Music I am Feeling: Nahko Bear and Medicine For the The People, Trevor Hall, and some etc.

This past year, I listened to a lot of Little Peep, Travis Scott, Popcaanand a bunch of reverb + slowed songs; however, I’ve suddenly become aware that there is a much better soundtrack to my life out there. Not that I am hating on the above artists, as I will still listen to them (They are a part of my soundtrack too.), but there are seasons for things. My season for being “hooked on feeling good” – to borrow from Travis Scott – is over. As I remarked recently, “I’ve given up happy for peaceful”, which isn’t to say I am unhappy – au contraire – I am happier than ever, because I have more peace and self-awareness than I’ve ever had. And to that end, I’ve changed the channel in my brain from trap to vibes music.

Two artists have really led this change in me: Nahko and Medicine for The People and Trevor Hall.

Here are two fantastic songs from Nahko and Medicine For the People:

And from Trevor Hall, my favorite album right now: The Fruitful Darkness – a truly meaningfilled listening experience:

I can’t say enough of the above album. I always enjoyed Lime Tree, but this is on another level. This is straight soul medicine.

And lastly, I have to give a shout out to John Mayer. Not that he needs me as a fan, but his music has carried me through my adult life. From Continuum, which carried me through the big breakup with the first love at 23, to Born and Raised, which carried me through another big transition in life in my late twenties. Today his catalog remains in heavy rotation for me, along with Van Morrison’s work. Two bedrock artists for me.

While I don’t typically post music, I really wanted to share these artists (Nahko + Trevor Hall), as they have empowered me greatly and truly enhanced the quality of my days. I wish the same for you.

p.s. James Vincent McMorrow’s Post Tropical, Deluxe Edition has also been a very good friend to me. Listening to it is akin to cuddling with myself. 

Edit: Had to add I Am, by Satsang : )

 

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Journal: A Chance to Live True to Yourself

In the bath, listening to Nickel Creek. It’s music I’ve listened to since I was a teenager. As is Fiona Apple ‘s ‘Tidal’ – my favorite album – another classic for bath tunes. Last night I listened to Les Miserable, RENT, and the Hamilton soundtrack. Smoking my bong, singing along, splashing in the bath. These are things you do when you live alone in the mountains and you’re me. Long hair don’t give a fuck; I am a transient coyote.

And although we mistrust the loner – unsure whether he’s a beast or a god – we know there is something authentic in him. The deep strength cultivated in elective solitude is apparent in the independent person – as is their character. They cannot hide themselves. But ‘in the end, of course, you end up becoming yourself’. I just wish someone would have told me that it would happen. That I would arrive to selfhood not only intact but stronger than most people, different in good, uncommon ways.

If you want to accuse me of egoism, go ahead. So many worse things than self-love – no matter how much of a sin they made it. I’d rather be in love with myself than not. But there are, of course, different ways to love oneself. There is a puffed-up love of self and then there is a real romance, a real appreciation of You – the person you are.

There’s a fantastic quote attributed directly to Jesus, from the Thomas Gospel that inspires pure, healthy self-love in me:

“Seek the living one while you are alive, lest you die and are unable to see him.”

And the living one is me. The living one is you. The living one is the being we have incarnated as. And the only time we have with ourselves in this form is in this life.

So, yes, I seek the living one. That’s what solitude gives you, time with yourself. As I said to Sarah, “If we ever moved back in together, we would need our own ‘wings’ of the house.”

I am proud of myself. It’s almost a miracle to be living by oneself at thirty-three – at least for me.

It’s just me and the next ten years. Me and my dreams. Naked and unafraid – touching myself, thinking of no one. Knowing that what most people care about is stupid.

The Tao is alive in me. The feminine-senex energy there is so wise and non-combative.

As the Tao says, “Stop thinking and end your problems.”

There’s a point that suffering is transcended. It’s when we realize that it is elective. That we can choose instead to feel good is not an insignificant fact.

I am a composting vegetarian. People change. Particularly those who find the suffering intolerable – these are the people who truly suffer. The melodramatic is in a far deeper level of hell than the Stoic.

But, ultimately, responsibility affords us power, which brings freedom. I am responsible for how I feel, so what others think or do is unimportant outside of what it teaches me about people. And there are all kinds of people in this world. There is, in-fact, every kind of person in this world.

But life has never been much different anthropologically for me than high school. Same people. And I’m the same person. There’s a dye that colors the fibers of people. The tiger cannot change his stripes. But as some ancient once quipped, “A bad man is nothing more than a good man’s job.” There are sides in this empire. Cheers to former CIA Director Brennan, and all others on the right side of history. America, what the actual Nixonian fuck. But people have always loved bad leaders. That’s what happens when the shadow isn’t confronted, it comes to the light where history must then reconcile with it.

And besides some very vapid, manipulative, ugly persons, the rest is really just ignorance. That and mental health. The collective neurosis that is religion. Christ, how many children did the Catholic Church molest and rape in Pennsylvania… This is the shadow. This is the problem with “goodness” over wholeness. Why do you think these Cosby, 7th Heaven Dad types turn out to be the opposite? Because that guy doesn’t exist. He’s a liability to himself. The church created these monsters. I would not go to a Christian Church to find good, whole people. It’s actually typically a warning to me that the person might be really full of shit. And I recognize these are not mild, correct, diplomatic positions to take, but I can not take any other. In good conscience, I am here to tell you that man should have never been an archetype for god, but, rather, god should be an archetype for man. He / She / They / Them / Us, were all created in our image rather than us in theirs.

The whole paradigm of the creator-god makes us, to me, almost sub-human. As a species, we should look to reason, to empirical evidence, and we should see that we are the epoch of the universe, the vanguard, the echo of the big bang. We are the universe – along with every other living thing. We evolved from fish, from the ocean – one bone, two bones, many bones – our tetrapod limbs evidence this.

We are animals. Like dolphins or James Cameron’s Na’avi people, in Avatar.

Now, as to the nature of life – whether it’s a simulation – I am outgrowing that model. I’m more of the mind of Joseph Campbell, who believed that “Energy and consciousness are the same thing, somehow.”

It is our minds that run the simulation. Our thoughts that inform our programs, our cultures that inform our software. So, to me, the value in the simulation paradigm is in the subjectivity of it. Heaven or hell are in the dreamer.

Of course, reality is very thick and it’s not easy to outgrow our situations, ourselves, but discontent does its magic work. You learn to take control of the Vanilla-Sky-esque dream again – but only after the nightmare has gotten bad enough to wake you. How I pity and love my younger self. I was such a poor, impoverished bastard. The song ‘Happy’ by Marina and The Diamonds tells the story of going from the sadness of the nightmare to the freedom of the dream.

“I found what I’ve been looking for in myself.”

That’s it.

That’s the godhead. That’s the completeness of a happy child.

Security in oneself – without comparison. As the Tao says, “By making some things beautiful we make other things ugly.” So too in making some things desirable we make other things undesirable. In this way, our values can completely rob us of what is. Gratitude is wealth experienced subjectively. The problem arises when what is beautiful, when what is desirable, is outside of us. Then we are impoverished.

To love life as it is and nothing more. Is this not bliss.

To want everything to be different is to be as unhappy as an angsty teenager again. It is only when we start to grow into ourselves that we can begin to appreciate what is. It is at this point when we start to appreciate ourselves, our lives – for better or for worse, that we stop wishing for it all to change.

Not to say we stop dreaming or become holy wanderers, but we take our place in time – as present in our lives, neither wishing for the past nor longing for the future. Like, I am here. And I’m here to follow my purpose and live my dreams, but the dream is just that – a chance to live true to yourself.

TBD

A person asks who they are,
Who might they become…
And years are lost this way,
Spent in abstact thought rather than concrete action

To declare ourselves
As hero and author of our story,
In deed rather than word,
Is to know we are not who we think we are
But what we are, as we have made ourselves.

Life As a Failed Hypothesis: Try Again.

I’ve hit a wall today. I feel like throwing up. Fact is, I’m here, where I am in life, as a result of my choices.  In a word, I made the wrong hypothesis. It’s all very complex, you see; allow me to rewind so that I may tell the story in full.

In 2010 I built a successful lead generation business that brought in monthly what many take home in a year (I tell the story here). At this same time, when I was suddenly making gobs of money, I got back together with the girl I had dated for 5 years after an approximate 24 months broken up. The conditions of the breakup where what you would call nightmarish, but I was foolish, and I suppose I sought closure.

Having gotten back together with this first love of mine, we moved to Seattle.

After 6 months, she left.

I was left alone in a condo we had spent thousands furnishing. I didn’t give a fuck about any of it. Maybe I had started the business and made the money to “win” her back. After all, my initial plan was to “randomly” pull up where she happened to be in a Lamborghini (I was 24); however, Before that ever happened, we reconnected.

Once she was gone, however, the two years of heartache, the business, all of it came crashing down. It was a house of cards. A game I had set up for someone else.

I convinced myself I hated the business and, frankly, I was in that very toxic male mode of “not giving a fuck”. Unattended to, the income dried up.

I took a 10 day trip to Hawaii, and I was every bit as lost as I had been before. Upon my return, I was facing eviction from the condo I was renting, and, suffice to say, the pain of it all was a lot. Dark days.

At about the three month mark after said ex departed, I left Seattle for Milwaukee, at the invite of a good friend whose work was taking him there.

I had no dream, no plan, no nothing. And although I had almost no money, I somehow managed to live a fairly carefree life there for a year; however, by the time I left, I was living in a motel by the airport, and only 1 friend visited me (Garry, I’ll never forget that).

When I left Milwaukee, I came to LA, where I crashed with a friend whom I had met in Santa Barbara, where we had both worked at the same bar.

LA was, in my mind, my favorite city. I felt different there.

I was also poor as a rat. I would walk to the store for a single serving of yogurt and a banana. But I was happy taking long walks through Mid-Wilshire, exploring Koreatown around sunset, headphones on. It was a calm time.

Nonetheless, I needed to feed myself, so I started building websites using the skills I had developed in my lead gen business. I hated it. You get a small deposit, you work your ass off, you get paid the balance, and then you try to find more clients (I suspect many web developers hate their work).

Around this time, while visiting my sister in San Diego, I met someone who would end up being my second love, whom I would date for three years. This is, of course, a novel in it’s own right; however, for today, I’m mainly focusing on work / career.

That said, while we dated, I at first continued building websites; however, I soon thought about entering the lead gen game again, which I did – for all of three days.

On the third day I had been running paid traffic to my landing page, I got a call from a past client (A lead reseller). I was offered a job in LA, where I would be responsible for running their marketing. And although I had already been at an approximate $300 profit for the day, I did something stupid: I took the job.

Then my girlfriend, who had been very convincing in me taking the job, backed out of moving to LA with me. What’s worse, I wasn’t even in LA, I was in Hermosa Beach, which was just a more expensive, more bro-ish version of where I grew up (Pacific Beach). I would have rather been back in Koreatown. On top of that, I wasn’t feeling empowered enough in my new job, and my efforts to communicate this – even accompanied by an offer to forgo my salary till I felt I was paying for myself – all these were met with little response.

I left the job, miserable in a city where I was so alone, and I retuned to San Diego, where I ended up moving into a little apartment in La Jolla Shores, about three blocks from the beach. Around this same time, I was offered a job consulting for another lead gen firm, located in Ohio. It was on a trip there, where I contracted blood poisoning, the result of a faulty ass piece of shit pair of tennis shoes (A story I tell here). The blood poisoning was serious, and it came to be a kind of soft turning point for me.

I was twenty-seven and working very hard to please a girl who wouldn’t even stay at my new place the first night I moved in – on my birthday!

That said, the relationship crashed and burned. We had different values.

As casual as I sound about this now, it was by no means a cakewalk; I was a fucking mess. Another multi-year relationship had ended with me being persona non-grata. These are breakups where you say and do the worst things to each other, which, of course, no matter what end of it you are on, you end up totally deflated, devoid of self-worth. Not exactly a recipe for success.

Now, at this time, I had been writing on my blog for 3 or 4 years (Since Seattle). It was also around this time that stories began to take shape in my head, novels. I knew it – I had known it all along – I was supposed to be a writer. This in mind, I began living what I imagined to be a sort of young writer’s life. I was in no way shape or form concerned one iota about the getting of money. It was like, what had all that been worth? All this chasing of money, only to end up investing in the wrong dreams, which had left me depressed and heartbroken.

Needless to say, it wasn’t long before the Sheriff came and let me know it was time to move out. I had simply stopped functioning. No bills had been paid. My cell phone was cut off. I simply didn’t care.

Of course, I knew all along that I wouldn’t be homeless. When I called my mom and asked if I could stay with her – something I had done before – it was an automatic yes. A friend of her’s even let me use her guest house – the main house which was occupied by various young middle-easterners, all of whom loved to smoke spliffs in the gazebo, where they had moved a TV to watch early morning soccer matches.

Again, I was doing a lot of nothing. Eventually, when a tenant came to rent the guest house, I moved back to my mom’s. I was thirty.

During this time, I had no real future plans or trajectory, other than knowing I was to be a writer. In following this, I spent my days volunteering at the library, and my nights reading everything I could get my hands on. I started to build a decent library; however, I was in my mom’s house, so the books were stacked at first along a wall, then, after, on a door, made like a desk atop two wooden folding chairs.

Not long after, I would cook down a few feet of San Pedro and have my first Mescaline experience – something that would have a profound effect on me, allowing me to see things about the world and myself I had hitherto been unawares of. There’s a reason Huxley called his book, The Doors of Perception.

I had multiple cactus tea experiences, all by myself, on a blanket near the water. Just me and my candles – two non-working cell phones for music (In case one died).

I guess I just wanted to “be”. To experience stillness and possibility.

Soon possibility would be upon me. I would fall in love again.

I remembered laying in Sarah’s bed, sleeping in one morning while she was at brunch, and saying aloud to myself, “Is this the girl you’re going to marry?”

Maybe I’ve been lucky in love. I’ve always thought so – despite things not working out in my twenties.

Sarah and I spent hours talking about what we wanted, and our values were a definite match – she even had psilocybin mushrooms in her freezer.

I soon had moved in with her, and we set up a desk we had found for me. I felt once again compelled to strike out on my own and do something.

I spent countless hours trying to build a User Experience consulting business. It failed. I tried to pivot my model to focus on the financial industry, where I felt I could make the most impact. I didn’t get a single client.

Around this same time, we were tired of apartment living in a beach town. We soon decided to move to LA; however, it would be reading Stephen King’s, On Writing, which would compel us to change our minds.

The image of Stephen King typing away in a shed for hours, living in a trailer, working in a hospital laundry, seemed almost romantic to me.

Fuck, I thought, I need to go all in on my writing. 

Besides, neither Sarah nor I was overtly materialistic, so we had no problem with a simple life – particularly one dedicated to the pursuit of my writing.

So, a plan was formed. We would move somewhere cheaper than LA. We opened the laptop and got on google maps and craigslist, zooming out from where we were.

It seemed we might be destined to move to Nor Cal, when we found a reasonably priced three bedroom on the edge of the woods, outside Big Bear, CA. Sarah left her job, working from home for a govt contractor, and I decided I would support us doing websites (It seemed fair, Sarah supported us the first six months), writing in the evenings.

Only, it wasn’t that simple. We moved to the mountains and I spent all most all of my time working, barely scraping by – despite long, often grueling hours to finish projects.

The truth is I was in a very saturated market. There are a billion front-end web people, and the price of the work you do naturally reflects this. But what drove me fucking crazy is that I had hardly written. Life up here in the mountains had become about keeping the lights on, paying the gas.

I had imagined that somehow, I could support us with my web work and write.  I had imagined that going after the money didn’t matter.

After all, I felt my writing was the only thing worth investing myself in; I didn’t want to chase money, I wanted to live simply, I wanted to write, to pursue my career as a serious novelist and screenwriter.

This was a great romanticization on my part.

I’ve come to realize plain as day that this was a failed hypothesis. In short, my writing hasn’t progressed as I’ve wanted, and I’ve struggled for months to scratch out a living doing work I loathe.

Not a recipe for happiness. In fact, it was a recipe for disaster.

Early this year, I would up having a full-blown nervous breakdown. The kind where they take you in for three days to observe you. How’s that for bragging rights? Not much.

By the time I was in the hospital, I was relieved to be there. I had had a terrible flu and hadn’t slept for a week. I was a skeleton. The first night I was there, I got up, walked down the hall, and asked the nurse for something to finally get to sleep. I was offered an injection of some sort in the buttocks, which I happily received.

My nervous breakdown over, I came home and started therapy immediately, consoled by the words of Joseph Campbell:

“If the person doesn’t listen to the demands of his own spiritual and heart life and insists on a certain program, you’re going to have a schizophrenic crack-up. The person has put himself off center. He has aligned himself with a programmatic life and it’s not the one the body’s interested in at all. And the world’s full of people who have stopped listening to themselves.” 

I began to want to listen to myself more deeply. To avow myself not to do the thing I hate. I also realized that there was no sense in trying to live the starving artist’s life. Being a pauper is simply not for me.

So, where to from here?

Well, I’m certainly not going to continue down the same road with a failed hypothesis. I did that and surely, it’s part of what led me to have a nervous breakdown in the first place. You can’t do the same thing over and over expecting a different result.

It’s become clear to me that I cannot support my writing with freelance web-work.

This is, however, still my current bread and butter, which I have no immediate way of replacing. I can, however, change my expectations.

It’s reasonable to assume I cannot expect to flourish as a writer under these circumstances. So, firstly, I need to drop my expectations of writing until I have a reasonable means of supporting myself, Sarah, the dogs lol.

In conclusion, I’ve been looking into returning to where I started: generating leads. At one time, I was earning $2k a day without much work needed to maintain it. Today, as a freelance web developer, I have to do an immense amount of work to earn the same, and it just hasn’t been practical to write, as I’ve told above.

My new hypothesis is based around the idea of security first. I’ve built a bad life for myself as a starving artist: and maybe, the days of the starving artist are done – they certainly are for me.

I feel today, that it’s my right, my duty to create a new set of circumstances for myself, one in which I am prosperous and able to write. Maybe I just lacked the imagination or the confidence to go after that in the first place. My younger self certainly would have dreamed a better dream, but after my twenties, I had such a bad taste in my mouth about the pursuit of money, I just thought it would be crazy to take that route – particularly after the defeat of two failed consulting business models. But I was never a good consultant. I was never a good employee – even when I was a successful employee I loathed the Sisyphean nature of trading time for money, day in day out.

I said something to Sarah recently, about how there are other people, who, with my knowledge and experience in the lead gen industry would have undoubtedly gone back again and gotten after it. I simply wasn’t hungry before. Now I am.

Thirty-two and starting to build a new life again. I mean, isn’t that what it takes sometimes: getting the shit kicked out of you and getting up again. And maybe there are other people who would not get back up, but I have to.

I just don’t see any other way. And really there’s not. So I have to do what I have to do.

The idea is that I’ll create a comfortable life for myself, and that I’ll once again own my time, which I will invest into my writing. It reminds me of a paradigm I wrote about a while back: Hacking an Open Source Cognitive Model for Goal Prioritization and Attainment, in which I talked about how Elon Musk’s “Software” works. Essentially, we have our wants and we have reality, in between are our goals. By focusing on the right goal prioritization, we expand our reality, allowing us to attain the things we want. Elon long ago wanted to build rockets and cars. He started Zip2 / Paypal to do it. It just wasn’t possible without the capital. The same seems to be true for my writing. I need the capital to be able to commit my bandwidth to fiction, rather than web development.

And it breaks my heart to write all this today, but it’s simply the reality I now find myself in. I wanted to come here to the mountains and have a comfortable life, where I could write. I didn’t create that. I created a life of stress and struggle, and, frankly, I’ve had enough. Thankfully, I’m still young and willing to take risks, I just can’t risk continuing to live like this. It’s been hell. I had a bad hypothesis. Time to try again now.

 

My Case for the Simulation Argument

Preface / Author note:

I wrote this three years ago; however, it was never properly published, until now. 

In 2015 my world view was becoming far less ethereal and far more grounded in the pragmatic realities of science and technology; however, this suited me. I was writing a lot of code at the time (nothing too l33t, just front end stack), and I was fascinated by the singularity and futurism. Soon my new gods Sagan and Degrasse Tyson, were joined by Kurzweil and others; however, it was Nick Bostrom’s The Simulation Argument that would change my spiritual life.

Put forth in plain-speak – as I have come to understand it – the Simulation Argument is the idea (hypothesis) that we are living in a computer simulation, that reality itself is akin to a computer program.

Wait, what?

If the idea is new to you, it’s likely to sound like we are living in The Matrix — which isn’t a terrible metaphor, but it isn’t a great one either.

Allow me to explain it [my conception of the Simulation Argument] as I have to friends:

Remember the first Atari?

Image from PC World, January 2013: “Atari files for bankruptcy, but it’s not ‘game over’”

We all know how basic games like Pong and Pacman were; now, think of the newest iteration of the gaming console, the Playstation Four:

Now, I want you to imagine the gaming console in twenty or thirty more years. Full neural immersion. Not just virtual reality, but reality indistinguishable from our own.

Scientists (Bostrom, Musk, et al.) believe that it’s going to be possible to simulate reality. Based on that hypothesis, it’s more likely than not that this is also a simulation, and that there are more simulated worlds than real worlds.

This is where you, the reader, may be thinking: put the bong down man. Only, this isn’t a half-baked concept. The Simulation Argument has gained major traction, both for and against; however, my purpose isn’t to dissect something that has been better explained by those smarter than myself. I merely want to explain what gave me a sense that yes, there might be a god, a great programmer in the sky.

For, if this is a simulation, then so many things would make sense for me, which otherwise do not in a purely natural world, but I must restate that I do not wish to try and explain things outside of my expertise, which math and science certainly are; however, I find solace in the knowing that some of the world’s smartest minds can arrive at answers I cannot, but nonetheless answers which solve very important questions, because philosophically humans have always sought to understand life — to understand their place in the universe. That’s really what this is a question of: what am I? Am I a mass of nerves, or am I something that might stretch beyond the physical universe? Is my soul in the cloud?

When I learned of the Simulation Argument and interpreted it as a personal paradigm for the nature of life and as an intelligent and compelling case for the existence of a god or godlike entity, I felt changed, I felt renewed; I felt that maybe the universe wasn’t so impartial and that maybe I could influence my fate more than I previously thought. Just maybe, life wasn’t fated for us to pass from the cradle to grave with a bit of luck and suffering in-between. Maybe magical things could happen. Maybe I could design my own user-experience in life. Maybe things like love, luck, The Law of Attraction, and other concepts fewer and fewer people seem to believe in today, are real. For me, it came down to the existence of free-will, a sense of profound possibility.

It’s this sense of profound possibility that comprises my present day definition of what it means for me to be religious. For, to believe in god as I conceive of the concept, is to believe in serendipity, in happy accidents, in the things my non-belief in (prior to learning of the Simulation Argument) had prevented me from experiencing. My atheism, my lack of faith in something beyond biological organisms, excluded the possibilities of me having a soul, of me having a rich inner world. When I was an atheist, my inner world was dead: it did not exist.

Nick Bostrom wasn’t the only individual who opened up the doors to my believing in a god. Around the same time I became interested in Bostrom’s work I began delving into the work of Swiss Psychologist Carl Jung, who believed that man needs religion, and the nature of the psyche is innately religious.

Jung had described my problem, prior to adopting a “religious outlook on life”:
…Among all my patients in the second half of life — that is to say, over thirty-five — there has not been one whose problem in the last resort was not that of finding a religious outlook on life. It is safe to say that every one of them fell ill because he had lost what the living religions of every age have given their followers, and none of them has been really healed who did not regain his religious outlook. This of course has nothing whatever to do with a particular creed or membership of a church.

It was the Simulation Argument, an argument for the possibility of intelligent design, which made it possible for me to adopt a religious outlook on life. Once I had done this, I could believe in what Jung coined “synchronicity”.

Jung’s concept of synchronicity is the idea of meaningful coincidences and the connection between psyche and matter (the inner and the outer world). Jung called it, “An acausal connecting principle.”

Without a religious outlook on life, such a thing would be mere superstition, rather than within the realm of reality, for a religious outlook gives one a grander sense of reality — a theosophy — a belief in mystical insight into our lives and our destinies; a belief in the power of our own intuition and our own intention.

Whatever we wish to call it, however we choose to describe it, it speaks of a coordinating agency of limitless scope and finite subtlety, whereby all the coincidences and connections of the world coalesce in a grand design, within which our dreams are possible (Provided humankind does not rob us of them ex: The Holocaust, wars, murder).

Seen this way, synchronicity, serendipity, kismet, chance, divine will, all present themselves within the people, messages, signs, and lessons we can find if we are looking for them; however, if we don’t believe in them: none are possible.

Postscript: 

Elon Musk gives impossible odds for us living in “base reality“.

One Belief to Change Everything, or Not

I have not published anything here in near a month, but a lot can happen in a month – a lot can happen in a day; your days can have significance. This is true (Along with everything else you believe). 

I believe I’m fortunate beyond measure. Where there is love there is life – I have love: abundant, sweet, free, generous love. And it’s the love I have for myself that counts most and makes the rest possible. My heart is a magic kitchen; I am an alchemist; I turn shit into gold. I don’t even want to die anymore

Thirty-two is a very good year: there are no limosines but the perfumed hair comes undone and my heart beats for it. I am a man. No Christian. I am a man. A human, and I think humanness is something we must aspire to. 

But, in order to be human, we have to be whole – imperfect – and I am not talking about accepting flaws, but, rather, acknowledging our status as complex biological and psychological entities. This means listening to our bodies as much as our hearts, and – if we are brave enough – serving both without betraying one. 

That’s the thing about life: it isn’t so much important to be true to ourselves as it is to not betray ourselves. Sometimes, we make mistakes, and that’s a part of life, but I don’t want to live in the shade of the freeway, forever a pretender, trying to buy my own happiness till I die. That would be a betrayal of who I am, as would be a cookie cutter anything – or anything that resembled a normal life at all. I didn’t make it through what I’ve made it through to be bored and unhappy. Ha. 

Hell nah. To quote it for the billionth time, I would rather be whole than good (Jung). I would rather live a life  according to the dictates of my own soul than follow arbitrary mores. My own values are what count. There are many a moralist whom I would not dare break bread with. But this is life, and they fucking love Donald Trump. That’s just the world we live in. Sorry kids, but life is a macrocosm of high school. Most people still playing a game called “who’s coolest” – of course, in the adult world, we call these people boring, unimaginative, and unoriginal, which is precisely what most people are. I really do wish there were more humans I wanted to hug, but like the homie James Comey, I don’t play that. Me no conversate with the fakes

Water, however, finds its own level – as do persons. I refer here not to class, status, race or religion, but values. Unfortunately, however, xenophobia is very real in America. So is Fox News.  

But I promise you, the good outweighs the bad. Perhaps not in number – or even power – but, as far as the stuff that makes life worth living goes [love], there is plenty of it. And when you have those good people in your life, stick to them like glue – and when you meet other good people, stick to them too. 

If you are not the social type, I understand. My late twenties did a lot to incline me toward introversion, but still, sociometer theory is well and true, and being likable goes a long way toward being happy.  Being happy, of course, making you likable. 

Your life is a reflection of how you feel about yourself. I love Lawrence Black. I love my life. 

This same life, I made a hell of at times. That’s the thing about being an alchemist – that’s the thing about perspective – you can turn shit to gold but you can also turn gold to shit. Humans are lenses. Paradise and hell, and all between – you can experience it. This we call thought. Feeling. Being. 

But few of us question it. Only, when we do – and we do discover that – gah! – we don’t fully like ourselves – this is precisely when we outgrow it. Most ideas the unconscious mind holds, which hold us in turn, are absurdly illogical. How many times have you learned something about yourself that you let go of upon discovering? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come to see the error of my ways – and just the coming to truth with myself about it was enough to resolve the matter – even if it had personally gripped me for years. Realizations, therapy, mistakes, life: it takes a long time to learn about yourself. But the more you do, oh how life gets better. 

I’d keep going, but I’d like to return a few messages before bed. And I think I’ll come back here soon. I’ve got more to say. That’s for fucksure. 

My unassailable, unimpeachable confidence is almost diametrically opposed to the fact that life is delicate and I will die, but why not be strong? Far better to trust life, to trust yourself. As I wrote long ago, society is a mirror no person finds themselves likable in. Be secure. That’s my advice. And the only way to be secure is to look within. Because that’s the only way you’ll ever change. If you’re not changing, you’re not growing. And if you’re not growing you’re not happy. 

Lastly, is like to say something about optimism. I brought a book from Urban Outfitters late last year called You Can Be an Optimist, and while the book taught me a lot (Specifically on optimism and locus of control) – what really hit me was a thought I had while driving the other day: optimism is nothing more than the genuine belief that things will work out – and that one belief changes everything. 

After all, whose side are you on? 

Welcome to The Woods

Four weeks and two days ago, I left the city that never loved me; for I had to leave: I had to fall deeper, further into love – and closer to a pattern of life befitting a serious writer. 

Sarah, life partner and best friend she is, naturally loved the idea of living in the woods for a year with me. It was, after all, our idea. 

But it wasn’t our first idea; we were planning to move to LA – only fate would have it otherwise, and our plans would change just a week before we were slated to take up residence in a cheap AirBNB in LA for two weeks (Giving us enough time to find a permanent residence).

It was a solid plan, but it just didn’t feel right. 

So, sitting in bed together, as we are now, Sarah doing her thing, me mine, we began to discuss the idea of somewhere not LA. 

Price was a big factor. Frankly, we wanted a home. 

A day or two before, I had looked on Craigslist at homes in a handful of rural Midwest cities. The prices made me swoon; however – besides the fact I had already done the Midwest – I knew it wasn’t in the cards. Call it inner voice. As I said to Sarah last night, all my biggest mistakes have been the result of listening to other people. Today, I listen to me. Fuck you. 

So we zoomed out on google maps in bed that evening: looking first in South LA, then east toward Nevada, then north to the Oregon border, until finally – after the longest thirty minutes of our life – we landed on a small Califonia mountain town, and then something magical happened: we got excited. 

Why? I don’t know. It was just the right place. Something inside us felt calm. Just the way it feels to be here this evening, looking out our bedroom across the deck and onto the National Forest. 

We came here from a small apartment where we had barely managed to stay together through the newness of our relationship. We truthfully were barely sure of what we were doing. 

But we did it. 

We drove up on a Friday to see the place, returning directly to pack our entire apartment on the following Saturday, and then, four Sundays ago, we towed our car behind a uhaul up here, which was an adventure in itself. 

We blew a tire. We had to stop to load a double stainless fridge into the uhaul in 110 degree heat, and we had barely slept for two days. 

Our relationship was road tested on the trip up. Lord knows it had been battle tested in the city where we met. In that tiny apartment. Those fucked up people. That city. San-dago: you fucking overhyped transplant filled millennial shithole. 

Needless to say, we are happier here. Much. 

Sarah quit her job. I got my writing room. And we both get to call the first true house we have ever lived in together, home.  

It has been an incredible experience these four weeks, full of stories I will be sharing soon in the form of a collection of non-fiction episodes published here. 

This weekend we will be hosting the first of a series of guests scheduled to visit us, and we look forward to firing up the BBQ, looking up at the stars, and thinking back on the darkest nights. Nights when moving to the woods to write novels was only a dream. Nights when we had nothing but each other and a dream. 

And LA, it will still be there. Waiting for me to arrive. Waiting for my stories. Waiting on the day when we take up part time residence – our cabin here waiting for us. Because we live in the woods now. Because this is home. 

The Past: Writing on The Revisioning of My Life in The Summer of My Years

I know where I’m going. 

I thought that I had known before, as a young-man of twenty four sometimes does, but I know now that the present could only ever get me so far in life. Eventually, if you are to have a future, you have to go back. You have to enter the cave you fear to find the treasure you seek (Joseph Campbell).

Once you do that, you’ll find your treasure. And once you have your treasure, you’ll never lose it. 

Now that I’ve begun to Re-see my past, to revise it, it’s up to my visioning of the future to carry me the rest of the way. 

As 50 Cent raps on ‘Don’t Push Me’: “I need to know where I’m heading cause I know where I’ve been”. 

I relate to this line, having now an increasingly compassionate, healthy, and empowering understanding of my [past]. I know exactly where the fuck I’ve been and just how damn difficult it was for me – as life is difficult for all of us in ways. 

I spent the better part of my first twenty-nine years of life nearsighted to the breadth of available reality: my happiness was narrow and my sorrow wide. 

Furthermore, I was shortsighted to life in that I wasn’t able to look ahead very far: I didn’t possess the clarity or the trust to understand life and thus my future at twenty six. But I don’t think I was meant to understand it back then. 

Twenty one year old me couldn’t create what thirty-one year old me has. Twenty-fucking-one me was a sensitive uptight prick. Thankfully, a good dose of heartbreak would fix that: upgrading me from a complete cock to more of just a regular dick. #levels. Huge improvement – but we’re not quite there yet; however, as fortune would have it, the fates would axe my life path more than I could have ever known, sending me down the road back to myself, again and again. 

I’ve loved and said goodbye to a coterie of marvelous, wonderful women. A couple of whom maybe didn’t break me as badly as losing bunny or mousie, but still, I have been loved by every woman I ever fell for. And I can only hope for them what I have found, which is that the heart goes on. And I hope they have grown from their mistakes as I mine. In due fairness, I too was pretty incomplete back then. 

Such is love in the spring of life: often fleeting. 

But now I find myself in the summer of my years knowing that, like Sinatra, come autumn, I will I think of my life as vintage wine from fine old kegs, from the brim to the dregs, pouring out sweet and clear. 

I was a guy who thought my story was over a time or two, or fifteen. To quote Rollo May’s definition of depression, I had an inability to construct a future. 

Ironically, I also had a terrible relationship with my past. I treated my adult past like my childhood past: I buried it in pity. I repressed it all beneath a tomb of sorrow. But I never grieved. I never honored it. 

Tonight, and lately, I’m finally looking back on the past with clear eyes. And I’m doing it because I finally am mature enough to, but also because I’ve come to learn just how important past is to one’s mythology. (Thank you Rollo May: Man’s Search for Himself, and The Cry for Myth. Also to the most high, C.G. Jung). 

We think of myth and we think of made up stories. But myth doesn’t mean that. As Rollo May explains, myth comes from 

…. (too tired to grab book, read this). 

To me myth is the truth, and I was blind to mine for a long time – consciously. So I lived the unconscious one, the repressed stuff, as we all do until we learn the facts of life we live blind to. 

And it’s mind blowing stuff. 

Don’t believe me? 

Fall in love again. 

Take a trip

Fall. 

Go.

I did, again and again. I never gave up. I never will. And not just because it’s great today, but because I went through the fucking shit I did to get here, and I know what I am made of. 

It would have been a terrible crime against myself to take a purely stoic perspective on the past, saying: I don’t have to suffer anymore; it was all psychological; it was all in my head. 

As much as that’s true, as much as my my mind has opened, it’s been the opening of my heart to life that has opened my eyes. And this, I owe the past for. 

What Other Myth Could I Live

Writer, Businessman, Poet, Lover, Man,
All that I ever was all along,
All that I feared I would never be
Funny how I ever thought I wouldn’t become me
Funny how the wild things, once teeming with wild dreams,
Now whisper their secrets to me –
What other myth could I live.


In my darkest days I slept till three.

What more need I say; I was very depressed.

Today, when I think about that period in my life, I recall Rollo May’s description of depression as: ” …the inability to see or construct a future.”

And I couldn’t. I couldn’t let. go. I couldn’t see myself outside of my first two loves; as Drake sings on Views: If I ever loved ya, I’ll always love ya. And that was terribly toxic for me, because I didn’t love myself. So, I spent a lot of time feeling essentially incomplete: as if I had failed to live up to my dreams, and all that was left was the past, which I ached for.

Thankfuck, time truly does heal all.

I just didn’t know it would take so many years, but it did; however, it wasn’t the past that healed: it was me. It was me letting the false parts of me suffer until I shed them, and it was gaining the crystal clear picture of my identity I have today.

And it took so many years for me to get here, because I had so much unpacking to do; I had so much grief to face. But in that grief, I fell into life and I found that I could be there for myself: even in my darkest hour in the smallest ways. And in learning to be there for myself, I got to discover who I was.

And the funny part is, that beneath all the fear of not becoming who I wanted to be, there was a person who just wanted to peacefully coexist with his dreams. That’s all. No trouble. No drama; I just wanted to make awesome things happen, but I was full of excuses to keep suffering instead.

I can finally see that, now that I am no longer living in the unconscious grip of the myth that things had been unfortunate for me. Today, I no longer feel sorry for myself. And now that I no longer pity myself, I no longer have to live with the pain of what felt like irreconcilable burden of sorrow.

It was my personal hell – my world of mirrors and fears – but I just didn’t know any better growing up. And I say growing up, because I was growing up the past few years, and in particular the past twelve months. Today, I’m still growing, but life has come full circle. I’m whole and growing. I’m upgraded; on a new level. The heroes journey has led me to the wilderness and back.

Today I know what lays within me may also lay before me, and I know who I am can never be taken away from me.

For not even the past is irreconcilable. After all, it is only in reconciling with future and past that we may find peace in our present lives. This is the power of personal mythology. When you change the way you see things, you change, you begin to grow. And when you take command of your story, it really begins.

So, I go: onward. And I’m excited about life, as I have never been, because in the sometimes apropos words of Kanye West: “My life is dope and I do dope shit.”

What other myth than that would you want to live. What other myth could you live than your own.

This is your life, so work with what you’ve got and control what you may, but give your all.

Be brave.

Believe in yourself.

Trust that life will get out of the way and allow your will to be done.

These are only a few of my truths, but they’re all I need. They’re all I need.