Pure adventureism.

Hey, the laptop has chosen to find itself back in my arms, although writing hurts my wrists a lot. Here’s a brief recap of the last few weeks.

PB and I went sailing with Danny for about a week and a half or two weeks. Up to pender island from where we play lots of tunes, heart new about a sail boat that needed fixing and maybe a new owner, harvested oysters, then headed back north towards Van. The boat was owned by someone undergoing a sex change, needles (in wrappers) andhormone drugs were scattered around, lots of strange energy, I took the hair clippers. Back in Van we hooked up with Wolf pack, awesome crew, and the great and powerful Sarah Scouten made a brief appearance. Good skating was done, awesome fire all night and day under the royal vanouver yacht club. While still blazing on LSD, two five year olds showed up and we hung out for hours, their pop appreciated the break. Couple wild sailboat parties with the van friends, at one point a crab trap got caught in the rudder, we went into full emergency mode. Larry is a funny, funny man. On our way back to Nanaimo, Dan and I were eating mushrooms in the cabin and called PB forward, who was working on the back of the boat, as she came forward, she screamed and slammed the wheel to the right, we lurched, and a giant rust colored wall came up on our port side, there was a powerful bump and we continued on. It was a tanker, auto pilot had cut off, had we not called pb forward, we would have hit it straight on. There’s a big chunck off the fiber glass bumper. A wicked adventure brought lots of treasure, then we found ourselfs back at the patricia, where we’d met danny. I played again and this time it was raining, so we went to Pinky’s house. In the morning some of his friends were going to tofino, we tagged along and had a great fire, that lasted five days, many folk came by. One of the most memorable new friend we named the Unicorn, in his human form, he was a vibrant and illuminating figure, expressing himself and navigating his environment is manner wholly different then I’d ever seen. A wizard with words and a brilliant humorist, we’d go on adventures, cross through the rocky paths, got to the next beach, checked out the famed poole’s land, and jogged back to our beach through the town. When ever cars would come up, unicorn would get stressed out and cough. Unicorn asked a guy named scott who was in love with army how we was, many times as was his fashion, scott was not okay, and tried to take the unicorn, it wasn’t pretty, it just something that doesn’t happen, so don’t try and tame a unicorn. Then another guy named scott came by, we shared jokes and stories, he’s a musician. He said he could use some help at poole, so we cruised on in at one point or another. Huge “lungs” of grass went around and we blessed the communal kitchen with our music. That night I stayed up all night and cleaned out all the junk that was in front of two big double doors. Under the junk, the doors were boarded shut, it was a fun challenge getting them open, then all were flabbergasted by the change. At that point I’d never vibbed so hard, the energy was powerfully flowing through me and a new environment of community settle as Scott and I talked to a fellow named happy about building community, the communal fire was built, we planed a grand party, working on a dance floor that was constructed with huge found logs, rocks, rope and planks, full fun. One part collapsed, so we fixed it all again, sylvester from france and simon from Belgium, and scott the magician, also from ottawa, and I worked real hard. friday night came and It wasn't quite done, I gave i hell, got into a crazy working mode, pushed myself to hard, and calmed, in the morning I popped my back carrying wood, the lovely Louison and her travel partner, and sylverster finished it. I slept all day, that night there were twenty or so folk dancing to the banjo on that thing. Poole came back on one of those days, he’s a majestic creature, we work well together and more good work will come. It was fun mapping out al the camp spots and finding out who was where, poole called me “the eyes and ears”, I took on the responsibility of being aware of everyone’s emotional state, that was a fun challenge, the result was that I was able to ask the communal fire to channel their love to a few who especially needed it, and it worked. Eventually ray the mystic said it was too soon for me to be hiding in the hoods, I needed to do my great work, so I took it to mean write a book, and took off right there and then. Found myself varnishing the garage of a b&b in a native community, then hanging out with the folks from medicine farm at long beach, back at the farm I played like wild, we feasted and slept well, in the morning, my job was to wander around and play the banjo, the gardens were magnificent, the food and people better, the hitch out of there was with a fellow from duncan who owns land that a commune is on, he’s all about the traditional native economies, we had lot’s to talk about, mostly the vast moral vacuum that is capitalism. On his place, all people were encouraged to do what they did best, and all appreciated for it, powerful good talks. In port alberni a bag boy was getting tough, telling me to put the garbage back in the dumpster, I refused, he told me he was going to take it, “your going to wrestle me for this garbage?” The strawberries were delicious. Walking the strip an elderly gentleman saw the bajo an asked asked I wanted to jam, we sat on his front lawn and he played the mandolin, doing all sorts of bluegrass classics. he had a model a from 1928, rad ride. Pack in parks, chilled with the great old heads at the youth arts market, open mike became story time, my tale was much longer and in-depth then anyone else. then it was laugh yoga, free signing and off to dumpster diving. Had a sweet potluck for rileys going away, so much good grub, mmmm. Then wrote and wrote, in a paper pad I found, reading back some, they fellas like it. Saw some kinda cool movies, although I find most movies get boring in the middle. Kept writing. Canada day, met two young cyclists making their way across the land to raise awareness of yet another pipe line, this time going to kitimat on the west coast, it’s time to end this addiction to oil folks, if you live in the city, laziness is the only reason you’re not bicking, stop support war, tyrants and the destruction of the planet, now. You aren’t doing enough good in the world to justify such atrocious waste of resources, cut it out, gradually if you want, but cut it out. That night the party was at theo’s, I backed a frozen turkey I’d found, it didnt work that well, but as well as could be expected, around one am it became a matter of carving off the outside as the in was frozen, around 4 am I cut it all up and blasted it at 400, then slept a bit then, back to the yam, chilled at the peace garden, and off to nanaimo to find the lap top. I was picked up by Simon, of the famed pirate yogi crew, in his new 97’ cadilac deville, black with red interior, the family car. good talks, good tunes by kiprios, keep it up kip. I was mistaken by which ferry I needed to get to saltsrping where I thought my computer was, and ended up walking into town. At the thirsty camel, host jordan said Miles Howe was looking for people to play with, and the adventure continued further to gabriola island, at the surf club, fine wild party, Palmera, miles’ girlfriend, was a lovely acquaintance to make. The morning was great over hanging cliffs where the natives went to morn the dead, then it was petroglypsh, then cool stain glass at the united church, then the small species sanctuary, which is for the most part fields and exposed rocks with puddles, excellent chats. Then gin rummy in the car, ferry, shower, then we drove to denman Island to play at a bistro, great gig, met nicky the traveler, went to the community center for a book launch concert, celebrating Islands of Resistance, about pirate radio in canada, expansive and impressive. We did a set, fully apreciated, chilled at a house in the woods, wrote, slept. M and N went to hornby, I slept. Then it was time for pirate radio, played, talked, discussed, in a the studio, which is a small trailer at the back of a sheep feild, we had to dodge dung. Ron and I talked about spiritual anarchy, we’er definetly onto something. In the morning, back to nanaimo, off to a part that housed a frizbee golf course and beach volley ball courts. Wrote more, found myself in the game and recognized by b-rad, who I’d met pulling into town a month earlier. Chilled and played with cool cats, then off to a river, more writing, nudity, fun. Wandering and dumpster diving, met a DJ/hairdresser named harvey and his crew, we had a dance party in the apartment, then went to the 12th floor to see the view of the harbour, then off to the gay bar for an open mike. Got touched inappropriately by someone who’s apparently sold a book for 2.7 million, he kept repeating, creeps begeeps. The sound system was uncontrollable, but I got folks listening, unlike the others. Then dance party, then late night escapades with two drunk girls and their buddy, who took off, and I had to sortof protect from a local coke head, who said the life style was thrust upon him, that he didnt have a choice. Met a drug dealer, climbed a cliff, found a spot, and did lines of coke off the banjo. It was the third time I’d ever done it, and like the times before, I could barely feel any effect, I hear that stuff is expensive as well. They were applauding the fact that I didn’t do extra. Back at their pad, they took care of me, lots of food and a big comfy bed. It came time to wake, then off to a beach, to write, was into maybe 35 pages at this point. Good dumpstering, hung with a check woman, she was stocked on the red pepper I found, much healthier then green. Evening, walked back to the pat, stopped by two two year olds, had them following me around the yard, moms laughing away. One ma, then picked up me and dropped me off at the pat. Cool gig with miles and peter on the djembe, more freestyling then before, as well as just telling stories while jamming. After the gig miles interviwed me, it went well, at some times rambling, but a solid talk. Morning, more writing, then in the heat, played at fish stand on the water, real hot, a cop came by and said “ we’ve heard reports of an out of tune banjo”. Strolling, gave improptu banjo lesson, met a jahovas witness who loved the acordian and two ladies ridding an electric scooter who game me some booze. Then I met two rastas, good chillen, then off to Miles and Palmera’s for a potluck, we arrived a bit late, but tones of fine food. A chap nammed bob was quite interrested in the interview, it might get on the radio. Quick end to the party, me and the rastas drove around looking for the next hint, it was on dam, near a beach in the woods, at the end of 5th avenue. Fine walks, slept in the car till the sun came up, then on the beach, woke to kids, everywhere. More writing, some playing, some sun burning. Early afternoon, new location, they went fishing, I walking, met back with danny dolan and his friend gail, back to the boat, real fun jam, check out my skate board, a big too much water in the bearing, but still usable. Yoga on the bow, then paddled to the dinghy dock on protection island, started transcribing, I wasn’t really happy with the book I then noticed, but got ten pages onto the hard drive. Excellent fried fish and margarita, attempting to pay, got the opportunity to play, they didn’t want stories, so I played away. Two couples from washington state cheered away. Rowed a friend Sue back to nanaimo, putsed around, some tourists at an alfreco table shot me some big smiles, so I played away, this got the attention of two bike cops, we had a long chat about how it’s illiga to busk without a permit, It was a nice chat, they were interested in the book, we became pals, they’re both named dave. I explained that I don’t busk, I walk around having a good time, all the time, usually with the banjo. Then got sucked into the internet, punk ottawa was interesting. At the harbour, one of the oars was mission, left in the ore locks, apparently they pop out. There was some progress, then I got a tow, they offered me a beer, banjo was played. Morning, yoga, pot, then just thinking, the path is right, must let it unfold. Cleaned a whole bunch, found a pa, napped, ate, read, slept. This morning, yoga, back to the dinghy dock, with one ore as a paddle in the front. Too early, walked protection Island, lots of bikes. Cool light house, seems like a rad little community, sadly becoming gentrified, another rich suburb. Came across a mannequin, had to meet the owner, no one there, but there was a strange instrument sticking out a garden, covered with dirt, google tells me it’s a Ruan, an acient chinese instrument, much like banjo, with a wood resonator and violin style tuning pegs. It was covered in dirt and strings were slack, obviously lot in disuse, I cleaned it up, got the strings working, and low and behold, beautiful music emerged. I couldn’t leave it, wrote the owners a note with my info. It plays well with a slide. Strolling onward, landed onto new castle Island when the tide was low, met a bunch of familes camping together, taught a five year old to play the ruan, we jammed it out. The spoke with the pretty young lady tending the bike and canoe rental hut, she wove traditional birch hats, baskets, mats and other things, grand chats. Also talked to a dude who was kayaking from seatle to juno, seemed like a wild cool adventure, ridding an outrigger, which has a little side float and foot pedals. There’s been a strong urge to finish the book, get it published/famous then go back to pools to work/invest. I dearly miss that place, but the writting was just not happening, I took a cue from terrence mekenna and tried to contact the little green men, they said go with the internet, I’m proud of the wild stuff I’ve made, it’s on there now. Back with the lap top, I’ll start again from the top. So now I’ve written two books, one about how to hve fun sexually without having sex, with is at the youth arts market in parksville, and the other is the first draft of the maximalism book, which probably no one will read, nor will they want to, since it was a bit rushed and the hand writing is mushy, but 70 pages of it none the less. Back on nanaimo, walking through the crowds of dragon boat racers, picking away, took a quick seat and met, dang, forget his name now...a forgetable name, but I called him out cause he looked cook, sasquach tshirt and a beard as well. He was off to do his radio show on CHLY radio Malaspina, community and university of vancouver island radio, which broadcasts all over the island, as well as into vancouver. I got to play and talk and discuss on the air, we had great time, an excellent time really. Spend a good deal defending the post capitalism movement, they were stoked to see someone was actually living as an art, by simply doing the art, surviving. Then stroll to the pirate fish and chips, my friend ally works here. Got some good left overs, then started writing.

Sorry it’s been so long since the last one. I can’t do this all alone, please send me an email maximk7@gmail.com to tell me I’m doing the right thing here. I know I am, but your support is appreciated.