friends be bangin

I am truly blessed by the presence of legitimately awesome friends in my life. I’m not from around this town we call c://maine, but i have been welcomed here and together we are forging a village, allowing roots to grow deep and break up all the concrete that keeps us separated from one an#other. With friends like this i trust that i can continue diving deep into the nether regions of the soul and not entirely fuck out when i find it’s dark in there. With friends like this i know i can let go sometimes, surrender, drift, allow what has to happen to happen and know, from the heart-place, that we’ve got each other’s backs and hearts and pineal glands all just hangin out in one big cup of warm hands. It’s like one big platonic orgy over here right now. Much love, much respect, much growth, much divine healing in the footpaths of life. With friends like these i don’t need to run away to the mountains. With friends like these i can more easily accept that life is just one big fluffy joke f[ull of]art. Friends be bangin. Try not to forget that. Give your mate a hug, yep yep yep.


trucking insights

nothing worth doing is ever especially easy

By going trucking i have already identified 2.5 massive things about myself that will greatly enrich my character if i persist in seeing through what i have to learn from this experience, much thanks to Mum and my friend Kathy.

It has been hard and it will continue to be challenging, but i am determined to (re)produce evidence for myself that nothing worth doing is ever especially easy. (My whole life i have been over-extending myself in the pursuit of personal growth, and i don’t want to quit now.)

I say 2.5 because i haven’t yet fully unpacked the third and biggest insight, about the importance of relationships, family and community in supporting us through the hard process of becoming the best we can be.

The other two insights will be revealed in my forthcoming adventure-memoir, due for release in 2025—after i execute my first long-distance adventure and wend the story of it with my growing understanding that a sense of adventure is essential in the pursuit of happiness and wellbeing, especially in this fractured modern world where we have to make shit up as we go along all the time.

For now, goodnight or good morning, wherever you are—i must return to my state of tortured sleeplessness in the tee-pee i found on the outskirts of Berri.

Day Three, The Semiotics of Life and Adventure

Monday 26 January
Renmark, South Australia

Day Three of my Adventures in Sobriety series,
in which i first begin to rediscover the similarities between adventure and life.

So it’s Day Three and i have a wicked headache. I’m sucking a coffee at Macca’s and hoping it’s caffeine withdrawal. The internet here is working at a pace that painfully represents the mush of machinations i might otherwise call my mind. A cold sore has cropped up, and i’m treating it with the wonderous Roseneath Organics Cold Sore Salve, which is mostly bees wax and coconut oil. (Catherine put me on to this article about coconut oil, which concludes “coconut is not a superfood, but it’s not a syphilitic cock either”—the title of the article, ‘Is Coconut Oil Just For Rubbing On Your Titties Or Is It Truly A Superfood?’ Gold.) Continue reading


I told Mum i took a sannyasin name and of course she understands.

The more time i spend in conversation with my mother as a friend, the more i understand how much of an enlightened being she is.

I tell her things i am learning about myself and the universe and she says “Of course!”, like i am finally catching on.



I saw two boys on the footpath today, sitting on the sidelines of a street-soccer game. One was crying, and the other had his arm around him. The boy who was crying had one of those faces that you can imagine won’t change much as he ages—one of those faces that when it’s fifty you will still be able to see the little boy inside. He looked so old and wise: there was not a skerrick of shame in those tears as he looked into himself through the middle-distance, probably not wondering, as i was, if he would recall this moment with his friend in twenty-five years.


Starting to Breathe, Part I

a rambling five-part exploration of how spiritual healing must complement lifestyle changes that will facilitate spiritual healing – the Introduction is here

Fits and Starts

There is a new comb. It can be used without reference to the ‘i’. There was a festival, and there is an OSHO commune on Lesvos, Greece. Here, there and now, there is an alternative way of living. It is the way of light, of love, of uncontrollable and inexplicable laughter: laughter that bubbles up from the well-spring of a healthy spirit.

I have been experimenting with writing without reference to the ‘i’, to the ego, but it is proving difficult – it feels detached from reality, disembodied. Maybe it’s too much for now, because the thing is i’m still attached to my sense of ‘i’, to a sense that things happen to me, or that i do things.

It’s complicated. I’ve been reading Eckhart Tolle again, A New Earth. He has a lot to say about how we invest a sense of self in objects, things, people, whatever – things that ultimately exist outside ourselves, and are not us. And i have obviously been reading and listening to Osho, who has a lot to say about witnessing, about that part of our consciousness that can observe our ego, thereby separating us from what Eckhart would call the mind-made self – a way to start moving toward liberation.

Continue reading


Songs from Two Continents, poems by Moris Farhi



Redemption and the Hope for Understanding through Liberation from Separation

As part of my haphazard research into the divergence of East and Western cultures, I picked up a copy of Moris Farhi’s first book of poems, Songs from Two Continents on my tour of Turkey with Mum and Rashid.

This is the first poetry i have read from a Turkish poet, and the second book of any kind by an author from Turkey—the other being The Flea Palace by Elif Şhafak, a Márquezian novel i am picking my way through slowly, the second book i have attempted to read in its entirety on an eReader, the first being, foolishly, Plato’s Republic.

Between Socratic dialogue and the pithy poems of Moris Farhi, there couldn’t be a much greater divide. The first poem is quote worthy not only for its sheer brevity, and is just a taste of the redemption-through-passion theme pursued in the collection:

Paths to God

many paths lead
to God

mine is through
the flesh

Continue reading