The Grand Adventure -- Takeoff Is Imminent

I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. But I embrace the fact, and it liberates me.

Off to Somewhere, CA. We're not exactly sure which city we'll be going to, but I am sure there's not a fuck to spare about it anyways. As long as it's away from here. Columbus almost killed me with my own two hands, and I always swore that if it ever came to such a thing that I'd take off with the fucking wind, and so here I sit -- feeling as free as the butterfly that led me here. With just a backpack of stuff to help me not die, a guitar I can't even play to help me get by, $60.36, a small bag of weed, and about 5 lbs of trail mix. I'm off to find a life worth living, and I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. Family says I'm crazy, the team of mental health professionals piecing my mind back together agree wholeheartedly. I say fuck em' all when I see where that bullshit led me. Let's give something else a shot.

Like giving the universe a little bit of room to work and do some good things. I dunno what else to do at this point, I've tried it all. Instead of handling the reins of destiny myself -- cause apparently I can't drive for shit -- I'll give em' over to chaos and see what the hell happens. Because fuck structure, I'm tired of it. And if I die I die alive, and I'd rather die alive than live a dead fuckin life. I hereby surrender to the tides of chaos, this body a vessel through which the will of the universe shall operate, and without judgment to the outcome of this crusty ol' meat bag of mine.

I try to accept that whatever happens is gonna happen, and however it plays out will be exactly as the will of the universe intends. I'm kinda acting on the belief that there's some great story out there just BEGGING to be picked up by the right person, and I'm kinda acting on the belief that I could be him. What's the worst that can happen? I die? I died in Columbus, come at me ::eyepatch:: I'm playing the fuckin' bonus round here.

But I'll do whatever good ya need done, Universe (or whoever's out there makin' it all work) and I'll try my best to impact a little positive change during it all. Let these dreams of mine taste a breath of life, it's all I ask in return. My intentions are pure, you know this to be true. DON'T BE A DICK, K?



And so I'm just kickin' it in a semi truck contemplating the pains of death by starvation as we shoot towards California, annnnndddd I mean SHOOT. Jeff runs hard, and it's only evidence that I'm on the right track. If it wasn't meant to be, I wouldn't be riding with literally one of the fastest long distance drivers on the planet. And I'm Just kinda wondering. About how much a clue I really don't have, and whether or not I should be concerned about the way it makes me feel excited and alive and anxious to see where it all goes. Everything but my nerves tell me this is right, and I need to chill the fuck out and toke one.



Jeff is the trucker, father to my younger brother's girlfriend, and a coworker of my own father. A hell of a guy with plenty of stories to share, and considering the thousands of miles ahead of us, we get around to sharing quite a few. I tell him about her and the Air Force, and how all of this craziness actually began in October of 2011 when I lost everything from a military career and the love of my life down to the sense of dignity and self respect that every person should have about their self. Tell him about the first time being homeless, and moving back in with my mom. And About the hundreds of different jobs I tried out in Columbus before realing I'm simply not a civilized kinda guy, and I tell him how I came about this crazy ass plan I built to let my spirit fly. Tell him about the addictions, complacency, and about the 2nd time being homeless. And about recovery. I think I told him damn near everything, and he in return. His stories aren't mine to divulge, and so I won't.



We're somewhere near Cheyenne, WY, and the truck decides to rebel against our cause. It took a shit on the top of a mountain, and the view is fucking tremendous. Jeff isn't happy at all, and is going around checking the fluids and stuff, trying to see what the cause could be. I'm just over here soaking up a beautiful Wyoming sunrise, trying to blow down this joint like a fuckin' ninja cause I know Jeff's cool...but I dunno if he's THAT cool. yet. It's hard enough to be taken seriously as you sit in the passenger seat of a truck on your way to tramp up and down the west coast with nothing but a guitar that you can't even play to get by with. Don't need to add the "stoner" stigma to the equation, on top of it all. Maaaaan.



We're gonna chuck it in the fuck it bucket and PARTY ON. Truck's kinda sorta up and running, so are we, and that's enough, man. It's more than enough, because while Jeff is excited to get there, I CANNOT FUCKING SIT STILL. I left a part of me in Monterey in 2009 cause I really enjoyed long walks on the beaches while chasing tequila with tequila and getting so drunk that we'd wake up naked on the parade field or play hide and go seek with NCOs. The United States Air Force intelligence community didn't take too kindly to the fact, considering I was 19 years old and they were throwing a million bucks down the drain to teach me to speak Arabic while I was busy parading around life like a complete moron, washing down life served on a silver platter with cheap tequila that I used to chase cheap tequila.

Its how it goes, I suppose.

LOL We're fuckered up again, but at least on the bottom of the mountain this time. We pull into a Petro Station, and Jeff goes inside to unfuck the situation. We've got some time, and so I grab the guitar and head as far back into the parking lot as I can. The lot is massive and absolutely empty, save for our truck and a shitty lil' box truck that's definitely seen better days. The parking lot has a perimeter of stones that are PERFECT to sit upon and strum the crisp morning away, and the view is absolutely and profoundly breathtaking.



I've found home in the back of a field of a Petrol Station in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming. There's an old house off in the distance and I can't even see any roads that connect it, mountains behind that, and clouds slowly caressing the peaks and making their way down the slope. We've been awake all night, but the sunrise that's setting these gorgeous fuckin clouds ablaze is strangely similar to the liquid inferno that is my awoken spirit flowing through these veins are FLOWING with a kinda energy I've never known and on these roads I finally feel at home. I seriously do, and am overwhelmed with emotion. I sit upon a rock this morning and weep with the kind of joy that makes a man proud to admit it. This is what it feels like to be alive. This is what it feels like to truly chase dreams with every single tiny little vibration that I consist of.




Entering Salt Lake City, and the disappointment is real. Its just a weird fuckin Columbus where shit's all jumbled up. I see street names I know and hate from Columbus mixed with a bunch of numbers, and it's pissing me off. The ground is a little browner, the cars a little dirtier. I mean there's a cool ass Mormon castle in the distance, but even that looks like a cheap ass backdrop from a B- rated movie due to the haze of Salt Lake. I see a lot of the same centers of consumption here that I have everywhere else...Some of em' have different names, but they all bow to the almighty Dollar, and that's all I need to know about it FUCK YA KINDLY SALT LAKE YER THE SAME AS EM ALL.






Word comes in that we're headed to Stockton or Sacramento. Probably both. No idea where to from there -- Could be north, south, or anywhere... really. Best bet is to plan to hop out in Stockton or Sacramento.

And so I begin doing some research, now that we have a city. Places to eat, sources of water, possible squats. Places to busk, libraries, coffee shops. Locate the temp agencies, quick review of craigslist ads to see what kinda work is available, figure out the farmer's market so I can work/trade for food.

I hear about places where your input and contribution are valued, taken notice of, and rewarded with things like spiritual fulfillment and joy and tranquility of the soul. Man! To live among nature and escape the woes of a civilized life. I want to leave civilization, leave it all, to tell ya the truth. I'm not built for it, not wired to be trapped in cage and numbed with products. I dunno where my people are, or how I intend on finding them, but I will. They exist I'm sure of it, and that's the foundation I'll be building upon. Don't even know WHO the fuck they are, but I will. I want peace, to stretch my spirit's wings, and to find a place where I can be. I'll die before I settle for less.



I anticipate having to trek through some pretty terrible times before I find what I'm looking for. I know that garbage cans are soon to be a source of food, should the music thing not work out. I read about all of the waste and disposal in America, and though it sickens me to hear about it...I won't be mad at the opportunity of getting perfectly edible healthy food that just didn't make the cut. I know that I'll be sleeping outside, and with only my sleeping bag to provide shelter. Columbus had a knife to my throat, and so I didn't have time to gather the perfect set of supplies. Fuck it, we'll survive. MOMMA DIDN'T RAISE NO BITCH. I know that I can't sing and that I only have about 3 solid tunes that have a chance at getting me any kind of money, and I know that I can only play for about 5 or 10 minutes cause Columbus decided to make the death slow and painful and give me a wild case of malnutrition / muscle decay. Joke's on you, motherfucker, I got away




And I'll be putting faith in the kindness of strangers to pick me up from the sides of highways and truck stops. Hopping on the back of freight trains and hoping I don't fuck it up and get muh legs chopped off or die. Seeking shelter in the same places that people with serious drug addictions / mental health issues / fuckin PROBLEMS seek shelter, and I have purchased a huge knife that I can swing an chop at any unfortunate fuck who mistakes me for prey. STICK EM WITH THE POINTY END, PONY BOY. Got some paracable and shit that rattles nice and loudly that I'll use to create a perimeter in any sketched out squat. Its gon' be fun!

We've just entered California. These trees are magnificent, and the sea of green feels warm and inviting. California at last. My soul weeps with joy, I'm doing it. I've fucking done it, shit is real. I feel like I can talk to any and every single tree out here, and they'd have stories for ages. Each tree an old spirit who desired a life of contemplation, coming out of their meditative slumber with a curious eye towards the voracious cannon ball that is my traveling spirit. Inspired by the ferocity with which this waking spirit soars, the spirits of old raise a thunderous cheer as I launch towards the coast to reclaim those parts of me I thought were lost forever.

"Over here, Jeff. Yes. Literally. This fucking corner. I promise, man, I've got this shit. What the fuck do you mean there's nothing around? There's a LIBRARY across the street. Look at the field across the street I'll be able to sleep in, and take a gander at the gas station sitting at the corner and the restaurants that throw their extra food out every night in those dumpsters over there bro I PROMISE I checked it all out before we got here. I'll be fine, man. I can't fucking thank you enough for getting me here to California. I've been bending English over the table and making 'er muh bitch about 4 years now, but even so, I cannot find the words to thank you enough for the food and coffee and cigarettes and company and words of encouragement and more support than anybody yet. Wish ya the best of luck, I HOPE THEY SEND YA SOUTH!!!"

We make our goodbyes, and my entire face aches because it simply cannot physically express the amount of joy that resides within me. I'm in California, away from Columbus. I'm back in California, and I have begun the adventure of a lifetime.

Been to that truck stop too. There's a barber and dentist upstairs as well. Right near the raised old automobile