Maxim's Mind

Update

2011-10-18T14:36:00.001-07:00

Hello Friends, Family, well wishers and occupiers.

Upon return from BC my life took on a slow but steady rize in personal engagement and activities. I came back primarily to help Morgan Friend release and promote a CD that we made last spring, it's ready, we'be been practicing and the release is next Friday the 28th. The rehersals are going well and I just got a new passport in preperation for a possible Irish tour this comming winter or spring.

Besides that, though, many other things have popped up, it feels like this week is hitting one of those exponential elbows where suddenly everything happens at once.

To begin, I've got a full time job. It's the first time I've had real employment in over two years. I've been surviving on various gigs, freinds/family, post-capitalist means, like dumpster diving and camping. Now I'm assembling re-furbished bikes for a bike share program called Right Bike. It's launching next spring, a 50$ membership fee allows you to borrow a bike anytime during a six month period. Based in westburrow, it's nice to be involved in this community initiative, even if it's tedius. A two week contract. It's ironic that I got this job now, because it coninsides with....

Occupy Ottawa. An extention of the Occupy Wall Street protests, it's the creation of an alternative, leaderless organization of society. We're camped out in Confederation park and it's growing by the day. Around 500 people came out to the first general assembly and the tent city is growing by the day. 1500 of this type of on going action are now going on in cities around the world.

I'm the facilitator for the Arts and Culture Working Group with in the occupation. It intails many things, but mostly chairing meetings, and keeping an overall eye on the group. The A and C group is rapidly expanding, we're putting on an Open Mike on saturday, are making massive signs for the camp and are coordinating with the Ottawa Zombie walk, among other thigns.

I'm also in the Food working group. This means cooking, organizing donation, serving and keeping watch.

The Sick Sick Sicks (my band) are also on a roll again. There's some internal disscusions concerning the direction of the band. We're booked in studio in the next week and we're playing at OverKill Bar on Saturday night, October 22nd. Considering all my new responsibilities, Im thinking the band is going to go back on the back back burner for a while. I've been saying for a while this band seems to have a life of its own, always being resurected in new forms with new members.

And, I'm doing some newd modeling for life drawing classes comming up.

In an attempt to maintain sanity, I've begun meditating every day, and it seems to help. Anxiety is lurking around the corner though.

So there it is, a window into my current existence. Life at the occupation is tones of fun, lots of music, yoga, conversation, workshops, hot food, art supplies and joy. I urge you all to come and visit if only for a bit. This movement is gaining momentum.

Also, I think I could use a girlfriend, but I don't know if I could fit it in. I always have the great Goddess though.

Hope this wasn't too long. Love you all.

M "Dali" C

Why I'm called Salvador Dali Lama

2011-08-31T14:59:00.000-07:00

Greetings extended family and friends.

Before publishing an update on my life, I'm going to explain why I like to be called “Dali” rather then Max or Maxim. You can still call me Max, but I'm going to be introducing myself as Dali, hope it doesn't cause too much inconvenience.

So, the name first arrived in the fall of 2009 after coming back from the West coast for the first time. I'd been interested in writing comedy for some time and at that point was dating a comedian who inspired me to start writing jokes. Among those jokes were joke names; Willy Nelson Mandela, Curious George Forman, Harmonica Lewinsky and my favourite, Salvador Dali Lama. The jokes have continued since, telling them in the driest form seems to be the funniest; I think they're getting better. The joke names didn't come up much until several months later.

In the spring of 2010, I flew to Vancouver in order to perform banjo music at a longboard race called Danger Bay. The year before I'd stumbled across it, got to play in between sets of metal band and was welcomed into the family. In 2010, the race was fantastic and proceeded to turn into the most epic, transformative, supernatural seven months anyone could hope to fathom. (The burning man-vortex story being the peak)

After long-distance longboarding, living on a sailboat, managing a commune, getting arrested for not having a last name, smashing my banjo and losing my wallet, I played a gig with some friends I'd met at the Vancouver folk fest and ended up at one of their houses. His parents were spiritual musicians who happened to be touring so we had the house to ourselves to jam and be merry. The party went to the wee hours and a couch was offered for me to crash on. In the morning, it was only....his name was something like True, (forgive me for forgetting) and I jamming, talking about the deeper things in life and eventually we got on the top of a chemical called DMT.

Last month I wrote a song about DMT, here are a few lines:

In the pineal gland, of each Human Brain, there is a chemical when you're born
Dimethyltryptamine’s released, at dreaming, birth and death, when you smoke it, it's better than porn

DMT is present in a multitude of plants around the world and many traditional cultures have extracted it and used it in spiritual practice. The ritualistic drinking of Ayahuasca tea sends people on six plus hour journeys through their personhood, facing the repressed and purging negative energy. The chemical can be extracted to a pure crystal form, of which there is much information on the web. Terrence McKenna likens it to a five minute, total hard drive defrag. Joe Rogan said “it's not like going to another dimension; it is going to another dimension.” It turned out that True had some and offered me some.

I'd read and heard a lot about it, but thank fully we live in the age of google and had the opportunity to look up everything we needed to know about it. All the information said it was safe, the important thing was to have no interruptions and to smoke it with herbs in a big bowl since it needs a high temperature. So we locked the door and turned off the phone, asked True's brother to join us and said some prayers about our intention for this medicine. Asking for clarity and guidance we spotted a pink dream catcher in the corner of the room and took our first hit.

At first, it was like a great sense of relaxation and comfort. There all the edges in the room seemed to turn into prisms, projecting rainbows everywhere. This was the first level. The website instructed to then take a bigger hit and hold it in for as long as possible. My words were “I think the universe wants me to take a bigger hit”.

A bigger hit I took and held it in for about five seconds, then every nerve in my body lit up like an endogenous zone, pure pleasure over took me, my head rolled back onto the couch (one needs to be sitting somewhere where all muscles can relax), my eyes were shut and there seemed to be a power source in front of me that was the cause of such pleasure. It was like a full body orgasm tipped off by the big bang.

My eyes wouldn't have opened if I wanted them to as my consciousness seemed to rise up into a dark place with a river of intricate geometric, interlocking forms. Then, there was flash of light, a cracking sound and all I could see as a spinning orb of light. It was of pure light in the middle, shooting out beams that then became code and numbers. Others have described this type of DMT experience as traveling to the center of the universe. Appreciating the beauty for a moment, when in a feminine voice spoke the words “you are the enlightened one”.

Sat up and opened my eyes and didn't say a thing. The website said on lookers should wait until the user says something before speaking, but we forgot to tell this to True's brother. I felt like I was in a river that was calming down, there were no thoughts in my head but when brother said “so what's next”, I surprised myself and said “ I think I have to go to Tibet”. “Why” and again surprising myself “I think I'm the Dali Lama”.

“Dali, yeah, I like that name”. And started to test it out with friends, True started calling me that. Four days later, back in Parksville for a bluegrass festival that I was a week early for. My friend Leah was cutting hair with a buzzer and chopped of my beard, but we decided to leave a curly moustache. “Oh, Salvador Dali Lama” I said, “that's my name”, and from there on in introduced myself as Dali or with all three names. From Vancouver, to Calgary to San Francisco, folks know me as Salvador Dali Lama.

When I got back to Ottawa in December of 2010, I went back to Max, and had calm and quiet winter and spring, knowing that the universe wanted me for more excitement the following summer out west. It came along; I played the longboard race for the 3rd time and soon went by SDL again. Summer 2011 was much calmer then the year before, matured a lot, found out what it means to be a man in relation to the great goddess, which is basically, god.

Now that I'm back, I'm reintegrating myself into a semblance of Day to Day, volunteering at old folks homes and such, but it's different from last fall because I'm channelling my mystical experiences into my creative outlet, the Sick Sick Sicks, and being more creative and karmically aware all around. So now you know. Feel free to call me Max or Maxim, but now you know why Dali resonates with me. Love you,
SDL

Saiboat Adventure Story, part 3 of 15

2011-08-11T02:03:00.000-07:00

Part 3

Cutting back along the inside of Galliano Island, I began to prepare the oysters. Attempting various means of extraction, eventually settling with a thick and solid plank of wood, two work gloves, a hammer and a strong chisel. Skills from my time as a line cook at a seafood restaurant prepared me for the experimentation, being free in the open water with a full set of tools perfected the skill. A small oyster knife can't compare to the rapidity and ease of a hammer and chisel. Propping the oyster with the nerve ending facing upward, a swift knock would crack the seal; thrusting the blade around edges with a turning motion unhinged the shell without damaging it the body. Wipe away the broken bits of shell, cut the attaching tendons and scrape the flesh into a clean bowl. The first few were fried straight in oil, delicious, then we realized the leftover sour milk pancake batter would be perfect. The recipe kept evolving as I went along, always scrumptious, the perfect ones were dipped in milk, then flower, then a spiced batter and fried in hot oil deep enough to submerge the whole thing. With a honey mustard sauce they were incredible, gifts from the goddess. Frank pulled up in his 56 foot racing sailboat, the Amber. His approach to sailing was more structured then Danny's. As I was tying the boats together, he briefly went into hard-ass instructor mode, and describing the proper way to use a cleat. The rope goes once around the bottom, once around one end, then lock it off on the other end. I appreciated the lesson, often in life there is one logical, primary way to do something. Now I had a skill for life. We cruised along slowly, boats parallel, and munched on deep-fried oysters.

Pulling into the small bay where the tiny Dancer was tied up, steph took the wheel and cautiously backed and the Be Fuller in next to the Amber, with assistance from the older guys. There beside us was the famed Tiny Dancer; it was a steel boat painted green, with large dents, speckled with rust. The mast was down and the boat was ugly, but Steph was bursting and couldn't wait to get on board. The hull was water-tight and it felt stable, but there was certain sick and dark energy aboard. As we descended into the cabin, the chaos had progressed far beyond the state of the Be Fuller. It was dark in there; there were some portholes but covered with green dirt and slime. Scattered everywhere were hints of being gender transition, sticks of insens and all kinds of spices were scattered about; hypodermic needles, mostly in the packages, covered one corner of the room. Along one side was a bag of clothes exploded in a pile, in another section was cooking stove long since burnt out. A skateboard sat next to a dirty bong, more needles and random garbage seemed to grow out of the depths. My skin was crawling in that space. I think of sailboats as escapes, and maybe it was, but there was a hellish, tortured feeling in the air. I took the electric clippers found sitting on the floor; I was getting pretty shaggy at that point and needed a buzz.

Onto the Amber we brought instruments and all the food we'd rescued the day before, this meal was all about chopping, lots of veggies, a bunch of sweet potatoes, a big wok inspired the stir fry. We sat in Frank's relatively spacious dinning area, sipped and drank away. We attempted to watch a hitchcock movie, it was the first time I'd peered at a TV screen in some time. We grew tired of an Englishman poorly attempting an Irish accent, so we broke out the instruments. That was the first night I'd played much guitar for my new family, a skill I've been enjoying for a decade, and they quite appreciated it. We played and ate and drank and smoked in utter merriment as the night wore on, big yawns coxing us to bed.

Sailboat adventure story, Part 2 of 15

2011-08-06T01:51:00.000-07:00

Part 2

While walking up the ramp from the docks a sign caught my eye, "If entering Canada, please call immigration at 1-800, ect." It made me realize that many borders are like this, ei, fictional and fluid. If anyone wanted to invade or terrorize the vastly porous "border" area of this or any massive geographic region, they would have no trouble doing it.

So, Danny did some asking and found out that we could play in the bar that night and put out a hat. We had some time before the show would start so we ventured into the island and came across the town center. The market was quaint, tourist traps and toy stores, we met a lovely girl of Japanese decent who was covered in specks of paint, she wouldn't be able to make it to the gig that night but did invite us to play pickup baseball the next day during the farmers market.

Back at the large rustic restaurant/ bar, we played our hearts out. It was a Thursday night and it happened to coincide with an international disk golf tournament. The game is the same concept as normal golf, but with various sizes of Frisbees instead of clubs, aimed towards metal baskets rather then holes, usually played while drinking liquor and smoking pot. It's the type of innovation that's mirroring the greater complexification of the world these days. A bag full of disks for different distances, just like golf, but the course is covered with trees and other impediments, so other people can use it like any other natural space, unlike golf. Playing music in that bar was redemptive, I got my chance and took full advantage of it, we rocked hard for hours, swapping instruments and songs. I backed steph up on a tune that my sister had introduced to me a few years earlier, "baby, I'm an anarchist" a compelling love song about the divide between progressive ideology and radical anarchist beliefs. "Cause baby, I'm an anarchist, you're a spineless liberal, we marched together on the eight hour days, held hands in the streets of Seatle, when it came time to throw rocks through that Starbucks window, you left me all alone, all alone". We'd do that tune a number of times on our journey together.

We would talk about the idea of spiritual anarchy. Anarchy, as far as I understand, is another abstract thought, just like democracy or “the market”, but it’s more of a non-thing; it is the absence of arch or power relationships. Anarchism is the theories, concepts, philosophies, ideologies, cultures and means of existence that have grown out of that notion, sometimes cohesive, often not. An arch means one thing over another, so Anarchists are people who feel their existence is authentic enough to not be governed, if at all influenced, by exterior forces. We asked ourselves, what is it about law that makes it worth following? Our means of living without plans or expectations seemed to deliver us a much richer form of life then we'd ever experienced before. I had the feeling things would just get more interesting.

That night we had multiple guests come up and perform with us, on a break I interviewed a German man about the brilliance of disk golf. He loved the meandering around outside drinking, all the while improving skills and taking part of a supportive sporting environment, rather then a competitive one. Observing the play, it looks like quite a bit of skill; concentration and practice balance well with camaraderie and sheer joy.

One of the unexpected performers did an uncanny Willy Nelson impression; his devotion to the red haired stranger was compelling. He pulled out a songbook and we jammed away until they kicked us out. It turned out that that our new friend worked for a company that designed state of the art vaporizers, (that a way of using pot without the carcinogens). Apparently there was a party somewhere; following the crowd we got into a camper van and were greeted by ganja and cold beer. The ride was smooth and soon we found ourselves at a beautiful house in the woods, a cottage apparently. I heard second hand that the owner grew large quantities of pot, and meeting him, he seemed to be slightly on edge. The paranoia was understandable, such work is important; there are many people who rely on marijuana for medicinal and spiritual purposes, but the overhanging police presence would have detrimental effects on anyone's psyche. Steph tore into some of her original songs and impressed the pants off the crowd. There was an artist/musician there, a fellow who was carrying around a book of poetry that he'd written, and was trying to sell it. He had all the markings of unbridled alcoholic; he was a sweet man with a great smile, cleaver songs and good stories, but too self-congratulatory, plus slurred speech. He was an extreme reflection of our own existence, bouncing from gig to gig to party, a genius in many ways, he songs were witty, I saw a great troubled beauty in him.

When the night reaches it's pinnacle, Danny would no longer use his guitar, it was all about the drum, the rhythm. We'd bang out simple two chord songs and his wild hair would be flying in every direction. " Can you pass me the pot and the pipe" he asked me at one point. Fetching it for him, our host glanced at me and was taken aback. "Hey that's my pot", "I'm sorry I thought it was Danny's" I replied, "Still, there's an etiquette". "Sorry, now I know". I passed it along. We all seemed to pass out where we sat on the couches, and while up to take a leak as the sun was coming up, I spotted an empty bed, in the morning I woke up with steph in my arms. After a pancake breakfast we took a stroll though the extensive vegetable garden, our host had an incredible green thumb, a strong connection with the earth. Aparently, he and the artist had joined steph for a walk the night before, and their energies had aligned, out in the garden the artists was quite and contemplative as our host regaled them with the subtle mastery of a dedicated gardener.

We went back to the bar and took a stroll along the beach. Along our journey to the Island the marine radio was constantly spouting out weather condition, tide progressions and warnings, we'd heard numerous reports about a sail boat that had been cut loose and floating somewhere in the area. Steph was collecting shells as Danny came up to us, apparently the Tiny Dancer was being held by a friend of a friend and it was possible that we might be able to swing by and pick it up if we wanted it. The details of the story were unclear. The boat had been docked in Vancouver, owned by someone transitioning gender, that was currently in jail. This did not dissuade Steph who'd wanted a boat and felt she could take on anybody, Transvestite or not. Steph was a tough girl, after all.

We’d met the week before at Danger Bay, the biggest gathering of longboarders (extra long skateboards) in the world. Some two hundred racers gather to compete in a long distance race, a speed course, longboard hockey, a parade, free ridding, camping, partying and live music. The year before I'd ended up at the festival by random chance and somehow finagled my way onstage between sets of metal and punk bands, this year I'd been asked back to play, it was the reason I'd flown to the west coast. Steph and I hit it off right away, cruising around the camp site scrounging liquor and food, we'd crashed in the same tent for two nights in a row and as I was offered a gig in Nanaimo, she welcomed the invitation to come along for the adventure. While onstage I asked the audience what was the next step for us, Danny hollered out, "come sailing!" and voila.

Steph had been steeped in pirate vibe since we met. She'd been experimenting with the use of an eye patch. They were used by pirates not only to cover up nasty, empty eye sockets, but to train their pupils; while covered in darkness, the pupils expands, ready to be used should the pirate rush down to the dark cabin. Steph had gone on an adventure with her sister, down to Mexico and ended up in Montreal, where she'd started a new life. The busking life was treating her out east, but she's come back west to race, now it seemed the west wanted her back.

For the most part of our journey we kept on the same clothes, Steph wore skate shoes with cutoffs, a t-shirt and a jean vest. Around her brown head she wore a black velvet band. I wore my “magic pants”, which looked like cacki slacks, but were actually of stretch spandex material, skate shoes that looked like mockasins and a striped button up shirt. Our styles of loving the simple things in life worked well, she was self assured, an expert with tools and drinking. Our relationship was a strong camaraderie, an instant bond of love and respect, with the added benefit of physical forms and spirits that polarized each other.

Evening was setting in and it was time to go treasure hunting. Waste is an illusion that benefits the clear-sighted. With my dollar store flashlight we took to the village and filled up two grocery bags with produce, bread, cold cuts, chips and mustard. We also helped ourselves to a few gallons of lightly used fryer oil. There were black cats everywhere in those back alleys, a colony apparently, "don't feed the cats", we disregarded. Back at the bar karaoke was in full swing. Danny was at the helm and instead of choosing a song from a list like the other patrons, he faced the crowd and sang a sea shanty with easily repeatable lyrics "Will the lord above, send down a dove, with a beak as sharp as a razor. To cut the throats, of them there blokes, who'd sell bad beer to sailors". The entire audience was singing along, Danny can be quite commanding. I took that opportunity to further hype the crowd and started break dancing. Later, sitting on a bench outside, we enjoyed some good grass and acoustics tunes with the poet from the night before and Danny's pal Frank. An RCMP officer walked up and frank hid the joint. The officer asked us to be a bit more quite, then agreed when frank asked him for a ride home. Island life.

In the morning we went oyster harvesting, a delightful experience done in the months that don't have R in them, so not the summer months. We found a beach and started collecting fat oysters; the abundance of life was all around us. We spoke about self-sufficiency and economy of emotion, lifestyle and intention. It seems like the more you know, the less you need. Without shoes we waded in the chilly water, finding crabs and clams and a starfish named Patrick that Steph kept to send back to her friend Fish in Montréal. After collecting about four big buckets worth, we paddled back to the boat and took off in search of the Tiny Dancer.

Sailboat Adventure Story. Part 1.

2011-07-28T23:19:00.000-07:00

Previously Released as a 40 pager on my other blog, now to be released in digestible sections. This took place in may-june 2010.

We woke around eight in the morning and the sun was shinning, a bit chilly so we all wore thick jackets that Danny had on board. Motoring out of the harbor we spoke about the right of public space, a theme that would continue through our time with Danny. Apparently the port authority attempted to charge the boaters that moored in the bay, some refused to pay rent, we cursed the those that did; the weekend sailors that gave any validity to such blatant extortion. The ever present updates of the marine radio station informed our rout and we took off under sail and motor out of the beautiful bay, the early hour meant the tides would carry us with ample room through the narrow passages. Soon we had turned the motor off, packed a bowl of hash, kept keen eyes on the markers, sipped whiskey and sailed off into the straight of Gorgia. Bliss was a fair description of how we were feeling. This brand new relationship with Steph had such flow it was if we'd spent ages together in previous lives. After two days of hanging out, she readily agreed to "go on an adventure" and suddenly we found ourselves in ideal circumstances; Danny was as jovial a singing sailor as could be, the boat was sound and constantly in a chaotic party state, we were learning sea shanties and all the practical knowledge necessary for navigating a 45 foot sailboat. Into the channel, civilization slipped away, we settled into a slow but steady pace and marveled at the passing landscape of Gabriola Island. Danny's plan and general lifestyle revolved around popping into bars and markets with his guitar, doing some busking and meeting with managers and owners for the purpose of booking shows later on. The music life is what brought us together and would carry us onward.

The B Fuller is a ketch, meaning it's fore mast is higher then it's aft, it's Danny's home, means of transportation and party vessel. He'd come from a big family in Alberta, had been a social worker, a TV repairman, was provincial delegate for the NDP, headed a Nanaimo house boat association, was married twice, had a number of adult children in various states of communication and had left the conventional life for one of excitement on the open waters. For the last few years he'd traveled around the gulf Islands, mostly based in Nanaimo, performing wherever he could, receiving a small government pension; living the Bacchus life through and through. Fascinated by history and politics, his 65 year old mind was sharp and seemed to get keener after he cracked the daily bottle. "Sailing just isn't the same without whiskey." A husky build he moved around the limited space with the grace of a young man, scraggly hair blustering when the wind picked up, his blue eyes were crisp, constantly gagging the water and wind. Steph and I were transformed those first few days on the boat, we'd both sailed before, she's even worked on a ship yard, but suddenly we were in a new realm; attention and balance had to be sharp, suddenly we were a crew. The Be Fuller had sat on blocks after being owned by a celebrity in Malibu, Danny bought it for the price of a house in the seventies and never looked back on his old life. Stability was the reason he'd liked it, quite wide, easy passage along the sides, the cockpit fit 6 comfortably and inside ten could party while being just a bit squished. The back deck was covered with roped-down paddles, an extra generator, crab-trap and various things found on a live-in sail boat, behind was towed two dingies, one a small wooden sail boat, the other a fiberglass rowboat. The cockpit had milk crates filled with food in various stales of decomposition; without refrigeration, innovation was imperative and sour milk pancakes proved delicious. On the cockpit benches sat long cushion which were a constant negotiation; more comfortable then the bare wood, but tares in the seam meant water would seep in, soak up and disperse at the worst of times. We were having so much fun that it didn't really matter though.

The Aluminum steering wheel was about four feet across; we used our feet and hands to maneuver while on the bench. My sailing experience had been on day sailors, never bigger then 18 feet, but guiding the course of that ship came quite easily. Sailing is a constant negotiation between a desired destination and the direction of the wind, the centerboard acting as leverage between the two. Occasionally we'd put the boat on autopilot, the radio, ignition and electronic navigation systems being embedded in the wheel stand. If the coast was clear, we'd set the course, listen for the mechanical whirring of the components and amuse ourselves by reading, playing guitar and banjo, pouring more drinks, smoking Danny's bunk shake, catching some z's or preparing food in the cabin.

Pulling into the southeast corner of Gabriola Island, the small harbor was alive with boating culture. I though back to my friend Dave the police officer talking about living in or out of "the system" because here as everywhere, the system and society, is hypothetical and fluid. As the sun set, a cluster of boats of every fashion and form dotted the naturally protected harbor, much smaller the then one we'd left that morning. An ancient Chinese looking vessel floated proudly by and just a bit further a single mast was covered with all the accouterments of a happy pack rack. Further, someone was busily cleaning a fancy looking yacht, beside it a stream of smoke floated from a cozy looking double mast. Further on a black cat encircled the wheels of bicycle perched on the stern of houseboat. This was a hub, people from all over stopped to refuel, reconnect and head back out onto the great vastness of the natural landscape. Before heading to shore, Danny was engrossed with internet chess on his laptop, the connection kept going sour, causing him to curse out loud, it was the only time I'd seen him mad. Apparently the lost connection meant a loss would be on his record, he got over it and ventured into land to check out the bar with hopes of a gig. Steph and I decided to stay on board and clean up the place, which we viewed as a fun challenge.

Sliding back the teak and aluminum cover, four ladder steps brought you to the center of the boat. To the right was the kitchenette, complete with two small sinks, draws, a small stove that rotated on hinges as the boat rocked, some cupboards and storage spots. To the left was small passageway leading to the back of the boat and two navigation tables along the outer wall with a rotating chair in the middle. That spot was haywire; maps, gadgets, clothes covered the area. Down the passage, on right, outside wall, was a workbench, covered with grimy tools of every manner, (however, there weren’t any tools scattered in the rest of the boat). Above the workbench were small cubbyholes that let some light in, but water as well. Danny had rigged an electrical panel and generator from the outside and ran the cable through the window, preventing its closure. On the left of the passage was storage, the control panel and access to the engine room; that half door opened to a cramped space which housed the two engines and generator that allowed us movement when there was no wind. The control panel was used for cabin lights, water pressure and propane. At the back of the boat was the big bedroom I shared with Steph It was a big double bed that ran parallel against the back wall, it had far too many blankets and was quite cozy. Small drawers everywhere had contained Danny's method of organizing his clothes; each one had a one set of underwear, socks and a shirt. The starboard side of the room opened to the rear "head" aka bathroom, it consisted of a tiny sink and mirror, bathtub used for storage and pump action toilet.

As Steph tore through the front end of the cabin, I focused on the back, after a few hours the navigation tables were bare and there was some semblance of order throughout the boat. Danny came back clean with his hair combed back and we had fire in the propane tank sized wood stove next to the four by two foot, foldable table, past the kitchenette. We sat on the benches that ran along either outer side, which were lined with history books, trinkets, novels and picked country, traditional irish and rockabilly tunes. Broken down cardboard boxes sat soaking in the oil, which we tossed in the burner. Soot flew all over the over the cabin and a bit of water dripped in through the crack where the tin chimney went through the ceiling; the boat was beginning to feel like a new home. The right bench and table ended in the front wall of the main room, the main passage on the left led into the front sleeping quaters, which narrowed considerably, houseing a bunk at waist height on the left and a wider one on the right at the shoulder. When Danny sailed alone he slept in on the cushioned benches next to the table, that night he slept in the front cabin. He said he'd prefer to have company when sailing, easier to keep control of the great boat.

In the morning we sailed by Valdes Island through the channel by North Galiano Island, we were settling into a rhythm, taking turns at the helm, enjoying the cruise. Pulling into Pender Island that afternoon, more boats of all kinds represented the many types of people who live, explore and enjoy themselves on the sea ways. We rode into the docks on the dingys and took in the slower attitude towards time and living that exists outside cities. I had been to this harbor once, the year before while a member of a Vancouver Island Hillbilly band, Kinfo. That band orchestrated persona of buffoonery, debauchery and alcoholism; when we hung out, it usually felt like a performance. The band had found me while waiting for a ferry, they asked me to play with them that night and afterward I became a member. I'd moved to their studio space, done some quite amusing gigs, but I knew that the general air of idiocy would impede Kinfo's success and evolution. Temper tantrums were reoccurring, the year before we'd come all the way out to Pender, while stopping at a few bars along the way, only to discover there was no gig booked. During much drinking and hollering in the middle of the night by one of the members, I decided to disregard the yelling of my name, and the screeching of tires, only to find my possessions on the ground in the morning . It didn't bother me, the adventure continued as always, it was nice to come back to this lovely corner of the world.

M

The most incredible thing that's ever happend to me

2011-07-15T16:34:00.000-07:00

Now that my three year, epic spiritual journey has been bookened and the next chapter is beginning, I feel it's time to start sharing some of the experiences. This story actually happened. I'd been on the road for about three months and had felt a strong pull towards the Burning Man festival. Burning man is a a celebration of art and the destruction of "the man", so art, giving, freedom, love, expression but also fireballs, free bars and fire shows are everywhere you go. 50 000 people gather in the middle of the Nevada desert, creating a week-long city for the sole purpose of exploring expression.

It was on the Sunday morning after the 8 story tall man was burned to the ground, at the end of the week. Wandering around in the hot sun, a man with blond hair and glasses, lying in a hammock invited me though a megaphone to the dome he was in. With about 7 people we ate delicious breakfast burritos, smoked some dubies and drank whiskey. A man with the nickname Hobosus came and sang some tunes about his mother telling him to make up and kiss his sister. I sang some tunes and we got to chatting; living with only a jacket and the clothes on my back for the last few months, walking barefoot and hoping a freight train over the border got Mr. Hobosus' respect and said I was a true hobo.

The man in the hammock had promised me some magic mushrooms but forgot about me, so the second time asking, a lovely asian girl provided some, and as they started to kick in, I new it was time to go for a wander. Walking down one of the roads, thoughts of a few nights before entered my head. Mid afternoon on friday, I came across a camp that consisted of four large tee pees in a square, a fire in the middle and rope bordering the outside. One of the woman with the camp described it as the womb of the new world, aligned at 6 30 from the man (the city is shaped like a clock) and the four teepe's were all symbolic. Going in a clockwise circle, starting on the front left, first we came to the sun tent, aka the men's tent, back left was the earth, the women's, back right was the moon, the bleeding women's, front right was the spirits-wind, the ancestor's, where both men and women were welcome. In the middle of it all was the fire. The tents were sacred places for ceremony, I spent my time in the sun tent with another man talking about magic, spirits and intergalactic radio stations that you can tap into by focusing on a star, seeing another star twinckle, drawing a line from one to the other and repeating it untill it made a geometric form. This apparently allowed people to listen into transmissions from around the galaxy.

After our time in the teepee, we volunteered to welcome people into the camp, explaining everything and blessing people in the name of the 5 elements. The lady telling us about the camp said we were the first men, not from the camp, to be the gate keepers, and that special things would happen to us so to be ourselves for the rest of the festival.

Flash forward to the mushroom trip, the glactic radio signals came into my mind. After so much casual talk about the star communities, I felt that they must be listening in at burning man and would be able to help out if I made the right intention of contancting them. I wanted to go into space, in my head I said, "my intention is to go into space". And went about trying to acomplish this task. Taking a few steps, I sensed someone behind me and turned to see three ladies walking near me. All three had long dresses, they were standing in a circle, we saw each other, smiled and exchanged hellos. I said "I wonder if you could bless my intention``. The one who answered had beautiful and petite facial features, was about 5"2', thin dreadlocks, warm eyes, a noticeably wide jaw, and a light African complexion. ``What is your intention?``. Tickled that someone actually cared and that my intention might come true, a great big grin spread across my lips and I noticed the other two women; one of middle eastern or Persian decent, younger then the first, absolutely gorgeous. The other woman had on a vale, all wearing long modest dresses or calming colours.

I said `well, uh, to go into space, sooner rather then
later.`` The african lady looked into my eyes and with a soothing and confident voice said ``let it be now, let it be safe``. The four of us walked to the side of the road and into my mind popped something I'd read in a copy of the witches bible I'd found in a hobo jungle outside of takoma washington. The book was a great resourse, spoke about the feminine power being the first among equals in this dualistic reality but specifically, the three form godess representing three stages of feminity, the youthful maiden, the mother, and the grandmother crone. The male being represented by the comming together of magic and animal, the horned beast.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triple_Goddess_(Neopaganism)

So we walked to the side of the road and the mother asked me to sitdown, the maiden and the crone on either side of me. She put the hoop around me, sat across from me and said it again, let it be safe, let it be now. I closed my eyes, and what felt like a wush of wind came up from below. In front of my eyes flashed a multitude of colours in rapic sucession, all associated with their own buzzing sound, unique taste and smell. The wind started to pick up and the colours got more intense A great smile overtook my lips as I started rocking with the power that was overtaking me. The wind got so strong I opened my eyes; the three of them were still sitting peacefully, but the pressure inside that hoop got so strong it ejected me, threw me back, I took off running. The force carried me 30 feet before slowing down. Once I slowed down, I just shook my head, smiled and started strolling back to the ladies. There were three poeple at another camp near by, observing, we smiled and waved.

Aproaching the ladies, the african one was standing with something on her palm. She said to me "look what you birthed". "What?". She held out and passed to me a small quarts christal with three spires, sparkling in the sun. "I made this?" I asked. "It was sitting on the ground where you were" She replied. We sat facing each other, all cross legged. The mother across from me, the maiden and the crone faicing each other. With a certain serious nature, the mother asked me "why do you exist?". Once agian the witches bible came to mind, it said the feminine is the dominent but the masculine exists to pass energy back and forth like poles on battery; that we inspire each other and fill each other with energy. A symbol for this is the two spirals, both going clockwise, one on the left, starting in
the middle, birth, growth, feminine, expansion, and one on the right,
starting on the outside and going in, homecomming, chrystalization,
masculinity, death and transformation. The two sides of life exist to be each others muses, to energize and enlighten; they need each other, like the ying yang.

I said "to polarize you" with a satisfied grin, feeling like it was the answer she was looking for. With a warm smile and more relaxed tone she said "say it again". "To polarize you and create everything that is this world."

Before sitting down she drew an infinity sign in the ground with her finger (a figure eight). After giving my response I looked down and drew one small circle above it and one big one around all three. That symbols was inspired by a dried snake I'd found on the side of the a hiway on vancouver Island.

Not the best picture of him, but it's the only one of I could find of him on the internet. World, meet Oscar the Perpetual Party Snake. On my way from Tofino to Shambala, far into the Kooteny's of BC, Oscar was sitting in the middle of nowhere, on the side of the highway. I brought him to the massive dance festival and spent much of the time walking around, showing him to everyone. It was a sacred object and folks were tickled to meet him and hold him.

http://www.facebook.com/maximk7?cropsuccess#!/photo.php?fbid=438596562552&set=t.503098270&type=1&theater

I put the chrystal in the middle circle of the infinity circles and we all
close our eyes. In the mind's eye I could see the circle we`d made in the center, it was a gold ring and I could only see one quater of it. Rushing up through the circle was the most powerful energy I'd ever come across; it felt like hurds of purple and
gold elephants, or 18 wheeler's, racing through, as great strangs of purple energy. It went on for a few moments when the maiden said something about meeting freinds and we all opened our eyes. The intese power made me slightly loopy and I blurted out "Ì think we made a vortex". The mother's eye's open flashed open then closed again, with a deep moan comming from her belly, shaking her head said, "mmmm, say it again". "I think we made a vortex and we're birthing the new world. We closed our eyes and the rush of energy flying upward continued, the great power surging through.

After a few moments we open our eyes again and sat in silence, then they had to go. We got up, hugged, and I devoted myself to the mother. In spanish (for some reason) I said I'd always be the fool, the magician and preist, three tarot cards that resonated with me.

We said our goodbyes, and I stood there watching them seem to float away, abreast, long dress fluttering in the wind, untill a dust strom came up, disapearing them. Walking over to the onlooker's I'd asked if they'd ever seen those girls before. They said no, that they were just attracted to my enegery.

After that I went to SanFransico and Santa cruz, where things were equally magical.

All my love,

M

ps. this did actually happen, It was a low dose of mushrooms, not that much wisky. A number of other sureal/mystical things happened to me along the way, that will be comming out in their own time. Feel free to ask me any questions.

2011-07-11T02:41:00.000-07:00

Hello ladies and gentlemen, yes I've disappeared into the great wild again this summer, but this time something is different. Where every I go, I feel at home, it feel like a series of homecomings, that the universe is trying to tell me something.
Here is a summation of the last month or two. The day after completing a folk/roots album with my friend Morgan Friend in Ottawa, I flew out west to perform at longboard race/festival called Danger Bay. In 2009, after a cross country tour, I happened upon the race, asked if I could play between the sets of a punk band, it went well and went off on more adventures, then flew back the following year in order to play the concert again, I think the blog started petering off. The blog ended because the journey was so intense and incredible it seemed like reporting on it brought me out of the flow. Around that point I started meditating, getting deeper into the spiritual realms, and even stopped contacting my parents (whom I now contact regularly). The stories from last year will come out eventually, probably in some kind of mixed media format to fully represent the epicness. The spirits lead me around BC, then to the Burning Man festival, San Francisco and eventually Santa Cruise California, a place that some call the center of the universe; I experienced it as such.

The journey ended after about seven months on the road, most of which had been done with only the clothes on my back and a jacket rolled into a ball and hung from my belt when it got to hot. At night I'd cardboard or tree branches on the ground, put a garbage bag over my legs and cover my body with the long hooded coat, warm as could be. The lessons were many, the most prevalent being that the abundance is everywhere; food, shelter, love and support are in every corner of this earth, if the universe calls to go out on the road, all will be taken care of. The experiences where so profound, that upon return I was committed to be directed by the universe, to be as open as possible in order to allow greater consciousness to guide me. After a week or two back, my girlfriend proposed marriage and all of the sudden I was engaged, moved my possessions into her apartment and began the simple and calm life of a house husband; looking after a new puppy who'd recently broken her leg. All the while, waiting, knowing that there were great plans for me, somewhere out there and that it was time to be quite and as grounded as possible.

Luckily there were personal problems to keep things interesting as well as the opportunity to perform with my band and create a wonderful record with my friend Morgan. Without the CD my family would have gone on believing that my life had come to halt and that I was content doing nothing (rightfully so, especially since I still haven't explained what really happened last summer).

Then the time came again to fly out west for Danger Bay. My faith in the Great Plan, was such that I came out with only the banjo and my longboard. The first day while riding and playing the banjo (at the same time, obviously) a police officer smiled at me encouragingly, I knew that this summer I wouldn't get in any touble with the law. I wrote a facebook note about that day, here it is.

http://www.facebook.com/profile. php?id=506782710#!/note.php?note_id=10150188972746517

So things were super smooth, the contest went off without a hitch, learned some new punk songs to play, did my first real downhill run, about two and a half minutes of top speed riding, (for me it was around 70 km/h). Got back to Vancouver, then off to the international indigenous leaders gathering, a calm and fascinating event. There were monks, priets, elders and shamans from around the world, all gathered on native land about 3 hours north of Whistler. What struck as most intersting was the local cheifs interpretation of the comming age, that we've cycled through the ages of the sun, the earth, the water and the wind and are heading into the age of fire. It went along with everything that I've been living this last while, was comforting. There was much love and my favorit part was when I spent "woman's day" cooking with 5 other men. An elder told stories and we made enough food for about 1300 people.

I met a girl named Dee and she invited me to Nelson, a super high energy place where magic was afoot. Then lived on the farm of a religious group call the twelve tribes commonwealth of Israel. Those folk don't use money individual, all live and work together. It was a powerful week, learned how to milk goats. Then went to a solstice gathering where the powerful magic of the year before was retained, if only for a little while. I stayed a week on that land with the owner, an incredible man who welcomes visitors to his peaceful house in the woods. Cut off my beard, snuc into a dance festival where the conversations where the most memorable parts. Headed south west in search of a rainbow gathering and got picked up by a stunt man from Vancouver who was also tapped into a deep spirit vibe, we had much to talk about. I stayed at his fathers ranch for the the night, had some deep conversations, and in the morning headed for the rainbow gathering that turned out not to exist. West was the decision and I got to drive a good portion of the way.

On the way, we were listening to a recording of a south American shaman talking about the importance of a village, community and mostly about that state of full on crying, a feeling similar to bliss. In van magic mushroom found there way to me and the tears started flowing. It was the first time in three years that I had a powerful cry, it felt like a reflection of that day in 2008 when I got fired from a music store for sub par paper work, it was devastating at first, but it had to happen and was the first step of a spiritual journey that's been my higher purpose and has lasted three years. Praying for some feminine energy to open my heart, a sweet man outside of Cafe Deux Soleil held me, sang to me as I sobbed into his arms.It was divine love and it felt like the angles were truly appreciative for all the work Ive done and were listening intently.

It hit me how strong and brave I had to be in order to live such an extreme life of the spirit, traveling with nothing, getting arrested, scavenging, hoping a freight train over the border (because burning man was calling). The words of my new friend Tara came up; as she laid her hands on my heart, she could feel the case created for protection, then case started to break down and it hurt. All the denial of pain for the sake survival and sanity came back up, the fear of separation and isolation that we all feel came to the forfront. Making my way to a hippie house in East Van, looking for comfort, I thought about what exactly I was looking for at that place; visualizing many people holding me in safety, I started howling, wailing, screaming.

When I was a child, my image of god was many people, a group without defining features, translucent, supportive. They came to me at that point, they held me, now colored in with all the individuals and entities that I've come across, and they were all holding me, telling me I was safe, I was home, that I was strong and brave and I've never cried so hard. It was a bookend, after three years of expansion, being brutally torn out of one community, I was finally re-integrating, coming home. At the Trout house a lovely young man gave me tea and food and we chatted into the night, the buzz had long worn off and I slept well for a few hours until the sun came up, then slept in the park across the way for a while. The day was spent contemplating the realizations, homecoming yes, but not regression. The thought of coming home to release the album crossed my mind again, as it had every week since Ive been out here. I prayed for community, for bonds, for people to serve and to be served by. Once again my prayers were heard and thus begins the story that inspired me to sit down and writ this blog in the first place. I'm going to eat some ice cream first, though.

IM tired, the rest of the story is coming. Love you all. M

A funeral and an engagment

2011-03-08T15:41:00.001-08:00

I've been back in Ottawa since December, my little sister asked me to come home for Christmas and I couldn't say no. The California adventure is still fresh in my mind and revelations will emerge eventually. For now, Ottawa updates. Soon after returning home, my friend Roxanne and I indulged in some fun substances and she proposed to me, and I said yes. Last year we lived together for a few months, and although it was hot and romantic, it was open and free. The band that Roxanne gave me is an open one, (I think it used to be spoon) and I've worn it every days since she asked me. We'll probably have a celebration of our love in august of 2012, maybe on december 21st. The party will be a celebration of our love, nothing legal or too binding, all magic love.

Come to think of that, that was an interesting day. A few hours before the magic, I was at St Patrick's Basilica, catching the tail end of Alex Zulpis' funeral. Alex was tragically run over by his best friend Jack, Brian Tobin's son. Thinking the funeral was at the cathedral next to the Art Gallery, I only caught the very end; walking out I got to say hello to a number of middle school friends that I hadn't seen in a year or longer, all home for Christmas. Some of us hadn't seen Alex in ages either, but we'd all been pals in the 7th grade, so it was a strange sort of reunion.

The sidewalk was packed with mourners and soon the pack depleted as folks headed towards the reception at a nearby hotel. A pretty reporter lady with a microphone asked the group of three tall men I was standing with if any of us had any words we'd like Alex to be remembered by. "NO comment" all around. I had fond memories of Alex so I agreed. Didn't have too much to say, it had been ... let's see here, high school, then university, 12 or 13 years since we'd actually hung out, and even then we weren't that close, but I gave my best shot. I spoke about how he had a great wit, a radiant energy and quick way with words. My fondest memories of him were while snowboarding with the ski club, and one faithful day in grade eight when a largish group of people came to my house for lunch and we all ended up getting suspended.

Relating my memories, I noticed more reporters noticing me and walking over. Soon the crowd of mourners were all but dispersed, leaving only me and a gaggle of reporters. Curiously, there was someone named Remi Cossette who was also answering question, "no we're not related". I was giving as in-depth answers as possible, getting frustrated eventually, they felt like vultures, all asking similar questions trying to pry emotional responses from me. Speaking in french then repeating myself in English, by the time they were done with me, the crowd was all gone and I stated making my way to the hotel.

Shaggy dog max...

The grade 7 crew all caught up, we ate some awesome sandwiches then it was back to the apartment.

2010-10-09T23:07:00.001-07:00

For the last few months I've been going by Salvador Dali Lama, needless to say the adventures have been marvelous. Enjoy.

http://thesalvadordalilama.blogspot.com/

A poem for Rebeca in exchange for a Tarot Reading

2010-07-24T18:44:00.000-07:00

Charly the dancing beetle

There was a cute beetle named Charley
Who’s limbs loved to flail when he danced
Over meadows, through valleys, by fields and rocks
He would twirl and spin and prance

Charley moshed and grooved with all his might
Casting doubts and fears far away
One day he flew inside of a kitchen
Door closing behind in dismay

By a big window he bopped on the pane
On faucet and cupboard he twirled
He did a quick jig on the knives and forks
On the salt shaker he boggied and whirled

He started to miss the world outside
The trees and grass that he knew
Charley the beetle missed his bug friends
So out came his wings and flew

Against that window with freedom so close
Did his best dance of liberation
But the glass it would not give
It was time for the dance of salvation

Focusing energy through his bug chakra
Reviving great moments of movement
All who have ever dance, and then healed
Help him channel all powerful groovement

A blaze of wings, antenna, shell
Light, sound emanated his ora
The ground shook with the worlds dancing feet
Glass got soft, charley smelled flora

A great flash of lightning struck through the house
It poked through the glass like a needle
Charley squeezed through, it was just big enough
And away danced happy cute beetle

This tale has a moral, that much is true
Dancing is best all the time
So dance like a beetle when you ‘re yellow blue
To make sure Charley’s dancing too.

ps. Matt Epp and a brief but pleasant exchange.

Letter to Vancouver magazine georgia straight

2010-07-24T18:42:00.000-07:00

-Folk Festies

The lack of spontaneous jamming was because charging $ creates an exclusionary environment, as an anarco-spiritualist banjo player, I chose to climb the fence. Volunteer, DIY, Barter is Better, Post-Capitalism, Permaculture, Maximalism! Use ski goggles and single gear bikes in the winter, cargo bikes all year. The festival was an event in world healing, our growing festival culture is mother earth waking and being empowered. Continue the vibe, propel yourself though life by supplying love and demanding nothing. Cause humans, we’ve made it, food, shelter and information are abundant once more, time to allow the wave of good times flow over all over us. Viva las Lesbian Revolution.

Dalai Lama aka Maxim

maximk7.blogspot.com
maximk7@gmail.com

Why I chose to get arrested.

2010-07-24T18:40:00.000-07:00

Why I chose to get arrested for not having a last name.

Maximalism, to me, is about doing away with the superfluous, being anchored in minimal structure for the purpose of attaining greater freedom, consciousness and knowledge; it permits the hints and guidance of the universe to be more readily exposed. One bit of structure that I’ve adhered to is the banjo, sauntering around all day playing, healing haunted woods or entertaining babies, filling my environment with beautiful music, stopping for anyone who dare flash a smile or mouth the name of the instrument. Sharing my passion, spontaneous smiles, jam sessions, hoedowns and sometimes moshpits breakout and the world reverberates with love, pleasure and appreciation in a multiplicity of forms, further validating and sustaining my existence. A result of this lifestyle has been a dissolution of harmful illusions into a new sense of clarity; when you clear your life and mind of all the baggage, existence becomes lean and effective, you develop the tendency of cutting through any flawed logic or blockage that might hinder healing and healthy growth. Myths that ensnare much of society simply fade away, such as the notion that money is somehow intrinsically linked to survival, fulfillment and evolution. “Having something to show for it”, is revealed as a core fallacy of an aesthetic culture eagerly awaiting a meaningful existence.

At the amnesty international booth at the Vancouver folk fest, posters said, “Shelter, food and education are human rights”, therefore, spending any more then a few moments each day focused on the acquisition of these things, is a waste of time. Negotiating away the pursuit of excellence for the purpose of “paying the bills” negates access to the pinnacles of life. Exercising Maximalism, I’ve indeed been experiencing each moment as a pinnacle. Having no home, everywhere is my home, with no state I have no laws but my own, with no possession, with no second thought, I’m free to grab a back pack, banjo and skateboard to then sail to the next city, festival, moment. The hints are getting ever stronger along the way as more and more people are tickled with a banjo tune, a good philosophical chat and the wild notion that the best way to be happy is to have no virtually no material belongings. I’ve learnt that best things in life aren’t things, it’s the intangible feelings that fills a space when people share something beautiful. When you minimize structure, it get’s infused with your energy, grows with you; after four years of studying English and other things at university, my writing, spelling and grammar, remained fairly lousy, it wasn’t until I started blogging about the few topics that mattered to me, that all my fundamentals of communicating in English improved. The method was doing me so well, that when I took off on my first Canadian tour, I decided to perform under a single name, sleek, easy to remember, eventually it was all I needed so I stuck by it. Now after extensive travels though Canada and states with only name, Maxim means so much more then my three names every could.

Getting arrested was fun for me because it took on the form of a bizarre sociological experiment, focusing on what the enforcement wing of the bureaucratic conglomeration know as Canada, considered freedom. I didn’t set out to be arrested, I was simply skateboarding in the city of Nanaimo BC, where skateboarding is considered illegal anywhere outside skatepark. (I was longboarding actually, which is a completely different activity). The situation was ripe for critical analysis because cops were friends of mine; over the last two weeks we’d had multiple chats of decent length, all about my living without structure, the city of Nanaimo, about local bylaws which applied to skateboarding and about performing music on the street. They seemed to appreciate the chats, especially since all they seemed to do all day was bike around, hangout, drink coffee on the boardwalk and kept and eye on things. By all accounts it seemed like honorable work, I commended them for their wish to look after their neighborhood. The first time we spoke I told them I was disappointed that I couldn’t ride away on my longboard, they replied the streets were designed for cars and that the laws were there for my own protections, but we were pals, so with a wink they said they’d ride away first. One day, I absentmindedly rode past them about twenty minutes after another friendly warning, kicking their sense of civic obligation into a higher gear. As they were giving me a ticket, I meditated on the fact that I’ve only been going by one name for a while and I became curious about how these representatives of law would react to a human with only one name. This was not about standing up for any rights, or sticking it to any man, it was about plain old honesty, so I repeated that I only had one name. Apparently it was insufficient information, tantamount to obstruction of justice. “Everyone in Canada has a last name” they told me, I couldn’t vouch for everyone else, but I told them as far as our friendly conversation was concerned, and it was quite friendly, I was content sticking with my one name, that I was fine following the logical progression of what that decisions might entail.

Perplexingly, justice seemed to be maintaining a certain trajectory that day, one in which my lack of a last name, obstructed it’s course. Until I gave them a last name, or any semblance of one, “ just make one up” a girl at the adjacent restaurant offered, they had the duty, to arrest and hold me until they could find out who I really was. Since we were pals and I’d been so “sociable” as the officer put it, they pleaded with me to say my name, gave me multiple chances and as they put the handcuffs on, actually commended me for sticking to my guns, believing in something and going through with it. A crowd had gathered, I was all smiles as usual, feeling as close to a radical as I ever had, sporting handcuffs in a relatively official manner for the first time. While still politely chatting with the officers, they started digging through my bag, “I do not consent to this search”, “That doesn’t matter”. “In that case fellas, we can skip probably skip some paperwork, my driver’s license is in the front pocket” “we’re still going to take you down to the office”. The cruiser pulled up and they started pilling my banjo and bag in the back, “why don’t you just double him on your bike” yelled a spectator, “that would be illegal”. In the back seat, hands cuffed behind my back, I had to lean forward in order to not crush my wrists. Also, they didn’t buckle me in! I had to make a special request. The officer came around back, pulled out the belt and practically lay across my lap in order to clip me in, what a vulnerable position, I thought. Being slightly claustrophobic, I got nervous about being locked inside a large rolling cage, I also thought about how my mother might not have an overly favorable opinion of this particular experiment. But then I thought about how much my blogdience would enjoy the tale, did some slow breathing and laughed it off. Preparing to take off, the driving officer was even more polite and jovial, “ Officer Dave tells me your a great guy” he said. Inquiring about his line of work, he told me his job was boring, that it was mostly just dealing with a few drunks on the weekend. After 25 years he was sick of it, I felt bad for him, it looked the uniform weighed heavy, although he seemed pretty happy over all. At the station, for some reason it took 5 people to book me, go through my bag, photocopy my passport, count my cash, check the serial number on my lap top, (which I hadn’t even yet done) and to everyone’s amusement, started reading through my journal aloud. A young cop stopped at year old to-do list and offered out loud to the group “Graphic novel, yoga, monster bike, breakdancing, wow, you have a really interesting life”. They took my picture and were even kind enough to throw away the paper napkins that had been sitting in the bottom of my backpack. An administrative assistant asked If I wasn’t proud of my last name, I told them I quite proud of it and of my family, but my issues was with their authority; in BC, there are virtually no treaties with the natives, we were on unseeded land, therefore my captors were an occupying force and since I identified myself as first nation Metis, they were violating international law. They explained that since they’d found my ID, they wouldn’t press the charges, I guess I was lucky, because if I hadn’t had government issue ID, I would have found myself in front of a judge, whom if it suited, could have apparently held me indefinitely, again until they could find out who I really was. Within 45 minutes I was back on the street, telling my story and hanging out with an adoring group, one of whom offered me gig at a bluegrass festival, we played some songs then I ate some delicious sea food.

I chose to get arrested in order illustrate the point that everything we think we know about structure, any structure, be it a thought, law, bond, promise, word, building, concept or social organization, is a fluid thing that can be manipulated in any number of ways. In my case I manipulated the law in such a way to expose it’s utter absurdity: the cops were literally pleading with me to produce a last name, any last name, which as it just so happened I was short of, so that they could be relieved of their ridiculous obligation of arresting a “great guy” like me, for an arcane reason. They didn’t want to do it, and were getting annoyed that I was forcing the technicality. What I was doing was prying open an administrative anomaly, exposing a euro-centric, bureaucratic anachronism. To distill some significance of my arrest, one could suggests that only those with at least two names are welcome in this Canada, and those falling outside of that perimeter, will be subjected to a greater level of scrutiny, control and enforcement. In essence, it’s a racist rule that has no place in any society possessing basic comprehension of how the world actually works.

The greater meanings of this sociological experiment were beginning to make themselves abundantly clear; according to the Canadian state, freedom is not a right, it’s a privilege deserving only to those capable of presenting the correct pass code at the arbitrary insistence of armed enforcers. To reiterate my claim of absurd, any last name would have done, I was arrested for not having two names. More observations: beyond multiculturalism not given the slightest consideration, since countless cultures employ only one name, the inclination never even surfaced that a duo-cultural or single name human might possibility exist, without being considered a threat. The greatest lesson I took from the situation was that these cops, like everyone else who’s caught up in a pursuit of money rather then excellence, spend most of their time fluctuating between being stressed out, bored, hungry, tired or probably watching TV. And like everyone else, instead of dealing with the minutia of the daily grind, such as arresting a smart aleck twenty four year old over an archaic procedural technicality, would in all probability rather be engaged in acts more productive, suited to their talents and beneficial to the world at large. But then again, perception is a fluid thing...

When it comes to any notion of reality, these laws and structures are for the most part already mute, they have no real bearing on our lives; everyone breaks which ever law gets in their way, if you want something, it’s really just a matter of how bad? There is no law or rule that can’t be broken and go unpunished without appropriate foresight and/or resources. We are all beings striving towards some kind of peace and happiness, we don’t need anything telling us how we should or shouldn’t act, in general or towards each other, everyone knows already. One cool way to think about life, which I heard on a TED.com talk, is that traditional eastern philosophies appreciate both structure and chaos, that the two need each other, like ying and yang, and that they function best when working in harmony. That philosophy has influenced Maximalism, that the soul will soar and reach it’s greatest potential when it ‘s intertwined with a few simple and glorious things, like a banjo and a macbook.

If this piece sounds exceptionally resonating, it’s because it’s the most important thing I’ve ever written and I’d like humbly suggest, perhaps the most important thing you’ve ever read. It is my “coming out” piece as the spiritual entity known as Maxim, and now that you know about me and my philosophy, there’s simply no going back. I’m having the time of my life, every single day, and I owe it all to simply letting go of all the clutter, junk and bad systems of life. Letting go of all expectation of others and the self, of all the physical things, all the drama, all ambitions and desires and just plain loving you, learning from the universe and the heart. All bodies are just going end up as ash one day, so we might as well start living in the spiritual world now. The alternative to my lifestyle has made itself abundantly clear: it’s the alberta tar sands, the BP disaster and any resource based conflict. These are the repercussions of an ideology, that believe it’s somehow important to “own”, the result is disaster, pure and simple. The purveyors of the global monetary systems would rather go on creating wastelands on earth, rather than consider the possibility that their way of doing things is anything but perfection. I would suggest, and I think you already know, that it’s the absolute worst.

Unfortunately none of our hands are clean of these schlockmeisters’ actions, and any minute contribution to the petroleum or big business game validates and perpetuates, my answer is permaculture.

That’s do it yourself, build your own life exactly how you feel is should done, never relying on anything but the local community and the traditional cultures of the land. Take your cargo bike to the coop farm, work the crops, write a blog on the communal computer, take part in the hoedown, skate the park, read a novel, rite a play, hunt a dear, make a coat, do a million other fun and productive things that don’t require the consumption of fossil fuels, like taking a nap with a friend, pick up the chicken jerky you’ve been curing, who’s meat was generously donated by your friend clara the chicken, who lived a long and wonderful life in the yard when she wasn’t laying delicious eggs in the hen house, and go track down the last few homeless alcoholics who may not be coherent or responsive enough to outright thank you for the blanket and food, but who will appreciate it none the less.

In conclusion, and in all seriousness, I’d like to respectfully challenge Don Cherry to a fist fight. For those who might not know, Don is a commentator on the long running “Hockey Night In Canada” on CBC, and is a main proponent for fighting in the sport. I’m not a violent person, in fact I’m one of the calmest and happiest people about, but as the tittle of this article would convey, I believe in sticking to my guns, so as a lover of both hockey and sparring, I feel they should be enjoyed separately. Fighting and hitting don’t have anything to do with hockey, contact ruins the flow while choking out the true talent and beauty of the game; stick handling and skating. I challenge you, Don Cherry, to a fight me, Maxim, because as you’ve said so many times, “it helps settle things”, this is an issue I’d really like settled. I’ve weighed the options and I feel it’s the best way to calmly and effectively raise that issue with you. In all truth, I’d much prefer that you just knock it off, your position poisons the minds of millions, making people believe that fighting is actually an acceptable way of solving anything. Maybe I can trade you a poem or some manual labour if you stop, or how about some oral pleasure? Any man who spends that much time and money obsessing on clothing can’t be completely straight, I’ll bet dollars to donuts all machismo is just a cover, isn’t it Donny? Maximalism is as much about effectiveness as anything else, so if you’d rather not trade skills, I’ll trade blows. If I win, you stop promoting fighting in hockey, maybe it’ll inspire you to create a new sport where two guys put on pads and skates, go out on some ice, then beat each other senseless, we could call it “ice fighting”, I’ll even take part! If you win, by all means go on promoting violence in sport and society, watch as it continues to permeate playgrounds, marriages and peewee hockey, I’ll even agree to whatever punishment or humiliation you might dole out. Just remember Don, if you don’t acknowledge me or refuse to fight and go on with your diatribes about the importance of “throwing down the gloves”, everyone will see you as a double talker, an instigator, a bully and a coward.

Love you all,

M

PS.

I met some travelers yesterday and we were one-uping each other on the porous nature of the Canadian border. “At one place in Alaska, the border is just a guest book”. “At my grandparents old house in the eastern township, it was their neighbors backyard”. “You can just sail through the gulf islands, It’s the just coast guard who do any checking, and they don’t do very much, you can just say your on a day sail”. “Most first nations don’t recognize the border, you can just cruise right on through a reserve, if you’re polite and have something to trade.” “On Pender and Gabriola Islands, the border was a rusty old sign at the doc saying ‘all those arriving in Canada please call customs at 1800..’”

Maxim get's arrested

2010-07-16T13:10:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those days when I got to really test my theory of holding a few simple truths close to your heart and living by it. I live with as little structure as possible, it means no possession, no plans, no ambitions, no expectation, only the few universal hints we’ve all been blessed with. I know that my path is spiritual leadership, to show people until cast away everything and follow our pure hearts, we will only dream about our true human potential.

So, woke up at allies, still in nanaimo, prayed with ganja and yoga while ridding a long board while playing the banjo. Wrote a new song, recorded it a up it up on youtube, it’s called “Masturbate Daily and Nightly”, the lyrics are:

There was a nice man named Maxim
He had a very nice banjo
When the bi-law officer took it away
He said no no no no no

“Officer if it’s a bylaw”
It should go both ways
What do I get to take from you?
To make equal law these days?

The bi-officer, he said with glee
You can suck my pride
While you’re down there drink my pee
Common and open wide

Now maxim loved golden showers
He loved playing jack in the box
He loved getting filthy dirty in general
But the cop had penis pox

This trade it sound real tempting
Maxim told the scabby red beast
But please just give to me my banjo
Plus I’ve contracted an infectious yeast

The beast he started puffing
Shooting red daggers out his thigh
He said by god, the church and state.
You not allowed having fun to get to by

So maxim started throat singing
To heal that wild control freak
He let it all go with a passionate blow
Then the beast heard children speak

They said, it’s our talents that matter,
We will never behave
Don’t you every try to keep me in a desk
I’d rather be in my grave

That cop he started crying
His tears were salty sweet
Then he relented that there banjo
Said, I’ve gotta start beating my meat

Cause men who ejaculate 5 times a week
Are 60% less likely
To develop cancer down in the prostate
So jerk off and nightly

I said masterbate daily and nightly x3

Alli was painting as I was writting, it was a great combo, plus there was a number of views on a last youtube upload. I skated down to town for an appointment, while playing the banjo, and turned down a road in order to run out some speed. Finding myself in front of the police station, I strolled in and inquired about volunteer possibilities, the gentleman at the desk was quite helpful, but as we were speaking a steroid case cop covered in tats said to a young fellow on the bench, sorry I’ve got to arrest you. No, please, really, I’ve been really good. You gave the wrong address, you’ve got to come with me. It was a probation Issue, I assumed and he was handcuffed, “can I tell my dad at least” “yeah”. I got someones name on a card and a map to get to the community center, which I left there. Leaving, a native guy asked what it would take to take a trip down to the states, they were checking out the possibilities. Leaving I was wondering if I was becoming a conservative, reading Ayn Rand and all. On that subject, I’ve been enjoying Ayn Rand, because she actually decries any religious or traditional whims that might effect man’s moral code, as well as any self sacrifice for a greater good. It came to me that should I embed myself in the beast, it would be to take it apart. Cruised down the sea wall and met Carla Heywood, right on time, we played wicked tunes together in the park, sharing tunes we’d written and even writing one together, we also discussed a book called Total Freedom, it’s about exactly what it sounds, a bit dense though, my work will say similar things, only in plainer language. It was pretty amazing, sitting in that beautiful park, singing, picking, heavenly really. Carla had to go work, I read some of L’etranger by albert camus, wicked good, and took off to find food. On the way I ran into my bike cop friends, two dudes named dave who I became pally with recently. The first chat happened when some tourists eating smiled at me and asked to hear a tune, they were enamored and gifted me with some change. The bike cops said there was busking could only happen at designated spaces, with a license. I made it clear that I was not busking, nor did I ever attempt to make money, money now seems to just come to me. We chatted about my book about zero structure and how it’s illegal to skate board anywhere in the city limits. They were impressed by my alternative lifestyle and with my cordiality, I told them I was disappointed I couldn’t ride away, they said they’d leave first, and I rode away. The second time I was tree dancing, they made jokes about destroying public property, counted leaves that fell, the more serious dave took out his notebook and announced the price of the fine. This morning as I rode by, they and two others were having coffee on the boardwalk, laughs and jokes as usual, some reference to the board. On the subject of volunteering, anyone can dress up with a suit and run from attack dogs, all four of them had done it. After masturbating in the handicapped stall of the port authority center, I rode a few feet to the boardwalk and listened to Danny and a lovely lady sing and play at Trollers, the cool fish and chip shop down below. The more tight ass dave came up with another officer I hadn’t met and proceeded to award me a ticket, I told them I only had one name, Maxim and they wanted more info. We had a calm and composed conversation about my objection to given them any more information, that Maxim is my only name I go by and it was all they needed and that I was willing to accept any repercussion they might offer. They commended me, were impressed by how I stuck to my guns, as they handcuffed me. As small crowed was highly supportive at Trollers as I kept my big smile going as usual, more then willing to get arrested on my own terms. I’d never been arrested and I figured the use of one name, my name, something I’m willing to stand behind. “We’re proud of you!” The girls yelled from below. They kept giving me chances, "we don't need to do this" and finally called in for a ride. It was entirely civil and I think the cops were actually proud of me as well, sticking to my guns. I gave them my uncle who’s a lawyer’s name, even though he’s in ontario. After cuffing me, they started to dig though my bag, which contained my wallet, “I do not consent to this search” “It doesn’t matter, we have the right”. “Well I’ll tell you right now that all my information is in the front pocket and if your going to search me because I don’t have a last name, we can probably avoid some headache, the info is in the front pocket”. “We’d rather do it down at the office”. “Need any help max?” Danny hollered, “I’m groovy baby”. Another cop named dave cruised up in an suv. That dave was an highly pleasant man, he said “ Dave tell’s me your a good guy” “ I like to think so”. Apparently his job was quite boring, mostly dealing with drunks, for the last twenty five years. They didn’t buckle me up at first, which was slightly disconcerting, but acquiesced upon my request. Hands cuffed behind my back was slightly uncomfortable, but in general I was stocked, I was looking forward to the logical conclusion of this adventure. That chat with dave was quite pleasent, and hooked back up with dave at the station. They took my pictures, rifled though all my affairs, checked the serial number on my lap top and asked me questions, some I answered. The funny thing was that I counted five people processing me, counting my money, photocopying my drivers licensee and passport. Content with my government issued information, they eventually grew tired with the little dance and issued me with a pieced of paper. They spoke about how it wasn’t okay to live out side the rules of society while in a society, but as ayn rand says, society is not an entity, and when a minority comes together in the supposed name of that group, it entitles them to act with any whim, I told them that there are no treaties on the land that we stood, the canadian government is an occupying force, the little bits of paper with names and pictures are in the big picture, meaningless. They told me that if someone can’t be identified, they can be held indefinitely, without charge. I told them that was illegal, they disagreed. Leaving, the younger fellow who’s asked about my yeast infection medication and guitar capo, was reading though my journal and hand written book with the keen interest of a little boy, who couldn’t wait to dig deeper into the few possession, that ride on my back, which express my existence over the last few months. He saw an old to do list, “grafic novel, yoga, breakdancing, fix bike, write essay, wow, you’ve got a really interesting life” “Don’t I know it” At the end, Dave decided not to petition the court to issue a summons, which would request my presents at court, over the matter of obstruction of justice, which was the reason I was arrested, and fined me 75$ In the car ride I was a bit nervous, because our system of law is based, purely and simply,, on the basis of vengeance. They told me if they couldn’t figure out who I was, I would sit in jail, for as long as it took, and these were my pals. I found this unreasonable.An argument of this concept would suggest, but if we can’t count on government ID, what can we count on? If not the RCMP, who can we trust? I got physically detained, handcuffed, placed the secured rear of a police truck, for the crime of not having a last name, you can only really trust yourself and anyone else. I trusted Dave, my good buddy, who kept telling me how sociable I was to, do his job like he’s supposed to, but because he’s a cop, but because he’s a straightforward, dependable person, whom you could trust anything with. But mostly trust yourself, know that since you possess a moral code, you do not need to be governed. Point in case, every law get’s broken every day, these are fluid things, it becomes a “crime” when someone who disagrees with it, notices. Every day in parksville I would tresspass and break an enter, into a garbage in order to feed hungry teenages, and everyone was cool with it. There are just as many “illigal” drug users in the world, and “illigal” immigrants ,as their are toasters. Everyone speeds, everyone drank before the age limit. It goes both ways, as in the public enemy song, in the ghetto “911 is useless”. There are certain citizen’s needs being met, and others get shafted. The thing to do is simply take it all in your own hands, as we all do know, realize what you want to do with your live and circumvent any restrictive circumstances. Some laws are simply worth breaking, do what ever’s necessary to further your peaceful, fully righteous existence. However, as mark emery says, we just want to live peaceful lives, and we won’t accept your sick control for much longer. Back at the Trawlers, I joined the band and we ripped it and told my stories, all the young girls at the shop were highly supportive, as was a lovely lady who came up, sang and played with us, we did will the circle be unbroken, a dude in a white cowboy hat, sunglasses and a white mustache, as well as a good crowed chimed in. Another lady told that the by laws had no effect in the port authority, where I got busted. Apparently her nephew fought a skate ticket and won, and theres a collective law suit, buskers against the bylaw, that’s going into court in november, to further establish that bylaws don’t apply to the port authority. So I was well received, and... the lady we sung with happened to be the MC at the Coombs Bluegrass festival, and she invited me to play, it’s at the end of the month. Munched some good chow, met with some young locals and we cruised around, on longboards, in a group. If it’s a bylaw, it should go both ways, unless maybe it’s part of the penal code. Eventually wound up at Travis’ house, there were some week old kittens who’s eyes were barely opened, they gave them flea baths, they showed me how to make hash oil, I wrote, then ate the big beautiful mushroom sitting on the coffee table. Off to a bbq real quick, then to the red room for the end of the open mike, I missed Carla. Strolling, saw Harvey my DJ, haircutting friend, then strolled to the Globe, the strip club. Bruce is the proprietor and he’s into having a great time all the time. The shows were alright, nice physicality and some quite athletic pole usage. A muscley, shorty asian fellow got excited, took his shirt off and tired to rush the stage, the dancer put her boot out and he was wrestled away by the bouncer. Became friends with D, as in DJ Han Solo, Jamaican via toronto for the last thirty years, starting fresh, also cut hair, has the space above the vault. Played for all the younun’s coming out of the bars, my friend Aaron walked up and yelled, “Masturbate Daily and Nightly!” For a moment I’d forgotten I’d posted the video and was baffled, but it came back, he said he like the song, and practiced it. Plenty of real pretty girls walking around, and it eventually it was just me and a fellow in dirty clothes named Ricky D, who liked my playing. Sitting on a bench as the sun came up, chatting with an older dude named gary, we spoke about mountain biking, which he does all the time. Mountain biking came out of california about 25 or 30 years ago, by a group of cyclists who wanted more, now they are the most sold bikes in the world. I think it’s like that will all innovation, people being inspired and creating new things. I slept on the bench for a few hours and then danny came sailing in to refuel, we through out some trash and sailed away towards vancouver. At first it was rough, we took turns on the helm, then it calmed down, we took turns napping on the decks. As we pulled in I went into the bunk and crashed. Up this morning, changed out of my magic pants into the old time/ beatnic uniform of black pants, black jacket, light boots, striped button up shirty, grey cap, canvas belt. Read about the neanderthals and the evolution of human conception of our own past, which continues to be altered dramatically, but especially over the last hundred and fifty years. Rowed to shore, rode the long board while playing the banjo to a coffee shop, checked my email, and started writing again.

Pure adventureism.

2010-07-11T21:09:00.001-07:00

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.

Nanimo concert and wild times

2010-06-28T20:01:00.000-07:00

We arrived, set up some, the went for a stroll along the dirty nanaimo harbour, quite industrial, we shared stories about our youth and took in the beautiful grime of the port. Strolling back we PB picked up a teddy rusknin book that was all about a shrinking machine and showed things like a strawberry and pencil up close. Back at the bar we made the aquantance of a few member of VIZR, that the Vancouver Island Zombie Resistance. Aparently they take the threat of a zombie apocolapes quite seriously, since the apocalyps could happen at any time, and since they will probably be drunk when it does happen (because they drink all the time) they've taken to train with guns while getting drunk. No joke. The zombie walks that take place in many towns are, acording to them, a serious problem, and when ever it does happen, they take their chains and guns in case things get out of hand, again, no joke. I recorded an interview with Drifter, the fellow who started it, they've been stopped by the cops a few times but have managed to get out of it. They don't apear to take the training to seriously, but they're all facinated by zombies and awaite the apocoalys, which entails getting borded up in the grocery store, and then...;they don't really know. But they're convictions are well formed. The show stared with Danny the singing captain doing sea chanties and irish didies, they were quite cool, he's got wild eyes, shaggy hair and a grizly beard. The tune were all lively and heart felt, he invited me up and we rocked some cool tunes. Then the mystic gathered us all together in a circle, our hands above and below each other, and she lead a healing ceremony. I could feel the energy flow between us all, as a drunken woman questioned the validity of our practiced, she contined to haggle throughout the show. It did feel healing, together all focusing on bringing in negative energy and cleansing it in the circle, I think it worked and it was a nice addition and carrying through from the healing we did at cindy's the day before. Next up I did my thing on stage, complete with all my new jokes which went over quite well. At the end of my set I asked the crowd what BP and I should do next, seeing as how we didn't have any plans. Up chimed Danny, inviting us to go sailing on his boat, I graciously acepted the invitation. The pinata was up, bashed farly quickly exploding the plastic army men everywhere, then came the japanese DJ, who mixed some great tunes, wonderful for break dancing to. I was asked to repeate one of my jokes to a local, the one out the turd saying telling me my life was usless, it was an excremental crisis, then BP, Danny and I strolled to the harbor, got into the dingy, and I rowed the three of us the 30 minute ride, in the darkness and dimming nanaimo sky line, to the Be Fuller, Danny's 45 foot kitch (that means two masts, among other things). We smoked some good stuff in the cabin then Danny showed PB and I to the double bed in the back of the boat. Some rain was trickling down through a broken seal, but there were tones of blankets making it ever so cozy, so cozy.

A bit for yall

2010-06-27T15:10:00.000-07:00

Well folks, sorry about the delay, life has taking me on the most mystical of voyages and is preparing itself to culminate in the form of a book. In the mean time, for all of you who like to "live vicariously through me" here's what happend, more or less since Peanut Butter aka steff, and I left the ferry at nanaimo.

My old friend Miles Howe picked us up in the white subaru legacy that we'd driven across the country in last year, Shirly was it's name. A bit more rust and the shocks were starting to go, but a flood of memories came to me from those super intense weeks of performing, traveling and extreme emotions of last year. Miles' house was being looked at by for the purpose of being sold, so he took us to the food exchange where he used to work. There were lot's of gardens, a small pond and a green house that all for the purpose of feeding teh community. Wehile Miles worked there, it was his responsibility to picked up excess fruits, nuts, veges and other edibles that people had in excess of around the city. He would o clolect it, give some to the owner of the property, some to the exchange and keep some himself, the exchange's truck and networks made it all possible. We stood over three beautiful chickens and talked about the last year, neither of us had real jobs for sometime, Miles had been playing concerts in the surrounding areas, had recorded another disk and seems to be building a fan base. He'd been given a weekly spot at a local bar and was attempting to make the shows as facinating as possible. That night beside me playing, there was a Japanese DJ, a singing sea captain, a mystic doing a seance.

Sorry folks, my skills with a knife are needed in the other room, more stories soon!

25, first half

2010-05-30T00:50:00.001-07:00

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.

24

2010-05-30T00:48:00.001-07:00

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.

23rd

2010-05-30T00:46:00.000-07:00

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.

22nd

2010-05-30T00:45:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-30T00:44:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-30T00:41:00.002-07:00

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

2010-05-30T00:41:00.001-07:00

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.

A special day May 15th

2010-05-17T18:37:00.001-07:00

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,TED.com 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 ted.com. Next time you want to watch a tv show, don’t, brows TED.com 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

2010-05-17T18:34:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-17T18:33:00.001-07:00

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.

May12th cont.

2010-05-13T12:41:00.001-07:00

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

2010-05-13T02:58:00.001-07:00

Greetings,

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.

http://english.ruvr.ru/2010/05/13/7753696.html

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.

M

On reletavism

2010-04-18T22:22:00.001-07:00

With the growth into adulthood comes a personal reflection into the basic framework of how we choose to live as individuals. Out of our parents control, we are given the chance to examine the many elements that formed our upbringing, and can then pick, choose and generally make up our own systems of morality, judgement and behavior in general. The post modern perspective is that we are all constructions of various elements; genetic, societal and otherwise, which determine our identities, outlook and lifestyle. The amalgamation of these elements, which can be harmonious or conflicting, lay the groundwork by which we navigate adulthood. Some basic universal tenets, like the golden rule, are manifested in various traditions and permeate divers segments of society, while other seemingly equivalent tenets, like the notion of “shame”, are approached objectively and consequently phased out.

The website TED.com, offered a lecture suggesting that the application of various scientific fields to the subject of morality, could create a universally accepted body of truths on the subject. Somewhere between the porn-stacked reading sections of every convenience store and the burka clad oppression of the middle East, lies an awaiting balance of happy and balanced individuals and societies, to be attained by the application of psychology, ecology, biology and any other area of study which may be relevant. A self-reflective examination of contemporary western morality world will prove to be riveting and probably discordant. Dissecting erroneous practices from out Judeo-Christian framework will make for a radically altered state of group consciousness. That’s not to say the system of morality will be voice of tradition; in the age of information we have the capacity to examine and borrow from For example, in countless traditional cultures around the world, unlike in the west, the sight of human genitals, in any circumstance, is an entirely benin experience. When turn the microscope onto ourselves, what will be the behaviors that exists for the benefit the earth and all it’s inhabitants and which ones for the convenience of a domineering mythological patriarchy? The distinctions will undoubtably become obvious as science continues to cary out it’s long standing tradition of reshaping the way we think about the world.

Performing at a funeral

2010-04-18T22:17:00.000-07:00

This story starts on a tuesday, mid afternoon, at the Ottawa Folklore centre. I was picking up my a repair done by my friend Brian, who runs the shop. As I was leaving the repair room, Brian asked me if I knew anyone that could play a funeral the following Friday; I suggested a few names, then offered up my own services. A young man named Mike Doucet had recently died in a single car accident, they had to crane his car out of the Rideau river. Mike had apprenticed with Brian while in high school as a co-op placement; Mike’s dad called Brian in search of a musician for the memorial. There was a need for transportation and room in the budget for another musicians, I gave my friend Gareth a call and he confirmed right away. Later that evening, I had a long chat with Mike’s dad Jack, all about Mike’s life and passions. The similarities between our own live’s we interesting, he was only a year younger then me, performed music often, was athletic and worked in restaurants. After his shifts at bistro he worked at, he would wear an old straw hat and play ukulele for the customers. Jack and I talked about the moments that music would be appropriate during the ceremony and talked about styles of music that Mike enjoyed. When I received an email from Jack detailing some artists that Mike had on his Ipod, I knew the show would go well; it was all country, folk and blues.

Then came the song choices. I made a list of tunes I thought would work then scanned the internet for songs and lyrics. I’ll show you the list as I present the tale. Around 5 on thursday evening Gareth came over and we went over the songs. The two of us have similar sensibilities when it comes to music, so the jam went surprisingly well. Gareth has made some some life decisions recently that were are of no real issue to either of us, but are considered taboo by some, I enjoyed chatting about his life and passions. After a few hours I was confident about our show the next day, I spent the rest of my night memorizing lyrics. My friend Lefty McRighty has put out an invitation to his musical friends to join him live on his show at CHUO for the sake of the funding drive. The rain was thick so I didn’t make it out, but I bet though would have been hella fun.

Ten AM friday, G picked me up and we were on our way to Manotick. It was grey and a bit rainy, typical funeral weather. On the drive to the outskirts of town I noticed an old field that my pals and I used to cut through to get to an old scout camp fire, it was know covered in homes that were all identical. Further down Prince of Whales drive was the house a friend of mine used to live in that over-looked the Rideau River, I was surprised how close the country side was from there. Manotick seems like a beautiful little town, there’s so much to explore outside the city.

The parking lot was packed as good looking young people in nice dark clothing jogged in to avoid the rain. The church looked big from the outside, but the main room wasn’t huge, with little effort my voice rang out. We met with the minister in the office to the side of the main room and discussed when to perform during. He used the word, “celebration” which I quite liked, a celebration of a beautiful life. We tuned up our instruments downstairs and took our place at the back of the church, which was almost completely filled a half hour before the start time.

We all stood or sat in silence for a while, until finally the priest lead the pall bearers, wheeling the casket into the room. A quick prayer was made and we broke into our first number as they advanced.

Bro Hymn by Pennywize. They’re a california punk band that I listened to quite a bit around the age of 12 and 13. Bro Hymn is a memorial song about a friend who took his own life that was re-released on a second album for another friend who died. It’s message is of unity, togetherness in a time of great pain and a general declaration that we’re all bonded. It’s a song that’s always touched me and that speaks honestly about young pain. I slowed it down considerably from the original, found a comfortable key, slightly reworked the melody and included Mike Ducet’s name into the lyrics. That first sight of the coffin brings the realization that what we’ve heard is true and a group pain is tangible. Gareth and I sang together on the “whoa-o-o-o” chorus which is like a sorrowful wailing, the minor melodies made my spine tingle. Slowly they advanced up the isle and waited until the song was over. I knew I had made the right choice and that everything was going to work out from there on in.

The minister spoke, prayed and Mike’s best friend delivered a eulogy. I got the impression that mike was something of a golden child, the type of person who brings joy to all those around and who’s sharp intelligence was balanced by a relaxed yet exuberant attitude. Death is one of those instances which forces you to question your own sense of spirituality or metaphysical approach to the world. It’s impossible to believe that all the wisdom, love, personality and energy of a person could come to any abrupt end. Energy can’t be created or destroyed, so what happens? I consider this one of the many incredible mysteries that makes up life. Death is an inevitable occurrence that we have no way of totally controlling or understanding. It is something we can always learn from though and celebrate. The theme of music was running through the preacher’s sermon, how it’s the artists that inform and enrich society. That during the civil war, songs of hope were what sustained the populations. He mentioned that even the pope agreed that the Beatles have influenced culture in a massive way. It seems like Mike influenced many people through his personality and music. He could speak intelligently about a million different subjects with a million different people. The stories about him made me think of the few people in my life who, when conversing with, open up brand new sides of my personality and way of thinking about life. I think Mike was probably one of those people who opened the minds of many.

After the eulogy and a few more prayers, we sang Bob Dylan’s “you ain’t going nowhere”. This song was chosen for a few subtle reasons. Firstly the tittle is repeated through out and I though that was apt, as long as Mike’s remembered and celebrated, he isn’t going anywhere. Secondly, the melody, especially in the chorus, is one of the most beautiful I’ve heard. The lyrics are a bit cryptic, but seem to generally refer to loving relationship, especially, “tomorrows the day my bride’s going to come. Were going to fly, down in the easy chair.” The list I was given showed the Mike had a strong taste for well written songs, I think this is one of Dylan’s best.

There was some reading from the bible, some chanting along, some standing and sitting. Throughout was the message of a greater power that connects us, with all the usual Catholic locutions holding it together. I question the masculinity of god and that we should be forgiven. I think viewing ourselves as powerful spiritual beings is the next step in human evolution. The Christian framework does provide a stability in this time of grief, but all cultures possess some kind of death ritual. I wonder what the various similarities and differences are?

3 I do however, love quite of bit of christian spiritual music, mostly in the black traditions. We sand “will the circle be unbroken” which is the story of about a person who’s mother dies and one verse at a time, describes the process of their loss. The chorus, on the other hand is uplifting. “Will the circle, be unbroken, by and by lord, by and by. There’s a better home awaiting, in sky lord in the sky” we had the benefit of my dear friends Kara and Brian singing along, this gave the audience the clue that they could sing along as well. With each chorus, more people joined in creating a powerful wave of voices that seemed to wash over me. I sang with gusto, it was a powerful feeling leading that group of beautiful voices. After the ceremony, a woman came up and told me how wonderful she thought that song was. She said she was mouthing the words and didn’t know if she was singing or not, but it felt like she was in a choir and it was a wonderful experience. It was strange and wonderful hearing my own voice get mixed in, I’m getting shivers thinking about it.

It was time for the sacrament, which feels slightly naughty writing down, since “sacrament” in french has always been a swear word in my house. The priest asked those not in the catholic church, who wanted to take part in the ceremony, to come and be blessed rather then eating the body of christ. This stuck out to me for some reason, it’s not that I want to eat the body of christ, but it felt a bit exclusionary. What if I needed a jolt of jesus? or something...

4.As the congregation lined up to eat the wafer, I played some traditional fiddle tunes on the banjo. Nice and slow, with passion and pauses, the instrument was uplifting. The banjo has often been described as angelic, that description was particularly fitting as the notes bounced off the ceiling, over the bustling crowd. St. Ann’s Reel, Whisky Before Breakfast and Black Berry Blossom, were all mixed together in my rhythmic and harmonious, (rather then melodic) way of playing claw-hammer versions of those tunes. The banjo sounded great, churches should give up organs and have banjos.

There were some final words, (I was thinking about the words I was going to sing, and the procession began the slow exit, being lead by Mike’s body in the casket. For a final song I chose...

Love is what I got, by Sublime. This song has been the corner stone of many a camp fires over the years and although I’ve never really discussed it with anyone, I think it’s THE song of my generation. It is a simple reggae/bluesy/ hip hop tune that rivals “Santeria” as Sublime’s most notable song. On the recording, the opening few acoustic guitar notes are catchy and immediately recognizable, Bradley’s voice is soft and sweet but with a bit of an edge, in the way that you can tell he’s a really cool guy. The lyrics are about all the crappy things that can happen in life, but it’s the few simple positive ones that make us deeply happy. The song song never settles on a genre, just like the band and that represents who us young people are of this generation are; constantly changing our outlooks, identities and relationships. We don’t have religion like our parents did, it’s music, in it’s many forms that is the metaphysical object which binds us together. “Love is, what I got” was repeated over and over again as the mourners left the main room and filed downstairs for the reception. We ran out of words eventually and started to vamp/jam away, I felt right doing it and it sounded good. As the last few people left the room, we repeated the chorus without instruments, our voices were the perfect cap. As we exited, people kept coming up to us used words like “perfect” and “so mike”. Some were shocked that we hadn’t been friends and that I’d picked the tunes myself because they were bang on. Mike’s dad said he half expected his son to jump out of the coffin and start dancing when he heard the group singing. I had the impression from a number of people that the music was the most healing and moving part of the ceremony. I though of those negro spiritual that my grandmother sang to me as a child, songs that offered hope, salvation, redemption and sorrow. Music is a powerful tool for healing and I think another segment or layer of my life’s work has been cracked open. That was one of those performances where I know in my core that I was at the right place at the right time, that my journey is progressing in the most beautiful way possible. Brian, who connected me with the gig said that Mike would have like it, but to bad about all the talking parts in between....

Love,

M

Pittsburgh, Philly and NY

2010-04-09T23:27:00.001-07:00

There has been some positive feedback on the blog of late, I supose it’s one of those things like bboying or playing the banjo, that is enjoyable to engage and consequensely brings joy to other people, who would have thought. The last bit of writing came from west virginia, the drive out was sweet then the weather turned grey and the whole party got a bit stressed, but were were still having fun. Pitsburg was rainy, but I got a cool red hat at the good will store, there was pizza for us at the gig as well as some interesting hipsters. The indoor smoking was pretty gross by mid-evening, everything stinks, throat hurts more then usual, but there were cool lights up near the ceiling fans where the smoke was whisked around, it made for groovy atmosphere. Philly was an in and out deal, a young finger-style guitar player named Derreck Sammack

http://www.purevolume.com/dereksammak We became pals instantly and talked some good shop. The kid has momentum. The crowd was there for the rock bands that were playing later that night, the throat singing/banjo medley was well received. We left that night for NYC, pulling into the limits, NLX was our tour guide. I arrived at my friends house in Queens and was expecting the door to be open, but it was not, so that night was one I’ll not soon forget. The temperature was dropping, luckily I brought my big mits the whole way, seemingly for that occasion. I attempted to make a shanty/lean to out of some tarps I found in the back yard, but they were soaked, so I took a stroll to a near by convenience store and read magazines for a while. The staff was eyeing me funny, so back I went to my buddy’s place, the door was still locked, so this time started testing out various doors in order to sit somewhere and wait out of the cold wind until the sun came up and the dunkin’ donuts opened for the day. The next door neighbors had a shed type structure that covered stairs leading to a basement apartment, I huddled in there from about 4 to 7 Am, it was a nice little shelter. There was a bit of a draft coming in under the door, a spare shirt came in handy to stuff it up. However it was still pretty cold and was looking right into what appeared to be a warm kitchen. I tested the door, and it was open, but I hesitated, the kitchen was too clean and orderly, I could tell that who ever owned it liked things exactly the way they expected them. Waking up to some bearded guy crouched in the corner of your kitchen might not be the most reassuring sight, heck, being spotted on those steps might have unnerved the resident.

Eventually the sun started to come up, but it was still chilly, plus noises started to come from the basement apartment. It was like a game... was that someone getting up, or just the furnace? I faced no one and trekked off to the coffee shop. Drinking coffee is a strange practice when you’ve not slept in a day or so, and I rarely drink coffee. The gitters came, but I was happy, it was warm in that shop. I was reading a book given to me by a hare krishna monk I’d met in Austin, apparently they travel with the warped tour, dang. The introduction was all about how other books on a similar subject were all based on the biases of the authors, I didn’t think much of that book. As the sun rose more, the day started heating up. Sitting in the sun, one was actually comfortable. Back at Sean’s, I sat on the front porch and basked, the rays of sun were good, the trip had been grand, and I wasn’t that cold anymore. Eventually Sean’s roomate Max showed up with two pretty ladies, they had been up all night partying and planned on continuing. They were a great sight, soon I had beer in my belly and we were watching a documentary about mistysism in nazi germany. Max sings in a the cramps cover band, he enjoys wearing fishnets and pumps so much, he does so around the house. I like Max. Rudely, I went to the other room and fell asleep without excusing myself, ladies, it was a pleasure to meet you. At one point, the parents of the other room mate showed on account of his birthday and everyone had a loud conversation in the hallway. Max was drunk and in fishnets, good times.

Sean came home later that day and we went to a rock and roll show feature some quite cool garage/punk bands. The wellington ladies welfare league were extra fun, their singer showed up in a suit and gradually took off all his clothes, I felt right at home. They have one song about alternative sexual acts, I liked that one.

The next day I ventured around the subway system with my banjo, without any particular direction or focus. At nearly every stop and junction was a busker or some sort or variety. There was an old man playing the same somber melody on the acordian all day; he had a foot pedal attacked to a maraca that was hitting a beat on the suit case on which he was sitting. Eventually I heard a drum kit and a loud speaker, I had to investigate. It was a middle aged man named Prince who was drumming and singing away. He had on a pink dress shirt with a tie and drank honey in between songs to keep his voice soft. He was a happy man, preaching away about the love of jesus, being palm sunday an all. I started dancing and a crowd would gather, the the trains would come and things would shift. Prince would call out, “do james brown”, play “I feel good”, and I would do my best impression. It was nice bboying in NY, I was in harlem, not brooklyn, which was the epi center of hip hop, but it was still magical. A fellow named Dente showed up and showed me up, good. He asksed me to do my thing, I aquiested, and he proceed to do multiple back flips on the spot. I asked how long he’d been at it, 20 years was his response.

The next day, again wandering without purpose, I found myself in grand central station, looking at the installation on the ceiling. I ran into Nadine, a woman from the east coast of Canada who was selling earings she’d made with feathers. We hung out for the rest of the day in Williamsburg, walking, talking, drawing. A young hasidic jew asked me if I was jewish, I said yes and he gave me a ziplock bag full of motza bread and invited me to a passover celebration later that night. With a little salt and pepper, motza’s not that bad.

Later a dive bar, a fellow said he was coming up with a form of DNA for the planets. Like a perl necklas, but with perls going in every direction. Raphael I think his name was.

The next morning was tuesday. I met Amanda outside the Hilton Millenium at the base of ground zero. Apparently the city/country is stiffing the hundreds of 9 11 rescue volunteers who are now dying of respiratory illnesses. Anyway, we rehashed the whole trip, had some heart to hearts and remarked on the utter geographic similarities of the two different countries. The 1000 islands seems to be a great place to sneak through if need be.

Back in Ottawa, I was playing banjo on the bus and one fellow actually came to the back just in order to hear me play. Open mike that night, joint hosting with Fabian, it was fun, but I want to be on the road again.

Best,
M

24

2010-03-25T15:17:00.003-07:00

6Am Departure, didn’t even bother taking my clothes off. Slept until noon or so in the back. We began to hit hill country, and the vistas were grand. Rolling hills and twisty roads, we went deep into hillbilly country. We went past a charcoal factory and NLX was struck by memories of her childhood. We stopped at a gas station and while standing in the lot, a car pulled up behind me, as I was stepping out of the way a fellow in the passenger seat started making bizarre hand gestures. He got out and was wearing jeans, a jean jacket and red shirt with a small circular hole in the front. In a thick rural accent he asked us our names, we shook his hand and Tara asked his name. “My name is shit, want a pile?” He replied. We left soon after, up the into the hills. The elevation at Thomas WV, is 3,035 ft (925 m). Arriving into the town, a bleak scene was presented, a big burnt out and collapsing building was the first monument into the community, further along the state road the houses and stores were checkered with both the lived-in look and boarded up windows. The Venue of the evening, the purple fiddle http://www.purplefiddle.com/, seems to be an epicenter of life in the town and surrounding areas. A purple carved elk’s head sits atop the entrance and the windows were a flourish of posters for upcoming shows. Most posters featured acoustic instruments and relaxed looking people. Inside there was a picture of the throat singing Tuvan monks who’d played the week before. There was a distinct smell of old wood and antiques in the cafe, pictures, captions, artifacts and artwork covered the walls. It reminded me of the Rasputin’s in Ottawa, the All Citizen’s in Bruno, Sask, and the General Store in Twin Butte, Alberta. Homey is a work I would use to describe the place. Out front was an elderly man named Tony, who worked maintenance at store and lived next door. He’d been traveling for many years, going wherever there was work. Old church pews draped with quilts sat in front of the stage and the staff and locals where warm and friendly.
We did another song writer’s circle and it went smoothly, although breaking down into a giggle fest a few times. The reception was grand and I think we made enough to get to Pittsburgh. After the gig, we and all hangers on went up to the apartment above the room where the owner Joe had once raised a family. One of the staff members is a young San Francisco musician named Lindsay who was hiding out on the east coast recording a solo project and waiting for the next tour with her band.

http://www.myspace.com/yesalexandermusic

We went for a stroll around town and hung out in the graveyard, good times.

23

2010-03-25T15:17:00.001-07:00

Another early morning departure and another long ride past leafless trees towards Nashville. At least there were a few more hills. We dropped Tara off at her friend Billy Block’s house, then it was off to music city. The van was left at a toyota delership to be serviced and I went for a stroll down broadway, away from downtown. The university area has some cute shops, but I was all about walking the streets under the beating sun. Nashville has some great free arts magazines, puts the express to shame. Arriving back at the dealership, they informed me there was a problem with the van, one of their employees had scraped it against a pole, rear panels were dented there was a black streak on the side. The damage wasn’t horrible and didn’t affect the drive, but it did mean an ongoing problem for Amanda, who’s taking off on a Canadian tour as soon as we get back. Sam and I headed for downtown in search of bluegrass. On the way down broadway we chatted with a couple guys selling tickets to the Nashville Predators game. We got to chatting and he said that people in nashville were “very sociable” and I found it entirely to be the case. He was an example of everyone we met, pleased to meet me, friendly, welcoming. We went a bit further down the street towards where we understood there was some live tunes. Nashville downtown is a wonderfully warm place, each venue has a stage near the front entrance, so music was spilling into the street from every direction. We went to a random bar that had a few ladies playing fiddle and mandolin. Inside, it turned out to be a band called jipsi http://www.jypsi.net/ a blugrass band fronted by four siblings, three sisters and a brother. I was captivated, they were vibrant, skilled players, quirky and each had their own sense of style. They played relentlessly with sustained energy and panache. There website and various links has it all. Later I hit the strip, poking my head in here and there, I think I liked Austin’s strip better, however, there was a cool lady playing the spoons quite well. She had a board on her lap with a washboard strip and various bells and things nailed to it. Listening from a distance I was intrigued, her rhythms were intricate and enticing. After that, I wasn’t booked to play so it was adventure time until the ladies were done their gig. We went back to a friends and ate pizza, it was fun.

Little Rock

2010-03-24T17:07:00.001-07:00

22.

I woke up to the sun coming up behind the Austin sky line, David was at the art mansion at 730 to pick me up. We had a few moments before meeting the ladies, we went back to the bike/coffee shop that I first landed in and where David works, (owned by Lance Armstrong btw) I thought back to some of my favorite moments of the last five days, two-step breakdancing, hanging out with Dude Man, (I forgot to mention that Bill Murrey went by on a pedi cab during that conversation), playing washers, bboying all over 6th street, hiking the woods, seeing gwar and of course hanging out at the arts mansion. I had a breakfast burrito and a cinnamon cookie that was too soft to sell, and we took off. The barista on duty had a big cast on, double broken arm, but was in good spirits.

A friend of NLX’s called Sam, who’s from london joined in that early morning parking lot, so now I’m traveling with four women. The trip to Little Rock was long and fairly uneventful, I started to miss Austin already. I slept well in the back seat. The rumba room has awesome food and a great staff, we were asked to take the first few spots on the open mike, which didn’t really work because folks hadn’t really shown up yet, but we still had a great time and made some tips.

I went for a stroll in the waterfront park behind the venue and saw a group of about twenty black people standing in a circle, some holding helium balloons. From a distance I could tell that it was a wake; folks were crying, hugging, taking turns speaking, singing gospel. I was drawn to the group and stood by the outer circles, I overheard talk about Terrence, who was just 17. The group huddle and a young man lead us in prayer, we help up raised our fists and “hollered”. I spoke to one of Terrence’s best friends, Marcus I think his name was. They seemed to be inseparable friends, played football together, Marcus ran and Terrence threw discus in track. They had planned to go to the same university together, both to be architects, were supposed to live in the same dorm. Terrence died in a car crash en-route to florida for spring break. There was crying, but lot’s of joy too, I was told Terrence was a deeply happy person, who taught others to see the humor in painful situations, his spirit was certainly present. It seemed to me that he was living is life to the fullest, lots of friends, good at school and sports, loving life and indeed experiencing it to the utmost of his capacities. So it was a joyful celebration of a vibrant life, as well as group mourning for a collective loss. At the end of the ceremony, everyone released their balloons into the night sky, they reflected light from the city, we could see them for a good while, bouncing away in the breeze, up to heaven.

March 20, 21

2010-03-22T22:50:00.001-07:00

20

Saturday was a chilly, chilly day. Eddy dropped me off downtown and I strolled until I came across Canadian Blast, where Amanda was playing. Open bar and free mexican food makes Maxim a happy boy. Amos the transparent were playing and were quite enjoyable. The radio personality on hand was giving a way shoes to the person who had the worst shoes, my were pretty bad. Tara has pulled over last week in order to buy me new ones, we compromised on spray. The personality said they were also having a dance contest, I walked away with a pair of shiny new red converse. Downtown was fun, but less eventful, until I came across “psyche fest”. A number of jammy bands were performing in a foozeball club. There were pics of foozeball players from the seventies all over the walls, as well as bleachers in the small room above coyote uglies. Wild movies were projected on the walls, and the bands kicked ass. Some hash found itself my way and I immediately started jumping, did more breaking, then skipped downstairs to 6th street. I continued to skip down the street, slowing down when a beat hit me, I would break it down and continue, up and down the street a few times. All others were bundled up, but my blood was pumping, I kept moving for about three hours straight that night. Off to 4th, into a club, dancing away, back outside, jamming in the lot, back to the foozeball to check on my things, ect.

The solillaquists of sound played last. I have a feeling that Alexandrah is an oracle, real cool vibe. Wild ride, grand times all night. Cool chats, met a reader of Terrence McKenna, a substitute teacher and the creator of a soon to be arts collective.

21

Real Texas BBQ at Rudys, I got a third pound extra tender briquet and some pork ribs. It felt a bit primeval, but I enjoyed it. Dave, Eddy and I went to the green belt, hiked the woods for hours, shooting the shit. We talked about some gross things, funny things, curious things. The weather was great, we were pleasantly full. We found an old stone wall, that just kept going. Then we went to Armanda’s, the artist. Rollingwood is an upscale neighborhood, we were taken aback by the beautiful houses on the way to the get together. We drove past a gargantuan white house, three stories tall and 40 feet wide, greying, the outside looked like it needed help. I said “good lord, look at that place” “that’s the house were going to”, dave replied. Inside, it was bright and beautiful, with lovely smells, people and dogs abounding. A number of artistic people lived there, many small dogs were running wild. We went onto the roof, it was the tallest building in the area, quite a view of the city.

The evening was spent dinning, drinking, singing, playing, hanging out at fire pit in the back yard. I gave a break dance lesson. Dave had to go feed Leroy the Catahoula Leopard Dog, but being the incredible cool friend that he is, agreed to come back at 7 30 in the morning to pick me up, and drop me off down town to meet the ladies. We drank moonshine, sang at the piano, danced the charleston, jumped on the trampoline and ate eggplant parmesan.

Margeritas

2010-03-20T01:21:00.002-07:00

19th

Today I woke up late and happy. Dan asked if I wanted BBQ, but we ended up going to a place named Chewy’s for happy hour. THe margarita’s were about three or for dollars, the five of us got 19 of them, for about 60$ I think. The best thing about that place is that there a nacho bar that can fill up at anytime, for free. Big bags of chips were emptied into the tray every twenty minutes or so and you have a choice of three different salsas, metled cheez with jalepinions, refried beans, all for free. And, the place was an elvis shrine, too cool.

We then went to Katy’s house, who’s a Dan’s boss. We spent the evening two-stepping, playing banjo, drinking beer, shooting the shit and playing a great game I’ve never heard of called “washers”.

http://www.washers.org/

It was pure texas. Afterwords we went to the tacorea, mexican food is mind blowing.

Best,

M

6th ave

2010-03-20T01:21:00.001-07:00

18th
Well well well, it’s two AM, Saturday morning and things have indeed gotten extremely wild, then cool again. I’m tired, so I’ll give you the barebones. Friday I woke up to Dan’s roommate Eddy treating me with great hospitality and friendship. Eggs with cajun spices was dang fine. He took off and I had the house to myself for a bit, after recording an old song that my mother had written some time ago I took Leroy, the Louisiana Catahoula Leopard Dog http://www.bulldoginformation.com/catahoula-leopard.html for a walk. I cleaned the house then took off on the two mile walk downtown. Austin is an incredibly beautiful city, the river has lot’s of greenspace and everyone seem happy and relaxed.

My first new friend of the day was Dustin Thomas http://www.myspace.com/dustinthomas a young man with great passion and talent. We sat by the river with his bass player Tim and chatted about life and love, digging each moment to the core. I followed the river into the city and things were coming alive, I’d never scene so many cool looking young people all at once. Sounds, smells and sights were coming from all over and it was all beautiful. I spotted a fellow with dreds, a plaid shirt and overalls, CJ and I became instant friends. I was on my way down sixth street to catch the watson twins, but their show turned out to be a bit boring so I went back the other way and found CJ again. He was with a girl named Emma, another traveler who was playing a resonator guitar. She has a wild swing, ragtime voice/style that wasn’t expected from her street person/traveler look. We got along splendidly, smoking, drinking, eating, jamming the afternoon away. We parted ways for a bit and made contact again while meeting up with the rest of their traveling crew. The rag tag bunch of acoustic musicians were preparing a number with a dance crew led by a pop singer, who’s name escapes me, something like unique, or mystique, who had wild makeup and a leopard print dress. The plan was to burst out in the middle of the busy street with in a flash mob style performance, I broke out my banjo and played along with the rehearsal.

Back on 6th, the street was closed off for full street party style craziness. The road was packed with every kind of strange and beautiful person you could imagine. The street and surrounding area has about, and I’m not exaggerating, about a hundred music bars, all of the with music audible from the street. I strolled with awe and glee and the marvel. There was a five piece bluegrass band that I quite enjoyed. I hooked up with the street performance group and we gave it hell, an audience gathered, all quite enjoyable. To wander was a great pleasure, all sorts of sounds and sights permeated the atmosphere, indescribable really, sensory overload is a good way to it. I ran into my friend Shawn who gave me my first every rock gig, we chatted for a good deal of time. Some grass found itself my way and soon after came the breakdancing.

At one end of the street I met a fellow who’s name is pronounced like “Diem” but it’s really DM, as in the dude man. He’s a black dude from Lafayette Louisiana who was wearing all leather and carrying a skateboard like a shield. He sings in a metal band sang a love ballad for me with a great voice. His voice was sweet but with passion and twang. We talked about various kinds of skateboarding, he’s into freestyle. Freestyle skateboarding is usually done on one’s own and is highly technical, influenced by dance and gymnastics. It’s starting to regain popularity after dying out in the last decade.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UqPaayUYGe8&feature=related

It was a great hangout with DM, he also shot some film pictures of me.

We strolled the avenue and he pointed out some of the cool bars. It seems there’s awesome live music every night of the week in Austin. We ran into a freestyle rap cypher, heard some metal and parted ways. I was strolling with my banjo out and played for a number of different people. I met a pixy girl named katy who sells precisous stones for neckaleces, we danced together on the street and talked life for a good little while. Then I walked the two miles or so back to Dan’s place. I didn’t want to wake him up so I slept in the shed behind the house. There was a mattress in there so I was comfortable, it got a bit chilly though, so I covered myself in a rug that was in there.

Around 8 AM I got up to see if Dan was awake, there was no movement so I texted him, he said he didn’t mind waking up at anytime, so now I know. I crashed on the warm couch and slept quite well.

Austin and the broken spoke, march 17th.

2010-03-18T01:39:00.000-07:00

17th

Beautiful day so far, brilliant day. Texas is quite vast, lot’s of plains, ranches. One highlight of the drive was a speckled cow in the a cage pulled by a truck, Amanda took a picture. I got dropped off in the middle of Austin and within minutes was given a beer and place to stay. There was a coffee shop attached to a bike shop, while buying a java, I got into a lively chat with a fellow with some fancy flattop laptop, was well received by the cool barista then sat on the deck under the beating sun. I pulled out the banjo and my tunes fell on grateful ears. Three fellah had united in Austin for the weekend and we started chatting, they had all met in San Fran and were having a reunion. I mentioned I had come from Cape Girardeau Missouri, and it turned out there was a banjo player from that same city working at the bike shop. David turned out to be a real cool guy, who offered me his couch within moments of our meeting. The sun beat down on my appreciative skin, the stella tasted so good and I played that banjo with joy. Pedal cabs seem to be quite popular here, that’s bikes modified to have a seat for three or four on the back. All types of cool looking people waked in front of me and got in line for the hip hop show next door. I got some hints about places I might check out in texas and the Pacific north west, then headed inside to check out the bike store. I picked some tunes for the staff as they packed up, then helped take bikes from the main room to storage in the basement. A pretty lady with cool style asked if I started working there. Eventually it was time to take off and the streets were crawling st Patrick’s day activities. The plan was to go to the broken spoke for two step dancing lessons. David is a real cool cat, former completive cyclist, classical trumpet player and amateur pilot, now he’s all about picking the banjo and doing the two step.

I’m at the broken spoke, which refers to a wagon wheel and this place is pure Texas. Red and white checkered table cloths cover folding tables and chairs, in the middle of the long room is the dance floor where a bleached blond vivacious 50 year old is telling everyone not to hesitate with the swing. “Rock Step” she hollers as they swing. David looks nervous out there, but he’s having a good time. Yesterday I put a sticker that says “listen to the devil” on the back of my lap top, I wonder what people think of it. Cowboy hats, boots and neon beer signs abound. I’m going to watch the lesson.

I think I’ve reached a new plane of existence, I bought a beer for a girl who reminded me of my childhood friend Kristy. Hanna turned out to be a song writing, horse breaking, truck driving, competitive soft ball playing, two stepping seventeen year old. Dale Watson and his band were playing, and they were incredibly tasty. He calls his music “ameripolitan” heavily influenced by roots, it’s basically how country is supposed to sound like. http://www.myspace.com/dalewatson

I had a number of different dance partners and had some wicked conversations, the one that sticks in my head the most was with a evangelical Christian named Karen of Asian decent; she organizes dodgeball tournaments to raise money for AIDS charities in Africa and in Austin. Another said she was political, big into the second amendment, gun rights. Made for interesting conversations later on. Eventually I started breakdancing, Dale called it the first ever “two step breakdancing” I got lot’s of smiles. The evening felt surreal, so much love, awesome music and the two stepping was quite special. There’s something highly intimate and erotic about falling into repetitive rhythms with a dance partner.... when I’m not flailing around the room, trying not to bump into the twenty other couples on the floor.

Plus and most especially fun, I met some super cool musicians, one was Marike Jager, http://www.myspace.com/marikejager , from Holland, who met Dale in europe, and was in Austin to help shoot a documentary about Dale. She started a record label, is drop dead gorgeous, is a good dancer and is hella cool. We had some good business chats, The consensus seems to be that no one know what the hell is happening with the industry. Just how I like it. My favorite song of hers is Fling Flack Toodah, check out the video on her myspace.

Another musician I met was Whitey Morgan. http://www.myspace.com/whiteymorgan All day I’ve been on band alert, whenever I see a group of people dressed in similar fashions, I’ve been chatting them up. At the table were three huge guys with beards, jean vests and tattoos. Whitey and his crew were the coolest dressed folks I’ve come across so far, well...Bears of Blue River are in contention, I’ll repost their link. http://www.myspace.com/thebearsofblueriver

But listen to Whitey, I hadn’t heard his music since checking it out now. Hell yeah.

After the gig, Daniel, his friend Jason from New Zeland, Hanna, her friend Angela and an Italian artistic Iron worker who’s fist name I forgot, but who’s last name is something like fortunado, and I went to a diner. We were all feeling the vibe, it felt like we were all old friends.

So if any of you are ever in Austin, check out the broken spoke. http://www.brokenspokeaustintx.com

Who knows where it goes from here. I’m thinking the country.

Questions, comments and love/hate mail : maximk7@gmail.com

Best,

M

march 15th and 16th.

2010-03-16T22:09:00.000-07:00

15th was a drive day. We got up earlyish, ate good a good breakfast, took photos with our hosts and took to the road. The entire house show experience was a blast, it was like being welcomed into a the house of a favorite aunt and uncle, they take care of your every need, thirty of their friends show up, we spend the next many hours jamming, performing and partying, all the while utterly appreciated. We had enlightening conversations, ate delicious food and were adored by a group of people, simply for following our passions and being willing to share it. In the van we appreciated the wild differences in our style, never settling on any particular style or directions, always shifting, through songs and stories. It was all driving on Monday, map quest it, cape girardeau missouri all the way to Dallas Tx. We stopped at a massive fireworks retailer called boomland, saw some chickens packed in cages on the back of a semi and from a distance we saw the few tall buildings which make up Little Rock, the biggest city in Arkansas. Tara bought a coloring book themed of the David story of the old testament, which she changed to old testicles. I went through editing captions and adding speech bubbles that added to the general theme. Besides that, we stopped at a rest stop and I slept a whole bunch. Texarcana took an awful long time to get through, we were looking for a sign for the borer into Texas, but it never came.

Eventually we pulled into the a hiatt and our crew grew to seven. NLX’s friends from Minneapolis and boyfriend from Toronto extended the party into two rooms. I took the opportunity to go for a long walk on my first warm night of spring. The hotel is in newish complex of fancy high rises and hotels, across the highway from run down looking houses. I walked through a manicured park around a pond/lake, and the air was lovely. I got out my trusty hacky sack and attempted to revive my midschool talent for keeping that bag in the air. While exercising in the hotel fitness room, a family came came in and their three year old girl started at me while I did sit ups. In the parking lot I practiced the hacky sack and then went to bed. It was nice having my own queen size bed, although I think I’m still partial to two yoga mats on a hard floor. Something strange happened at 3am, I suddenly felt wild stomach cramps and then was sick, I think felt fine, went back to bed and felt fine in the morning.

16th

It was my first sleep in of the tour, but I haven’t minded waking up early, because it’s always been the amazing Amanda Rheaume waking me up. Tara was furiously typing away in a little nook next to my bed under the window, that’s where the electrical outlet was and she needed to keep her iphone plugged in. I started working on some new recordings, sent out some emails and went out for mexican food with Amanda. The grub was grand and inexpensive, we had some good chats. We were examining our music careers and the art that’s been produced. We’ve had similar arches of all out rock music, moving towards acoustic songwriting. I got some supplies at the business depot, and got some disks ready for the evening gig.

Back attempting to record, I ended up reworking and extending a lullaby that I wrote in March of last year. Finger picking a melody is a tricky but rewarding thing to do. The gang all left, some to a restaurant and some to check out the cafe we were to play in. After dropping off gear, we went around the corner and had the pleasure of hearing a band called the joys at Bill’s record shop. The joys are a woman fronted rock/country/pop band from London ont. Sarah Smith is a wild talent, with powerful voice and presents. Mike Mckyes plays mean country licks while Ken and Kevin hold things down with flair. Their set made me fall in love with rock again and I expressed that love through some b boying. A band named, the bears of blue river were playing afterwords and showed up for most of the Joys set. They sure were dressed cool, it was Amish with tattoos and pink dress shirts. They were from Chicago and had been on the road for two months, god speed fellahs! I just check out they myspace, and it’s really beautiful music, they describe it as folk/soul/healing & easy listening. Dang, it’s really good, I urge you to click the following link, http://www.myspace.com/thebearsofblueriver I like Betty Homemaker . A small crowd eventually came trickling into Bills and the joys rocked out like wild.

We went back across the road to Opening Bell Cafe, the host sounded great and it was high caliber music all night. What’s to say about another incredible gig. We all captivated the audience, sounded fantastic and shared the stage with awesome musicians. There was a young fellow named Matt who was highly nervous about playing, but sang like an angel. NLX, Amanda and myself play two songs each, then Tara went up, being the featured artist of the evening, her set blew everybody away. We all got lot’s of praise and love the audience and from individuals, and I started selling CDs. The joys came out to see us and we had lots of laughs. I found out that pot is more expensive here, 20$ for a gram, 50$ for an eighth, I ain’t in kansas anymore.

Dallas has been fairly unremarkable as a city so far, no great sight lines or vistas. However, at night the city looks pretty cool, one huge building has green lights going up all the corners. Also, there’s a big glowing orb. http://www.visit-dallas.com/Dallas-Texas-Skyline.jpg

We’re back at the hotel now, it’s after midnight, tomorrow we go to Austin.

Best,

M

march 15th

2010-03-15T19:45:00.000-07:00

Cutting through Illinois things started to look more and more like the South, every few dozen miles there would be another gun club and old decrepit barns spotted the landscape. Very cute small towns with some empty houses, I might buy one of those some day. My shoes were stinking pretty bad so Tara suggested I buy new ones, we compromised on shoe spray (it’s working well). In Anna Illinois, no booze was sold on Sunday, so we carried onto Cape Girardeau, the location of our third concert. It’s a mid size town on the Mississippi river that’s the biggest town between St. Louis and Dallas. A couple named Larry and Jean Underberg have been putting on concerts in their home for the last few years and we were lucky enough to get a bill. They’ve been putting on these concerts for a few years and have developed a reputation for bringing out quality musicians; there was a good turn out of an appreciative audience. We were met by a big article from the local paper about us, I was described as playing “unadulterated folk music”. I’ll send the link.

The chairs were set up in the dinning room which over ooked the living room, where we were performing. The PA sounded good and we did our first full songwriter’s circle. Our various styles contrasted and complimented each other, creating a nice flow and rhythm for the performance. We’ve been developing a good repartee on stage; there was plenty of time for jokes and comments, it worked well when the audience gives you undivided attention.

I talked about my vocal explorations and it seemed to resonate with the crow. Apparently many of the audience members were psychologists, so NLX asked if she could have a talk in lieu of a song. A couple in the front was brought to tears at her love songs. The four cats in the house darted around the room, rubbing against our legs as we played. It was all nice and homey. The audience was all warm and generous with hugs all around. Over dinner I had great chat with our host Larry, who’s a professor of communication and speech at the local university. He created a class all about social protest in music, the sociology of metal being of current interest. Larry and Jean showed us the man-cave, a their basement which is filled will interesting guitars, amps and various instruments. Amanda played the electric drum kit and I jammed on steel body. Then the girls went off to bed early and Larry brought me to a bar typical to the banks of the Mississippi river. Stepping into the bar, it hit me that we had crossed the Mason-Dixon line, I was officially in the south. First of all, there was smoking permitted in the whole bar, this caught me off guard since smoking has been illegal in bars in Ottawa for the last decade or so. Everywhere I looked were people from 25 to 75, mostly in blue collar clothing that gave no hint of decade. I’ve heard that time moves slower in the south and I think it’s true, I felt at home. It felt like everyone was in the moment, laughing and talking with vigor.

Rick, the host, had an accent so think I could make about half of what he was saying. We settle into a round table at the back and I listened to a a middle aged man singing about fishing. It was my turn to perform and I was a little nervous, but it went well. I asked if anyone had been to Austin and quite a few applauded. Broadcasting familiarity seems like a good way to get people on your side. The skinhead milk farmer joke went well and there was some great applause. An older lady by the bar said she liked my old time style and was enjoy a huge man named ralf said he was Rick’s sax player and quite enjoyed the show. He said he loved playing sax but couldn’t write a song to save his life.

After me was a fellow that reminded me of the character “lucky” who showed up in a few of the later seasons of king of the hill. A goofy and sweet demeanor, made a cheap shot joke about quebec and sand some drinking songs. He seemed to have a good music career going on, playing in the area. Bob I think his name was. He came up and apologized for tat shot, it was against Quebec after all, he shook my hand and complimented my music.

On my way out I waved and hollered good by to the crowd. “Good luck, good by Maxim!” the crowd replied as they waved goodbye. We went across the street to thirty foot flood wall, it showed the high water points over the last hundred years or so. I sprinkled some water on myself from the mighty Mississippi. There was a barge slowly pushing cargo up the river and freight train went behind us. The south was alive and I’ve entered into it’s belly.

March 14th

2010-03-15T19:44:00.000-07:00

Sunday, March 14th.

We took off from Cleveland around 10 30 and hit the interstate. Endless brown-yellow fields and leafless treats covered the landscape. Early spring is pretty bleak in Indiana, Illinois and Ohio, but our spirits are high. Our Cleveland hotel room turned into a slumberparty giggle fest, were all buzzed and excited about the gig, we would start to drop into sleep, then one of us would chirp up and the conversation wold continue.

The ride between cities was spent swapping tour stories and discussing our contemporaries. Tara was got a call from AOL spinner and was interviewed over the phone. We passed burned-out houses, old stock yards and big old industry buildings. Eventually we made it to Chicago which is a lovely city. There was thick fog off of lake Eerie so we didn’t see much of the sky line, but the waterfront and parks were charming and quite Torontoesq. It seemed gritty and cool, a type of city I could live in for a few months . We dropped LNS and Tara off at their respective friends, then Amanda and I made our way to our see our host, the charming and talented Brad Cole. Brad has been working in the financial scene for years, but now that he’s got enough dough saved up for his daughter’s education, he’s following his heart and is going to re-embark on a music career. It was a pleasure to welcomed into his beautiful home, he took off to band practice, Amanda napped, I picked at twelve string and read Jimi Hendrix’s biography. After a quick nap of my own, it was off to the the Elbo Room for Brad’s monthly “Acoustic Circus”.

The main drag in Chicago boasted a huge strip of bars and many young drinkers filling each room. St Patrick’s day is a few days away and the Chicagoans were gearing up in style. Young folks were swaggering everywhere as the bars seemed to keep coming block after block. Finding parking was a miserable experience, but it was cool to be emerged into the wild friday night scene. In the basement of a club was the full band venue, two rock bands then a soul band played to an exuberant audience. The whole bar was a jovial scene, people were out going, and seemed overjoyed to be out and about. One observation that I’ve made is that our cultures are highly similar, I’d call it north american style. It felt like I was in any other bar in Canada, then would be reminded where I was when saw cash being exchanged. There was a girl in the big downstairs room that had strikingly beautiful eyes and a captivating smile, but who’s skin had the rough quality of a burn healed. I wanted to talk to her and find out what her story was, but she seemed enamored with the boy she was with, maybe I’ll see her next time I’m in Chicago.

Brad’s band had a great folk pop sound, they were tight, had nice harmonies, a great fiddle player and enticing energy. The dace floor was open so I took the opportunity to break it down in my usual outlandish manner. One woman said I was very comfortable in my body, I told her that it was tailored to fit. Eventually I started getting applause, so I took a break. We only had an hour or so for the four of us to play, so we took turns of 4 songs a piece. We were quite well received, making all kinda of Canada jokes, and the crow came up close. I went up last and a tall blond woman rushed me before I started, shocked that I wasn’t just there to dance. I got people moving, clapping and smiling, just like I like it. After the set, praise came from around the room and our plastic gas can was neatly stuffed with bills.

Off to Brad’s read some more about Jimmi and slept like a log. Brad was kind enough to wake up early with us to serve coffee and we were off again. The consensus was McDonalds for breakfast and I broke my year long break from Mc D’s. It was in a suburb of Chicago and appeared to be under construction. All the patrons and staff were black and apeared to be amuzed by my dancing to the soul and early r’n’b that was playing. On our way out, a distinguished gentleman in a suit pointed to me and said “that guy’s got rhythm”. “That’s nothing” as I broke it down further, to the laughter of the table. “Careful now, I don’t want to have to pick you up” said the gentleman as we left the restaurant.

We’re driving by yellowish fields again, it reminds me of Manitoba, flat forever. Cape Marneau next, in Missouri. I’ll let you know how it goes.

M

Cleveland

2010-03-13T06:44:00.001-08:00

Cleveland rocks, it’s true. As I was leaving the library yesterday, I made my first tour friend, he was a big warmhearted man named Maurice. Apparently he had a three engenering degrees but couldn’t find work in Cleveland, that the city has been feeling the recession for the last ten or fifteen years. He said he’d probably go back to california and go back to building planes. I met up with my ladies (Amanda Rheaume, Tara Holloway and NLX) at the venue, Wilberts, and it was a welcome scene. There were guitars on the bar and pictures of many a great bluesman on the wall, a good music appreciation vibe all around. We located a hotel and took off for a nap. I hadn’t really slept on the 14 hour bus ride, so a real bed was dandy.

At the gig we were joined by a local singers songwriter named Jessica who thankfully brought out a big old crowd of friends and family. The four girls did two sets of songwriter circle style performances, and I did a set in between. I was taken aback by the talent that I’m lucky enough to be touring with, these girls are incredible and I’m proud to be part of the group. Feedback was positive all around and we made enough to cover our lodgings and gas to Chicago, so far so good. Mike the owner, Bob the bartender and Jim the soundman were welcoming and quite friendly, I recommend this bar to anyone.

It’s morning again, it’s raining, but our spirits are high, today it’s off to Chicago!

Roller coaster and into the states.

2010-03-12T13:08:00.001-08:00

Greetings and salutations all, especially Oliver, who mentioned the blog and stirred me to get back into it. I don’t have any particularly good reasons why I haven’t been writing, only that the blog wasn’t the only segment of my life that’s been stagnant. Reading back, “effectualism” is malarkey. Being in a state of getting things done for the soul purpose of getting things done is the bogus busy-work mentality that drives most of the contemporary work force. However, I was always clear that it was an experiment, a trial an attempt to test out a mode of being. The post capitalism experiment was more interesting for the most part because now I know that I have the capacity to sustain with only my wits and skills. Effectualism (I just spell checked it, I forgot it wasn’t a real word) had no clear goals or clear direction, especially in terms of balance. When I found myself in a safe haven that provided all the food, shelter and love I could handle, being effective, effectively became unimportant. Why strive for anything when you have everything? The new found plateau furthered the disconnect with school, eventually resulting in one of the most bizarre emotional roller coasters I’ve ever been on. And it did feel like a ride, eventually I learned to enjoy the fluctuating currents of pain, bliss, anxiety, depression, boredom, passion and ennui. At one point my body shut down, wild symptoms the doctor thought were mono or step throat confined me to the couch or bed, while at the same time, I was experiencing my first ever bouts of insomnia. It was all very strange. Swab and blood tests found nothing. Eventually I called upon some dear friends of mine and we engaged in a healing ceremony. The act of calling and asking for help was one of the most profound turnarounds in my life. Immediately the physical symptoms began to rescind bringing the emotional issues to the forefront. I found myself completely checked out of any productive activities. Any contact with school or concert organization gave me the chills. So I sat and listened to a scholar who’s got a lot of lectures on the internet, a man named Terrence Mckenna. Of his many theories, “time wave zero” is the one I feel most comfortable attempting to amplifying.

He’s charted time, from the big bang onward, into a series of habits and novelty. At first, it’s mostly habit, the universe forms over a long and slow period of time, then something new happens, like the creation of a planet, and the graph is altered. In a shorter time then the first increment, continents are formed, in steps all shorter in time then the one before it, we get life, humans, agriculture, industry, technology, genetic engineering, ect. Only it can’t go on forever. Each great leap forward happens in less time, so eventually there has to be a moment when it becomes all leaps, all novelty and no habit or repetition. Charting out the patterns of time, he calculated that moment to fall on the winter solstice of 2012. This is the same day the Mayan calendar ends, and Terrence came to his conclusion entirely independently. He has many other subjects, particularly shamanism, that I’m into. Check him out.

The emotional fluctuation continued for about a month until the first really nice day outside. My mission was to purchase a long board deck, a particular design called an “evo” which is curved low for maximum stability. I was meeting lovely people throughout the day and things started to look up. The next day was saturday, I decided to embrace shamanic method and took a low dose of magic mushrooms and welcomed another beautiful day. Sitting on champlain bridge in the sun, stretching, meditating, things started to make sense again. I started to feel grand again.

My week was mostly ups, longboarding, recording, getting ready for the tour ect. Danny, Bob and I played a gig last night to a mostly empty house, but there was a quality crew of close friends who I’ve been close with in the last few months. At 12 30 last night I boarded a bus and at around 2 this afternoon, I arrived in Cleveland Ohio. So far it looks like a proud and dignified city, the library is impressively expansive. I like the vibe here in the US, especially the accents. While waiting in Buffalo, I could hear NY and Jersey. Behind me on the bus was a thick and lovely southern accent and I think the driver was from the bayou. There were preppy frat kids getting drunk on their way down to spring break in Panama City and next to me was an pleasant and over-weight black lady with a cool mullet.

Looking out over the landscape that’s rolling by, everything looks the same as Ontario. Same cute small towns, grocery stores, churches. The only thing different is the trailer parks. Ours are neater, the parks here are strewn about, in disrepair, often spread out in half a field or next to a winding river. I’d still like to live there though.

Cold/flu like symptoms have returned, stress being a factor once again. Neglecting the written work for the class that I actually enjoyed participated in, I’d have to write some twenty or thirty pages in the next few days to pass. The deadline to withdraw from a class without having an F on one’s transcript is today. My shrink says to focus on the thins that I’m good at and not worry less about the approval of others. Drop the class it is! Done. Wow, that was actually a huge weight off my shoulders, I feel lighter. But still a bit sick. Hopefully the bar tonight has a band room that I can nap in for a few hours. I’m looking forward to tonight, seeing the ladies, playing my heart out.

Please send me a note in response to this blog, who’s reading?

Best,

M

Open letter to acoustic musicians and furthering of the effectiveness experiment.

2010-01-01T16:32:00.000-08:00

The growth into a period of greater effectiveness has indeed begun, but is going to be a long journey and an on going process. The recognition of growth is the embarkment upon concert promotion, rallying the local acoustic scene. Here’s a letter I sent out to a number of musicians.

Greetings, I’m putting on an acoustic concert series at the Rainbow on Saturday afternoons from 4 to 7pm and was hoping you could play. My goal is to pair up, up and comers with established acts in order to help foster a growing musical community. I’ll be promoting the heck out of each show, which will be each week, except the last Saturday of the month. There will be a “pay what you will” policy, so no one is turned away, with a suggested donation of 5-10$. Performers will also get a cut of drink sales. The rainbow can hold 50+ people and I’ll do everything in my power to get those people out. Everybody likes good music, it’s just a matter of letting them know about it. Once I have an idea about who’s interested and have the capacity of name dropping, I’ll do a media blitz to all sources concerned.

I’m sending you this note because your passionate about making music and hopefully are interested in building this scene. When I was given this slot they told me I could do anything I wanted with it, there’s nothing I’d rather do then help establish and promote a community of fine performers. I’m going to give my all to make sure it’s successful and of course any additional help would be appreciated.

Since this is just getting started, I’m going to try and book as many dates as possible over the next four months. Below is a list of all possible dates, please tell me if you are available for all, some, one or none of them. I’m sending this note to 40 + artists so the first to reply will get preference. When you do, I’ll reply asap with the details of your show.

Please tell me what you think of this endeavor, even if you can’t make it. Any advice or direction would also be a bonus.

Please reply to maximk7@gmail.com

All the best and welcome to the new year,

-Maxim

http://www.myspace.com/mrmaximcossette

The dates are. January 9, 16, 23. February, 6, 13, 20 March 6, 13, 20 April 3, 10, 17

In the few hours since I’ve sent this out, I’ve had a number of response. The momentum and energy I spoke about in the last entry is being reciprocated and getting stronger.

Last night I didn’t decide on a wakeup time, that’s the first challenge. When I conquer that (tomorrow morning) I’ll know that my progress is on that way. I did start working as soon as I rose (interesting homonym) from sleep. It was with great joy that I tapped out that letter and sent it to a number of musicians, I’ll have to dig further to find more musicians.

The fear of school work lingers, rising early will most likely have a beneficial effect. This experiment is about vanquishing the personal fear that binds us. Although that’s not the only part of my reluctance; for some years I’ve attempted to make every act a spiritually positive one. This results in things like treating all people well (regardless if they deserve it) while not being judgmental, using items and food that have been discarded, creating as little waste as possible and especially taking the time to understand the unique skills that I posses and using them to bring joy into the universe. But this is an experiment that will only be lasting until the spring. I shall detach my personal emotions surrounding that era of concern and just get’er done, come hell or high water.

One thing that I learned in the structureless experiment, what that societal interaction can be a fun thing, as long as it’s on positive terms. It’s about not being weighed down by this destructively consumptive society, but using it’s power and capacity to advance notions of empathy, community, self actualization and harmony within that society and the universe. In my view the world is becoming a better place, simply because I’m doing everything in my power to make it so.

Published articles on Ottawatonite

2009-12-31T09:35:00.001-08:00

Check out the featured blog

http://www.ottawatonite.com/

And, the sin sisters show.

http://www.ottawatonite.com/category/music/

Interview with Sadie hell is coming up.

The next life step

2009-12-31T09:34:00.001-08:00

Greetings and salutations, there’s been so many links to the this blog on Ottawatonite, I feel I must retort in kind. It’s the last day of the year and things area pretty cool. During a christmas visit to my grandparents house in Kingston, I found a receptive audience to my updates and was touched at the detailed questions pertaining to my blog. Family support is insurmountable in my journey, emotionally and otherwise. This is the time of year to celebrate those ties and to understand family as a broad concept since familial love has been arriving and reciprocated in various forms.

The music and arts family is an expansive web that I can always rely on. On boxing day I received a note from Nat Miles, owner of the Elmdale House Tavern, she was touched by my plans to cross the country by bike and offered her venue as a starting point. The cool thing is that as I was sending her a thanking you note, I noticed in the Ottawa Citizen that the Elmdale was voted “hot” as a desirable and crucial concert house. It was a bit of synchronistic which made me realize that I’m on the right track for the right reasons. Living my life by following my passions, I’ve aligned myself with others who are doing the same. That being said, I’m entering into a new experimental phase of my life, in polarity to the post capitalism experiment which found me living in an enchanted forest, surviving on roasted oysters and through an act of pure joy, was dumpsterdiving and consequently feeding a gang of 5 to 20 hungry teenagers. I spent my days reading, long-boarding, exploring and basically having fun all the time. It grew a bit tiresome after a while since I had no challenges to overcome. Eventually I came across a hot yoga studio, moved in and started doing yoga about three times a day.

This new endeavor will focus on the arrangement of time and effort to produce positive outcomes. For the next four months, I will maintain a, (new word in the english lexicon) pro-active approach to getting things done. The main hurdle is to cast away any fear of success or of hard work. I’ve always known that I have the some of the best qualities any human can hope for, it’s time to fully embrace my talents, intelligence, tender heart and spiritual sensibilities. The more I work, the more people will recognize my innate power and beauty and be inspired to follow their hearts as I have mine.

I’ll keep this blog updated, since having an audience entails a responsibility and it contributes to the dissemination of my hopes and dreams. So here we go, it’s time to live Maximalism.

I'm a now a web-published writer

2009-12-21T16:33:00.001-08:00

That's right folks, all the momentum from my blog has inspired me to do some writing for a local site called Ottawatonit.com . Hope you enjoy.

http://www.ottawatonite.com/2009/12/stumbling-upon-a-reading-“up-the-ottawa-without-despair”/

My favourite book.

2009-12-13T21:48:00.001-08:00

My favourite book was written by my grandfather, it's called "Getting the Shaft". Grandpa worked for the atomic energy commission in Washington during the 1950's, he was partly responsible for the dissemination of nuclear power in the US and Canada. Eventually he learned that any processed fuel takes at least, and you can check this with the EPA, ten thousand years before it's safe to handle. Eventually he worked with the anti nuclear movement and he and his family moved to Manitoba, to get away from the draft and pollution of the late sixties.

They bought some property in the country, near a municipality called Lake du Bonney. Low and behold the Canadian nuclear industry wanted to create an underground waste facility in the area. The book entails my grandparents struggle to prevent such a facility from being built. Grandpa got black listed from many jobs, but eventually they won. In the eighties the manitoba legislature passed a law which prevented the transportation of nuclear waste anywhere in the province. This effectively shut down the waste industry and my Grandfather, now in his mid eighties, continues his anti-nuclear activist work, mostly online now.

http://www.nukeshaft.ca/

My plan to bike across the country.

2009-12-10T16:10:00.000-08:00

Cycles. Rhythm is first and cycles are second. On one of the Ramones live CDs, every song starts the same, “1,2,3,4”. Getting that cadence out, so others can join in and you can better communicate within the song. Changes of key, tempo and chord will invariably end at the end of one of those four counts, unless it’s classical music, and there’s a “rest”. But for traditional music, blues, rock and roll, funk and others, a few sentences at the beginning of a song will communicate the coming formation. Musicians will anticipate hints which direct them into the next change in the song. I think that’s what I’m doing here with my words, communicating the upcoming changes.

Since January of ’08, I’ve been working on seasonal changes of four months or less, then living somewhere else or doing something completely different. For the first time since then, I’ve committed myself to eight months of the same city, not necessary the same house, in order to complete my university degree. Monday marked the end of the first semester, the sudden coming of winter and the end of another cycle. Toward the end it had many qualities of something dying and waiting to be reborn. On the school front, I haven’t been doing much, but I spoke to my profs about my musical ambitions, so they’re cool with that. The relationship with Chelsea is officially over but were still frequently hanging out. We’re still quite fond of each other but we’re still doing something we did too much of before we broke up, that’s talk about the breakup.

The positive thing is that, as when I broke up with my highschool girlfriend, mentioned two updates ago, I grew spiritually. Since the breakup I’ve kept my room clean for going on a week ( a new record) and I’ve been maintaining my practices of meditation, yoga and breakdancing. I’m starting to build new relationships with people on the internet, getting back into longboarding and have been formulating my plan to cross the country on a bicycle.

I view this trip as my official coming out in terms of media and national attention. I’ve know for ages that I’m destined to be a shining star of some sort, the last cross country tour confirmed it and now I’m raising the bar. Bicycle awareness will be the banner under which I’ll ride this year. The song “I like my bike” was one of the best received of late and is something I can stand behind. It’s fun to write and perform songs with messages that come from the heart. A few weeks ago, I was commissioned to record a version of “solidarity forever” to be played and sang along to at the health and safety conference of the Public Service Alliance of Canada. I didn’t go, but three hundred people sang along to my recorded words. I’m going to carry that same vibe across the country.

The details are starting to come together in my mind. I hope to gather a decent sized crew, hopefully growing as we go. We’ll camp out in forests, fields and parking lots, locking our bikes together at night. I’ll organize concerts to expose our message to as many people as possible and help fund the trip. We’ll play fairs and markets and gatherings all the way across. Yes, it sounds idealistic and vague, but all it really takes is a bike, trailer and will to do it. I’ve hauled multiple instruments and amps behind a bike and there’s no reason a tent, stove and hatchet won’t fit in as well. The next step is to gather the crew and organize or locate the shows and places to sleep. Then comes the media blitz, which I’ll promote with all my heart. The press loves a good story, and this writes itself. I’d like to extend this invitation to anyone who wants to do something amazing and utterly positive during these up coming summer months. There are many way’s to support oneself on the road, check the blog entry about eating for free, but saving money now is a good way to make a safety net. The stopping points will probably be fairly close together, in order to accommodate a leisurely pace and any young folks that might be a bit slower.

A traveling bike fair would be a pretty cool thing. Carry around a makeshift stage and sound system, have bike fixing and chopping workshops, arts and crafts for sale, a bike orchestra, trike racing, jousting, drama, clowns, music lessons, face painting ect.. Making the project self-sustainable and eco friendly is an obvious.

I think this project is worth while and I’m going to start putting the wheels in motion. How pun!

-M

Getting hit on

2009-12-10T01:09:00.000-08:00

Thick snow today, welcome back winter. After I’m finished this degree, I’ll never spend more then a month in these conditions again.

As for the crazy things that happened to me so far today... I was sitting at the bar of a restaurant at Algonquin College, my friend Chelsea made a music video as a project and all the videos were going to be shown. She was off making a news bit about the showing when a a pretty black girl with a walker came up to me. She was well dressed in matching clothes and styled hair, I would associate her condition with cerebral palsy, but I’m not sure. We exchanged greetings and she asked me what my name was. I introduced myself and asked hers, she pulled out a folded piece of paper from her pocket. On one side it said , “Ifr”, I said “Ifrah”, since I knew an Ifrah in high school. I unfolded the rest and yes, that was her name. I asked if she was student and she told me she worked, then preceded to pull out a cap from her bag, it read, “market valley foods”. Apparently she enjoyed working there. She then pulled out and handed me another folded piece of paper, written in the same red ink, all capitals. It said “are you single by any chance? If you don’t mind me asking.” I though that was very sweet, I like a girl who gets right to the point. I told her I was single and that I had recently finished being in a serious relationship with Chelsea, who was walking up at that point. I made the introductions and Chelsea said, “yeah he is single, and be very, very careful with him, cause he’s trouble.” Ifrah turned around and walked away.

Later that day I realized you can get free food at restaurants by sending things back and when freeing a car from a snow drift, it's important to maintain a rocking motion.

On meditation

2009-12-10T01:02:00.000-08:00

One day in 2007 I was feeling out of play in a relationship and felt the need to break it off with my long term girlfriend. That night I started writing about spiritual things, I let out a lot of steam into those pages. The next day I told my girlfriend I loved her and a few days later we got back together. Later, while reading some Buddhist material, I realized my writing had many similar tones. I think I was influenced by that episode of the Simpsons when Bart enters into a mini-put contest and Liza offers a zen approach. So I started asking around and doing more research into Buddhism.

A few weeks later I was boarding a coach to Montreal in order to record an album with my band. I've always been a fan of striking up conversation with whom ever happens to be around me and while waiting in line, I asked the fellow next to me if he knew anything about Buddhism. He asked me why I was asking him, I replied simply because he was next to me. His name was Khan and he was the first ever child Buddhist monk in Canada. He was about 24 then, finishing university and still living at the temple. We sat together on the bus and he answered question after question. One aspect that I found most telling is the eternal moment, that everything that's ever happened and that will happen, is happening simultaneously in the present. And that we can always alter the future. He told me about reincarnation, when we create good Karma, we receive more pleasure and happiness, immediately and in as a more perfect being in the next life. When a soul has multiple positive reincarnation, they might become a monk. After a few or many incarnation of being a monk, the soul becomes enlightened and becomes a buddha.

The continuum of Karma is what I liked the most. In the Christian faith, much judgement and focus is put on the afterlife. There's one life to prove yourself, then up or down for eternity. Whereas if we produce good karma, we invite heaven on earth. Conversely, if we smoke all our lives, we invite hell on earth for ourselves and our families as we slowly die from Cancer.

Khan taught me one way to meditate, which I still practice. Sitting with you back straight, either on the floor or in a chair, eyes half open, slowly breathe in and out ten times. Simple as that. Another way is to not alter your breath at all, just be aware of the natural rhythm and eventually it will slow itself down. I always feel grounded, calm and at piece when I do this. I like glancing at a clock or using an alarm if there's something to do afterwards. Khan was a very happy and fulfilled man, he was responsible for putting on parties and concerts at the Buddhist centre in Montreal, I should track him down.

I've been writing about active meditation, start by breathing slowly and consciously, then break dancing or long boarding or writing. Filling yourself with positive energy, recognizing yourself as a spiritual and holy being, then engaging that action with your whole heart. When you practice that enjoyable action, it will contribute to the world around you.

Crazy Hobos and Winter Biking.

2009-12-08T00:37:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I wrote three good pages off the top of my head about Hip Hop spirituality. For whatever reason, it was deleted and lost to annals of great work everywhere. To keep up the daily blog routine, I instead published a work intended for the upcoming magazine. Rather then re writing it, I attempted to make the first episode of my very own web show. I was talking about the subject matter that was lost, but I think the blog was better, mostly because I had the time to refer back to my research, today it was all off the top of my head. The short video is somewhat captivating though, I think it could be a good medium for acting, entertainment and dissemination of the cool things I think about. Again, I attribute the creation of the temple, and smoking pot, to the web show going from a passing thought to reality. Having themes, skits, interviews, lessons and various segments will probably improve the product. It felt very Wayne’s World. The other day I listened to the pod cast of my internet friend Hooch, singer from the Matadores. It was well made, quick and funny, punchiness is good sometimes.

I see my show as a reflection of my life, going around documenting all the crazy things I do and witness every day. I didn’t leave the house till mid evening and things were fairly calm for the first twenty minutes until I ran into my friend Richard, waiting for the bus at Summerset and Bank. Richard looked perturbed and was describing his immediate environment into his cell phone, he briefly said hello and kept nervously speaking. I didn’t equate it to the man slouched on the ground amidst the waiting group. I got on the back door and the new passengers filled in. The fellow that was lying on the ground came in last, he was swaying and looked in pretty bad shape. He was fairly clean shaven, had a foot and a half of long dirty blond hair, was wearing a lumberjacket, had a nice smile and big beautiful eyes that were wild and seemed to be looking right and left at the same time. When Richard stood next to him at the front of the bus, still jabbering into his phone, I made the connection that he was trying to help this guy out.

After about four minutes of discussion, the driver let the dude stay on and we took off. He was flailing as he walked, but seemed to be in a decently good mood. At first he stammered all the way next to me at the middle of the bus, hair bouncing around, before Richard informed him he had cleared the priority seating near the front. Sitting down, he immediately saw everyone eyes falling directly on him. He responded with a big smile and yelled, “Look at all you f@#king immigrants”. This caused the two young asian girl next to him to quickly scramble away and the driver to announce, “any more language like that and you’re off the bus”. Richard tried to shush him, his response was “whatever, I’m fucked all ready”. “F#$cking immigrants”, he muttered.

I moved forward to say hello to Richard and see if I could be of any assistance. Richard didn’t know the guy and told me paramedics were waiting for him at Bronson. I offered, “so your in pretty rough shape huh?”. To this he grumbled incoherently. Richard asked me what was new, I was telling him about the play I was in when over the PA I heard, “were just going to wait here for the transit enforcement.” It was surprising since the guy was being fairly peaceful at this point. I noticed the mini anarchy tattoo on his hand. At the sound of the announcement, he dashed for the door. Considering circumstances, it was probably a wise idea. Moments later, a husky working class guy with a buzz cut marched after him and announced that we need to get him off the bus. Richard turned to see the recipient of his charity had already gone and went to follow him. The buddies of the working class guy congratulated him and the bus carried on in silence. Later I realized that richard’s number was in my old cell phone, so I was unable to find out how the rest of his story went. God speed Richard.

That guy was right, he is fucked. He’ll probably go on to doing terrible things, like yelling at young asian girls on the bus, but it’s because he’s the product of a series of bad situation, environments and karma. His only real crime is the loss of personal control, when things like alcohol and drugs start making the big decision in life, the small good or bad ones are negligible and interchangeable. He’ll probably get arrested, thrown in the drunk tank, sleep it off, repeat. Has there always been these hollow beings, that live only to further wealth of others by destroying themselves? This guy needs a full time baby sitter to prevent further abuse to himself or others. He’s a tornado of a man, empty in the middle.

So that’s what the show will be about, maybe, being able to capture the rad crazy stuff that seems to happen to me almost every day. That and window’s into the “mundane” parts of the general public is pretty cool too. I was picking up some things at the Carleton tavern, overhearing a snow clearing company’s plan of attack. It involved a lot of strategy, especially surrounding city plows. The employees looked pretty board, but at least they got to drink. From the back, one of them looked like a boy of 11, when leaving I made some noise, the twenty something girl turned around. I wanted to ask each of them what their lives were like, what were their dreams and goals, and how long they planned to do the snow plow thing. The guy at the head of the table had a blue tooth piece on his ear, I thought ‘identity marker’, and was less interested in his lifestyle. He was peppering his speech with facts “sixty percent of your costumers will want this kind of service”. It sounded like a good way to get a point across. When I was finished rolling and stuffing my well made suit into my backpack, a tall man dressed in dark hip hop clothes walked by. He reminded me of the guy from earlier, it looked liked he might have been part of an underbelly of society but was working hard to go straight. Maybe the two of them were friends once. I think everyone on the table wanted to leave.

My bike was also locked up at the bar, it had been there for two weeks. Good thing my lock is good and the bike looks a bit chincy. It was my first official winter ride, my helmet and ski goggles felt great and I barely slipped at all. I missed my bike and was happy to have it back. I was philosophizing about how the bike is an evolved activity. It satisfies the emotional, spiritual, intellectual and of course physical needs. Emotional since it’s fun as heck to zip down hill and around corners with grace and ease. Intellectual because a knowledge of maintenance, traffic laws and bike lanes is necessary. Physical is my favorite because it’s a rigorous but low impact exercise that you can alter by body conscious moments and bike choice. Spiritual because it combines self expression with a universally conscious attitude. Bikes do a lot less global damage then other forms of transportation and your not isolated like in care.The bike becomes an extension of the body and mind, a perfect vehicle for transportation. I’ll be biking across the country come may and your all welcome to join me. More on that vision to come.

I ran into my friend Nat Myles who owns the Elmdale tavern, I’d love to interview her for the web show. She’s a jovial character who’s created a perfect space for roots music and it’s thriving. The tavern has a great sound system, a great staff and tones off engaging acts all week long. I think all these good vibes flow directly from a fully involved and dedicated owner. Tonight was the open mike put on by the, “spirit of Rasputin’s”, referring to a folk cafe that burned down a few years ago. It was a pivotal space for Ottawa music and it’s great to see this organization continuing it’s tradition. When ever I performed at Rasputin’s, the owner Dean Verger announced that I was the third generation of musicians to play there. My grandparents graced the stage less then five years ago with their band, The Righteous Few and my mother played that stage with her band, The Last Minute Band.

I always equated that band with my mother’s pregnancy with my sister. There’s a great picture of the four women, sans instruments, taken at the big back yard party we had to celebrate my parents wedding. My mom has a great big belly in that picture. It would be cool to be fetus surrounded by talented women playing traditional stringed instruments and singing harmonies.

After chatting with Nat, I biked downtown, retracing my steps from saturday night, because I’ve lost the tweed jacket that I dubbed “the flag ship of my wardrobe”. I bought it for grade eight graduation and it still looks(ed) great. It was disappointing to loose it but it didn’t bother me to much. Sometimes it’s good to loose things we rely on, it forces us to grow and change. I found myself saying out loud,”thats the thing about physical possession, they come and go. Just like every other form of structure”. Hopefully it will come back to me, it was like a security blanket.

There was no sign of it at the Dominion tavern, nor Zack’s diner where I hung out on Saturday night. I’ve been writing at the Diner for the past few hours and things have been going well. And wouldn’t you know it, another strange character has found himself in my sphere. As soon as he walked in the door, his appearance set off alarm bells. Disheveled hair and beard, he wore an out of style sweat shirt and stank from five feet away. The server was wary of him and established he’d been their earlier that day, even though he denied it, or couldn’t remember it. He got some coffee and planted himself next to me. He said it was his first day off in four years. I asked him what his business was, he said it used to be something illegal, more recently a security guard and showed me an security ID from 2004. In the picture he was clean cut and handsome, he had more wrinkles and scabs now. He commented about my lap top and said he had one too and opened it up. We went into a conversation about hacking wireless networks, he seemed informed and used specific jargon. He mentioned a ride came when he was getting the second page of algorithms, so the information was incomplete. He noticed the flavored cigaret with the gold filter on my table and commented that he had just smoke one like that earlier. He went on to mention that fact twice more, each time he sounded genuinely surprised when he saw the smoke. As with the last guy, he was lost in a fog of some substance or another. He spoke fairly intelligently, but in tangents and often repeating himself. He kept going out for cigarets, but would come back with the smoke still in his hand. I asked him about his name, Theo, it derived from theology, kind of cool. I asked if he was spiritual, he said he followed the tides, any tides. He kept trying to access the internet but each time came across the need for a password, this frustrated him.

I asked what he did with his computer, he said torrents. Movies or music, anything he could get. Eventually the staff kicked him out. I felt bad because he wasn’t causing trouble, just ranting away to me. He was really stinky and going on about codes and some guy he stopped doing business with because his kids and family took too much time. The staff was peristent and he left without too much of a fuss; the stated reason was he was bothering the customers. “Your going to hang out with these hobos?” he asked me as he was packing up his gear, referring to the staff. I thought that was pretty funny. Outside he was complaining to my friend Roger, who just kicked him out, that those jerks inside had just kicked him out. His memory was faulty, I pictured myself in his reality, floating in and out of strange situations. I felt it was a bit unnecessary to throw him out, but he did stink like the dickens. Roger said that was the real reason, and told him so much later on. It felt discriminatory because he had cash and was being fairly peaceful, but it’s fair not to accept such foul odors into a place of eating. I didn’t bring my power cable, so eventually the computer ran out of steam and I took off. I think I’ll be doing much more work there in the future.

I was delighted to be back on my bike again. Last year was when I got into winter biking in a big way and it brought back a flood of great feelings. I made my way to Elgin street and was enticed by my friend Christina to check out the open mike. Derek the host does a great job and brings out a big group of his friends. The music was grand and many people appreciated my performance. I saw my friend Naomi and we did some grounding meditation together in the middle of the bar. I’m sure it must have looked a bit odd, but if felt great. My friend Emily was there as well, she was dating my former musical partner, Miles. We had some great discussions and I look forward to hearing her perform at my open mike.

The temple in the room experiment is still going well. Today was day four and I did thirty of each move and have started to experiment with different time lengths. I’m going for ten minutes of meditating, twenty of yoga then thirty of b-boying. I fell into my old habits of enjoying sleep in the morning. For the last two days I woke up/got out of bed when my parents decided to check if I was home or not. Tomorrow is the last day of school for the semester, I might not sleep before then, but I will go. In order to get some sleep in so I’m not a total zombie, I’ll have to hold off the rituals until after class. Dang...

Love you all,

-Maxim

Dumpster diving and eating for free

2009-12-06T22:42:00.000-08:00

I was saving this one for the magazine, but it's a bit directionless now, so here we go.

My first encounter with dumpster diving was at the age of 18 while bumming around in Amsterdam. After staying in hostels for the first few weeks of my European journey, I was inspired by my new friend Jordan to attempt surviving by alternative means. Jordan had spent the last five years or so as a genuine hobo, he’d travelled all over the States, the Americas and Europe. He was completely self sufficient, even carrying a top of the line digital camera everywhere he went. I was sitting on top of a half pipe with some british dudes when Jordan walked by. I commented on the violin case he’d painted bones on and we were pals from there on in. We cruised around Amsterdam without a care in the world, going on new adventures everyday. In order to save money, we’d hang around populated areas and would always find plenty of food in a matter of minutes. I recall a certain Chinese food stand that had those white buckets which no one ever finished. It was a plethora of greasy treats and surprises that spring of 2005. I gained a new perspective on the value of food and the reality of consumer culture. I got plenty of filthy looks when I pulled clean and sealed food from the garbage, but those looks didn’t affect me, I had friends. When Jordan and I parted ways, I was somewhat reluctant to display my garbage eating ways. I wanted to meet new people and first impression are utterly important.

Coming back to Canada, I usually had cash and except for broken bikes and tossed out treasures, I felt no strong desire to dumpster dive. This all changed when I landed in Parksville BC. I had just completed a cross country tour and had begun my next phase of “Being in BC without a plan”. I had met a hillbilly band en-route to a concert, played with them that night and they asked me to join. Moving into their studio, things were moving along quite well. Concerts were always on the weekends so I was free to explore the cute little resort/retirement town. I became acquainted with the youth after a day and found a tight nit but expansive social circle. They all revolved around a big apartment found in the middle of town above a sporting goods store. Many of them were musicians, they loved longboarding and were infatuated with the fantasy role playing game of “Magic”.

A few members of the circle of friends had a nightly routine at 10:30 pm. That was when the last janitor left the local grocery store and the dumpsters around back were free to be pillaged. They would bring a light and take ever present garbage bag of bread that was thrown out every night, sometimes every second night. One would hold open the lid while the other would reach inside and grab the bounty. Cracking open the bag back at the pad, muffins, bagels, croissants and all sorts of loaves were found inside and devoured.

After the first few trips with them, I realized this process would have to be maximalized.

Much like winter biking, attire and tools are key to any successful dumpster diving expedition. I donned old jeans tucked into high laced, light boots. My top half consisted of a long sleeve shirt tucked into work gloves, a head mounted flashlight and an old ball cap. The uniform was lucky and every night I scored big.

As 10:30 rolled around we would stuff our pockets with cloth grocery bags and take off on our bikes and long boards. The times I went by myself made me feel like a super hero, (dumpsterman, or something), but it’s quicker and easier in a team. I would hum the theme to mission impossible as pried open the lid and crept my way in. Turning the light on, there would always be a new layer of veggies ready to be plucked. Completely unnoticeable from the outside, I would fill bag after bag, taking care to take the food that lay away from the raw meet. When a new bag was full, I’d chirp to my friends who lay in hiding, waiting to grab the overflowing bags. After recovering all the firm produce, our caravan would return to the apartment, always stoked. On the short trips back we always spoke of the elation we felt. We knew that everyday, in every grocery store around the world, mountains of edible, nutritious food was being condemned to landfills. Those avocados and oranges had travelled thousands of miles, only to be tossed in the trash. We were liberators.

At home I envisioned assembly lines of washing, drying then storing the food. In reality I did most of that myself. That refrigerator was filled up and emptied on every few days. The next step was the cooking. I worked in restaurants for years for the purpose of learning how to prepare food. Now I got to use my skills in more rewarding and fulfilling manner.

This method of cooking was like none that I’d ever experienced. It was entirely experimental, being subjected to a variety of new ingredients every day. We routinely had piles of new food, my goal was to quickly transform it into a form which was delectable to a gang of hungry teenagers. Turns out it wasn’t so hard. Once I found a good formula, my basic approach altered little from day to day, but since the ingredients always changed, the dishes were constantly reinvented, seeming new and different.

One ingredient that’s utterly important yet difficult to dumpster is beans. They offer protein which is essential to any diet and are delicious. Good beans are best found at health food stores, more on that later.

The key to cooking a lot of food quickly is timing and being good with a knife. Most people don’t know how to hold a kitchen knife in properly. Start by holding the knife how you think you should, by the handle, then slide your hand up, so you can pinch the blade between your thumb a index finger. This will offer you much more control and leverage. Wrap some masking tape around the lowest fleshy part of your finger and it will hurt less with repetitive use. Now that you know how to use a knife, it’s food time.

These are my recommendations to start experimenting with the preparation of dumpster food. To maximize your time, cook as much food as you can at once, then freeze it or give it away as a form of good Karma. In terms of Fridges and Microwaves, it’s not a matter of finding, more hauling them home instead of tripping on one left in the trash. These allow you to cook in volume, that’s the way food was traditionally made and how corporations do it. If you freeze as you go, eventually this offers a collections of various batches you’ve made.

At this stage, check out online recipes, searching by ingredient, this will inspire you, but don’t let it limit you. Achieving a specific taste is not our aim here, we’re making tasty nutrients. When you’re good to go, it’s important to be cutting and cooking at the same time. The way to do this is by mentally organizing and then cutting your ingredients in other of density. Potatoes, carrots all the way to celery. The exception in this case is onions and garlic, toss them in early in order to flavor the dense food. Big chunks of these acidy bulbs go further. You’ll always have a steady supply of those two and they react differently with everything. Choose pots or pans which accommodate all the vegetables, packaged or fresh meat, noodles, fish, noodles or anything else cookable. Throw in a bit of water and some oil if you have it and turn in onto fifty to 65 percent heat. When you get comfortable with cooking multiple pots at once, high heat is best. Start with the onions and garlic, use goggles.

As soon as the onions and garlic go in, start to chop the dense stuff. As it starts to sizzle, start cutting and tossing in. Time spent cooking G and O will affect the rest of the stew, experiment. Be careful to be as tidy as possible and clean up as you go. Most skin on veggies is edible and toss everything you don’t use into a bucket for composting. DIY composting is can be creative and fun. Use a bucket that hangs from a balcony, toss frequently and you’ll have great dirt to start your own rooftop or windowsill vegetable garden.

Keep cutting, tossing in a stirring. Soon you’ll have a big pot full of veggies and meat (if it was sealed or fresh when you found it) cooking away. It might taste bland so that’s where spices come in. From time to time you’ll find them in the dry goods section of grocery store dumpsters, a more reliable way to secure them is at health food stores. Most towns have one and often they are staffed with progressively minded people. GET BEANS HERE, protein is utterly important for your health. Use your people skills to make friends with the staff and/or management. Explain the fact that you’re feeding a number of poor kids or artists and especially be willing to trade time, art or money. You never know, they might give the expired food right there and then. More on the treatment of the people and dumpster diving 2.0 later. Steal from the big box chain grocery stores but not the independent ones. A few arrests never hurt anyone, especially if you’re an aspiring activist figure or badass musician. There’s a lot of leeway and sympathy for polite, non-violent garbage diggers.

At this point, you’ve gone through the lastAdd spices to taste, keep tasting it and changing it as you go. Spices are strongest when added late. Try not to over cook, as that will zap the flavor. Cut up some bread on the side and voi la. Before serving, (this part sucks) but make sure to assign cleaning duties. I’ve single handedly cooked for fifteen people, without having a soul offer cleaning duties. One way to make this easier is to play the change and bottle game. Everyone who’s eating dump the change in the pockets into a jar, spin the bottle, who every it lands on get’s paid to do the dishes. Just make damn sure that someone is responsible before everyone starts eating.

I find the stew to be a quick and easy way to feed a lot of people. Roasts are great to make as well, but everything needs to be cut up before hand. Another option is the food processor. You can halve your carrots and they’ll be ready for a blades attached to a good motor. Don’t worry about skin, the key is to get the food in a size that makes it faster.

Raw dumpster diving is something that has fascinated me but I haven’t attempted it beyond the sealed off bread bag. Raw food offers more nutrients but if it’s been near rotting food, cooking it is safer.

An alternative digging for food is something I’ve labeled dumpster diving 2.0. I was visiting a friend at the local franchise of a coffee shop mega chain and off-handly asked if she threw out any any food. The answer was obviously yes, everyday they threw out bags of sealed, uneaten sandwiches, muffins, biscotti, cookies ect. This was effectively the end of my feeding 10-15 teens a day, but I was doing yoga three hours a day at that point and was pretty busy anyway. Until I left Parksville, my friend Daryl and I were handed between 5 and ten fancy Starbucks sandwiches every day. It was a big sad laugh in the face of capitalism, because once again, those same sandwiches go into the trash everyday, everywhere else.

DD 2.0 is hit and miss. Like the health food stores, personal relationships are important. Workers are usually on camera and there is the possibility of getting in trouble. My friends scanned the food, marking it for the trash, waited till the managers were out of the room, then outrightly handed them over, without repercussion. When I moved to Vancouver, I tried appealing to the good will and morality of a coffee shop worker there. It was ten minutes to closing, I told her I was new to the city, broke and hungry, but she was worried about keeping her job, so like I said, hit and miss. Then I walked two doors over to the local subway. This time I casually got the worker to tell me how much waste they produced each day. That plus a little flirting got me a free footlong. If your in a bind and don’t have any place to cook food, this technique can be helpful. Dressing semi-conservatively helps as well as finding none busy food outlets, they’ll have more to throw out at the end of the night. In terms of a back story, fashion one that’s odd but acceptable. Start by chatting them up like nothing’s out of order. Listen intently, ask questions and soon they’ll be grateful for the company. A great segue to the waste question is whether they like working there. Casually use their name in the conversation (it’s on their name tag) and get them to expand on any personal details they slip into the conversation. Most people’s favorite word is their own name, enjoy (if secretly) when people pay attention to them and like gripping about their job. This is somewhat manipulative, but your goal is to get a bit of grub that they would otherwise be tossing, so it’s okay, heck why not experiment with you new power over this poor clerk.

Another way to eat for free is soup kitchens. Soup kitchens are generally awesome. Separate from the missions where people sleep, kitchen’s are clean, only ask for a quick scribble on a signature page and folks are generally well behaved. You’ll you meet cool freaks, travelers, drunks and hookups if you need to score! The volunteers usually compassionate and outgoing people and the food is generally holism and delicious. Every big city has a place were you can go to eat for free and without hassle every day of the week. Ask the local hobo/punk population and they’ll set you up. Vancouver has a sik temple that offers fantastic free indian food.

The point is that if you try to get food for free, it’s much more fun and freaky way to get nutrience.

Creation of the temple

2009-12-06T03:15:00.001-08:00

That last blog really took the cake didn’t it? It was the first piece of feedback so I suppose it’s par for the course.

The actually important stuff is the temple I built in my room. I do believe that two days ago I went into some detail about the construction, operation and development of my new space and rituals. I didn’t wake up at any particular time either day, but each day, as soon as I woke, I went to the bathroom, washed my genitals and pits, ate an apple, lit a candle, meditated in front of a mirror, did some yoga, then break danced for around 45 minutes. Today I did in both directions, ten six-steps, coffee grinders and air-swipes. I was exhausted at the end of it, but I felt great. I was muttering to my self, “what a great way to start the day”.

The point of it is, I did it. I proposed two days ago that I was to undergo a self imposed spiritual growth and it happened in front of me. One cool thing is that while talking to a pretty girl about playing the banjo, I instinctually offered up my now clean temple to jam in. I had been rationalizing that the mess was okay because I wouldn't be doing anything with the space anyway. Now that it’s clean, so is my mind for new opportunities. An even cooler thing, is that after I proposed we jam at my place, I then found out that this certain friend of mine, whom I’ve known for about a year, has been inspired and directed by spiritual midwifery for the last five years. She’s help diliver around 17 babies and has traveled to Ghana to work in a nursery. It was a lovely conversation and I look forward to jamming with Gillian. That’d be a cool band name or a for a folk TV show, Jamming with Gillian.

Speaking of Band names, I’m thinking I’ll call the band Maxim and the automatics. I think Maxim et les automatiques might have a better ring. Tell me what you think, maybe I’ll post this in face book so more people take a gander.

Another effect of the construction of my personal temple is the continued references I keep dropping to Hip Hop spirituality. By break dancing and listening to hip hop every morning, when people ask me how I’m doing, I’ll suddenly decry the marvels of positive, traditional hip hop. It became a tool of truth when I found myself in an unsavory position. A girl online told me that I made her smile, so I took the liberty of prattling off the standup jokes I’m in the process of writing. I wrote a satirical joke about attempting to reverse the effects of racism by going out and complimenting the color of black people’s skin. The joke is in poor taste in order to shock and is supposed to sound racist.This is because racists generally don’t know/think they are racist. She said that this kind of communication was unacceptable and chose to cease the correspondence. I bore my soul and the supporting columns of black culture that lay within. I spoke about my ritual and offered my apology. She seemed like a fascinating creature and I hope we can resolve the differences.

I haven’t mentioned the fact that I spend countless hours on a web site called “plenty of fish”, I think it’s a cleaver name, it’s a free dating site and I’ve hooked up with some very cool people on it. Chelsea and I found each other on that site and we went out for three months. I’ve also talked to a lonely house wife, not looking for anything on the side, and an aspiring musician mother of three, interested in performing at my open mike. It’s an insight to the general population and the general result is pretty bleak. I spend hours sifting through countless profiles which state they are “laid back” and “love hanging out with their friends”. My real-life friend Danny suggested they want to present themselves as social creatures, who are comfortable with groups. This is an entirely valid point, but there’s a certain lack of individuality in the way these people express themselves. Either way, it’s become like an addiction to sifting for gold in a creek with a decent reputation. I like that the “matches” are constantly changed in the order of when they came online. The result is a furthering of the new voyeurism which has sprung up with Myspace and Facebook. Spending countless hours sifting over the details, especially pictures, of someone else life. When you do find that occasional gold nugget, it’s extra special. I hadn’t stumbled onto Chelsea’s profile once before she messaged me. And we’d both been in ottawa, using the system for about six months.

I check out the profile of a girl with really pretty eyes, she posted a pancake recipe. She looked pretty nutty and I hope I get to meet her one day.

I didn’t mess around on the internet today as much as I did yesterday. Yesterday I surfed aimlessly for hours and eventually recorded and broadcasted a video of me covering “chocolate Jesus” on the banjo. I attribute it to the temple, once again. I was supposed to play a concert with a guy named Billy Boone. It was going to be in drum and bass style. I was looking forward to collaborating and expanding my playing into new directions. Unfortunately circumstances thwarted that endeavor, but dance music will remain a focus of mine. Eventually I went out to see John Aaron Cockburn, who just got back from a 6 week tour of eastern Europe. I asked him about any musical technics he picked up on the road. His response was a zen one. He spoke about absorbing the energy of his environments and re-circulating them though is actions. All and all I’d say it sounded like an incredible trip. He’s experienced the thick of traditional Romanian culture. He wrote a travel journal, hopefully he’ll publish it one day. Apparently Matt Smith has a travel journal of his trip to Spain, perhaps our journals will make it into the new zine.

We hung out for a bit and my friend said a certain girl we know had repeated a certain erotic proposition involving him and I. I was reluctant and first, I think I’m a lot more conservative then most people think. A few minutes later, I was coveting a certain knit jacket that Andre had worn that night. I asked him what he wanted for it, he said engage the proposition and it would be mine. It’s a beautiful jacket and I’m looking forward to wearing it more often. The proposition reminded me of an expansion I’d made on in the last time I’d hear it.

That expansion is the creation of a Christian Morality free zone. A time once a month or week, when people get together and explore sexuality and creativeness in a safe and peaceful environment. I envision a routine haven where respectful individuals are at peace to acknowledge the universal desire to be touched and appreciated by others. I think my financial situation is will soon be more lucrative and I’d love to provide a space that facilitates and encourages such behavior. The job is another cool thing that I chock up to my new temple. I’ll be teaching guitar and piano to kids in “at risk” neighborhoods. Some powerful and connected people are responsible for financing this project and I’m hoping it might offer a spring board into my goal of summer festivals. I got this news from my long time guitar teacher and mentor, Kurt Walther.

Here are some notes I wrote while talking to two cool dudes at Zack’s diner.
An Ottawa cultural blog.

the zietgiest roll spirit.

Vacation as valhalla.

Not always hustling. I’m doing the hustle cause I’m break dancing.

Check out core yoga. Centrality and neutrality through exertion. Power yoga.

I’ve been loafing at this diner for ages.

I’ve been inspired to write about the cultural story of Ottawa.

I’m sitting at Zacks diner and the place is buzzing at three thirty AM on a Sunday morning. Some 18 year olds are extolling the fight they got into earlier. like lions celebrating a prey. “I hear you guys cheering me on and shit. You were like, ‘your a bitch, your a bitch.” It makes me want to pick fights. Accidentally bump into people, profusely apologize and play weak, then strike the temple! Only for the purpose of good though.

I’m starting to hit that stride of raw energy that claws at me in the early morning. Here at the restaurant, I’ve been trolling my cell for numbers of girls who own warm beds I might crawl into. I’m not on the internet, so my POF resources are limited. All I can do now is to read back over the many profile pictures and descriptions I’ve saved on my hard-drive, just kidding.

Barry asked me what I saw when I looked at the scene in front of me. I see stagnancy. This diner is little more then a late night junior country-club. I dig the fifties nostalgia, but this venue feels too much like a haven, the food is expensive, the clothes are well tailored and everyone is almost exactly the same age. This is a place where we spend money freely and the servers are rewarded if they present a positive attitude while walking endlessly back and forth across the room. The tall blond girl has been working here for years. I’ve never talked to her, but I’ve always speculated on the details of the rest of her life. She’s beautiful but a bit self-conscious in a conservative. The image that come to mind are Christianity, university, suburbs, maybe ridding horses, some kind of intellectually honorable pursuit, like becoming a veterinarian. But the longevity of her tenure and slow but steady evolution of fashion makes me think she’s a bit of a home body worker type. Upon investigation, my first theory was fairly correct. She’s a political science graduate, plus she’s dating the “sexy bartender”. There’s a certain new swagger in her step. That’s what getting laid does. She thinks it’s weird that people recognize her outside of this restaurant. I mentioned that she’s become a caricature, the tall blond who works at Zack’s. “With the big boobs” added my friend Beata. Britney made a fun gesture at this point. Good times.

A funny lepraconesk man was being uber sarcastic about the fun of selling drugs at work.

I’ve got no prescribed missions tomorrow. The one element that hasn’t been present in my most recent spiritual growth the doing of homework. On the plus side, I’ve written more then usual. The trick is to engage writing into my daily routine, now it’s more sporadic. I can start with my dreams; writing down my first thoughts in the morning. My hope is that my life will simply get so productive that homework will get done on itself. It’s a long shot, but I think it will work. Thinking positively about it when doing yoga might be a good thing. Training the mind to be propelled in certain directions while engaged in physical exertion. Unorthodox, but I feel it’s valid. I think my rejection of homework lies in fear. Fear of exerting myself to further a goal which I’ve always knew was dubious and a generally a divisive institution which serves to maintain the status quo. I’ve always known this and my reaction has always me and those around me, anxiety. My dance with the devil is almost up and it’s going to end in one of three ways. Last minute scramble, fail the classes, repeated eventually or never. Go on with life 2. Most likely scenario, eleventh hour coffee induced scramble, pass the classes. 3. Preemptive attack. Pass the classes strongly. The last one would bring most piece to the world. I think it might be possible. If I’m writing two to four pages a day of blog, I should be able to squeeze out a few ten page essays. My dad is getting really nervous about my school. My mom said they’ve not discussed a number of issues with me. I think dealing with me is trying. All I can do is keep on keeping one.

On a positive note, this will mark the first time since the beginning of my blog that I’ve published submissions two days in a row.

Love,

-Maxim

Review of a review

2009-12-05T03:48:00.000-08:00

I’m getting famous! My friend Greg forwarded this “ I saw you “ from the monthly Ottawa arts magazine called Upfront. They’ve been warning people not to try not and be mean and mostly it’s getting more civil, not always though. So I’m proud to announce that Maxim’s Mind has officially received it’s first ever media recognition!  

When: All the time Where: The world wide interweb When I lived in Ottawa I let you have (bad) sex with me because I wanted to up my musician number. Now living not- in-Ottawa I read your blog and laugh at how you pile clichéd pretension onto clichéd pretension. Scatting? Drug 'experiences'? Zines? Longboarding? Yoga? Modelling? Really? I am SO glad I met you. You make me and my pals lol-gasm all the time. (I especially like the one where you ‘heal’ the hobo.)  x x

Thank you kindly for the attention my dear mystery fan, you words of encouragement mean so much to me, and probably not what you intended. Since is the first printed mention of my blog, outside my blog, I took the liberty to slowly sift over each sentence in order to grasp a deep meaning, or perhaps take a journey into your subconscious. Hopefully you’ll emerge, or stay namless and tell me what you thought of my deconstruction of your submission.

“ When: All the time Where: The world wide interweb” 
I take this as the second most positive but also the most troublesome part of the whole piece. Yes my work is available all the time, but the section of the Magazine is called “ I Saw You”. This leads me to believe that my blog is in front of your face “all the time”. Which is cool, I guess, but I don’t have enough posts for that. Maybe your reading things over again, you’ve probably noticed the spelling errors, maybe even grown to love them.

On the next line, I see you’ve combined the two names of the internet. Very clever. I can see I’m dealing with a worthy adversary.

This leads us to the line most telling of your personality.

“When I lived in Ottawa I let you have (bad) sex with me because I wanted to up my musician number.”

I love the end of that one, “I wanted to up my musician number.” I take this to mean, you intended on raising the number of musicians whom you’ve had sexual intercourse with. My inclination is that your being honest here and not satirical; no one would describe themselves in such shallow terms unless it was the truth. However, the end goal of said foray alludes me, but as usual, I’m willing to jest a few possible explanations. Musicians are notoriously scummy people, my first thought is that you were board of life and perhaps desired some hip new sexually transmitted viruses. That was kind of mean, but I’m a musician after all. Did you think that by having sex with multiple musicians, some kind of magical talent powder would rub off onto you? You’ve written in black and white that you slept with me in order to bolster your reputation; that’s the reason why it was bad sex.

“Now living not- in-Ottawa I read your blog and laugh at how you pile clichéd pretension onto clichéd pretension.”

This one warms my heart, I like the double coupling of cliche and pretension. Both words have negative connotation, so whatever the pretension are, they are even more disagreeable now that they are cliches. The fact that you “laugh” at them and feel the need to read through a “pile” of them, begs the question, why are spending so much time reading “cliched pretension”.

I like checking out dating sights as a sociological experiment. If some one uses the self descriptive “I’m a laid back person”, I high tale it, pronto. When reading books, magazine’s or newspapers, you can get a gist of the tone and direction of something, usually in the first sentence. So thanks for reading my blog, what ever your reasons are.

The rest of the note shows an in-depth knowledge of my postings, covering the span of approximately four months.

“Scatting? Drug 'experiences'? Zines? Longboarding? Yoga? Modelling? Really?
Those subjects are scattered through over twenty pages of posts. I’m assuming you didn’t keep checking back in order to write that sentence, so obviously my stories have stuck with you. When you use the term “ cliched pretension” referring to those activities, I wonder if you understand the meaning of either term. Vocal experimentation, drug use, underground magazines, really fast skate boarding and yoga are all humble pursuits and have no common factors or backgrounds, so the aren’t excepted and aren’t cliches. The point of modeling is to represent a superior lifestyle, so that one is inherently pretension, but has no connection to the other activities, so is again, not a cliche. I should remind you that my blog isn’t fiction. I don’t choose the things that I’m passionate about and write about, they strike a fire in me and I tell it like it is. Thanks for taking so much time to learn about me though.

Things get really positive again at the end.

“I am SO glad I met you. You make me and my pals lol-gasm all the time. (I especially like the one where you ‘heal’ the hobo.) x x”

By using capitals, I take it you mean to say the opposite, that you’re unhappy you’ve met me. Unfortunately, that completely contradicts the next two sentences. The first of which suggests that for whichever reason, you and the multiple people you’ve shown it to, read my blog, “all the time”. This means my audience is much large then I thought it was, so right on. I’ll do my best to keep you all “lol-gasaming.” You throw some quotation marks around the word “heal”, perhaps to further the sarcastic tone of the note. That story is one of the wildest things that has ever happened to me, I’ve captivated many audiences with that one. You start to sound much more like a friend at the end, the quotation marks are gladly accepted since, 1. I was high on mushroom at the time and 2. I’d never done anything like that before. 3. Didn’t really know what I was doing.

The two “x”s are a nice touch. Xs at the end of a note mean kiss, I appreciate it. And I appreciate the note in general. I smoked a joint a few hours ago and couldn’t sleep. You’ve given me some fantastic subject matter to write about. I have a feeling that you and your friends will be reading this one too, so hopefully, whoever you are, you can send me a note, telling me how I can improve the next one. Maybe you can suggest some adventures so my blog will no longer be “cliched pretensions”.

Love you all, especially whoever wrote the note.

-M

ps. I wonder what you thought would come out of writing that?

December Happenings

2009-12-03T00:38:00.000-08:00

Update. December already, wild. The play was incredible, packed houses 7 of 8 nights, sold loads of CDs and made some great new friends. On the last night of the run, some pretty wild things went down. Waiting for a bus going to the cast party, a drunk prostitute took a strong liking to me. She repeatedly offered me her services and showed me a preview of her wares. Aboard the bus, I performed some banjo breakdowns for a group of drunk girls from New Brunswick. I initiated a group sing along of the theme song from “fresh prince of bel-air”. Good times were had by all.

The party was organized for the ending of another play that was going on at Arts Court. It was a contemporary play by an Irish playwright. It received glowing reviews but the directory told something along the lines of “I’d rather have shit reviews and full houses like you guys.” I discussed this with a few actors and everyone agreed. We got pretty poor reviews, but had over capacity houses most nights. In one review, the writer complained that all the characters are stereotypical, especially the cop who “came right out of american television”. A real live police officer came to the play and he said the character was “perfectly on point”.

So the party was going along smoothly, Matt and I were discussing the new magazine and themes were presenting themselves. It’s looking like a big part of the magazine will discuss the transition away from traditional organized religions into what ever the next phases is of personal spirituality. Chelsea came over to bring me an end of run gift, and things didn’t go so well. There was some wild drama and we are no longer an official couple, but we are still very close. I’ll be acting in a music video she’s making and she’ll continue to join me on stage on Saturdays and at the Tuesday Open mikes.

I certainly did drink that night. Annie from the play came by as the party was ending and Matt and I went to her house. All I really remember is doing some unconventional break dancing then trying to sleep and puking multiple times. As the sun came up, I went to sleep on Annie’s fuzzy green couch. Started to wake up around 1pm and read the book “Queer” by William Burrows, while letting the hangover slowly recede. Around 4 pm I found my way to Chelsea’s; we enjoyed a fire and each others company.

I hung out at home for a few hours before heading downtown to Bob Primo’s house. The sick sick sicks are moving along well. The band is going to perform all of my solo folk/blues stuff. We’ve invested in a PA and an old Gretch guitar is coming my way. Bob is a professional drummer and it’s a pleasure to be working with him. We’ll have the whole band coming out on Saturday’s. Having Danny Devil back is pleasure as well. He's been living in London Ontario for the last year and has picked up quite a few cool tricks since he's been gone. Welcome back dude! The Sicks will be playing on Saturday December 11 with rockalilly. I’m also playing with billy boon on Friday the fourth and with the Sin Sisters, on december 16th .

I’m currently seeking a band name. The band is the merging of my solo folk/blues/swing career and my old psychobilly band, the Sick Sick Sicks. Right now we’re going for Maxim & the..... Using a french name might be cool, but keeping the “and the”.
I write about traveling, maybe rambling, wandering, drifting, movement, nocturnal, nomadic, nymph, trees, earth, action, movement, fluidity, wave, vibration, nutrients, spirituality, spirituality, recognition of personal holiness. Maybe Maxim & the mystics, mystiques, or mistycos (greek). The possibilities are being created in order to express my sound in countless ways, while making it marketable and assessable. The punk/metal feel has been worn out, and a new, eery, louisiana-sleazy-greasy-jazz-bluesabilly sound has emerged. My voice and the bass are no longer overpowered by the drums and guitar.

Good cover’s are a guaranteed way to make a lot of money. Learning three hours of recognizable material means playing casino’s and private corporate gigs. I’ve realized I need to treat my music like any other trade. Having as much material as possible will improve my chances of furthering my original material and being able to put money in the pockets of other cool musicians. I’ve got the band coming on Saturday to the Rainbow, I’ve got a good feeling about it.

To get off on an alternate tangent. The somewhat reactionary approach to my life is started wear thin. My good friend Josh told me about his morning routine and it offered me some real perspective. His ritual of stretching and praying in the morning instilled a sense of direction, purpose and centeredness. I think it’s time to better design the way I live. Kurt Vonnegut said “ I love sleeping”, Mark Twain spent all his day in bed, where he wrote his best work; I’m happy my literary friends enjoy it as much as I do. It's really a matter of school. I have to good reason to work hard at it, grades are meaningless to me. But I should be able to pass my classes without the usual last ditch effort. To approach it like a well played game of tetris, align the pieces in advance and let them fall into place.

So, the ideal thing to do when waking up is, probably break dancing. Taking the time to make myself happy and moving forward on the goals that are important to me. I’m thinking, wake up, wash, drink water, eat an apple or something small to cut the hunger pains and get some energy, then light a candle, meditate, do yoga and then a serious of break dance maneuvers which I would record and improve upon. I think it’s time to challenge myself. The trickiest part is waking up and doing it. I love sleeping and spending hours in bed. This will sound strange, but I love being hungover one and a while, not the puking part, but everything else. Drifting in and out of conciseness, being wrapped in warmth, having time to read because anything else is impossible, gradually feeling better, trying to eat, drinking water and watching the sun set through your window as the last filaments of headache and nausea fade, mentally preparing yourself for another night of partying.

Plus, there’s nothing that says I can’t go back to sleep after my morning rituals. Although I think I’d be energized to tackle whichever project that lay before me. Then it’s time spend maybe 30 to 45 minutes eating and reading the paper. Then greet the day, feel the world while going on a jog with rufus. Upon return, bathing, then do the business of the day, e.i. spend an hour doing homework or writing for the magazine. Conceivably, If I did do that hour of homework a day, (not including reading) I could easily get straight As and possibly contribute to the fields which I’m studying. After that, eat again and read a novel. The next move would be an hour of practicing and furthering my music career. At that point, it probably wouldn’t be much past 1pm, ( the time I’ve woken up the past few days). And I would have already focused on the growth of my physical, intellectual, spiritual and emotional sides.

By doing that, I can better support myself and others and best of all, I have the late afternoon to do the stuff I love, (and do anyway) like getting stoned, going to the gym, engaging cool people, winter cycling, urban snowboarding (that should be an article in the new magazine) writing this in this journal and about spiritual stuff, going to museums, playing organized sports, going on dates, and generally having fun. The only down side to this whole operation is that I’ll give up my great joy of sleeping in. Maybe that’s my person sacrifice in order to better know the divine. And it’s not such a bad price to pay, and there’s always naps.

Since my spiritual rebirth a year and half ago, I’ve been experimenting with broad notions of maximalism as a lifestyle and I’ve lived out some my greatest dreams. I’ve became a professional model, supported myself with my art, toured the country and lived downtown with an incredible girl. I’m on the verge of graduating from university, but as usual in regards to school, I’m enjoying it but barely scrapping by. I've said this to myself many times before, I should engage it fully. By this I mean start working on projects as they are assigned and not moments before they are due (or not at all). I won't be able to accomplish this feat without rearranging my lifestyle. To properly engage a project, I should fully engage the day.

To do that, I need to reduce the clutter and uncertainty of my life, starting with my immediate surroundings . Time to create my own personal temple, like much of in the Indian population has. A place where the strongest vibes can flow. A place to celebrate the marvelous things and recover from the low points. Having room to breathe and stretch is the most important thing, because the body is the temple. I want my temple to fly and radiate like I know it can.

My friend Bashu was asking me a serious of personal question for purposes unknown. Question like what were the major turning points of your life. He noted that most people talked about things that happened to them, where as mine were mostly things I did or that I set into motion. My plans were broad enough to incorporate life altering events, such as “being in BC without a plan”. Now I’ll attempt another turning point, starting with the organization of my room. I’ve lived with no real structure, but didn't get a lot done. In Parcsville BC, I was living in a luscious estuary by the ocean, where food and shelter came extremely easy. The result was that I had all the time in the world to do whatever I wanted. I stashed my gear under a tarp and spent days doing every wonderful thing under the sun. Eventually I stumbled upon a hot yoga studio, a temple which I moved into. Doing yoga three times I day, I transformed my body and my consciousness. I slept on the floor of a shower stall on two yoga mats with my comfy horse blanket. It was a business, so we kept it clean and useful for others. I want my temple to be like that.

I’m having visions about the possibilities of my room. It’s a decent sized room with clean walls and good pressed wood floors. My own personal maxim, is to always be expanding mind and body. The universe is expanding, might as well go with it. The way I’ve been doing this, is through yoga, breakdancing, reading, writing, performing and exploring my body and music. The temple of Maxim should propel and reflect a devotion to those activities. I think mirrors are a start, to view my body as I attempt those physical practices and to hone my performance abilities. I’ll be able to check my yoga postures, work my standup routine, model breakdancing gear while bringing in light and space.

Perhaps I should sacrifice further. Since my sister moved away, a big bedroom upstairs has opened up. I could make downstairs a studio, open to my parents, teach them yoga, and sleep upstairs. Although the privacy of the basement room is a bonus. We do own a futon, I think that’s the ticket. Time to sell or give my bed away. It sleep quite comfortably, even when it’s in couch form. From there, I see the books and a media/work space in a corner, maybe an alter and empty everywhere else. I think I’m onto something. Having it as an open space mean’s it’s available to transform into anything that could into that space. With adequate storage place, the room can become a DIY dream. Recording, broadcasting, silkscreening, meetings, partying, crafting, creating and hosting art jams. Every house in the western world has good space that’s going to waste, my room will no longer be among them

I think the underlying notion of this exercise is the importance of praising yourself. To look at yourself as an incredible being, capable of endless possibilities and to not accept bad destructive habits. It’s utterly important to examine, cherish, nourish and propel your talents. It’s about giving yourself the opportunity and encouragement to know and understand yourself. Achieving a a goal is less about planning then attacking and more about entering into a lifestyle which propagates and sustains your goals. When we treat ourselves like the spiritual beings we are, we remove all opposition to excellence and propel ourselves into greatness. Do it, but stay grounded. Always breath slowly and maintain balance.

Love you all,

-Maxim

Twenty to three on a monday morning, perfect time for a blog

2009-11-23T04:28:00.000-08:00

I woke up at three pm, Sunday afternoon, so there's really no chance of sleep for at least another hour. This is often my favourite time to be awake and alive in general because things seems to stop making sense. I spent the last five minutes watching this guyshttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3Eo0E5-Zak&feature=related . There tones of good things to read and work to be done, and I watch lovely movies like Boogie Nights.

Maybe it's update time, haven't done that in a little while.

1. The EP, I released the disk 11 days ago and have gone through 50 so far. Mostly sold them, did give a handful away to people. The disk makes me want to record again with my control over the project, it was done quickly and sounds decent, but doesn't represent me as much as I'd like it. The picture on the cover, however, is awesome. It's clean and sharp; Rufus and I look really good in it. The songs are cool too, it is worthy of me, but I need to record more. I feel like I'm moving into a country jazz feel more then old time. It's wonderful to have a product though. It's an excuse to put on an incredible show at the Elmdale and a cool one at the folklore centre as well as having something to sell at the Mechanics ville monologues.(more on that later)

The release was one of the coolest shows I've been to in ages. Kenny started things off and blew the crowd away. His writing is captivating and his voice is breath taking as well as being a well rounded guitar and harmonica player. His choices of songs all have intense plots as well as great melodies. I'm going to do everything thing in my power to get that guy playing more. I have a feeling it won't need much work before he reaches critical mass. He'll get to a point were enough important people think he's amazing that success will be seamless.

Andre "Badgie" Blutea went second and was quite funny. He open up his quirky personality and everyone fell in love. He was being honest about his life and his songs and everyone dug it. He's a strange dude that I love and am glad I was able to share him with an audience.

A few blogs ago I spoke of Ingrid Gatin. We'll I still hadn't gotten around to booking a show for her and my anxiety surrounding the issue was rising. In the end, her Ottawa date that happened to be on the same day, was canceled, so she joined my bill. Her grace and beauty filled the room as she graced us with her sultry voice and inspired accordion playing. She's an incredible performer who's on her way to the top of the Canadian folk scene, mark my words. It was an honour sharing the stage with her.

I had a ball performing for my friends and family. It kinda felt like a birthday party, only the celebration was more deserving. I made this rad disk. Calculating the take, I figure 40 + people were there. And that was with minimal promotion. Makes me want to promote the hell out of the next one.

That was two thursdays ago, I had to miss rehearsal for...

2. The Mechanicville Monologues.

I'm sure I wrote about the play last time. We'll it's begun and every night is wicked fun. Three out of four nights have been sold out and we have another four days to go. On the first night, Annie pretending to be a drunk, pulled down a pole holding up the stage. I flung out and caught it at the last minute. Good times.

The audiences are fully enjoying it and I'm selling tones of CDs. Going like hot cakes. Ran out the other day, need to print more. Being an opener is a bit disconcerting since usually most people pay attention to me, but I've got a good sound system and good instruments so I concentrate on making the best music possible. And I've been getting compliments every night. A woman named Margaret Lawrence was quite captivated with me. She was somewhat inebriated, but quite fun.

I'm looking forward to the rest of the show, It's rewarding yet challenging and I know I'm making a good contribution to a greater performance. I hope to work with the company again and Liza the produce has spoken of helping me out with my career. Great people, great play. Check it out if you can, running from Wednesday to Saturday at the Carleton Tavern.

3. The Magazine. This came out of left field, well, more out of this blog actually. My writing has been improving because of this blog and I've been pining to write something with a bit more substance and staying power. The meetings I've had with my friends so far have been mostly giggle-fests but we've come up with some decent ideas. I've started formatting an online version and it's an enjoyable exercise. My first introduction is what I plan on contributing and the general direction.

The work so far can be found at http://www.openzine.com/dragoncock

My friends Matt, Marc, Clyde, John Aaron and Lesley will be contributing on a variety of subjects. We'll be going for a concrete version of the publication eventually and probably putting on a concert for it's release. The process is a lot of fun, especially the feeling of my closest friends all pulling together on something.

4. My girlfriend Chelsea has enlisted me to be in a music video tomorrow morning at 8 Am. I can probably get a lift from my pops, so that ain't so bad.

Sleepy time,

-M

2009-11-20T22:49:00.000-08:00

Greetings and salutation. I just read that last one, and jesu,um crow that's some dark and angsty shit. That's what I'd call backing into a corner. Luckily, my outlet was this constructive black book and the glorious internet. I spoke to one of my profs, he turned out to be anxtious for the conversation, I think I'll be hanging around the offices more. The papers I owed for his class I can hand in at my leisure. I've got one more class to contend with and prof #1 speaks highly of #2. The truth of the matter is that I am busy as jesus christ on a bicycle, so much so that I've got repeatedly skip English class in order to "do some research on Hip Hop". Seriously. Psyche, It's that a working musician of my caliber can't always afford to lag on the latest breakdancing moves and hip hop news. All the music that I'm playing publicly is starting to dig into my "me" time. Hah. I did managed to get stoned tonight though. First time in a week. I came to the realization that I've known I've had the best family and friends since the age of two. For the last many years, we've been getting stoned and doing silly things, Now we've made a magazine.

It's called "Dragon Cock: A gamer's guide to fantasy role-playing games."

It will feature.

Rants, Raves and Wrecked 'em's by Maxim

Scat-Sociological comentary with Sr. Pancake and Whore Analyst, Marc-Andre

Conversation avec des non-bilangue.

Stories by Matt

Measurements by Clyde

Illicit profesization from J. A.

-Angry at nothing. Picture an old man yelling at a broken clock, ect....

-Bad Mad Libs.

-Age/Gender/Ethnicity/Religious/Culturally Specific Advice/Hilarious Hate.

-Horror Scope ( I need to copy right that one)

-Funkdementals ( I'm on band name fire!)

-Threats from the Undead.

"Dickens is fucking pissed off!"
"Washington is fucking pissed off!"
"Mandella if fucking, oh wait...."

Stoner Jesus.

I think I'll do a stoner jesus bit now.

Mid november update

2009-11-16T21:41:00.000-08:00

Thanks to those of you who've been reading and enjoying this blog. I think the reason I write is the same reason I play music, dance, make cave art ect. Because I can. Because it's cool to extend your mind onto your environment. Posterity is also cool. Creating art or working out thoughts is the moment when the fluid energy of the mind is transformed into physical reality, even if it's tiny bites of information across a page. It is fascinating to find out how minds work. We're addicted to watching lives of fictional characters everyday. We strive to find out how they deal with various situations and each other. It's cool going back over old journals and blogs to see how I've grown. We often walk into the same traps of bad habits or patterns, to experience the same hangover or stress filled term paper. As long as the overall picture is improving, those negative behaviours are tolerable, but can sour the positive outcomes in a big way. I've been experiences mild emotional distress and on the same repetitive note, school is at the root. This blog is therapeutic because I can honest about my dysfunctional behaviour. This negative cycle has been going on since I've stepped foot in the establishment called "school".

Since day one I've put off, neglected, discarded the responsibilities associated with getting good grades. Basically I don't need anyone telling me that I'm smart, I know that already. However, it was my parents duty, however futile, to instil fundamental work habits into my psyche. This caused a tension in my life like no other. Year after year, I'd wouldn't do the big projects, then lie to both my teachers and parents about how I'd either done the work or that none was assigned. A foreboding sense of dread crept into my belly as the days wore on. Eventually my parents would stumble across various late assignments. As they fingered the dreaded mess of papers overflowing from my binders or bags, the knot in my stomach would clench. They would yell, I would cry, they'd help me with the work then we'd repeat the whole process every few months.

I didn't actually get accepted to university when I first applied. I graduated from high school on time, then did a victory lap to "boost my grades". That last semester of highs school I feel in love with a girl that I would be with for three years. I also branched out by joining the choir and the swim team. The funny thing was that most of my grades were still in the low sixties. I got rejected from Carleton University, aka "last chance U". My mother would have none of it though. Suddenly pamphlets for the "enriched support program", started popping up in my living room. Through my mother's due vigilance, I hopped through the right hoops and ended up in the equivalent of the special Ed class in university. It meant that I couldn't take a full class load and that there were extra opportunities available to me. The "first year seminar" I found infuriating. There was a lot of hand holding. I skipped many classes, did the bare minimum of work and ended passed the class, somehow. That's basically been my style since. A few english classes and my music performance class have been the exception to that model of mediocracy.

Not that I was an all around bad student, when It comes to classes, I usually kick ass. I've had a couple of brilliant professors, who've I've become decent friends with and poor profs, whom I've shamed publicly. In environments of progressive or at least learned thought, I'm always building, furthering and challenging the conversation. I've never had a problem with tossing out an idea while being able to back it up with various points from the book. So why is it like pulling teeth to write an essay? I think it's because the purpose of School work is usually not to inspire, but to prove that one can create a piece of work that fits into the appropriate format and guidelines. It's a contrived effort to bring forth good grades. If a paper is riddled with spelling, grammar and formatting errors, the brilliance of the ideas put across are trivialized. A structurally sound paper can say sweet f*#$ all still get an proportionally high grade. The counter argument would state that one who can formulate a concept in a more presentable manner has the advantage over a poorly constructed thought. My personal experience is that passion is necessary for the constructive materialization of scholarly expression. That last sentence was perhaps denser then it needed to be. But after four years of university, most examples of my writing were poorly expressed. It was the act of blogging, of creating sentences and paragraphs that were important to me, that improved my skills.

I'm ages behind on my reading and writing for the two classes I have tomorrow morning, but I'm getting such a kick out of writing this blog, I just can't stop.

I need to speak to my teachers one on one, and soon. If I don't I'll just keep messing every thing up. Failing these two classes would be a terrible waste of money and time, but time to a lesser extent. I've enjoyed the classes and have learned a fair amount. But if I only wanted to learn and not had this society desire to prove to others that I've learned, I would have simply gone to all the classes and not paid tuition. But my parents saved for years so that I could get a degree...

Alright, I think that's it for now. It's 2 11 Am, and apparently theres a meteor shower outside. I checked a few moments ago and saw nothing. Light pollution is a bitch.

This blog is un edited. School starts at ten, maybe I'll do it then.

Love,

Maxim

Autumn rizing.

2009-11-01T17:02:00.000-08:00

This is published simultaneously on Facebook and blogger.

Hey folks, happy November. I'm always a fan of the months changing. New cycles excite me. I dig fall because it's death. It's the end of one structure, to be torn down and reborn. A blank slate. A time to wipe away sins and indiscretions and start fresh.

Here are some cool things that I've been engaged in recently.

1. Solo Ep. The new CD is finished. Now it's a matter of getting it reproduced and online. My ideal plan is to have the record available to download, paying what you will/can. You'll be able to stream it on myspace presently. I'm quite pleased with the outcome. Seeing as it's my first official release, I've kept it simple. It sounds exactly as I would sitting in front of you playing and singing.

I'm having an official release party next week at the Elmdale tavern. 5$. November 12th. And it 19+, so get a fake ID if your underage. This is a fairly monumental occasion for me. I've been performing for about ten years, and now I've started taking things more seriously. This marks my first of many releases and it's gonna be a beautiful evening. The other musicians are talented and good friends of mine, I'm sure Ken Voita http://www.myspace.com/kenvoita and Andre Bluteau http://www.myspace.com/andremartinbluteau won't disappoint.

Elmdale Tavern
1084 Wellington St
Ottawa, ON K1Y 2Y5
(613) 728-2848

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/event.php?eid=149381393786&ref=ts

As well as being able to take a piece of me home, I'll be sending the songs to folk festivals around the world. When I'm done school, I'll be going on a long tour.

2. School. It kinda sucks my soul. I'm still incapable or unwilling to plan out rational work schedules when it comes to school. Then I get super stressed and hand in a sub par piece of work. I'm quite enjoying the classes though. The discussions are usually quite enthralling and my teachers are informative and concise. I'm looking forward to being finished.

3. Mechanicsville monologues. http://www.chambertheatrehintonburg.ca/

Mechanicsville is a blue collar neighborhood in the west end of Ottawa. It's notorious for whores and gangs, but it's getting better. Seems like all the trouble in Ottawa is moving to the fringes. This play is a series of monologues from the perspective of people living there over the last sixty years. There's battered women, trannies, a cop, a taxi driver and an array of richly crafted characters. I'm playing banjo, harmonica, fiddle, resonator, mandolins and hand drum as well as singing between and during the monologues. My friend Matt Smith asked me to perform and I'm indebted to him; the practices have been awesome so far. The writing and performances are highly compelling. There's a lot of spirit in this play, it's just one person speaking at a time, but it's not dry at all. The actors are all fantastic and It's inspiring me to write some really cool music, I recommend checking it out. Plus it's performed at the Carleton Tavern, so it's interactive and you can drink while watching!

5. Sick Sick Sicks/Unnamed new swing band.

The Sicks rose briefly to open for Big John Bates, and it was a wicked show. I threw together 6 musicians at the last minute, all in suits. Photo's and videos will come eventually. The end result it that the Sicks will continue in one capacity or another and that I'm starting a slick swing band with my friend Bob Primo. I don't know what the Sicks will sound like, but It'll be cool. The plan for the swing band is to have three hours of Louis Prima style jazz and swing then some cool originals. I'll keep you informed.

4. HOLAS, Humanitarian Organization of Latin American Students. I met the prez and Co prez at Critical Mass a few weeks back and decided to check out their meeting. Every Monday night they offer salsa dance lessons and every Friday before the general meeting, they offer Spanish and Portuguese lessons, all on a donation basis. Their two main goals are the promotion of Latin American culture and humanitarian projects in the Americas. They've grown substantially in the last two years and are now on the verge of legalization into NGO. I quite enjoyed the Spanish lessons, the meeting and the group of people. Everyone is encouraged to attend meetings, lessons and events. This is a great group of dedicated students who have an awwsome time getting good things done. I'll be blogging for them. http://www.holas.ca/

5. I'll probably be doing some runway modeling for Fashion Cures A la Mode, in support of Ovarian Cancer. These shows are cool for people/clothing watching and it's a good cause. http://www.fashioncuresalamode.com/

I think that's it for now, Come on the 12th.

Love you all,

-M

2009-10-23T16:32:00.000-07:00

Alright. The natural ebb and flow of existence never ceases to amaze me. I think about the world spinning, the universe expanding and each one of my atom vibrating at various frequencies. I'm in a joyous mood right now and it's because I've been smoking pot.

I woke up late this morning, it was troublesome. Around noon. I had no particular game plan for the day. Only that I had lot's of things to do. My main thought was of the two essays due on Tuesday. I jumped into reading the novel which I'm writing about. Finding it dry and tedious, my brain was a hot bed for various other tangents and plans. A number of issues dominated my head. The first was that I wasn't really finding anything in the book to write about. The second was that I should be writing a list for all the things I needed to do. Then in no real order came the rest of my thoughts. My friend friend Ingrid Gatin asked for some help a few weeks ago booking shows. She's an incredible musicians and I'd love to share the stage with her. I sent out a few emails looking for shows and haven't really followed up. I realized the dates were approaching and that I hadn't really done anything about it. There is still time. Her music can be found at

http://www.myspace.com/ingridgatin

Another thought was to my girlfriend's phone. Three days ago it was stolen or lost and it's been a major stress on her life. It was lost at an my band's concert so I took on the responsibility of contacting those who might have accidentally taken it. There's a 100$ reward by the way. As I said to Chelsea I don't really care about the phone, but I am bothered that she's bothered. Another thought was that I need to contact my band. I threw together seven musicians for the sick sick sicks and the show went well. After they'd all left, I didn't get paid very much. I wanted to tell them they did a great job and I hope to keep jamming. I intent to rent a PA with our pay so we can have real practices. Hopefully at least some of the members are reading this. I also thought of my friend John Aaron, who just left for a tour of eastern Europe, good luck buddy. I also thought about being Wolverine for Halloween, so I need to get some big muscles, fast. I also plan on buying a used mac book from a friend. I think that's all. However, I had about twelve pages to write for Tuesday, so I started reading.

And I'll be honest when it comes to school assignments, I've never tried that hard. In a class situation I'm always one of the best. I answer correctly to more questions then most of my peers and have great relationships with teachers. When I've been enthralled by the professor or the materiel, I also do really well. However left to my own devices, I dick off 'till the last minute, hand in some sub par work, then throw it out since I know I could have done a much better job. It's not the best system, but I've read and learned a lot. And at the end of this year I'll be graduating.

It's been fascinating observing my mother who's just gone back to school. She's doing a masters in library management. She loves school and has dreamed of being a librarian since she was a child. She's organized, works hard and has been getting all As or A+s. I recall being under her tutelage as a child and kicking ass on book reports. Having an authority to guide me through all the seemed to be more effective when pursuing a goal I cared nothing about. At various points she'd inspire me to vigorously devote myself to a project. That enthusiasm generally dried up in about thirty five minutes. Getting good grades has been an uphill battle since I was a kid. I guess I'd just prefer to roll down.

The fact of the matter is that I don't and have never, really cared about proving myself academically. I know I'm smart and that I enjoy learning. That's something no one can take away, no matter how poorly I fail in school.

As with money, school grades are a construction, simultaneously compared with success. Once again, I don't need to prove to anything that I'm successful, so I don't need much money. I have a clear memory in my mind of my mother fearing for my future should I get a degree. She saw a “string of low paying jobs” presumably for the rest of my life. Her premonitions have mostly come true. Except that now I've realized it's more important to engage in what makes you happy then to try to drag yourself up the social ladder. The indoctrination about the importance of a degree has been successful. The proof is in the punch, I'm doing the absolute least I can to squeak out a that prestigious piece of paper. (Just kidding, I take part in most of my classes) University is highly tied to class structure though. When I finish, I'll be a "professional" rather then a laborer. I'll have the magical key to many more opportunities. That's why W. Bush went to Yale and there are so few ethnic minorities in my classes. (Things are getting much better in the latter case).

Long and short, grades are silly, but learning is cool. But being educated is great thing. Even being elitist in various fields can be beneficial to the world's knowledge. But being good at school in general negligible, since it's only about proving you have the capacity to regurgitate and not absorb. More on this in later blogs.

My current serious of regurgitational exercises showcase a book called “the Vicar of Wakefield”. It's about a rich Vicar who goes busts and Vics it up for a poorer community, being social lowered himself. Things get worse and worse throughout the book. He tries to advance his family into higher esteem and fails miserably. (His fortunes picks up a bit at the end, I think, I wasn't really paying attention anymore.

My proff says it's all about ways of thinking. The Vicar is down with pedantry. The learned type who likes to discuss and who's type of smarts is derived from books. The book observes past ways of thinking such as Wisdom, and future ways like science. It's about the enlightenment and growth of reason. I'm going to compare it to Robinson Crusoe, the book about a castaway. I'm not really sure how yet. I made a bunch of notes about God and Crusoe for my first essay. That will probably be my central exploration. No point in doing too much work.

I was reading and most of it was sticking, then all the sudden there's a big party at the jail where the vicar is being held, then nothing makes sense. New characters burst in from no where and chaos ensues. It didn't really made sense, but there was nice poetic justice. The Vicar can't adapt to the new ways of rational thinking, so his life goes down the drain. Someone who's secretly been doing a scientific experiment on the Vicar, saves the day. A decent book.

It made me think of other books that have maintained a popular status over the years, and the ones that I think will be most remembered from our times. They don't have strong characters or plots it's that they artfully capture attitudes and notions of their present situations.

That leads me to the one television show that I watch on a daily basis, the Sopranos. It encapsulates our tendency towards wealth and status, regardless of broader consequences. Pauly overhears that a friend of his elderly mother has cash stashed under her mattress. He breaks in, digs around, she catches him, she starts to call the cops and he ends up suffocating her with a pillow. The genius of the scene is the ever present crucifix that dangles loose during the altercations. Our power structure and culture in general remains faithful to Christianity, yet acts in direct opposition to Christian ideology. I've done minimal research on the subject of wealth in the bible, but it's explicitly clear in a number of situation that Jesus Christ is against it.

I googled “bibles verses wealth” . The first site has twenty or thirty good ones. http://www.christian-wisdom.com/money/0/quote-category.html

I like the imagery in the first one.

"Then Jesus said to his disciples, 'I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.'"
-Matthew 19:23-24

I dig this one because it sounds like when Jesus was inspired by Eastern monks.

"Jesus answered, 'If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.'"
-Matthew 19:21

I finished the last forty or so pages of the novel, watched most of my program then all the sudden it was three o'clock. I didn't really feel like working anymore and I've had the notion of working out for some time. I recently got a new student card, so I could go to the gym again. I like the endorphins that get released when working out. Plus wolverine has really big muscles. I have more energy when I smoke grass, plus I like smoking grass, so I smoked some grass. I walked Rufus and my head cleared up. All those competing notions floated away. I noticed the beautiful foliage and thought about the water in my skin as it's exposed to colder air. I played with Rufus more then I usually do and stopped to smell a wild rose. Then I got in some sweats and started jogging towards the gym. I saw my pop on the way and he asked me where I was going. The parents never notice when I'm stoned anymore. I think it's because I don't smoke as much at one siting. In high school, the trend was to smoke huge fatties. I always got too stoned. Now I lay a 8th of a gram in my pipe and I'm still stoned for hours. The jog was lovely, through my fingers get cold fast. I think they lack circulations. I'm comfortable right now in shorts and a t, but my fingers are still cold.

I took the long way to the gym and jogged right in. It was nice not dealing with the change room. Starting off with some yoga, I realized it looked sweetly out of place in the mirror. I ran into my friend Dana and he showed me some exercises. They worked quite well. He's a fascinating character. Always wears bright or flashy clothes. He used to have multiple watches hanging from his waist. Now his facial and arm hair shaved in intricate patterns. He said many people negate their unique traits in order to project a more broad appeal. But when you follow your heart and do it with gusto, you get to know people in a more in depth way.

Another piece of wisdom that he departed with me was the notion of an “open heart”. When most people some people say “ I love you” it means they love only you. Open hearted love from one would be happy with what ever makes the other happy. It's a notion that doesn't really fit into our monogamous culture. But forever isn't real. He talked about being in a room with multiple people he maintains romantic connection with, and it being cool. I told him about my companion Maggie Sue, whom I lived with in the spring of '08. I bought groceries and cleaned the place, she paid the rent and we lived in bliss.

He also showed me pictures of tattoo's he done on people. Ergonomically designed to stretch with the muscle structure, I think he's onto a new trend. I liked the frog who's hips were strategically placed on the side of a leg, so that it jumps when the knee is unfolded. Dana hosts an art jam every Thursday night at his place. I'll get you connected if your interested. Your free to smoke, drink, be merry and be inspired by all the art that's being created.

I got back home and since we smoked up again, was in no mood for homework. Instead I stumbled upon an erotic story I'd started a few months ago. It begins with a ten year old boy spying on his 12 year old sister's slumber party. The girls get into the booze and things get wild. I'm not sure if I'll post that one or not. I have a collection of bizarre stories, maybe I'll publish them someday.

After that, I called my dear friend Alex Vlad and it seems the black mac book is coming my way. He's also getting me into some grand hip hop show tonight. You rock Alex. I smell a review....

So then I started blogging I guess. I think I started around 5 and It's seven thirty now. My parents have come and now there's a bunch of kids playfully yelling outside my house. Chelsea called and she's still freaked out, but getting mellower.

My thoughts wander to the weekend. I'm busy tomorrow afternoon and probably Sunday afternoon. If I'm gonna do this stuff. I guess it'll be tomorrow, Sunday morning and Monday during the day. If not, there's always the drop box.

Ciao!

Ps. It's now twenty past eight. I just edited the piece. This smoking and writing thing is pretty fun. I don't recall working so steadily on a piece of writing. Peace!

2009-10-12T16:41:00.000-07:00

Thanks giving Monday. I ran into my friend Nat yesterday, he said he enjoyed my blog, reminding me that I had a blog. Things are progressing. Last night I played at Irean's pub in the Glebe. It posed a moral dilemma, since it meant skipping dinner in Kingston with my extended family. On the other hand, I'm doing my darnedest to pursue a music career. They understood the sacrifice I made and the gig turned out really well. Plus I got to hang out with Rufus for the whole weekend.

I wrote a set list of songs before going on, and a list of conversation topics. I talked about my travels, exploits and opinions on current events. I realized I've written about 20 songs, 12 of which I've memorized. Racking my brain, I realized I've learned some 15 covers on top of that, but have forgotten many. Time to buckle down and practice.

The audience seemed generally enthused. During my break, a fellow at the bar mentioned how "surprised he was at my energy considering there were only seven people in the bar" (more like 12 at that point). Another chap said he could tell that I really loved what I was doing. At one point I asked the audience to stomp out a rhythm, and I busted out some breakdancing. It was the kind of gig I've been fantasizing about for years. It was just me and a guitar but I put on a great show for three hours. The type of show I'm bound to replicate and evolve countless times over.

Sides from that, the Rainbow is going pretty slow. But the Cajun Attic is going well. I'm hosting that open mike every Tuesday night. Its next to Dunn's downtown, on the second level.

The Sick Sick Sicks are playing are playing on October 21st, but I don't have a permanent roster. So if you think your good enough to play in the band, send me a note.

I recorded an EP with my friend Gareth. It's a really good disk. Me playing with an instrument, no over dubs. The official release is November 12th. 9pm. 5$. 19plus. My friends the Rough Sea, Andre Bluteau and Ken Voita will also be performing.

facebook event

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?invites&eid=149381393786

I started hot yoga again, and it rocks! The benefits are immediately tangible and I recommend it to everyone. There's cheap intro rates at most studios. I's worth it.

Chelsea and I are still doing well. I have a feeling we spend time together that should be spent on school work, but meh. You only live once. Plus, her grades are still high.

I've got things to do. Love you all,

-M

An old blog. Here's an old peice that I wrote.

2009-09-13T07:44:00.001-07:00

Shucks Rufus. Rufus is on the porch right now. He's keeping a watchful eye over the street below. Yesterday, my little border terrier got in a fight with a neighborhood cat. I heard the menacing sounds and rushed out to the little alcove between the houses. To my surprise the cat wouldn't give up. It had a clear way out, but decided to stay and fight. Rufus didn't quite seem to know what to do with it. He'd corner it, start barking and then the cat would pounce again. In the fury, I could see the that black cat's paws flying and teeth glimmering. Yelling at them didn't seem to quell the intensity, so I marched in and grabbed Rufus by the collar. The cat held it's ground, hissing away as we departed.

Still in a daze from his afternoon nap, my father strolled into the back room wearing his bathrobe. I explained the situation, and that the cat was gone by that point. Rufus sneezed and started to shake, presumably trying to rid himself of the cat's odor. This resulted in blood being splattered all over the room. Papa applied paper towel to the cut on the dog's floppy ear, as I began cleaning the small pools of blood on the floor. The bleeding soon stopped, pop's went back to bed and I started on the walls.

There's something slightly taboo about cleaning blood off vertical surfaces. I knew we'd done nothing wrong, but it seemed imperative that all the evidence disappear. I started to scrub harder. Rufus was obviously shaken by the experience. He starred intently out the window. Upon finishing the cleanup, I noticed some blood had splattered on the bookcase. I guess it would be impossible to track down every little droplet. A certain air of mystery now surrounded those books. Christened with dog blood, part of family history.

Fall Update.

2009-09-11T09:59:00.000-07:00

Greetings all.

Please accept my apologies for the last gap in posts. Upon returning to Ottawa, I've discovered that people have been actually reading and enjoying my blog. So as it's not an obtuse exercise in vanity, I shall continue to regale you with the enthralling tales of my life.

It's been under a month since my return, and things have been going swimmingly. Energized from the road, I've been rather focused and the results have been palpable. Firstly, I've been playing tones of music. I've been granted the illustrious Saturday afternoon spot at the Rainbow Bistro. That means from 3 30 to 8 pm you, every Saturday, you can come hear me and my friends play awesome music. My plan is to have a few hours of open mike and perhaps 45 minutes of a featured artist. The rest of the time I'll be spinning the many vinyl records I've amassed over the years. (As soon I get a record player worked out)

This week our featured artist is the bodaciously talented Chelsea O'Connor ( who also happens to be my new girlfriend, but more on that later). Chelsea writes songs about human condition as well being a potty mouthed floozy. We're hoping her mother can come by on Saturday to see what an accomplished performer Chelsea has become.

I've also started making CDs with my music. The disk is a combination of a live songs I performed at Zaphod's last summer and some home recordings I did with my friend John Aaron last winter. It's mostly originals, and three covers. I'm pretty happy with how it came out, so If you want some mellow folk/blues/rockabilly with lots of bizarre scatting, then pickup a copy. Send me a note if you want one or picked one up at the Umi Cafe. 5-8$ for about 10 songs. If you want to trade or barter, that's cool too. The packaging is homemade, so each one is a collectors item.

I'm tentatively joining three established Ottawa bands. It would be playing bass in the Bible All stars, Banjo in the Dusty Drifters and guitar in Instant Release. As I say it's all maybe right now, but it's all looking good.

A more sure thing is that the Sick Sick Sicks will be reviving. Exciting, yeah I know. Expect the long awaited full length album. Also, I'll be recording more solo music soon. It will be radio quality and I plan on pushing it nationally.

Modeling has picked up again. Check out the Halloween edition of the giant tiger catalog. I'm also going to recreate some classic James Dean pictures with an established European fashion photographer. I'll keep you posted.

University has entangled me again, but for the last time! I'm finally graduating this year. It's been a tumultuous undertaking, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. Luckily it's only two classes that I need to finish, so it won't be taking up too much time.

So Chelsea O'Connor is similar to me in that she's undertaking many projects, the difference is she takes on about 10 times as much as I do. She's got a fine arts degree from Ryerson, now she's in her second year of broad casting at Algonquin. She's a stand up comic, has recorded a full length record with her band, has her own jewelry company, is a reporter for rogers TV, has two jobs and still has time to hang out with me. The day before our official first date we met at an open mike and the connection was instantaneous. It's been 8 days now with no signs of slowing down. You rock honey bunny.

To continue an old strain of adventure, the Parksville yoga thing proved to be surreal. As you know I showed up and things well at the shop, maybe could have been a bit better. Simon and I talked about leaving in order to play music around the country, the plans were going well. Then on one beautiful day, a new mothers group showed up and we everything was going to be okay. I had moved to Vancouver and Simon was going through the sale of the studio when things got, well, fucked. There was a disagreement with the new owner about rights to Simon's image as well as the video he had made. As well as a disagreement with Simon's girlfriend about opening another studio up in a 100km vicinity. The result was locked doors and fired teachers. The studio has been in my prayers. I'm hoping they can resolve their differences.

I've been keeping up my yoga and it's been great!

I think that's all for now. I should probably get a job. If anyone has a cool job for me, let me know.

And give me feed back.

Also, I'm really good at cooking and playing music. So if you want me to come over to your house or party I can create a fantastic meal for as many people as you want and then I can sing you songs about my life on the road.

And, come to critical mass. http://www.ottawacriticalmass.blogspot.com/

I think that's all for real this time.

2009-07-21T22:21:00.000-07:00

More writings soon. In the meantime, check out this interview I did with Buckshot, for MVRemix. http://www.mvremix.com/urban/interviews/buckshot_interview_2009.shtml

2009-07-09T03:32:00.000-07:00

Salutation,

We spent Sunday tying up loose ends and packing up the shop. The crew had a good vibe going, we went for drinks then said goodbye to Darrell. The jeep was packed like never before, very cozy. I was reading a definitive legends book about Hip Hop. Lauren Hill's soft, rich voice came to me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ighu4gGlaUE

The ride to the ferry was exhilarating. A warm breeze flew in the window and the dogs rested their heads on my shoulder. We ate some mild mushrooms along the way and were buzzing as we got in line. The line up of cars was massive, going on for many blocks, hundreds of cars lay still. I strolled by on the sidewalk and sang tunes from the jungle book. Coming across a steel fence, I began an acrobatic dance. Swinging back and forth, standing on my hands, I was free as a bird as drivers gazed on from their cars. I chatted with a fellow from Ontario, his business was installing hot tubs. Unfortunately his boss abused substances and was unreliable.

Eventually we were the last few to get into the ferry parking lot. We took the dogs for a walk and all eyes were on us. Kasha is a 5 year old husky/collie mix. Mostly white with brown patches. Chief is an eleven month old boxer/great dane mix. He's brown with black stripes, a huge body, long snout and long legs. Kasha is wise, cunning yet tender. Chief is cuddly, affectionate and a beautiful specimen. Word travelled quickly that a "one of a kind" dog was around. Chief has lot's of fans. As for the handlers, we were shirtless, both 6", tanned with sculpted yogi bodies. Simon is also covered in Tattoos.

As we sat watching the sun set, I was breakdancing and Simon started doing hand stands. A local film maker asked to shoot us and we put on quite a show. Expect the link soon, it's going to be stellar. At the end of one song, Simon did a backflip from three feet up onto pavement. He had already hurt himself on Canada day and caused himself some semi-serious injuries. I had to carry him on my shoulders back to the jeep, dogs in tow.

Were were among the last 5 cars to make it onto the boat. We waved goodbye to the long lines behind us. I found Simon some ice and went for a wander around the boat. I started reading "Zen in the Martial Arts" by Joe Hyams. This enlightening read talks about a route to inner tranquility through active meditation. Lot's of grand lessons that apply to any lifestyle. What stuck with me the most was to appreciate the marvelous beauty and chaos that exists in everyday life.

I had a long talk with a cool cat named Julian and his beautiful girlfriend. He gave up playing football professionally to follow a path that enthralled his mind, as well as body. One of his companies helps NFL teams "go green" by making environmentalism cool and attainable. The other company furthers a process that his father patented. They run energy audits and make sure the many separate firms that come together in order to create a building, work together in the most efficient way.

Julien's girlfriend (sorry I can't recall your name) told me about a friend of hers who went to Nepal and became engulfed into the culture. The friend wrote a book of sayings he picked up from the old lady who lived below him. When the old lady came to the America's and was introduced to an indigenous person, she recognized them immediately as family. We realized that the various parts that made up our own ethnic heritages spanned most of the world. We sang "we are the world" while holding hands. Good times.

Julian had a great anecdote explaining the rise of humans. . First there was gas. Then rocks. Then it started to rain. Then the rocks started to walk. I look forward to seeing those cats again. Wonderful new friends. I also met a chap named Tom, from New York. He and his wife had done everything they needed to do in NY and now lived on an acreage outside the city. "Nothing more FTW then growing your own veggies". He was friends with Toby from the NYHC band H20. H20 was the first punk band that I went to see.

Arriving in Van, we realized we had no real plan, hadn't contacted anyone and had nowhere to crash. Our cell phones were dead and neither of us had chargers. Thank goodness for the internet. I carried Simon on my back into an internet cafe and began browsing our online resources. To my utter joy, my old friend Brian Shaw had seen my first blog entry and had sent me a note. Brian and I worked as lifeguards together at camp Opemikon. Six years ago we ran the show and had a wicked summer together. He's been working as a filmmaker in Van for the last few years. He's career has been his central focus, so his social life has taken a bit of a hit. Our coming together was mutually beneficial. His note was manna from heaven on my first night in the big city.

We drove to Brian's apartment and I carried Simon onto the couch. He went to sleep right away, cuddling the dogs. Brian and I went for a long walk and caught up on old times. The next day we made contact with Christian at the Bickram yoga studio on Commercial drive. I spent the day strolling up and down the avenue. It's a wonderful community, tucked away in east vancouver. The strip is vibrant, filled with hip people and cool things to see. I was trying on a red Adidas jogging jacket and asked for feedback from a girl in the store. It turned out to be Nienke Rachel Moolenaar. It was the sort of meeting that reaffirms I'm always in the right spot at the right time.

She grew up living in the Netherlands, Australia, England and Tennessee. Such life experience makes for fascinating perspective and an accent that is constantly shifting. Intonation and expressions that flow from one continent to the next in a single sentence. She'd been living in Montreal, flew and hitched around Canada and was going back to Montreal the next day. We made plans to meet that evening, but ended up meeting by accident twice more that afternoon. We talked about yoga, traveling, spirituality, drugs, dancing and swapped travel stories. Eventually I noted that we could spend a lot of time together and she agreed. She suggested we travel the world together. After an adventure in a chinese restaurant, we headed downtown. We munched on some magic mushrooms and were soon giggling profusely.

A few blocks out of the sky train, things got pretty weird. An old homeless man was vigorously begging, ignored by the pedestrians. He was bent in the middle, clutching his back, waving an empty hat in the other hand. He was crying out desperately for aide, yet no one even acknowledged him. I asked him how his day was going and he said "pretty bad". Apparently he hadn't eaten of slept since the morning before and was still five bucks short of a shelter bed for the night. Nienke gave him all her spare change and some blueberries she had in her backpack. A sense of calm came over the man as we spoke. Utterly grateful for the gifts he assured Nienka he would never throw away such good food.

His back was giving him a lot of pain and I offered to try energy healing. He accepted my offer and the three of us visualized energy coming up from the earth and down from the universe. We saw it going through the crown of his head and up through his heals. With long slow breaths, we loved the pain away from his sore back. He appreciated our attention but visit was cut short by another man attempting to intimidate me.

His cold eyes stared me down, and without any interaction, we knew it was time to leave. The spooky, middle aged man was wearing a leather jacket and jeans. He started to follow us down Granville ave. After one block, he asked where I was from. Upon response he suggest I return there. I readily agreed and we kept walking away. And he kept following us. He made various references to a certain gang and repeated a boss' name. It was clear the fellow was deranged and eventually I stopped to face him. I whispered my mantra "peacefulness" and stood with a calm face, open chest, arms slightly out. He asked "what's your tattoo say?" I said that I had none. "Well maybe I'll pretend I don't have one either", and walked off. We went the other way.

We met some b-boys on the street then sat down. My heart was racing for a good while after that little episode. Eventually we went dancing at a blues club then I walked her back to her hostel.

As I was walking back to East Van, I did some wonderful meditating and ran into some cool guys from Gatineau. They took four days to drive across the country and were off to find climbing walls. Then I walked back to Brians, going over the day in my head.

Nienke and I were supposed to meet the next day, but it never happend. She didn't pick up her phone and we never ran into each other. I spend the day walking up and down Commercial Dr. It wasn't pouring rain that day, but it wasn't spitting either. I went in every business asking if they'd seen a quirky european girl with a funny haircut. I ran into some Christians offering free prayers. It was a cool process. One of them said "please God, help Maxim find his friend before she goes back to the Neatherlands. He seems like a good guy and I think he should be rewarded for his loyalty to his friends." The were the types of christians that actually seemed "Christ-ian". Giving of the self for sake of the act. In the end, it didn't work. I sat on a bench, wrote poetry and expanded our moments together into infinity.

I longboarded back to Brian's house and we had an awesome photoshoot. Some results can be viewed at http://www.modelmayhem.com/658643 .

Wednesday I put the shots on the net and did another photo shoot. This time the roles were revered. The pics were great. I'll link up eventually. We watched old camp videos and pictures. In the evening we took a long walk.

This morning we woke at a decent hour and as the sun came out, we went to wreck beach. http://www.wreckbeach.org/ . It was was like finally coming home. Pure peace and beauty. Maybe I'll write all about that tomorrow.

Love you all,

-M

If anyone has any comments, suggests, questions, please lay 'em on me.

2009-07-08T22:06:00.000-07:00

Greetings yall, it's been a wild few days.

But before I relate the last few days adventures, I'm going to muse in a calm, rational way about drugs.

For as longs as humanity has attained consciousness, we attempted to alter that consciousness. The ritualistic consumption of mind/body altering substances remains a central tenant of countless spiritual communities. From peyote to Manichewitz, people have always been testing the limits of intoxication in order to attain various states of mind. However, drugs stopped being disseminated in strictly meaningful ways a long time ago. Drugs like caffeine and alcohol, respectively a stimulant and depressant, seem to drive our society. The pharmaceutical industry exploded over the last half century as various governments continue to state that "drugs are bad" and to "just say no". The truth is that drugs, like any other inanimate object, possess no intrinsic value. It's the usage that results in beneficial or detrimental outcomes.

The role of "shaman" was traditionally passed down through the generation. This was a person with an intimate knowledge of drugs that could advise on matters physical and spiritual. They would gather, cure, prepare, administer the drugs, then interpret the reaction. Adversely, the advice passed down to me on the subject of pot was "just don't do it". Such words of wisdom from my parents are entirely understandable, yet wholly irrational. Everyone knew that I'd try it eventually but fears of the "gateway drug" caused my folks to express the issue as entirely black and white. The taboo reputation made it entirely more desirable. Instead of experimenting with the drug in a safe environment, I clandestinely tried to smoke as much as possible. Luckily I've always been wise enough to stop smoking when my brain gets too mushy. For many the habit is difficult to break.

But for others it's important to consume various drugs everyday. For many people drugs help to reduce anxiety, tap into creativity and gain higher levels of consciousness. I've been off pot for weeks, but it gives me a lingering alternative perceptive remains. When I did smoke, I gained an astounding boost of physical energy. I can do many more pushups when I'm high. On the negative side, after a period of daily smoking, the drug fogs my mind. Like all things in life, a middle road is the way to go. A tiny drag would now get me high for hours.

To conclude, I've decided I will chronicle my drug use. I do this to be honest about the balance of pleasure, work and spirituality that I've attained. I want you all to know that I'm wise enough to stay safe and I encourage you to do the same. I also hope to break down some of misconceptions and fears about drug use. The lesson is to be inspired to do what you want. Triangulate your gut, your heart and your head and you'll always made the right decision.

Love you all,

-M

2009-07-04T23:43:00.000-07:00

Good evening all, so glad you've perused my musings. Today I find myself in the small community of Bowser, BC. A sleepy little gaggle of houses and farms in the heart of Vancouver Island. About 5 months ago, I took off an an journey of epic proportions. My friend Miles Howe asked me to join him on a cross Canada trip. We played over forty shows in two months. Then the band came to an explosive end. Some highlights of the trip included the brilliant city of Winnipeg and sleeping on "old dump road". I kept a journal throughout the trip, so more details will come eventually.

For the last three months, I've been living in the small town of Parksville, BC. On my way to visit a friend on Gabriola Island, I came across a drunken hillbilly band called "Kin Fo", http://www.kinfo.20fr.com/. I performed with them that night and they asked me to join the band. After an incredible week on Gabriola, I moved to Parksville, Kin Fo's home base. The band has been in existence for over ten years, I became the 38th member of the 4 piece band. A highlight of thoes days is the concert at the frontiersmen pub in Coombs. The crowd was pumped and enthralled by our performance and by my special brand of naked break dance banjo playing. Eventually I veered away from kin fo, but I think I'll always be part of that hillbilly family. I understand they are booked to play Merit country music fest, I'll probably be joining them for that.

I've made many great friends in Parksville. There's an apartment called "the Wizemen's" or "the three wise men". It was named after the three tenants, two of which still live there. It's a hub for folks around 20. Lot's of couches, filled every night. Dumpster diving is a hobby I've aquired there. Behind ever supermarket lies a trove of fresh produce (though perhaps not pretty), packaged goods (with an exipred date) and morning fresh bread. We hop in, fill about four grocery bags at a time, then cook massive veagan meals. It's rewarding on many levels.

There was a lot of down time from kin fo, and I picked up longboarding. A derivative of skateboarding, with a focus on crusing. The oversized boards allow for smoother travel at greater speeds. The downhill aspect is intense. With the help of GPS, my pals have been clocked at speeds of over 100km/h. A helmet is imperative and so are special sliding gloves. The gloves allow for two more points of balance, like a catamaran. I made my own pair by sawing apart old cutting boards, melting one side with a blow torch, then sticking them to a pair of work gloves. As the weight is shifted onto the hands, the spinning whells drift and slide in a controlled manner. Some good sliding clips, about 20 seconds in at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWEYA46sL_k

I hitchhiked to Dangerbay 8, the largest gathering of longboarders in the world. Four days of marvel. I played a lot of banjo, skated down hills while high on mushrooms, was beat into the longboard family and dropped acid. An incredible time over all. There a shot of me drinking beer our of my friend Darrell's 40 ounce bottle at 5:57 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KV7wl6KrYBU

The community of longboarders is full of passion and love. It all started in this corner of the universe and has grown exponentially. The world wild family is tight nit group and it's a pleasure to spend time with them. Each month companies and riders expand their skills and products. I predict big things for this sport. One highlight of the weekend was bombing down hills while holding hands with a lovely girls. I became palls with the Peurto Rican team. They had been fund raising for months in order to pay for their flights. I asked a for a cool cuss word and they said "Cabron", it means quite a few things. I'd shout it out each time I saw them and the group would always holler it back with great big smiles.

The acid was pretty wild. The best part was when I climbed a pine tree and controlled it's various limbs with my own. I made it dance like a giant puppet to the cool bands that were playing.

The word "rabble" came up a lot that weekend. It's a way getting crowed riled up.

One month ago, my friend Anita invited me to hot yoga at the Hot and Cool yoga club. The experience was life altering. Through infrared lights and regular heat lamps, the mirrored studio becomes a den cleansing and growing. I sweated buckets was able to bend in new and different ways. Immediately after the class, I told the owner, Simon Daniels, that I intended to come every day and apprentice with him. Since then I've been averaging about 2.5 hours of yoga a day. I'm in a new state of mental and physical focus. Being able to touch my toes without bending my knees is a new bliss. My back pain has alleviated and my muscles are sculpted like never before.

Simon and I have been playing music together and it's grown in to something big. Along with our friend Darrell, we've formed the Pirate Yogi Crew. Our style blends folk and rap, while spanning everything in between. We went to the Song City studio in Vancouver last week to begin recording, and things are progressing nicely. While there, we recorded three songs and are in the process of editing them. Expect an EP release shortly. The studio is an expansive renovated warehouse. The two main studios are flanked by a maze of smaller, privatly rented rooms. The result is a brilliant community of musicians. I was helping some fellows carry an apartment size piano up a flight of stairs, when lo and behold, next to me was Steve Bays, the singer from Hot Hot Heat. I also got to hang out with Red1 from the Rascalz and Kiprios from Sweatshop Union. All charming and warm dudes. I'm looking forward to running into them again. We stayed the night in a refurbished tour bus from the thirties and fantaizsed about our future music careers.

Two days ago Simon sold the studio and we're moving to Vancover tommorow. We'll be perfroming and recording as much as possible, making money and waves. After a month, we'll be heading down the west coast to California.

Canada day was a few days ago. As Chilluack was playing, we were dacing and bending and flipping and dipping behind the sound booth. The sightlines wern't great, so many people focused their attention on us. Applause roared around as we fed off the crowd's energy. So look out...

If anyone has any suggestion for spots of people to check out in Vancover, lemme know.

I guess that's all for now, more will come. Love you all,

-M