while transcending some of the most malicious social boundaries we’ve been brainwashed into accepting. Jackpot mother load of near fresh produce and fancy bread, just like last year. With in the hour I had four pots of delicious stew ready for consumption, it lasted two days with the heavy youth traffic in that apartment. It was gobble up with joy and there was tones of grapefruit, oranges and apples for the morning. If you want to know more about dumpster diving, there’s an article from december that focuses on it. I crashed on their couch and slept extremely well.

Adventure from Commercial drive to Horseshoe bay. may 13th

Hello All,

Today was a bit more extreme then yesterday. I woke up a few times last night because jason was vomiting, when he pukes, there’s a deep wretch, a gurgle, then a high pitched scream, like a little girl. It was a disconcerting, but I knew he was alright, Brian and I are (were) lifeguards for heaven sake.

Packing my bag, one of the the small straps attached to a bigger strap, ripped off. I considered using my smaller bag, but it just wasn’t in the cards, I wanted to be comfortable should I have been forced to camp unexpectedly. Examining the broken part, I saw the seam was ripped along the top of it. A stitch in time saves 9 “they” say. After reinforcing the seam, the strap held. All day, and it’s looking good. I started off to cross an easterly bridge that was near brian’s house. It was the first time I’d attempted to go long distances with that backpack and banjo setup. The banjo started out around my neck, smiles were plentiful in the city. But it and the backpack were cumbersome. The pack was dumpster dived 6 years ago, then brought to France and the Netherlands. It’s over sized and the bottom sags, but the framework is steady and the hip, breast and attachment straps are fine. I made the load as light as possible, then took for the road. So, traveling west along the river, breaks were in order to keep up the pace, eventually I made it to the lion’s gate bridge. Upon stepping onto the bridge, a man on the opposite sidewalk was emphatically attempting to get my attention. The cars were too loud for him to yell so he made some quick signs; glasses with his hands then pointing downward. I looked over the bridge, which quickly goes from about three to 7 stories off the water. I saw nothing and kept walking, the fellow and the woman he was with continued to frantically look over the edge. I kept an eye on the water below and strolled to the crest of the bridge. There on the other sidewalk was another woman speaking into a phone attached to a yellow box, the emergency phone. The couple made their way up the bridge and finally there was a lull in traffic, “someone jumped”. Within moments a cop pulled up and stepped out. “Who saw it” he said, looking at me. I pointed across the bridge and they started talking. I kept my eyes trained on the water. Visualization popped into the mind’s eye, immediately I created a look, a figure, a perhaps disenchanted soul that decided to test the limits and boundaries of mortality. As the police boats sped by and the ambulance and fire truck pulled up to the low road, I looked up the number for the local CBC radio station and gave them a call. “Hi, I have a tip, someone just jumped off the lion’s gate bridge” “Did you see it”, “I didn’t see it” “So he hasn’t jumped yet?” “No he’s jumped, the witnesses saw it and told me to look down, there’s cops all over the place” “Oh, thanks”. I stayed a while and tried to see my first corpse. The cop boats were dropping markers and criss crossing the area,
at one point I saw a white and black thing bobbing in the water, then disappearing and coming back near by a few moments later, I think it was an animal.

Im in the woods right now and the light of the screen might be attracting visitors, off for now, more on today tomorrow.

Back, so I turned left after the bridge and commenced my trek to horseshoe bay by longboard with that huge bag on my back. I think it was about 35km or so and I would estimate the bag at 40 or 50lbs, it was a fun challenge. Quite a bit of up hill which got more extreme about three quarters of the way in, however I’ve attempted to employ something I call “ambidextrous pushing”, most people push skateboards with only one leg, balancing on the other; the result is an eventual sharp pain in the balancing leg and a tired pushing leg. Switching legs with each five pushes or so balances out the effort and makes life easier, especially when going up hills. Even then I had to walk up a few hills at the end when my knees started to ache. Going down hills was an entirely different experience. Descending the lion’s gate, I put on a work glove and pressed down on the railing to slow myself down. That combined with the foot drag style breaking offered ample control. With the extra weight, I made sure to stay within a speed that I could control, although when I saw there was a decent runout, I took advantage of the added speed and bombed some hills. When there were no cars about, I could make wide turns, slowing down that way. At one point on a deep frontside turn at a decent speed, the wheel lost traction and began sliding sideways. Normally this is an enjoyable occurrence, I had to hop off and run a bit to regain my balance, that was the only momentary loss of command. The sun was beating down hard as I headed directly into the it’s glare. It shawn beyond quarter to nine when I got to the ferry. Before leaving Van I checked my bank account online and saw in there 14$, the exact amount required to take the ferry. Upon arriving at the terminal, to my dismay they took only cash or credit, no debit. With utter futility I was rejected by the atm then the credit car machine. Thankfully the lady at the desk made a call to the office on the second floor, luckily the secretary was moment away from leaving when she did indeed answer. I dashed upstairs and was able to transfer those 14 electronic bits of digital information necessary to board the ferry. It was a great ride, the powerful engine smoothly shakethe whole boat. I met a fellow named Stewart who was also into longboarding and we went to watch the sunset on the upper deck. We hung out for a while then came across ten twenty year old surfers on their way to tofino. We danced, sang, ran and play like little kids, these folk were packed full of youthful energy, crystal children perhaps. After the ride I rendezvoued with Simon and Bossy, we caught up on old time, I showed off my newest b-boy moves and we talked turkey about the upcoming project. It was great hanging out with my old friends again, they’re working on getting pregnant and they going to name the boy child “Maximus” after me, and another friend of theirs named max. It was deeply touching to have been honored in that way. I recalled the three of us having conversation a year ago when Bossy was still with her husband, I was pointing out that her marriage seemed imbalanced. or unhealthy. Apparently S and B recalled those conversations as well. We hung out at Bossy’s spa with the dogs and talked metaphysics about the direction of the Pirate Yogi Crew, apple computers came up in the conversation, they have a core belief about computers that work well and easy to use, but also offer all the mythology surrounding the tree of knowledge. We were brainstorming what we believed to the core. It came down to expansion and exploration of the soul, universe and dimensions as well as living up to the potential that we know rests inside of us. To deny it would be an act of fear, also something we which to overcome. We hung out at S’s dad’s place for a bit then I went off to the estuary that I lived in on and off for about a month last year. I found my old spot with ease, did some writing and slept extremely well wrapped in my sleeping bag and tarp.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

May12th cont.

It’s about 5 pm when I wake up in stanley park, wrapped in my green tarp, feeling awesome. I realized my friend Simon wanted my number, so I via my cell phone, I searched through facebook, only to discover a fairly incredible note left by him. Apparently a friend of our friend Bossy is interested in investing a significant amount of dough in order to create a television show about the wild adventures of our band Pirate Yogi Crew. Today we’re going to talk about what this show might look like. There was another note from the manager of a blues/barbeque bar in toronto offering me a gig, this was significant because even though I’ve played hundreds of shows, toured Canada and the states, I’ve never been approached to play anywhere based on my solo music online. Those two notes made me happy.

At first the thought was to take off to Vancouver Island to hook up with Simon and Bossy, but then I though I’d rather travel by light of day, so Jason, Brian and I went to Brian’s watering hole to catch the weekly amateur Comedy night. All day we’d been encouraging Jason to go into comedy, he took the opportunity to fully engage each comic. It was a strange night, the bar was dead and there was a middle aged woman in the front row telling her own jokes and and bantering with jason. There was one comic was apparently had some internet reputation and was quite decent named Simon King. The woman at the front, and jason, were becoming more brash and the bar staff didn’t like that very much, so as I found out later, they tacitly gave one of the comics permission to try and “walk her”. This resulted in a barrage of insults about the woman’s family and her genitalia. Fairly shocking to say the least. At the end Jason was the center of attraction, the last comic kept asking him questions and poking fun at his answers. Then in the parking lot, jason got sick and was asking for a doctor, Brian and I did our lifeguard thing and decided he just needed to puke it out and sleep it off. I baby sat as B walked home to get the car. Upon coming back, we hauled J into the car and I was asked to drive. It was a fun time.

Back in Vancouver on May 12th


I’m off again, this time it’s back to BC for an indefinite period of time. I just made it through check in, what a harrowing experience that is. It was reminiscent of that time in the second grade when someone (probably JA) drew on the walls in the bathroom. There was a lecture about respecting the school property that taxes payed for and how we were highly privileged for having our own bathroom. I remember feeling that destruction of property was the most horrible thing anyone could do and as a group we collectively decided that this sort of behavior ruined it for a us all and that the guilty party must be punished by cleaning up the mess. As I gazed upon the desecrated wall scrawled with blue maker, the guilt trip started to get to me; fabricated memories of my own hand at the end of that instrument of terror started to torment my gut and heart. I cracked, went to the teacher and told her I had something to say, that I thought I had done it. She kneeled down and in a slow serious voice said, are you sure? I replied no, and the false memories dissipated.

I went into my most calm mode of behavior as I checked in my “oversised” baggage, I started sweating as they asked me to unzip the various compartments in my bag. Eventually I mad it through and struck up a conversation with a man with a bushy grey beard, wearing a robe and a large silver medallion around his neck. He turned out to be the Ottawa bishop of the easter orthodox church. On the medallion was the mother of god, which he said was standard for someone in his position. The robes were who he was, he said, he felt comfortable in them, some rejected the garb, but others appreciated the traditional clothes. He was off to toronto then Mexico for the ascension , which is when Christ went up to heaven.

On the plane a stewardess was playing with a baby and asking if it was his first flight. There was an elderly man in front of her putting his bags away when she said stearnly, “sir please be careful of the baby” then “just kidding”. I thought it was a bit of a sick joke. I slept for the first three hours or so, not having slept the night before. A fellow named Andrew, I think, kept me company. He’d coched basketball in england, but was now going back to Korea to teach. I was reading about the New Pornographers and the journalist used the word, Maximalism, and it reminded me that I’ve had dreams about working on my own maximalism music while traveling on a plane. Garageband easily fullfilled thoese dreams as I fuzed together elements of jazz, funk, Indian, Caribbean and hip hop.

The most remarkable thing about the flight was being over the rockies. These massive peaks burst out of the prairies and just keep going, in various forms, all the way to the coast. I was singing show tunes as I bounded towards the baggage pick up. The banjo, longboard and bag all made it safe and sound, I strapped up and took for the road, generally towards the city. I gave my old friend Brian a call, he had just left the airport, it so happened that he was picking up our friend Jason, who had just come back from a year in Australia. The made a Ue, picked up up and we went into the city.

We shot the shoot for a while on the grass in the sun and exchanged stories. Jason has a knack for talking and regaled us with some fascinating insights and tales. Eventually we got some inexpensive yet entirely filling and delicious breakfast at Bon’s restaurant, helped a fellow design a cargo bike, went to an apartment to see a skateboard a random older guy was selling, then back to the pad. I interviewed both Jason and Brian, which you can find in my youtube channel.

I went on a ride along the waterfront and was deterred by the massive industrial complexes that dominate the shoreline. At one point I traveled through parking garages that give access to the new convention centers. When I hit the crab st. park, things started to lighten up, the rich tapestry of Vancouver life became present. I dosed off in the green space leading up to Stanley park where the squeaks of two seatless trial bikes entered my dreams. There was a breeze, but I didn’t feel comfortable breaking out my tarp in the middle of that busy sector; my general goal was to ascend a mountain, make a fire and camp out for the night, I made it deep into the wild park before my tired body begged for a break. In an isolated spot I was toasty wrapped in my green tarp, the criss crossing branches over head seemed to envelop me in their arms and I dozed peacefully; sleeping in the woods has a great calming effect.

A whole bunch more happened after, but I feel like sleeping again, so till tomorrow.