skysurfer.media

2002Mar19

“I dream in volumetric proportions” [from margin]

I am a very unapologetic person. I have vision. I want to demonstrate that a person may have a vision, manifest it, and be happy. The literal result of this is sculpture, or photography, or any creative thing if it’s done right. Destructive actions always have some limited effectiveness, but an internal creation may go as far as to make what the mind sees real. This is art. This is life. There is a flow to creating that ends in death and destruction. The brain must be forced to manipulate something while the instinct wants to remain in flux, accepting any material change. Then, the piece must exhibit an effort of it’s own, with definable boundaries, that can stand alone. This is not to say that art may not be, or isn’t, a sight-specific experience; but, rather, art must be time-specific as a living source or an object that contributes to the life energy in the moment rather than acting as a drain. To imbue something with life can only be done by God and the human mind.
[next page]
Travelers possess a unique ability to enjoy simple pleasures in the present. To have a story to tell, that is the travelers purpose.

{A story is: A narrative or recital of an event, or a series of events, whether real or fictitious} Britannica World Language Dictionary, vol. two standard dictionary of the English language, international edition, part I., pg. 1237

2002Mar12

One delusion is that I’m always getting myself out of trouble when, in truth, I’m usually getting myself into it.

I have been living out of a backpack for a year. The first part of it I had a car. I have camped, slept in rest stops and neighborhoods. I have spent nights on couches, on floors, outside, stranded at truck stops, on the street, and on the road. Now I have a car again and I own more than I can carry.

2002Mar11

It’s good to get lost in your head every once in a while. You have to accept that you have a lot of really bad ideas, but when you do a lot of good ones float to the surface; or, sometimes, there’s one good idea in a lot of bad ones. But still, there’s always something worthwhile.
…6 months later. I remember seeing the news. The following week I was headed for Virginia to live in the suburbs of Washington, D.C. What a disaster – devoid of art – that culture is! Puritan, Christian, pretenders who don’t know the first thing about truth or love are running our country!!! The news today is of vigils and ceremonies. Sadness, not beauty, is still hot news. A puritan society exists on it’s punishment. Stricter laws demand tougher sentences. Where there is no law, nothing is a crime. Maybe total anarchy is not what the world needs, but it should be our goal; to have no need of law, but rather, be governed by a common understanding of humanity. If there is no talk of reducing sentences and removing laws then we have missed the point. Freedom is, by definition, limitless.

“Oh”, the man said to the lady, “you don’t want to be with me because he has a bigger house.”
And she said “Yes”, then feeling bad, bought him a villa.

To be bound or freed by material riches contradicts the very purpose of money; that it is shared wealth, an agreed upon currency. When people become rich, their friends become rich, too. The only reason we are not all rich is that some people are getting poor. We must narrow that gap, not by curtailing spending, but by spending more constructively. By constructively I mean collectively as money is like a lake where everyone gets their water…. If the lake is getting low and there’s not enough water to go around, then the group must do what they can to put water back into the lake. Those who waste water must learn to use it more effectively. There is plenty to go around and, in the case of money, we ensure this by adjusting rates and printing enough money to keep up with the flow.

I can’t make my life happen. There’s some part of me that thinks I can. There is so much out of my control. All I can do is watch. What I need is a vacation.

2002Mar09

I have vision.
I envision; I’m a dreamer.
I want to be a one-hit wonder as a jack of all trades. I am not looking for my place among the stars but just a chance (a turn) to shine in each of their places. The opportunity to be written up in thirty different kinds of magazines I’d prefer over being written about thirty different times in the same magazine.

2002Mar07

This day; this anxiety! These cycles come at such unpredictable times. I felt it coming on this time for two or three days. I want to sculpt the tightness in my chest with ropes wrapped around my heart. Thank God for ganja. I have to take the air I breathe in deeper, slower rhythm. I close my eyes; all is grey. To cry is to give in to the emotion, the heartbreak. Fear writhes in silence. My movement is stiff and I have no balance. I am high above the clouds, terrified of falling; and dying of thirst. My hole of a wound just brushed up against someone, making static. Flow. Ebb, and flow. Relax. Breathe. Some of the voices I hear are healing me. I know this is just lonliness but that’s a trigger for something larger – the fear of dying. Instead, I choose the path of smoke and sleep so I can wake up fresh and try again. Some days I tolerate more than others. Most are enjoyable up to this point. Provision; I must continue to think in terms of provision. God, that irks me! Let me just be. It is enough – time to meditate. No, time for a cigarette… and to stop this writing. I feel like a member of the insane, staring madly at these blue lines and sprawling words, spilling and spelling my ugliness out loud; dwelling on my problems. And still I am consumed by them. This is not delusional. I know I am capable, but I feel so vulnerable. The pain is so fresh……..
What is this feeling of complete inability? I shall no longer drink alcohol. Though not to blame, it exacerbates things. OCD

2002Mar06

Who are we travelers of the night? By the same honor among thieves we traverse the shadows, reappearing luminescently in the daily lives of strangers. And yet, we are the strangers. Murderers and vampires alike show us respect. We are God-sent foreigners spreading the magic of truth across a land built on lies. Somewhat less concerned by what we have or what we get, our motive is love. To plant the seeds of happiness in the downtrodden – an incantation of humility, God would even offer grace here – not for the asking but opposed to the alternative; a wake of blood and violence. It is calmest in the eye of the storm. All mankind is my brother; all women, Goddesses. We travelers do not work directly, but rather, we create currents (sometimes torrents) of inspiration. We are the source of new ideas, the missing link to the unknown. What we do not know is where we will find home. We are adventurers together in this, our blissful lives. We are consumed by faith; and by faith we are fed. There is no turning back, just the ever present promise of home…. The escape of nightly darkness.
Lonliness settles in as the sun sets. The promise of daylight is that there’s potential for life. At night, my existence revels. (I, alone, savor what has been left behind.) My erection is a silent call for sharing. My tears are for those who miss me. Why didn’t I tell her I would wait? My shakti and I breathe the same air and we see the same eyes when we look in a mirror. A thousand miles is only an hours drive at the speed of the sun. Just three hours puts us a world apart. I know the light she sees is already artificial when the natural light of life to my eyes dwindles. I wonder about the tides and the moon. Do the waves of my ocean crash against their shores at the same time her ocean calls her? Maybe we have different destinies, different callings. I am reborn. I only wish she had come with me as I chased the light. Now, night is falling and I must say goodbye. Whatever potential there was for us I must let go…. Again. The present summons my desire to be touched. Tonight I will love any who need loving.

[next page – top margin]

The value of silence is the power of changeability and the promise of potential.

[circled to the left:]
Shiva’s conch –
Primordial silence –
Is the unity between
The creative and the destructive

[continuing]

Action/reaction
Control apparent
Epiphany – sexual release – climax
I would like to make a case against argument
Happiness is the absence of sadness
And all who choose it.… Peace is a lack of conflict
Should – could be – would be if only —-
Transcribe – transmute
Persuasivity demands a sounding board
Clocks; time; presence; mindful of the moment?
Time, money, reality – agreed upon principles

In a world without clocks every person would find an independent pace. My mind turns to magic, love, and the inability to be presently available (preparedness) when one is living in the past or future. Why not make all work and study voluntary; and by necessity independent of time, but perhaps for a self-imposed schedule.

To be true to oneself
To own oneself
To say what one thinks (means)
Lying, deceit – not freedom found in truth
Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke
Sovereignty [heady inflammation or any information that pollutes]

I still have to draw many pages… due dates impede the natural flow. One cannot say something meaningful if one has nothing to say; (right to absence)

[next page]

The health of an individual should take priority over their status. Who are we as people but a menagerie of individuals? One to one communication is more powerful than instruction to the masses. Most powerful is ones own inner dialogue. This is mine. I am my own audience. This is not futile, but rather necessary.

Writing should never be mandatory. What the hell am I doing in school? With my frustration over Goddamned words I should never have taken a writing class. I believe in living by example – showing, not telling.

I am an optimist. No matter how bad life gets, I believe the future is bright. This comes from the notion that we create our own realities. Rather than blame myself for some perceived problem, I prefer to think it must have a purpose. Now, I do have my down days but I’m quick to say “it’s ok”. Optimism is frowned upon by proponents of ‘reality’; these people are pessimists. While life offers some things that appear less desireable than others, optimism renders these things mere disappointments rather than total disasters. We have a choice over how we perceive the world. With control over our actions, we create our own reality. (We are, as individuals, masters of our own destinies.) Optimism is better than pessimism because everything we have in life, we invite. This does not mean that optimists all think life is free choice. Certainly we suffer the consequences of our actions, sometimes for years to come. I, myself, am a fatalist at heart. I do not doubt that there is destiny at play, but I’m rather excited about it. Good fortune is willed, also.

2002Mar03
[dated 3/3 – 3/4]

I have an eye; I know that. What I want is the ability to show what’s in my mind’s eye. I do not have a very visual mind. It is more conceptual. I want to communicate the feeling that a building can have, for instance, pushing you away with it’s bricks; or the emptiness of a hallway; or being squeezed by an alley.

I have displayed a reckless side, but there is a part of me that is very, very cautious.

To own oneself; to do what one believes in; to be present, effective, successful, and aware is to be complete. I cannot believe in something I do not trust. I do not trust our government (I have met the people who make it work). I am not a nationalist because I am a humanist.
Spores are the only thing that can permeate the atmosphere. They come and go in space (or from space) and only manifest in the right environment. Mushrooms – especially psilocybin – are one of the forces guiding evolution. As humans, we must adapt to a changing universe. In order to find peace among ourselves, we must recognize our almost imperceptible part in the grand scheme of things. My first time doing mushrooms (a significant amount) was the trigger of my awakening, a massive realization of self. Psilocybin is not a hallucinogen in the sense that it creates delusions or non-real feeling like LSD, but rather, it enhances all senses allowing one to see imperceptible things more clearly. One cannot know what it means to be sensitive – even sentient! – until one has removed (pierced) the veil of illusion. Mushrooms are a means to this end. A word of caution: Recreational use of psilocybes could cause insanity in the unexperienced and should be approached with spiritual growth as the intent.

2002Feb27

There is a hummingbird suckling the jasmine. I must find out if I can grow hibiscus here. With other herbs it could become a tea garden.

Eating is a ritual. A simple way of life has the most profound rituals. Right now, raw almonds are my addiction. I share them with the dog but he’s not as interested. My calla lily has opened more; I drew it with charcoal – exhilarating. Time for reading.

Interlude: Krishna is moving back to Humboldt. Why do I think Leticia is soon to follow? It would be an interesting scene. Despite Leticia, it will be interesting to see my relation to Krishna. Something tells me he’s more level headed than Leticia but it doesn’t always appear that way. I have rooted and everything has been set into motion. The music plays on to the sound of a soulful sax. Haré, haré, haré.
I miss you, my shakti.

I dream in volumetric proportions.

It seems useless when words dribble onto the paper. So many useless lines, so many good phrases wasted. These little glimmers, too small to constitute a piece of writing, lay scattered throughout these pages. Someday I shal combine excerpts and call them memoirs. There is the fundamental purpose of writing; that it lasts into the future, makes it tangible, collectable. That’s what I like about sex (that it’s tangible or, better, tactile), not that it’s an experience that can be collected but that it’s a collective experience. To keep one’s own words and build with them is what defines a writer. A good lover culminates pleasure allowing it to mount higher.

[from next page]
Krishna and I were never very close but there was always some kind of unspoken understanding between us.

Sunshine!!! Again I see my calla lily open almost as if it waits to move for me. Really, it just moves when I’m not watching so when I see it, it appears more full. How would I make a mold of a Volkswagen? Latex? I’d rather play with a condom, but that requires a partner at least temporarily. What a life I’ve had in just this last year! Traveling, art, writing, and the struggle of the human spirit to survive in a world of molded people and mechanistic thinking. How might I be a new model, not just another replica? I want to have a sex life again – it sets the best example. My imagination is not the same as the feel of a beautiful mouth sucking on my cock, kissing my neck, and playfully biting my nipples. Or, many mouths… I am a one-woman man, although the thought of a roomful of people gratifying me is indeed arousing. Where is my lover? She’s the one who will strip for me, bend over, and beg me to fuck her. I can almost feel her hair gracing my balls and her breath in my ear. A breathy, raspy voice that says “yes, I want you” makes me erect with anticipation. Inconsiderate, selfish, and vain – These are some of the obstacles to self-gratification. Indulgence must have a willing partner. That must be the base of success on the internet; that the computer never says ‘no’ even if it does ask for a credit card. Essay idea: The World Wide Web as whore and mother. Religion and mental health – also very popular net sources. Ink runs. I sit. Sex, drugs, rock and roll, the ocean, art, and magic comprise my definition of living. Where is my family? I have not rooted well enough to start a family from scratch. My penmanship is that that is abhorrent.

2002Feb26

Ritual: A beer, cigarette, non-ball point pen, top-bound spiral notebook…. Journaling, sketch book – must have ruler and dictionary, thesaurus and light.

As the calla lily opens it turns white. I am tempted to cut it when it becomes perfect, before it begins to die in the slightest. One has already opened and the tip has begun to turn brown. The young one, or maybe another, will be perfect for just a day. If I cut one I’ll take it to art class on Friday. Either way, I can draw it. I don’t want it to die. Artificial light in a classroom is abhorrent and certain to kill the flower more quickly than natural elements.

Pot smoke reaches out to the sunlight. Music dances in the background. Ritual is like addiction except that it is good for the spirit when done right.

I see the sun, feel the wind, and hear the music. My experience pools together as thoughts do when becoming words. The spirit is happy here – that’s when you know you’re doing a ritual right!

The spirit of a lily; it’s so slow in it’s opening and so impermanent. Because of that it has more essence. It adds directly to the value of this place. We humans, with our ability to move over long distances and for long periods of time, have more difficulty in directly adding to the value of the present. Also, we like to think that there must be some amount of competition in life but fill this whole place with calla lilies and each one will still have a direct effect.

I have written much about traveling, the ocean, ever more, ever moving. It is the acceptance of constant change that becomes ritual. We rout it (our experience). Writing is a ritual. Drawing is a ritual. But what of a passive ritual? Meditating on this lily, allowing it to enlighten me? Is smoking an action? I suppose whatever becomes a part of this environment is in some way from an action. Perhaps the better question is ‘Does the calla lily have a direct effect if it is not directly noticed?’ Is it our slow movements that make us? Ritual is intentional.

The sun begins to set. My words are like a trail of shadows left behind. The DJ rambles on the radio, the lily dies, and a ritual must also have a beginning and an end…. Homework; Typing on a computer; Artificial light.

Life in a studio is like living in a van without wheels. You have to drive to it. Still, the kitchen is a little bigger and the porch is real.

Change channel on radio…. Sounds like an autoharp now. Could it be a dulcimer? Or twelve six-string guitars? Oh, 3 12-string.

Sculpture – the quest to form my life of experiences into something touchable. Maybe I need touch. But to see the past manifest into something that will last into the future is just the door that is opened when a sculptor sculpts; or that I leave something behind while I live in the present; time, in it’s relationship to any spirit, is subjective.

Trash

“Everything is freedom, that’s what they say”

A life of enjoyment –
Am I still depressed? Yes. Powerful. The pressure on my heart is relentless. It is not a hole as much as it is a pointed pressure. She makes me feel complete. I sigh when I think of her. Leticia – the source of happiness, joy, and delight. I love the sound of her name. A life of enjoyment

2002Feb17

Don’t think, just do. Actions speak louder than words. Yet there are those who think first and those who talk about what they’re going to do. There are those whose actions are thoughtful. The importance of mysticism in my life is often misunderstood. The sensations of living are a spiritual experience. What I do is not unlike a religious act. Still, there are those mundane jobs. Is it so unreasonable to want to make the chores in life deeply meaningful? Or to desire detachment when there is no other soul to share with in the experience. To strive for art, for bridging the gap of imperfect communication, must be the closest thing left to being a priest. A shaman may remain anonymous like an artist. The creation, not the creator, is designed to draw in all attention. That is it’s opportunity to give back, to reflect. And by reflect I mean that one’s actions offer others the chance to see themselves, to learn, to understand. Thoughts become actions, become thoughts.

[next page]

Evening
Journal

What a day! I wish I had accomplished more, but so much has happened and I’ve been going non-stop since morning. Even Hudi is tired. Another flattered 30 year old…. We flatter easily. This environment, a bar, is not so conducive to writing, or maybe it’s the red light above me, or the fact that it’s been a long day, or all the pot I smoked, or that I am still alone. I remember a friend said “alone” was two words – “all one”. I don’t understand how that is desirable, though. And to say that leaving me alone is a sign of caring is as gross a miscalculation as my parents made when they decided that deprivation was a form of love. It certainly is safer to be alone without the risk of hurt feelings but also how suffocating. And here I sit, again, “alone in a room full of people as oft I’ll be in the future” (I wrote that a long time ago). Enough for tonight.

2002Feb15

Today I saw a red-tailed hawk swoop down in front of me and kill his prey. I was unexpectedly on my way to Trinidad and the ocean. I am reborn. The sun has just come out and the waves are brilliant with turbulence. Gravity is both pushed and pulled in ever-changing patterns of movement. I have touched down again. The time on my pocket watch is ten minutes past eleven and the second hand is still moving. I’m back in the flow. A hawk feeds himself as an act of love – love of life! Somehow we are all broken waves destined to return to the sea. No two of these waves are alike and yet one pushes another in an unbroken rhythm as if they are trying to form something. We humans are not unlike this, each contributing in some way of our individual experience. Though, there is a great deal of debate as to what we are making. Waves despite all of their thundering are harmonious. The hawk gets his chance to feed himself. And I, I will have my chance to love. Just as one pulls away from the earth, every step brings one back to the ground. Gravity: A force of attraction. The inevitability one feels to be part of everything is the will to live. It’s the will to love. It’s instinct and the desire to experience. Today I have come home. With whom and where I will be I don’t know. The red-tailed hawk symbolizes family. Harmony: naturally interrelated parts making up a whole. Love is a state of being in which all that is involved is satisfying and all who are involved are happy. To be in love is like eating really good food; enjoyable, captivating, and gratifying. And by captivating I mean with a sense of destiny shared by both people and still an act of choosing.