on the road #1

santa barbara the city the city of everything normalcy familiarity wordness to flagstaff the hippie heat of the farmers market crushed blackberry and sun dried tomato cheese please ‘thanks for the vegetables!’ so we can eat lunch. to sante fe alberqurque we’re stepping in this bus. oh the bus, moishe’s mobile compressed trapped heat sleeping in contorted and distorted shapes the bodies of these determined fish in a fishbowl under inspection by the 8 mm makeshift breakfasts and mobile blogging avocados the where to goes on this, this endless road of nothingness and green pasture, god’s heartland and america’s armpit. here we go now, here we go now, in oklahoma city, dead center, the new eco beacon for the townsfolk. sweat steam barometric aromatechtric pressure rising, rising, rising— 


grooves back

today i awoke at 12:10. poetically pathetic, the repercussions of slumbers neglect. why is that your consumer spending tendencies rise dramatically at times when you’re not working? shouldn’t that be the opposite? more money in the bank, more in your pocket. there must be some unspoken social behavior i’m not seeing. in my case i bought a bike. a 21″ Specialized RockHopper with disc brakes, what I like to call ‘testicle saving shorts’ a jersey with the bike store’s logo (he said it was the cheapest, best option) and even a helmet (i made do with the normal size…my enlarged cranium proved not a hindrance to
my efforts to walk out of the store having spent less than 800 quid. that i managed. and the color? Firetruck Red in pride of, of course, firetrucks and firemen [and firewomen?] everywhere.

been reading Geoff Dye. He’s like david sedaris on drugs. travels to different places, does drugs at said places, meets people who like to do drugs, goes to drug festivals. it’s a classy book and highly recommended to those 10th grade teachers still undecided about their summer reading lists. it has a little bit of kerouac too, more unpretentious. he goes to new orleans and makes a friend who committed treason in the cold war, selling secrets to the reds over the border in berlin. and then they go driving. so simple, like plain cheesecake. you don’t need to add processed blueberries to make it good. you hear me baskin? what about you robbins?

grad program found! potentials at least. the MEM.

keeping up with the tai chi. planted an herb garden that’s ready to use. next come the vegetables. growing sage and rue in a torn apart toaster. it’s rad. i miss the farm at lotan though, to be honest.

what does it take to re-stabilize? reenter that familiar, fleeting space you were in, this lifetime or the previous one? im working on it, i’m working on it.

my hands are peeling. i dont really get it. i dont think its a fungus or anything. stress maybe? could anyone wikipedia this and tell me what they discoveR? its the fingers actually. my fingers are peeling, on both sides.  and that cant be attractive, especially when the eskimo is COURTING A LADY. she is winning his heart and the prospects look quite nice, quite lovely, that he is winning hers as well. i miss her already.

im travelling to bonnaroo, that super hippie festival of love and light, in a bus named the moishe mobile. short green bus, runs on veggie oil,  solar panels to keep us flying. we’re filming a doc, doing workshops, and driving through the south. have i ever mentioned that ive been to 4 continents but never driven past las vegas? i dont think ive ever even been between vegas and manhattan. what gives? a real crying shame, i agree.  sonow i get to see what real america is like…maybe ill visit flint and make a film about it.

the site, the project, the moishe mobile. 

i love you all. i love life. love is everything. love is all that matters. be good.