If you enjoyed the read, please feel free to share itI am waiting for a new ship so new we will think the lush machine an animal of God. Weary of traveling over the air and the water it will sink to its feet at our door. M...
Read MoreIf you enjoyed the read, please feel free to share it‘Nothing could be more real than a really professional Phantom. They make Zombies look like pussies. Be Calm and Re-Wire.’ The Mirror is the Poetry and the Poetry is in the...
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If you enjoyed the read, please feel free to share itHere we go now… Phase 4. I’m about to git down. Handy 3 years now since I cooked up MMM in my friend Pete’s basement. And it’s alllll good. It’s over-time to bump it up a notch, tho’. And so here we go. From here there is only one way fwd and that’s with bigger and more consistent backing. I’ve spent every one of my own cents on this and absolutely don’t regret one single penny. But if I’m gonna git out there, I gotta git out here. So here’s where we stand: I’m in Vancouver, Canada right now. It’s my cripplingly (I never use that word lightly) expensive but beautiful and somehow loveable home-town. And I got plans. I’m shooting for Columbia in October – looks like the end of October now. Columbia is making more amps per-capita than anyotherplaceonEarth just now. Narco-terrorism. It’s evil and gruesome. Those of you how have read Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’ will quickly cast a nod, hold your temples and stare blankly at the tabletop thinkin’ on the regression in Colombia and Peru. You start with right-minded Left-Wing revolutionaries and end up with a Me-Me-Me Free-For-All that sounds like seagulls at a fish-packing plant. A decade ago the Taliban, too, turned up their noses at dope money. Now, no such luck. Mikhail Kalashnikov bought the farm recently, but his unit lives on and so does everytyrant’s version of Domestic Policy. So what starts Chiaro is now Scuro: 3 squares, an AK and a hut for my cousin and Devil take the Hindmost. It’s hard to argue with guerillas as the aforementioned AK is often involved and plus they change horses in mid-stream more often the Jacques Cousteau changed his SCUBA tanks. Wear fatigues, hide out in the Hills, salute sharply and polish yer boots… but please, shit, don’t harm the innocents and don’t treat them as your expendable pawns. And that’s the deal in all the dope-producing provinces in Columbia and Peru and elsewhere besides. I’m not gonna change shit. But I will certainly… most certainly, help some peeps who have already been hit. I digress, or maybe not, cuz I haven’t even...
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If you enjoyed the read, please feel free to share itYou here to do better? Everybody’s on your side! ...
Read MoreIf you enjoyed the read, please feel free to share itWhat a hard day today…I was trapped in the folds of the world-class hospitality of the ‘NordenHouse’ outside of Banlung in Ratanakiri… in a word; way the fuck up there. I wanted to leave by 6… but breakfast starts at 7, and I’m not usually such a weakling but Neesa, the owner, and his place, are both so quiet and magical that it was flatly impossible to beat it til handy 8. And a long day ensued. From Banlung I rode thru ( I couldn’t make this up) : ‘Kaching’, then ‘Chrop’ then ‘Vealrump’ and finally got off my bike… virtually in tears (just fatigue and heat and shit) in ‘Pongmoan’. I jumped a minivan from there to Kratie, where I’m at now and from where I’ll be making the mirrors look larger than life starting at 10 am tomorrow. First I have to find the clinic. I haven’t missed yet. But it’s allll good. It’s all, in fact, super good. I’m a little sun-touched – my whole body is, in fact, scorching – it was soooo hot today. I was writing a twee travelogue while riding the bike … and the first 40 kms woulda made anyone come with anybike whatsoever; the riding was so peasy and so sugar-sweet… then I enjoyed a shortlived descent onto a sunblasted lower plateau, where I was doomed to pedal out my time in this trough of mortal error. By now it was reaching 11 and the sun was a spear. I reached for my empty water bottle around 3 kms into a stretch that proved to be 50 kms long of unremitting burned-out brush-land. I’ve often ridiculed westerners for their obsession with fucking water bottles, on the strong and demonstrable precept that clean bottled water is never more than, say, 300 meters away, in Cambodia. And til today that was always the case, so I’ve done a lot of chortling. But today I ate shit. For a teeny country, Cambodia has a lion’s share of desperately long smoking hot windblown and dispiriting sections of melting tarmac. I feel I felt all of them today. In such an itty-bitty country, how is...
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