My dog died while I wasn't home, and it threw me a bit - how do you react to the tragic death of your beloved pet?

When it comes down to it, at the end of your days, no religion, no ideology, no faith or government or science or technology will save you from your own shortcomings. There is no heaven, no hell, no Gods, no afterlife, nothing NOTHING no one who can truthfully claim any power over you – you are your own master, you must own the consequences of your actions and the path of your life. By you of course I mean me, because I can't write your circumstances but must instead come from my own perspective on reality. Also, here is a picture of a dog smoking a pipe.cv

At the base of it, my problem lies in the mutual incompatibility of my nomadic and sedentary selves. They live different lives, have separate dreams and goals. They have never met, and never will, for one must die if the other is to live fully.

I have a lot of shit in my car, and apparently enough free time to make lists of it. Here's that.

Thinking – truly thinking, pontificating, expounding, whatever – is a bit more difficult than it sounds. There are so many mental blocks to deep thought, so many distractions, annoyances, small needs that interfere with the process. Bodily functions take charge over the questions of existence – what a pity. Even more, there are the man-made interruptions, the ringing phone, the neighbor's music, the little chirp of iPhone yelling “pay attention damn it!” - there are thousands of these little pests, gnatting around and stinging wherever we lie unprotected. Still, it's possible to post up in a hammock outside or a tree, turn off the devices of fake-world importance, and just think for a while, and that's what I intend to do today.

I found this poem from a while back, and since I feel like posting a pile of blog entries today, this one goes first!

I went to Santa Barbara for a mellow weekend. Instead this went down.

There's 2 sides at least to every issue and I'm sure that each has merits but my nation picks the worst (or seems to) and I don't know how to bear it. In the game of global politic the stakes are high as ever the world is grinding down to shit with American hands on the lever. Across the world apartheid reins a million and a half in the cage would anyone please try to explain why we're on the side of the captors? Oil slicks the size of nations set loose by reckless corporations we have the strength to rein them in if the politicos weren't paid-for patsies. Obama, Osama, who's worse for your mama? Who fights the bigger war? Who takes your rights, privacy, money? Piece by piece by little piece. Give up freedom to fight those who would steal your freedom. Who is the real terrorist here? One slain in NYC is worth more than one in Kabul. Or Baghdad Gaza or Tehran. How much more? A little girl or a wedding party of dozens destroyed by remote control. Is that how to react to terror tactics? If the one with the gun to the head of her sister must shoulder the blame of her actions. These sister nations all have bloody hands. Still... Doesn't the one who always sides with violence, funds oppression courts authoritarianism over freedom bear the blame a little more? What if she is the one passing out the guns? The one with the biggest armies the most bombs the biggest stake in the status quo? Sister America, you're on the wrong side! Sister America, you ARE the wrong side. Sister America, you hold the world against the wall. Sister America, you must fall. If we are all to live.

I disappointed my family when I grew up wild, impulsive, loving chaos over structure, desiring not stability but adventure. They will deny it of course, but there is that glimmer in the eyes, stutter in the voice – the telltales of any pride-hurt benefactor facing the fallen protégé – that hurts so much more than I can express. I crave the road and travel for this reason among many.

I hate the question "so what are you going to do with your life." Here's why.

Mother's Day isn't a hallmark holiday, but international day against war. Let's try and make it a bit more like that this year.

Veronique, I hope this letter finds you well and safe in New York – none too cold with your lack of cold-weather clothes, or out in the streets without a home either.  I’m sure you’re fine, because honestly, it’s New York City.  It’s expensive as fuck and impersonal, but a really easy place to survive in [...]

I wrote this in response to an email I got from my old university, and liked it enough to post it on a website nobody visits. Enjoy? Dear Maria, I wish I could take your survey, but the fact is that ever since I escaped UCSB with my near-worthless BA in Philosophy, paid off my debts working [...]

One of the things you always have to look out for when you're on the road is the near-limitless pile of pushers, pimps, peddlers, and players trying to take advantage of the unwary traveler. Due to the fact that a whole lot of people like to travel, and a much smaller group are actually good at it, there has grown up in Central America a heathy culture of screwing over stupid white people – it's a cousin to the other popular sport of shooting fish in a barrel. Now, I've no room to talk – I sit here sipping on a Fresca that I just overpaid 50% for since I didn't walk across the street to check prices there – to be honest, it tastes a bit like wasted money, but a whole lot more like cane sugar, which beats the hell out of your American drinks and their high fucktose corn syrup – but I digress... The point here is that by the sheer virtue of being white, you are a target for all manner of schemers, thieves, troublemakers, and “the wrong sort of people.” You can minimize your chances of getting taken advantage of by playing it smart, not getting into situations you don't understand, and not letting yourself get cowed by fast talkers, but in the end we all fuck up, make mistakes, and get into trouble – it is just a basic fact of life in a foreign culture. Sometimes however, that just isn't exciting enough – sure, you got talked out of 20 Lempira by a sad-faced boy, or someone picked your phone out of your pocket while you were sleeping on a bench in the bus station, or the taxi driver overcharges you substantially, but that's not the sort of thing I can sit down and write a story about. No, to be worthy of a Citizen K adventure, you've got to go big, to really and truly fuck up to the point of putting your own life in danger. Here's a story of how that happened, how we got out of it, and what we should have done instead. Spoiler: we survived.

Well, updating here from Leon, Nicaragua – just finished 3 days and some unknown kilometers of hitchhiking, well, less finished and more paused for the night.  Sjoerd and I (this crazy Dutchman I ran into in Trujillo) decided 2 days ago at the Rivera family wedding that we would go south to Costa Rica with [...]

I still miss her, even after all this time. Will it ever change?

I just wish I could tell this to my brother - it might save his life.

This is a fucking novella, not a blog post. 48 pages, 38000 words - a lightning-speed road trip thru Honduras, Guatemala, Belize - life with Maya, parties, live music, Catholic missionary girls, puking, bus rides all over hell, and a million little adventures and stupid laughs with a bit of illicit activity thrown in. Take this one in bits if you like, but do yourself a favor and read her!

Just a little filler piece between the end of Peace Corps and the beginning of my next set of adventures - not a whole lot of fun things going on in this one, but man oh man did I get sick for a while there. Give it a look see.

Random babbling on my birthday, covering a heap of stupid subjects, and never once approaching reality or sense. Just depressed bullshit - skip it if I were you.

I wrote this in late January 09, right before life got crazy and I ran off to Honduras. It was my last cross-California road trip, my last hurrah before leaving the country possibly forever. It's not my happiest piece of writing, but it was a great trip looking back, and has some well-written parts, if I may flatter myself. One of my other posts is contained entirely within this one, but that part was completed well before the rest, and I think it stands alone fairly well. Hope you enjoy!

Various thoughts and rambling on terrorism; what it is, who does it, and what we can take away from such thoughts. It will offend some, annoy others, make maybe 3 of you think. An interesting conclusion if nothing else.

I have a problem with paying attention, especially in academic situations if the topic bores me. When I get bored I either draw or write, and in this instance I wrote. Not sure what inspired this, but I've been nostalgic for punk shows lately...

Unfortunately, some of the content of it is. Because certain people within the US government have shown a disproportionate interest in the writings and goings-on of one citizen k, professional asshole and troublemaker, I’ve had to rope off the posts from the general public. That said, access is easy – all you need to do [...]

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.