The adventure blog will start to get some serious action in a couple months. For the moment, I’m living on my sailboat still trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing. If interested, the full backstory is in my book, Everything is Bullshit!, click the link in my Books section. Lots of other fun and stupid shit in my inaugural publication, so tell your friends, I need to fund my insanity somehow…
The new plan is to disappear from my current location come October and return the following summer to continue renovations on the boat to make it bulletproof for the ocean. Once complete, the hardcore Travel Blog will kick into mega-high gear, as the world cruising plan is still alive and well.
There’s no real travel agenda for the winter yet, save the stipulation palm trees are involved at least 93.6 percent of the time. Jackfruit and durian would be happy staples as well. I’m considering an Ayahuasca excursion to christen the journey, as I still need to badly purge some demons in my system. After that, I dunno, maybe let the Universe bounce me around to whatever beckons. I need to find some like-minded weirdos and spiritual geniuses along the way, so any thoughts or ideas, lemme know.
I’m not a big fan of weapons, but I’m considering purchasing a shotgun the next time the opportunity arises, because if one more person walks up to me to discuss the subtle nuances of the weather, the urge to splatter my brains all over the backseat of the nearest available automobile will become unbearable.
The only thing worse than the actual weather conversation is just how confidently authoritative everyone has become on the subject, all because of the fancy applications downloaded to their portable computer-phones. Amateur meteorologists reading radar forecasts have become more loathsome to me than people who tell me the bullshit they believe in has now become “scientifically proven.”
I remember a time when the weather was something that just happened, and you dealt with it. When it was cold, you put on a sweater. When it was hot, you played at the beach. When it rained, you brought a fucking umbrella. You laughed in passing at the weatherman jerk-off on TV because he was never right, and you moved on with your life, accepting of whatever the day brought.
The inspiration for this piece came to me repeatedly in a dream last night, but, because of a little laziness to put it down on paper immediately after waking, and a commitment to a shitty part-time job, I let a glorious opportunity for effortless writing slip slowly through my fingertips over the course of the day like a gentle stream of warm, pristine beach sand.
My bad. Still working on getting my shit together…
So, first thing I need to say is: Never let inspiration be sidetracked by other bullshit commitments. Your opportunity to do whatever yanks your crank should trump all other nonsense. And that’s what the majority of our lives in Western culture consists of – an endless dose of routine, bullshit guilt-factors that distract us from the true joys buried in our hearts that we will “get to” later.
I prefer to deal with topics on a spiritual, philosophical, or metaphysical level, but every once in a while a little ranting needs to be done — a bit of venting is good for the body, mind, and soul.
Today we’re dealing with an idiosyncrasy that seems to be universal to every supermarket lineup. The issue? What the fuck is the deal with old people trying to pay for groceries? You’d think that after 95 years of practice, handling cash should make you something of an expert. You’d also think that it would cease being a surprise that after your items have been tallied (like when you bought your first fucking gumdrops and penny whistles), your next protocol is to cough up some greenback.
First comes the massive pause between having their last item bagged, and realizing that the cash-containing, stupid fucking zipper purse they carry isn’t in their hand – it’s buried in an even bigger stupid fucking zipper purse.
If you are not finding a moderate to high amount of joy or satisfaction in whatever you’re currently engaged in, or experience from week to week, then you should probably consider making some changes in your life. What the fuck is the point in spending your days stressed, angry, or miserable? Our time here is far too short, and the wonders that exist on our floating rock are infinite.
If you’re a die-hard materialist, and believe you wink out into nothingness after this ride through life, you have the greatest motivation in the world to spend each and every second doing the things you love. You should be highly motivated to stay as healthy as possible and avoid as much societal toxicity as possible to keep your one shot at existence protracted, while maintaining the highest level of cognitive ability possible.
It’s difficult for me to understand why anyone who is vehemently opposed to a notion of an afterlife would spend any significant amount of their time imposing mental stupors or physical stresses upon their bodies using any kind of numbing drug, whether it be alcohol, food, or whatever – each wasted day piled up into a mountain of remorse to ponder when the inevitable end becomes a genuine realization.
If mainstream Western world material science is so utterly convinced of our limited lifespans and expulsion to non-existence after death, why does it foster lifestyles that support anything less than the best foods, cleanest water, non-invasive or non-destructive machineries/technologies/medicines/agriculture… the list is fucking endless. How is it possible that a group of people who believe in a limited amount of existential days spends most of their time killing themselves?
History loves to tell us about how we used to live before becoming “civilized.” When our brains got big enough, and we started learning how to craft tools and weapons, our lives supposedly took a turn for the better. Living in a temperate environment probably wasn’t much of a challenge. We didn’t need clothing, food hung from the trees, and shelter only became a factor because we didn’t like getting our furry bodies soaked for hours on end when the rains came – or perhaps we did, I can’t say for sure, I wasn’t there.
The weird shit happened when we decided to explore new lands. Moving further and further away from our natural environment, the things we took for granted started becoming scarcer. The nights got colder, the fruit became less abundant, and the hot chicks, however few we brought with us, stopped putting out as often. We had to figure out new ways to keep warm, fill our bellies, and get laid. Food, fire, hunting, competition for mates – all catalysts to create radical and diverse new societies.