who knew?

traveling sideways

Thanks to some amazing folks, some amazing times, and a pretty incredible new house, I'll be moving down to LA at the end of the month. I'll be adopting, borrowing or kidnapping a dog, stretching out under an orange tree and receiving visitors and well-wishers bearing house warming gifts of gold and silver, or more likely booze and food. Until then it'll be cardboard city in the old apartment and back to some u haul-racing, good-time moving madness.
Sit. Stay.

days at rocky creek

I feel good now, on my first night in the cabin. I had a sickly sad feeling of uncertainty wash over me on the long drive down the rocky dirt road tonight, but now, here I feel alright. There was the idea of putting all this off, of working here during the day, of whipping this old cabin into living shape, slaving in the sun, cleaning, bleaching, killing mice, and then shutting it up and driving the long way back into Monterrey to wash my clothes, take a hot shower and sleep in a soft bed. Now, it seems, I've stuck my foot into the bear trap, and I'm here, if only for the night, for good. I'm into a mug of dirty bourbon and these cigars that my grandfather used to smoke make the night seem less lonely. I'm feeling a little wild and alone, but generally alright for once in what seems like a very long time. I've taken several steps back from rock shows and crowds and airports and buses, and now all I can hear in a low hum of tinnitus and the paced rush of the creek below. I can make out the faint splashing of animals down for a drink. Dead leaves falling on the porch still make me jump a little, and I'll bet that those four-legged demon bastards will run this place ragged tonight. I'll lay out more snap traps and ammonia in the morning, and hopefully crush a few tiny faces in a mighty spring. The nights, I think, will be the hardest here. Once the sun goes down, and without the measured distractions that electricity can offer I'm alone with my thoughts. Words like purpose and direction mean very little in the woods here. I plan on hiking my days away, and seeing what I can of this amazing place on foot. I'll wear myself out so that sleep comes easy. Hopefully I'll write like I write now with a hand detached from a head, moving along on its own. Here's to solitude. Here's to turning 30 with no place in the world. Here's to Big Sur.

-from sometime in early October.....

Sur

Often, when following the trail which meanders over the hills, I pull myself up in an effort to encompass the glory and the grandeur which envelops the whole horizon. Often, when the clouds pile up in the north and the sea is churned with white caps, I say to myself: 'This is the California that men dreamed of years ago, this is the Pacific that Balboa looked out on from the Peak of Darien, this is the face of the earth as the Creator intended it to look.'

-Henry Miller
Big Sur and The Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch

days long gone and forgotten

I feel like I'm sunk in the summer doldrums here today. The weather has finally gone warm and clear in San Francisco, but my skin feels both hot and cold here. It is a weird between seasons, between phases time. Everything seems muted in this big city, and even old songs seem to have lost their meaning to me. The birds outside my window have gone from vibrant to unfamiliar and vaguely threatening. My time here is brief. A new home beckons, wherever it may be.
The other day I went to a friend's Halloween wedding dressed as a slim, bubba ho-tep Elvis with a pompadour that struck out a good half foot from the front of my face, and a pair of gold, wrap-around sunglasses that brought me to the verge of vomiting after wearing them for a few hours. This all was a coup in a life lived lately of stringent international deadlines and heady, red-eye travel. I've missed so many important dates, weddings, funerals, births and deaths that I'm amazed folks still keep in touch with me, and consider me a friend. I've been gone and separate from that world for several months now, and it feels pretty ok. I guess I'm not really sure how to get back into this thing here. All of this dirty interneting. All of this airing of my digital laundry. A few months back I had decided that if I continued my current pace, and careless lifestyle, that I would be a rather unhappy guy. I decided, with my 30th birthday rapidly approaching, that I would quit my job, move out of my apartment and find somewhere obscure, remote and wild to live for a few months, and maybe set myself right. I had, on a lead from a friend in Portland, investigated the Oregon Forestry Service's disused fire watch towers that they occasionally rent out to those pure of heart, but determined that while wild and remote, a fire watch tower might not suit my less than responsible with fire, less than law-abiding needs at the time. I settled on Big Sur as a place to escape. It just seems to be what you do here. I packed up a box with some canned food, a coleman stove, some books, a radio and some warm clothes, and lamped out to an old cabin with no electricity or plumbing, no pipes or wires. It was a tangle and fight for most of it, but I came out alright, and am feeling like a new man. I'm hoping, in the next few days, to piece together most of a journal that I kept with some pictures and post them here. Thank you for your concern, but I am quite well, and no, there are no bears in the mountains.

behind the wall of sleep

and this tide is coming in

It's all been a bit strange, so I'm off to the woods for a while. Maybe Big Sur will ease my troubled mind, soothe my weary bones, and let me slip comfortably into my 30th year. Until then....

later