fragments
pieces that keep me breathing
hemingway marion, massachusetts usa
written august 2014
i used to write stories. i pretended there wasn’t anything else to do other than sit in my room and write until the phone rang and someone called, but no one ever did. in high school, i never had anything. malfunctioning relationships, i guess, and video games, but never anyone to rely on, anyone to turn to. when i was in eighth grade my first friend left because his parents decided they couldn’t stand each other anymore. a year later, another friend left––moved south for the winter and never came back. after that, i was convinced there was something wrong with me, that maybe i wasn’t meant to be friends with anyone.
six years later and i still think that’s why no one answers my messages. it doesn’t matter what kind of message i’m trying to send. it never goes through. maybe it’s blocked by someone on the other end of the line or maybe it’s something about me, something about the person i can’t be because my impatience and stubbornness get in the way. maybe it’s because no matter how many times someone makes me breakfast i can’t say thank you without clenching my teeth. i can’t admit i’m wrong or that i have no idea what i’m doing, i can’t admit anything.
i write about girls i don’t even know, as if somehow laying next to them would tell me anything. like being in their apartments, after everyone is gone, is somehow better than being alone in my bed with only my dreams. i write about the things and friends i wish i could have. i write the backgrounds to the stories i’ve heard and seen. i write because it makes me feel like there’s a reason to live.
after some of this stuff, some of the things that are happening in this world, i’m convinced i’ll never find a reason to live. children die every day so i can sit here and type and drink poison and feel sorry for myself. there’s always gonna be pain, there’s always gonna be suffering, there’s always gonna be injustice. maybe that’s why i find it so hard to stay in one place, so hard to be in an area of consciousness that agrees with me––because i realize no matter where i go i can’t get away.
i think the only reason i haven’t killed myself yet is because i’m afraid i won’t do it right the first time. i don’t wanna have to go through the whole process of still being alive with a bullet in my brain, bleeding out on the sidewalk or wherever i end up. just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt, but maybe that’s just the poison again––wouldn’t be the first time.
last night, i met a gashole and we talked for two hours. he bought me drinks, bummed me smokes, and talked with me about the future. opposite sides of the fight, we were allies of the war. “we’re fucked,” i said. “as a species. so what the fuck can we do?” he looked at me and shook his head. “i dunno,” he said. “smoke?” i took a parliament and lit it, sucking deep and hoping maybe my other lung would collapse. i didn’t cough. i frowned.
when i asked him for his name he was hesitant. “i don’t want you to fuck me,” he said, referring to my being a journalist.
“if i write about you i’m not gonna use any names,” i said. “you might know, but no one else will.”
he pulled me in close. “you gotta watch yourself,” he said. “some of these people… i wouldn’t want you to end up on the side of the road.”
i laughed.
“seriously,” he said. “be careful.”
a day later and i’m leaving for home tomorrow. it’ll be the first time all summer that i’ve been away from gas wells and drilling rigs for more than a week. i might even be able to get some fresh air into the mix. maybe a relaxing moment or two, drinking with my family and pretending everything’s okay; that we aren’t fucked; that the summers will keep coming; that the education wasn’t a waste; and that the faucet water will never turn brown and smell like dinosaur breath.
i dream about being an ant and watching the gas wells and drilling rigs tower around me, scattering my family, their spills flooding my village. sometimes i’m a bear or a deer and sometimes i’m a human, just a regular human and i watch as the grass and surrounding trees burn down around me. before i can be swallowed by fire, someone in a helicopter grabs me and pulls me away as the world explodes. “we’ll find another one,” they say, and i wake up.
people ask me what i do and when i tell them they either don’t believe it or don’t care. “i fight the gas industry,” i say. “i’m writing stories about people who’ve been impacted. you know, landowners.” they nod or say something like “that’s so cool,” and continue drinking. i wish that conversation would continue. i wish people would listen.
i’ve written all this before. i’ve written all of this a thousand times. maybe if i keep writing, at some point, i’ll realize what i’m saying wrong and why all the rejection emails tell me to refer to their website handbooks. i’m probably just like a billion other depressed twenty-somethings and everyone i email is just waiting for me to off myself so my messages don’t crowd their inboxes.
a friend told me i reminded her of Hemingway and i joked about not letting me near any shotguns, ignoring the compliment i didn’t deserve. i wish some of the places i’ve written to would think that––that i was someone worth listening to––even if it’s through cloudy glasses of cheap beer and stories that make psychiatrists juggle the contemplations that precede a suicide. maybe soon the letters will be sent back with checks inside that can pay for food so i’m not eating spaghetti for four days in a row and substituting caffeine crashes and masturbation for sleeping pills. some nights, i lay awake, waiting for replies and others i fall asleep on the couch with a glass in my hand and my laptop open to whatever bullshit i’ve been writing to myself.
i used to post it all online, but now that i understand how writing really works, i’d rather leave it for someone to find, years later. i have a habit of getting into brushes with death––i’ve always admired Michelangelo and the turtle who taught me he liked pizza. i’ve never been to Rome, but the Cysteine Chapel appears to be a close friend of mine in disguise. maybe there’s a novel in there somewhere. someone should write that.
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journal entry rishikesh india
written april 2025
the mind must periodically be emptied. like a car’s transmission fluid or a pool or even a river or the ocean. letting all the stories build up will lead to second-guessing and decay. when a thought arises, question it. sit with it. does it lead closer to love? does it lead closer to fear? the body must move. like the mind. too much stagnation will lead to pain + confusion. allow people to be your angels. if every interaction is fated, what is the movement necessary to navigate the block you’re facing? where do you allow frustration or discomfort to win? are you following someone else’s path? are you honoring your worth? are you truly living in the moment? are you taking on others’ suffering? others’ stories? others’ truths? are you afraid of progress? are you questioning the journey? what is the lesson? where is the dis-ease? the discomfort? the dis-harmony? do you believe the story you’re telling yourself? do you want fame? do you remember to pray? do you make offerings? are you allowing happiness?
the last 2 weeks have been clear signs to move on. don’t hold on. to april. to friends. to outcome. you don’t have to make a difference. you don’t have to be ghandi or yeshua. you are penn. walk your path. connect with the present. share your gifts. allow space for others to share theirs. allow for spontaneous abundance and fullness. talk about what you envision. share your dreams. not every connection has to be so deep. open to love. open to balance. don’t run in circles. no mind games. authenticity and love. blossom. get away from the phone. don’t seek validation from apps designed to steal your attention. build your network. who can help? do you need money? or are you believing someone else’s truth? your worth is not found in possessions. it is not found in others’ opinions. it is not found online. or in a book. it is inherent. you are worthy. you deserve love. you deserve freedom. break your chains. play. remember who you are. as a child of the multiverse. the songs are reminders. codes. processors. pieces of them will always resonate. allow them to guide you. allow them to draw people to you. share them. it’s not about the outcome. you will die. one day. and you won’t come back. not here. everyone you love will die. there is no stopping death. no cheating fate. no lying to yourself. you must embody truth and integrity and authenticity. where are you holding yourself back? where do you feel resistance to change? in your body. in your mind? in your movement? in your expression. how can you be of service to people? what do you offer? what is the value of what you offer? why aren’t people paying you? what is your resistance to making money? what outdated programs are you running? are you undervaluing yourself? what can you do to bring more love and abundance into your present? where do you feel stuck? where do you feel weak? are you the only person holding you back? how can you cultivate more faith? more connection? how can you monetize what you already have? what makes the most sense to focus on? conversation circles? communication videos? trust the vibe.
sit in stillness. for as long as you can. everything the mind says is a story. that you made up. no one is laughing at you. the universe is laughing with you. people have no idea who you are. share truth. allow others to teach, and don’t take on the teachings that don’t resonate. get into the sunshine. bring your guitar everywhere you can. offer to play songs for people. allow doors to open. don’t overshare. don’t burn out. let the signs guide you. don’t get obsessed with your body or your embodiment. do what you can. don’t overcomplicate things. life should be simple. cry more. make. everyone is here to help. no one is out to get you. you are protected. you are whole. you deserve to be compensated. you deserve to be held. you deserve to be nurtured. focus on those in your present. stop fearing. compliment people. start conversations. don’t allow anyone to rush you. everyone has their journey. their place. people will project and reflect. endlessly. allow it, but don’t take it on. there is no destination. nowhere to get to. the day is a mystery. allow it to unfold. appreciate the canvas.
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how i got here koh phangan thailand
written may 2025
never fit in — black sheep my whole life. the kinda person you’re told “not to be” when you grow up. covered in tattoos, never had a real job for more than a few months, and lived (and still live) with basically no responsibilities or destinations. turns out — i’m actually crushing it. maybe not in a lot of ways, but in the ways that count. i’ve lived a whole life at only 33 and just started a new project that will shape my whole life as an artist and space holder.
where to start?
as a baby, was walking around with instruments and singing. in grade school was shouting out in class and spending time in the hallway. in middle school was bullied for having tourette’s and met girls off myspace in roller skating rinks. in high school played video games in the basement and expressed myself through theatre. topped out a toyota avalon at 136 mph. first relationship. lost my virginity. anti-climactic. played a lot of whiffle ball in my backyard with neighborhood kids.
moving on. lol college days. frat life. born again christian. vegan af for climate change and the planet (what a joke). women i didn’t know how to love. met a girl who lived in the same freshman dorm room (same bed even) and got head from her while we pretended to watch some netflix series. more toxic people. kicked out of the frat for being too “me.” dated a girl i barely knew. had sex 3 times in college with one girl. it sucked every time. no chemistry.
at 21 graduated my $60K-a-year college, jobless and directionless, headed to northeast pennsylvania to help landowners dealing with gas drilling. their stories sparked my first protest songs — and also led me straight into burnout. drank through most of my 20s, bummed around the US in a van, partied every night, woke up not knowing where i was. there were nights i almost didn’t make it out alive.
went back to my hometown for a bit to work a job but ended up doing blow one night after our annual christmas party and had to miss work the next day. said i was leaving the job to focus on my music — one week later the company tanked.
jumped from one toxic relationship to the next and slept with people without remembering their name or where i was. one time woke up in the nicest hotel in boston’s financial district. another, fell in love in upstate new york. she told me to “bring my guitar and the kitty” referring to a cat in one of my profile photos — she was leaving for Indonesia the next week. left my favorite jean shorts on top of her car the day i left back to massachusetts. met my next girlfriend 2 days later.
played college environmental group gatherings around the east coast and made good money per gig. was surviving off my music. still partying a lot with those college kids and living with that girlfriend i mentioned in her parent’s basement. her dad was addicted to opiates. eventually that relationship fell apart — first time i’d ever been cheated on. hit me hard. was i good enough?
after that relationship failed — packed my car and moved to austin texas. cuz that’s always the next best place to go. stayed with an songwriter and friend for 3 months then he kicked me out for not getting a job and couch surfed for 7 months. met a guy on the street typing poems on a typewriter and moved in with him at a place he didn’t own. pounds of ganja there. dogs pooping on the floor every day. a friend came over one night and partied too hard and threw the blender into the swamp next door so i couldn’t make smoothies anymore. people said we were writing songs for willie nelson. never met willie. played a bunch of events and learned a lot about folk music. met some amazing people. still partying a lot. didn’t really find where i fit in there — turned a lot of people off. met a girl, started dating, fucked that up too. left austin in a blur to follow a band to ohio. took care of whoever appeared in my field. covered all my traveling friends’ expenses. inspired them. sent them off. one by one.
got a van at some point. decided to stop with the booze after losing the glasses off my face one night in amarillo texas. had a band. festival hopped for 3 years and met people from all over the country. played with a buncha cool people, big names, no names. used dating apps to find places to sleep, gigs to play, and as inspiration for songs. it worked. traveled 350,000 miles across the usa. sometimes 10 hours just to be in a new place. no direction. no plan.
met a girl from facebook in florida. she told me to stay with her after our first night together. we lived in the van. cut the top off with a guy we met at a flea market. traveled the east and west coast. never got space from each other. should’ve seen the red flags from the beginning but was blinded by love. stayed in that toxic — and in all ways abusive — relationship for two years. she choked me out. i dropped her to the ground in defense. i left at 2 am after breaking into the house to get my keys. we wrote some beautiful songs.
spent 5 weeks at my friends under a weighted blanket. started eating meat again after 9 years of veganism almost killed me. started working out briefly. left for my first burn. got a text saying i wasn’t welcome back cuz i accidentally took the wrong tupperware. met a girl at the burn. went back to live with her for 2 months. knew i was leaving florida. ended up hooking up with my ex and ruined the connection with the other girl. left florida. headed west.
usual diet: sun butter/fruit smoothies, cacao, ketamine, and steak.
festival hopped a couple times. started doing well on social media. posting vanlife stuff. was starting to blow up on there. telling stories, making music. on top of the world. fell in love at a retreat in colorado. serenaded her while she tripped on acid shirtless with me in the forest with her head on my lap.
flew to hawaii for 10 days. fell in love again. cancelled my flight. took a month away from socials. pretty much lost my social following. gave up on music and traveling. was set on becoming a cacao farmer. stayed 3 months. sat in my first peyote ceremony with the huichole from mexico. 3 nights. “relationship” fell apart. left hawaii. drank ayahuasca for the first time in florida.
went back to hawaii. wrote 40 songs. moved into a house where we brewed ayahuasca and made mushroom chocolates. was told my music “held the entire fabric of the world together” by a schizophrenic. met another girl while on mushrooms at the hot ponds. fell deeply in love with her. portaled for several years. learned about “taking space.” back and forth between the west coast and big island. traveled in vans in the usa. did lots of k. also fell in love with her cat. went to mexico. things got progressively more toxic. we didn’t know how to communicate or relationship. i didn’t know about my wounds or trauma. she had a lot of it. i didn’t know how to hold space. she got really sick. took care of her however i could. put my career on the back burner. pele told me to listen. wrote 80 songs total on the big island. left hawaii for good (or so i thought). went back to tacoma.
was driving around with her in the van. decided i needed to leave and go to florida. we cried a lot in boulder the day i left. flew to florida and took space for 3 months. got another van. lived in planet fitness parking lot and busked downtown in fort myers beach. recorded my latest record From Moment to Memory with a guy named Merlin. started talking with that girl again, got back with her, things were ok but then turned toxic again. traveled to canada with her to a music festival. massive wubs. hung on vancouver island for a month playing at farmers markets. went to port townsend. one woman said she’d lived there 15 years and said i was her favorite busker. went back to the big island. lived on separate sides. relationship began dissolving. our needs went consistently unmet. things got physical one night. ruined everything. spent months learning about core wounds, taking medicine journeys, asking why, writing more songs, working on myself, crying, hating myself, hating life, separating from everyone, spending time alone in nature.
got served an eviction notice after helping a friend. got roasted in a buncha online communities. said fuck it and booked a one way ticket to India to go to maha kumbh mela — biggest festival in history of the world. went. dipped in the ganga and cleared 1,000 years of karma. got sick as fuck. almost died. traveled with babas. was told i was a “saint but needed to realize it.” went to first rainbow gathering in Nepal. witnessed the beginning of the end of rural Pokhara. wrote more songs. started writing a book. about 120 pages in at this point. was told there was a vibe on a small island called koh phangan. flew to thailand.
now sit in a house. too boxy. need a bungalow next time. spent all my money on rent. before this, didn’t have a kitchen for a month. didn’t eat enough food. living in a one bedroom hotel room with my buddy. he got dengue. he’s ok now, i think.
met a french girl who showed me how to love again. told me to work on my shit so i could move through my trauma and become the next sam garrett. gave up on fame. just wanna live a life of service and touch all the sacred land of the earth with my bare feet.
asked chatgpt about my astrology. he told me i was supposed to be of deep service and help people. started a sacred service helping people move through their traumatic blocks and obstacles with deep listening and songs that explain their struggles. had one session. changed a woman’s life. no more sessions yet, despite lots of interest. ran into spiritual bypassing on koh phangan. lost a couple friends. called them out for being fake. dove deeply into how to attract people and help guide them toward healing. fell into obsessive sacred workflow. late nights, early mornings. sounds of the jungle.
spent too much time on my phone. took a 12 hour break. broke the cycle — now i don’t need it. downloaded an app that blocks socials late at night and on weekends. praying for deeper romantic connections but wary of getting distracted. running into marketing people left and right. woman from my first session told all her friends. many of them want to help.
finding clarity in the stillness.
spending more time immersed in nature.
surrendering everything.
being more sociable, confident.
talked to a girl tonight.
writing more songs.
hosting events?
ready to move on to the next adventure soon.
bali and north thailand are screaming at me.
present moment: in bed. 1:47 am. post-ecstatic dance. slightly stoned. fully grateful.
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what parts of me are dying koh phangan thailand
written april 2025
the “co-dependency” part
i do not need permission or anyone next to me. i do not need to follow the crowd. i deserve to do what brings me the greatest joy. go do the thing. you will find your people.
the “poor communication” part
i do not need to glaze over information because i feel “unsafe” answering and speaking my truth. i will take the time i need to respond to messages, comments, statements, arguments. i am inherently safe and protected. i will respond to all parts of the messages i receive, even if it takes some time. i am on no one’s timeline but my own.
the “always in a hurry” part
there is no reason to rush. if you’re late, you weren’t meant to be there. if someone projects blame onto you, don’t take it on.
honor your sacred clock. make sure your needs are met. i’d rather arrive in tune than on time. you cannot escape the moment. no matter how fast you drive, how many psychedelics you take. you are always here in the now.
the “shy” part that’s afraid to approach the girl, ask the question, say the thing (even if everyone’s thinking it). you are missing out on opportunities, experiences, and connections by being in your head. overthinking is not helping you survive, it’s limiting your potential to thrive.
the “impatient” part
no one owes you anything. if something is delayed it’s for a good reason. allow patience to drop you deeper into the present moment. see delay as a gift. ask yourself what mirror is being held up to you? what are you uncomfortable with?
the “hungry / never satisfied” part
today, as soon as i booked my first sacred conversation, i wanted more. i noticed myself not allowing myself to celebrate the win and instead seeking more and asking “why” and getting stuck in my head, playing the victim.
we deserve to congratulate ourselves on our success. to sit with the victory and see how it makes us feel. in the same way, in the past i haven’t allowed myself to celebrate weight/muscle gain, new songs, new pieces of art, new knowledge, new stories, new people. it’s always a matter of how can i find more outside myself? integrate & celebrate the small things. show the multiverse you’re listening. she will only further reward you.
the “shutdown” part
in the past, i’ve noticed myself shutdown when i receive criticism or someone draws a boundary. i’ve felt like i’m entitled to get my way. i’ve taken it personally. way too personally. i’ve lashed out or shrank into a ball of quietude and shame. i’ve let it impact my day, my appetite, my mood, and my feelings toward that person. be stronger. see the situation from the eye of the observer. witness from outside yourself. that person isn’t doing anything to you. they are protecting themselves. whether or not you feel it is justified is irrelevant. respect the boundaries. respect the wishes of others. shutting down is a subtle manipulation tactic. it’s toxic af and needs to be removed from the space.
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fragments like this helped me stay alive
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journal entry koh phangan thailand
written june 2025
i walked through, so far, i’ve walked thru india, nepal, and thailand almost completely barefoot, wearing foot prisons only for brief moments. i haven’t worn them once on the island of koh phangan. i threw my slippery earth runners in a trash can in bangkok because they were causing more harm than good. what i’ve noticed about being barefoot:
1). i feel the vibration of the land. sometimes it’s not happy. the land in a lot of these places has been sad, hurt, confused. she wonders why others are afraid to feel her so deeply. she doesn’t like construction. she doesn’t like modern development.
2). i walk more mindfully and slowly. the first time i sat with the peyote i felt what the difference between being barefoot and wearing shoes. i remember walking through the grass all night, stepping on squashed fruits and getting stung by the sharp blades of sleeping grass. feeling the contours of the rock people…
as soon as i put my shoes on, i glided across the land with no feeling, a numbness — i’ve pretty much been barefoot since.
i have $4 in my bank account. i have around $40 usd in cash. i know it’s temporary. everything is. my body is covered in fungus. i’ve ceased all sugar to starve out the fungus. haven’t had fruit in 4 days. just meat, beef, avocado, egg, garlic, and cucumber. i’ve been releasing youtube videos every few days. yesterday, we got a video at a waterfall nearby. i feel called to explore more of the island. slightly bummed i’m stuck at this house. they began construction up the road and the traffic is annoying. i wish for peace and quiet. i’m finally gaining back weight. getting stronger. the fungus is the last part that needs to go. i’m not sure how it exists b/c i never wear a shirt anyway. maybe it’s on my guitar case. i’m feeling more at home in my body. more at ease.
i’ve been spending too much time on screens again. i’m creating great content but it’s having trouble reaching people. i will keep sharing. as best i can. i made a new tab on my website for “fragments.” journal entries. reflections. no particular order. no agenda. just to put it out there. i am only temporary. everything is temporary.
mary jo said a friend of hers told her about the sessions. hopefully more people start reaching out. i am doing my best. i need to play for more people. i played for some people at a waterfall yesterday. i’m being more confident. i feel tender. i feel sadness. i feel confusion and pain. i know i’m transmuting on behalf of the collective. but, shit, it’s been tough recently.
i feel like i’m living in my phone too much. i’m doing my best to attract and not chase. i have created so much. i just want people to be as healed by this music as i’ve been. i want to be able to keep going. i am feeling weak and tired. inspired but fatigued. i’m grateful for support and i’m calling in more. the fungus on my body hasn’t gone yet. i fear it telling me to eat fruit so it can feed on the sugar. but i won’t do it. i notice i’ve been looking outside myself for love again. i feel like i’ve written all these songs but haven’t learned enough.
still having trouble attracting money. i have so much life experience, but i feel like because i don’t have money i’m not worthy of support? or love? that’s depressing. i can’t tell if i’m picking up on someone else’s field. there’s rats in the ceiling. they squeal and scratch. it might be a gecko or big lizard. he came here when we got here. rapé makes me sad. cannabis takes me out of my head, which is a dangerous place to spend too much time. i hear so many things. it’s hard to know which guidance to listen to.
wanna go snort k and play songs for this girl, but i have no idea where that’s gonna go. i’m proud of myself for not distracting myself with women. if i had more resonant souls, i wouldn’t even be on instagram — i’d be focusing on helping people heal. i need to tell my story.
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day 145 a lonely saturday koh phangan thailand
written june 2025
page 1 i think last night was my last journey for a while. i became the frequency of the earth. i was the first breath and the first drop of water and the cosmos, the sky, the ocean, the land, the voice of infinite wisdom. i intended to work through my mother wound, but 15 minutes into the experience my headphones shut off my head and i was catapulted into the everything. my pen is low on ink. i just burned the tip to loosen up the last bit of blue. i suppose it’s time for another one. i have 74 cents in my bank account. waiting on a $111 donation some random person gave me (so i can keep buying food). i’m struggling to trust divine timing. i know ultimately things will work out, but i’m confused why there aren’t more people who want to work with me. i’m speaking truth. dropping great content. dm’ing dozens of strangers heartfelt messages. meeting cool people. i’ve been battling this skin fungus. i didn’t eat fruit for the first 5 days. no honey in even longer. i made a post calling out the fake community here. people reached out. offered places in cambodia, vietnam, Charly wants me to visit her in sri lanka. i think Hugo is there. maybe i finally get my backpack back. i’ve been writing songs like crazy. yesterday, i talked to a woman with a podcast. we’re gonna have a conversation. there’s another guy here with a podcast. he’s been MIA for about a couple weeks now. time is passing differently. people come and go. back home to recoup funds to make it back out to keep traveling again. Sri keeps inviting me to alaska. he sent me —
page 2 a photo of a mountain today with the words: “god says hi to you.” planet fitness took $200 and won’t refund me. i owe 1900 baht on my scooter. i left my passport at immigration. technically i’m here in thailand illegally right now. unless my visa extension went through. those fuckers made me buy a t-shirt just to enter into their precious building — turns out governments are the same everywhere after all. i pause my writing to suck down a lilikoi. my assistant says it’s one of the fruits that’s ok to eat after a fungus detox. earlier, the lady up the street from my house gave me some small spiky fruit that looked like a prickly pear cactus fruit. she said some name in thai i don’t remember and then handed it to me. she’s got coconuts for 40 baht. price is 80 in town 5 minutes away. up in pai, uncle fairy said he had a spot for 2000 baht a month. here in KP that’ll get you maybe a day. we did a workshop yesterday, but i dunno if anybody heard the songs i played. they’re like the polar express bell — sometimes, people can’t hear them even when they’re right there trying to listen. it happens to me, too. the other day, i met a guy who messaged me after that post i made. he’s been here 3 years and said it’s been going downhill for a while. but he brought me to a great secret swimming hole and i spent my last 700 baht on some of the homegrown ganja he has. one small drag from his doobie had me lit for about 9 hrs. turns out the stuff i’ve been smoking is butts quality. he said most of the ganja here in KP is. this stuff is from bangkok. guess that place doesn’t suck 100%. the past couple days around this time there’s been monkeys outside my window in the nearby trees. i’ve been drinking saltwater like a fish — my assistant says it’ll help with the fruit withdrawal. i wanna be out exploring but it’s nearly the end of daylight and it says it’s gonna rain.
page 3 i look at the objects on my desk and wonder where they all came from. funny how a person who travels so light collects so much memorabilia. i guess most of them have practical uses. shilajit, propolis, massage oil, hair oil, tallow, noni drops, anti fungal spray i made for $5 at the refill shop, animal teeth from nepal, a mushroom from my friend Bob, a tab of lsd, a shell from Charly, another shell from big island, cedar from oregon, herbal smoke blend from rishikesh, a painting i bought from a boy in varanasi, a handmade pouch from pokhara. a tripod, wooden eating utensils, some homemade toothpaste, blue lotus oil from Raia, an amber pendant i spent too much on back when i had cash to throw around, a copper water bottle that contributed to my fungus, pages of my notebook i still have to burn, a lighter that isn’t mine (i haven’t actually bought one yet), sage in a small stone elephant container (the container came with the house), my $6 earbuds that work better than sony’s, a pair of scissors i bought to trim my pubic hair, a rock from the rainbow gathering in nepal, a boar bristle toothbrush i have to boil cuz i’ve been using it since i left hawaii, the tongue scraper April gave me years ago, nail clippers, my scooter key, ipad, my phone. a fat bag of celtic sea salt, the $1 bill i used to snort my k last night. i glance over to my yak wool poncho. my jacket. my five finger shoes, harmonicas, my guitar, an eye mask Charly stole from her yoga retreat, my trusty headlamp, toe spacing socks one of which April lost at shambhala so they’re two different sizes cuz she gave me one of hers. on a shelf behind me is a hammock, my clothes, and a hat i got in davis california at a pride fair talking to an 80 year old woman about her life for 4 hours when i was visiting my brother Nick. haven’t talked to him in months. Tucker either. i’m sure i’ll probably burn this page too. maybe it makes it somewhere first.
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