The Cascadia Chronicles: pt. 1

There's so much i could say about Portland, Or. and the Pacific Northwest, in general. I've been waiting around for the muse to strike, for the perfect moment, to summarize some of my impressions, from travelling this summer. Yet this perfection eludes me, its just another funky Tues. afternoon, high on coffee, low on food. Inspired and terribly normal, in one fell stroke.

Since i've been travelling, i essentially live everywhere and nowhere, simultaneously. Allows me the freedom of escaping humdrum routines and hamster-wheel thinking. This is not hedonism, for me, its how i live. Because of this, being new to the Northwest, i've been able to view this place, almost as an anthropologist, but also a pilgrim or devotee. So many interesting threads and currents, i hope to pick them all apart, and look at them separately, as a means of reviewing hopeful trends alive and kicking in this world, in this day and age. I refute, i downright condemn, the nostalgic defeatists, constantly pining for times before they were born. This is the single-most exciting and important time in history. Everybody's waking up, people are hitting the road, giving up their homes, asking more existential questions, getting together more often.

Its this last tendency that i would like to speak about, first. Getting together. Potluck, singalong, campfire, berry-picking; a complete 180 degrees from the passive, pointless television zombie world that is prevalent around where i grew up (or the internet zombie that is prevalent everywhere :), i've spent the whole summer playing music with people, making dinners, having parties, starting bands, sitting on the porch. This is not only with the sweet group of friends i've made along the way, but also amazing artists and musicians, at tiny indie festivals, and around the towns where they live. They run record stores and recording studios and food carts. They are out and around, and everybody is just another human being. I find this, in stark contrast, to the hipster elitism, the cold stand-offish putdown that i have found a lot of other places. And it is this little spark, this tiny tendril, that has set off such a wildfire in my imagination.

Our band could be yr life. Our life could be yr band. Audience and performer, inseparable. True punk rock, true DIY, true ETHOS. Share what you have. Give it freely. Welcome people into yr scenes. Talk about other people's art, and what they're doing. Sing in public. By breaking down the barriers, of 'artist' and 'regular person', it opens the field for everyone to raise their voice, to speak their truth, to spread a message of constructivism and positivity. Its about getting together and inspiring one another.

I've been so inspired, so healed by getting to know all of these amazing people, spending so much time in amazing nature. There is something so HOLY going on here in the Pacific Northwest. I really feel like i've found my home, my spiritual center. It has alleviated so much of my cluelessness and aimlessness and anxiety. To root, to come to ground, and to radiate outward. So much more can be done, with a home and a family.

Today's the day. Carpe diem. Go start a band!

The Godfather - Calvin Johnson @ Helsing Junction

i, you, us, we ,me

We are light, dancing
moving on the water

We are a fire, casting
flickering shadows

We are long, hushed conversations
in the night time

We are the primal, pulsing
Nyabinghi heartbeat

We are the Earth's poems & prayers
prophets, sinners, madmen, poets, dreamers, saints

With dirt on our faces, we lift
them to the sky
to be kissed by the dew

We are a rising constellation
a distant, lonely trumpet
crying out!
We are trees, we are moss
We are oceans, VAST
We are mountains, patient
We are horses & jaguars & eagles
& kittens & crows & slugs
We are shooting stars
but we are also the sunrise

We are a soft kiss,
a sigh,
a gentle hand on yr forehead
a gentle caress on yr back

A cock crows thrice
A new day has begun
My brothers & sisters,
you cut me with silken daggers
you kill me with yr kindness
You sucked the poison from bended knee
You spit it out in a breath of glitter.

The Sweet Hereafter

Rock Gods, the time is now!
Bacchus, Dionysus, Pan
Osiris; Hail, Hail the sun!
Hail, hail the killing bullet!
Hail, hail the killing moon.

I will go where i'm called
The dark forest at night.

Douglas firs, looming
Giant spiders, looming
grooming, weaving, spinning
Spitting a marble tomb
a marble sun
Frozen, cyclical
i am honey
i am dewdrop
i am dissolving, daily

A Fender amp, a country
backbeat, greatness marching
'cross 2000 miles of open plains
but love is not a victory march
it is a cold, it is a broken
Hallelujah.

I will give you my guts
my sweat
my love
my devotion
i will tell yr future
i will tell you a story

Sometimes i'm far, far away
from any home i've ever known
and i can't even remember what it
feels like to be warm,
well-fed
Fourteener revelations by
a spectral, glowing glacier

all is ancient
all is laid bare

The old Gods, new Gods
they're calling me
calling me to a new home
beneath sun & stars & sky

I am dissolving
I am lonely
I am afraid
I want so badly to be held
to be kissed
to be reassured

But this is wild MAGICK
focused
ferocious
red in tooth & claw
walking the path of the moon
a garden variety lunatic;
prone to melancholy
delusions of grandeur;
i'm so far past caring

i lost that by the side of the road
somewhere in Kansas

Guitar player, you light me up
like Mesopotamia
i am hanging in the gardens
adorned in Spanish moss &
bougainvillea
spilling prophecy, rubies &
tears of blood

Jesse Sykes, you sing my spirit
you ease my loneliness
you steel my resolve
to do what needs to be done
I will go to the edge of the world
again and again and again
i will wander the empty spaces
the forgotten places

I will climb mountains and
burn in the sun, until i
am clean

Negrado, Negrado
yr opinions matter not
crowds are not welcome here
I left you 10,000 feet below

all is silent now
silent & blue

Michael Hurley in the Woods

Perfect Peace, absolution
benevolence rises like a cloud
to bend and float around the trees.

A choir of cherubim, erupting
from 6 thin strings,
steel,
vibrating,
stamping their hooves
shaking their wings
shaking the earth
A wake up call,
gentle.

Its all about reading
between the lines
its all about what's
not being said;
A hidden cypher, for
the initiated,
hidden in 8 tempered notes
and fairy tale fables.

Michael, i am also a wolf.
Michael, i am also wild.
Michael, i am also fierce and gentle.

You raise the light
You dispel the darkness
with yr flaming guitar.

What a perfect crucifixion
falling in slo-motion, with
a head full of sparks,
falling like a roman candle,
pierced with lavender arrows

This is God and Goddess
dancing a 2-step
A Satie Waltz in the Cistine Chapel

This is living underwater,
and learning to breathe
and learning to fly
and learning to BURN
& HOWL;

We do not fight with fists and bottles
and bricks.
We will kill you with our echoes
a subtle erosion,
until you are dancing in our conga line.
Until you have joined the ghost dance.

This is an inevitable evolution,
graceful and unavoidable,
the most beautiful dream in the world.

Mon. Night at the Royal; @ Greta Jane Quartet

A Flaming Corona;
A Woman, illuminated
like a rainbow saint, sanctified
hunched over her laptop
banjo case at her side.

An apple orgasm,
a pitcher of clear water,
a stained glass chandelier,
ruby & umber
i hide under the table,
july
tears me open like azure thunder
i hide, i run for cover
hands over my neck, i shield
and pray for the Holocaust.

A paint-splattered outlet
threatens me,
seduces me, cajoles me with
shrieks and squawks,
like a Mulligan sax,
a mulligan stew of threats, promises
psalms, esoteric lectures
on Irish Literature.

The 1920's come to life again,
wearing a Hibiscus headdress
while the '40s adorns itself in
ebony & ivory
The air smells like hairspray &
stale beer

Purity is not allowed here
Purity is always near
Purity, on the midnight clear
Purity, all that i hold dear

Midnight in the garden of
was and never, all roads tend
to roam, when you are never
here nor there;
perpetual transition
forever off the map,
off the grid,
the long dark juke joint of the soul.

Where bargains are made and struck
like silver coins,
and guitars promise moonlight,
a private beach
a warm bath.

The piano is hairy, barbarous
catches you up in a Latin snare
a salsa care in the world
a stable chair, with which to
sit and stare,
at the void.

Ring around the rosies
pocket full of samsara
pierced like St. Stephen
with Hepatitis needles
We are all martyrs to the faded romance
pressed like prim roses in the massive
tome of repressed emotion.

The motion of the ocean, springing
up with cobra fangs, a Freudian notion
Sex Death Resurrection

What would you give, to realize dreams of flight?
What would you give, for second sight?
What would you give, to lay down yr stage fright?

All this, and more, riddles the
sphinx, before he devours yr lies
for lunch.
All this, before the spiders eat
yr eyes.
All this, before you are cocooned in
serpents,
and you are resurrected as a firefly.

unexpected

Holy crow!!! I'm gonna volunteer at this! They asked for a deposit for new volunteers, which i was not able to come up with, but it looks like they accepted me anyway! CALIFONE! JESSE SYKES! MICHAEL HURLEY! LAURA VEIRS! Lots of other musicians i don't even know yet! Plus i get to meet lots of people, and help out to make the whole thing happen! I absolutely love this life!

I was feeling momentarily bummed, and kind of clueless as to what i should be doing with myself. Was starting to feel less like a travelling mystic and more like a run of the mill homebum, which certainly makes for far less writing. See, i do it for you, dear readers. Do my utmost to have a vivid, thought-provoking life, full of adventure, travel, and romance. I hope yr out there, doing the same...

Don't know when i'm leaving yet, or how i'm gonna get there. Got 2 bucks in my pocket, but i got food stamps and a new pair of headphones that aren't stabbing me in my skull. I'm on my way, will update when i can!

bleak

"I arrive home from work, drained and empty. Too tired for human interaction, I press the buttons on the remote and stare blankly into the big TV box. It's not long before the commercials and endless parade of product placements overwhelm my defenses and penetrate my mind. Every detail of every message is meticulously calculated, designed to be repetitive and hypnotic, played over and over until the mindfuck finally kicks. In. My head is now filled with fatuous desire. Fast forward. Like a junkie on a comedown, I stumble into the sterile mall corridors as if in some kind of trance. The motley group of shoppers surrounding me, all the same - glazed eyes, blank stares, faces twisted into ugly masks of want. We are an army of zombies. Instead of brains and human flesh, we devour strategically placed merchandise and affordably priced products manufactured in China. I quickly drain my plastic cards and my soul, returning home with my bounty of shopping bags. All filled with mass produced garbage, quickly tossed onto a pile of all the other trash I've accumulated. Tomorrow I will wake up, have my coffee and leave the comfort and security of my home for work. I will spend another long and tedious day in the indentured monotony that masquerades as a job. When it's over, I will again return home and rest in front of the big TV box and wait for the radiating commercials, like little particles penetrating what is left of my mind. And every night I tell myself, 'maybe one of these days, I'll pull the plug." - Malcolm Klimowicz

Life Without Bars

I spent 3 1/2 months in jail, one time. I used to stare out the tiny 3 x 3 window, and daydream about just walking away, especially when the bleak Indiana winter started to give way to Spring, and buds started to spring up on the scant trees i could see.

Of course, i ended up in that cage because of alcohol, and i carried that cage around with me wherever i went. My world was collapsing inward, growing smaller and smaller, first a square mile between home and liquor store, then down to a dingy bedroom, with bare walls and seedy light, where i would sit and shake, when i ran out of booze. When i was younger, i travelled thousands of miles, met tons of people. Ecstatic. Expansive. And it all dropped away. I was lying in the gutter, and i was no longer even able to see the stars.

A moment of clarity, a drop of grace; the bottle was dropped, and i was allowed to live. Then the battle began, the battle to find myself, my lost heart, my shattered mind. The battle to find out, once and for all, what was real. I had to get sober, then i had to get sane, then healthy, then finally, i had to get to fed up with my own BS storyline, to get fed up with the same ol' hamster wheel obsessive mind, which was the cage all along.

Things fell into place, and i resumed my life on the road, in a more extreme sense than even before. Without comforts or safety nets or security, just a sense that it was the right thing to do, what G_d wanted from me. So i leapt. Leap of faith. Not knowing what i'd find. Just remembering that yearning for wide open skies, for open roads. To just walk away, and to know myself.

What i've found is an invitation to be really free, which is of course the freedom from Self. My Self, the only enemy there ever was, my damaged brittle brain. I've had to look clearly at the addictive merry go round, that goes 'round and 'round, and the panic that ensues when it starts to run down. I'll tell you, quitting drinking is one thing, but the panic that comes on when running out sugar, caffeine, or nicotine is startlingly intense! And lets not forget the old worry about what people think about me. That also begins to fade, as i essentially talk to strangers for a living. All these things, all these tendencies, that went untended during the first four years of my sobriety, now staring me down, nose to nose. And i am being offered, or have been offered, a real freedom...

When the going gets tough, i remember that little 3 x 3 window. I remember what i would have done for freedom at that time. Hell, just to go outside and get a breath of fresh air! Sometimes i'm wet, sometimes i'm cold, sometimes i'm hungry, oftentimes i'm scared, but it is worth it! This life i am living, it is a gift, it is a gift. The great spirit felt fit to preserve me, for some reason. In a way, this life is no longer my own, and it is my obligation to listen clearly, and to be as steadfast in following my heart, and to do what i feel the right thing is to do.

For every scary, hard moment, there is at least one moment of staggering, breathtaking beauty. The desert at night; fog rolling in off the bay; a meal, with strangers. Walking a dog, playing with a cat. An afternoon with a book and a cup of coffee. I feel perfectly blessed, and what's more, i feel i am living in accordance with my true self. I am maintaining gratitude, and focus, and the sense of responsibility: to myself, to the others that helped get me this far, and for all the rest, stuck out there in the darkness, stuck in confusion, with no clear way out.

So the reason for this message, is a salute to everybody who helped me get this far, who believed in me and never stopped believing in me. I've made mistakes, and i will make a million more, i'm sure, but my heart and soul are still kicking like a mule! I am still drawing breath, and i am out here, under a beautifully clear sky today, a free man. So thank you. Thank you very much. And say a prayer, for all those lost souls, stuck in their invisible cages, that they remember their own divinity, and the healing available to us all. To the peace that surpasseth all understanding. I believe that we will all find our way to the light, one way or the other.

deprivation

Deprevivation - noun  /ˌ deprəˈvāSHən/ 
deprivations, plural

The damaging lack of material benefits considered to be basic necessities in a society
• 
  
1. The lack or denial of something considered to be a necessity

There are some who think that being homeless, travelling, being an artist or musician, or generally following one's dreams is all fun and games; an endless frisbee tournament in the park, the sound of acoustic guitars ringing relentlessly, the aroma of BBQ and a never-ending supply of free beans, rice, and coffee, supplied by industrious worker ants like themselves, hanging on the air. I have even thought this, myself, and looked down upon homeless hippies flying scrawled, handmade cardboard signs, in front of Safeways across the nation.

It turns out, this is not the case.

I did not make the decision to be homeless in search of endless hedonism. In many respects, i do not feel i made this decision at all, although there were decisions made, along the way. It just came up, and i was trying to be honest and courageous, admitting what the universe wanted from me, and following along, to the best of my ability. Seeking good times was definitely a motivation, granted, as well as inspiration and a spiritually fulfilling life, but more so than anything else, this is what i feel my spirit wanted for me, and i am along for the ride.

For many, Rainbow gatherings are endless HIGHS, smoking pot and dropping acid, all the live long day, bartering everything they own for 'zuzus', aka Sweets, down at trade circle. They avoid work, don't help out the kitchens at all, and are what are termed 'Bliss Ninnies', or 'Drainbos'. Perhaps due to my reluctance to ask for help, and a restless but agreeable nature, this was not my experience, at all. What for many is a free Burning Man lite, ended up for me more like some Jack London story, by way of Lewis Carroll. Surreal and hard.

I realized that i am full of optimism, as long as i have a steady supply of whatever i like: peanut butter cigarettes coffee friends sugar music daydreams. The list goes on and on, and this is sort of the crux of this journey for me, thus far. I have been recovering from severe alcoholism for the last 4 years, finally quit drinking, but the slew of other addictions and obsessions was endless and varied, and it was always like, 'oh well, its okay. At least i'm not drinking.' My addictive mind stayed firmly in place, still obstructing me from what some call 'The Sunlight of the Spirit'. In short, i remained the same ol' Jason. I remained a child.

The universe has asked more of me. It is being firmer and more demanding.

I always have what i need, but some days that may be a slice of bread and a cup of water. I am becoming a non-smoker, almost by default, as i have no way of procuring cigarettes except constantly begging, which i don't like doing, and is also tremendously time consuming. I have other things to do than wandering around, bumming butts all the live long day. I am seeing what i really need, what is really important.

The 4th of July is the pinnacle of the Rainbow experience, where we get the most tourists and curiosity seekers, where everyone observes a morning of silence, praying for world peace. While many were prepping to party their asses off, i was sick as a dog, with fever and stomach cramps, alone in my tent all morning. I had followed the obsession chain, transferring addictions like a juggler with chainsaws, 'as long as i have cigarettes,' 'as long as i have peanut butter,' 'as long as i have belly button lint,' (belly button lint is hard to come by, especially when it is as wet as it is Washington). I rode the hedonism train to the end of the rails. I ran out of EVERYTHING, alone, in my tent. No food. No smokes. No coffee. Cold turkey.

And i thought, i prayed, 'Well, if this is what you want from me, please help me accept.' Brought down to me knees, laid low. Privation. Starvation. Clarity. A calm descended.

There have been many moments, maybe even a majority, when i have been cold wet hungry frightened. I've only eaten hot food on a handful of occasions, in the past few weeks, and i still have not managed to sleep indoors, except a night in someone's car, which was amazing (thanks Andrew!). But there have been countless inspiring interactions, many friendships made. There has been glorious nature, which defies description, although I'm gonna try, cuz that's what i do. There has been music and inspiration. There have been books and thoughts and prayers.

For over a decade, i've nursed a prayer. Art. Its all i care about. I'd do WHATEVER it takes, to make good writing and music, that is, art that i think is good, that i'm satisfied with. I hope you all agree, find something you can take away with you, here. I'm slowly transforming, from a domesticated dog to a wild wolf; wild, beautiful, and free. I've traded the hearth and the warm bed, for vast glowing mountains in the moonlight, for silent deserts and wide-open oceans. I have finally arrived in the solitude of the open road, standing on the side of highways and byways and country lanes and dark forests at night.

There have been many moments when i've wondered if i've done the right thing, and a lot of times its been harder than it needed to be, i'm sure, due to my own stubbornness. I'm still working out the kinks. But its been worth it, as i am catapulted from the realm of comfort and safety into something MIGHTIER, primordial. Terrifying and real. Awesome, in the classic definition of the word. You cannot be wild and free and comfortable and safe, simultaneously. You must ask yrself, what is important, and what you want out of life. This living forces priority and honesty, and courage. And faith, faith that there is an intelligence at work, that is doling out what you need, and yr probably not gonna die, although being SEVERELY uncomfortable at times, until it is yr time to do, and that's going to happen to us all, one way or the other, when its yr time. It might serve all of us well to acknowledge that fact, to look it square in the face, and find out what kind of life we want to lead.

" The real you is timeless and beyond birth and death. And the body will survive as long as it is needed. It is not important that it should live long. A full life is better than a long life." Nisargadatta Maharaj

Time Enough At Last

{written on 7.14.11, outside of the Island Cafe, in Anacortes, WA}

Day number whatever in the life of an itinerant philosopher.

I've only been on the road for a month, and out of the woods for 4 or 5 days, but i feel like its been lifetimes. In some ways, its been extremely challenging, but a lot of the things i was prematurely concerned with, like being bored, have been no big deal. Turns out i have little problem letting the days unfold naturally, taking my time. In the woods, sometimes it would take 4 or 5 hours, just to get a cup of coffee, with a whole series of adventures and misadventures unfurling along the way. I've carried this sense of patience, faith and trust with me, into the world.

A good friend of mine in Colorado told me about a dream, in which she was in heaven. Everyone she knew told her about all the projects they were undertaking: someone was learning Latin, someone was learning to rollerskate, someone was learning to knit. This was her paradise; all the time in the world to follow their dreams, to be their own, true selves. This friend of mine is a real paradox, half artsy bohemian, and half socialite, concerned with making money, tethered by responsibilities, and she often finds herself unhappy due to this dichotomy.

Since i hit the rioad, there's been ample opportunity to pursue my art, my spirituality; to investigate who i am, outside of the line noise of society and from the crushing weight of routine. I needed a break, and i'm not talking a coffee break. I needed a severe fracturing of gangrenous limbs. My time in the wilderness was an elongated ritual and prayer. An invocation, paid for with love and tears and blood, to mould me into the vessel the spirit would have me become.

What is becoming an obsession of mine is the notion of Quality, first discovered in the trendy but useful Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. He talks a lot about seeking Quality, slowing down, getting to know his machine in all its intricacies. He realizes many profound philosophical concepts, and so have i.

In society, i was constantly seeking distraction, seeking imaginary validation from unseen peers. A constant hunger, an endless void, a bottomless pit. clickclickclick, down the rabbit hole.

And then one day you find, ten years had got behind you...

Its our personal responsibility, those of us who are awake and aware, to seperate ourselves from society, and to create a bit of space within ourselves, to know ourselves and what is important to us. There's a certain retroactive motion, a kind of primitivism, as we start to realize that newer is not necessarily better, and that care, craft, sincerity, and feeling are obvious, and an antidote to a lot of societal ills, at present.

The paradise my friend dreamed of is contained within us all, and surrounds us every second. You can do anything you like, at any time. There's nothing holding you back, except the imaginary cage of a restless mind.

In A Dark Forest

A poem, by headlamp -
sitting on the roots of a giant
Evergreen tree,
couched on soft pine needles,
lost wisdom between my ears.

An elegant ritual,
drawn out like a Quiksilver orgasm,
warping, wefting, and weaving,
a tapestry of light.

Backwards, forwards,
up and down, the loom
bucks;
snatching threads from the past, hinting
at the future,
like a gypsy in Jackson Square.

In the weave, daydreams
manifest, rippling
like a desert mirage, hanging in the air.
A subtle glance, a sideways smile,
the velvet of night.
Stars taking on new forms, new
significances.
A bejewelled peacock;
A clockwork mechanism;
An archangel, wings unfurled, flaming sword
held high.

Here beneath the canopy,
here on the damp
undergrowth,
Here, perched on the
precipice, i can see
the graceful trajectory.

I can see the succession of successes
and failures:
endless, sleepless nights
heart full of wordless prayers and silent tears.

Yearning for my self,
Yearning for the beloved, like
a sailor, mourning his lost limb.
Yearning for the sincerity of youth,
and the ability to stand on my own two feet.

Incidentally, my eyes sprung open, wide.
Miraculously, the angels heard my cries.
Eyes flown wide, to Paradise.

I remembered black lakes at night;
I remembered the dark desert;
I remembered driving miles and miles and miles,
thousands of miles.

I remembered surging, muddy rivers, powerful
as bulls;
I remembered mountains and peaks, gleaming
skeletal in the moonlight.
I remembered mountain meadows, full of tiny
wildflowers, and thousands of creeks, tinkling
like silver bells.

I remembered hushed conversations beside
the hallucinogenic embers of dying fire.
I remembered voices joined in song.

I remembered train tracks,
and graffiti.
I remembered fallen soldiers,
fallen by the wayside.
I remembered 5 years of Death staring me down,
in the red-rimmed gaze of my own reflection.

I remembered night after night after night after night
of Music;
Dancing;
Sweating,
Ears ringing.
Eyes Blackened, eyeliner
running,
a melted harlequin on the beach at sunrise.

I remembered the boy that i used to be
I remembered the Man that i have suddenly
become
I remembered myself,
my vastness
Dwarfing oceans,
containing them, surrounding them,
Breathing, like spiral galaxies,
nebulae, my numinous
possibilities.

Pyramids were built
to commemorate this moment
a soul coming awake to itself.

Sitting here, surrounded by chirping cicadas
and whooping owls,
i tip my hat
to all the hobo prophets
and heavy-metal heroes,
that helped bring me here.
The sainted farmers
and martyred junkies.

Here's to the marble giants,
whose footsteps have been too large to fill.

I sing a song, to myself, here
in the quiet;
ears ringing
heart singing
A Beethoven Crescendo,
A Satie refrain.
Singing like Yardbird,
but dark and blue, like Robert Johnson
like the ocean.

Here, and forever,
I AM FREE

The bars of the invisible cage
have sprung

I step out of the darkness
into actual daylight.