Some Ketchup

The first night you can’t sleep. You never sleep the first night. It’s not the discomfort but the excitement. The liberation. As a yoga teacher told me, “Happiness comes from liberation, and liberation comes from freedom, and freedom comes from courage.” So brave. So fucking brave.

What won’t I do.

So here I am, shirtless wonder. Smoking it like Bobby – “All I want to do is chill and paint.” – Glass. Yes, she has been taking notes. Inner me. I. All. Along.

Feels good, but when it feels this good you always gotta get a little higher. I mean…

Haha. The highest in the room. Yah travie.

But I do more than burn. I breath. I’m a fucking breathing expert. Officially been doing yoga 10 years. Since Bikram in Seattle. Yeah, fuck Bikram. Anywho. Back to my favorite subject. Moi. Oh yeah. Posture. I gots posture like a motherfucker. It’s all in the breath. Prana. Chi.

Tai Chi. Oh how I love thee. Probably my favorite thing to do [Tai Chi] behind just breathing and smokin weed…

And now I’m listening to a song I shazammed from beside a girl parked next to me today. I could hardly hear it. But I got it. Then I got out and of my car. Sat on the curb. Lit a cone. Drank my tea. Then she got out. Asked to hit my joint. Naturally, I said: ‘of course’. She was there for band practice. Had to have been in high school. I’m always feeling like the proud Dad of every young girl I see. Like the girl on the scooter in front of me tonight, I gave her so much room. So she could go slow. She wore a yellow vest and a ladybug helmet. Turned like a newb. Could tell she was not an experienced rider. But I felt so damn proud. That she was out there alone doing it. Like I once did on a scooter. Think those surgery bills finally fall off my credit next year.

And now there are no accidents. 4:20 – am – pause. Just to bliss on this. The song I stole from a girl too young to take anything else from. Holy shit. I just realized it is Cavetown. Same band as ‘Boys Will be Bugs’ – a song I have loved since the mountains alone. Thank you. Girl. I thought you were cool. And you are.

I often tell the people I encounter to follow my blog here. And they must be confused, when I give them my usual compulsory – though genuinely passionate – breathless word vomit on diaphragmatic breath, self-talk, posture and afferent nerve fibers, inner-child, gut-brain health, the nervous system, self-love, and, of course, who could forget my Nicholas Cage-like obsessions with eternal recurrence, humans as the most exotic animals, Nature as God and the unconscious as a kind of secret co-ordinating agency – oh, and that goddamn corporate archetype of self. Yeah. Did I tell you I was Vegan. Yeah, it’s a good thing I like solitude. Especially since this all happens again. Foreber. Yeah. Haha.

So, a cute hippie homeless ranting girl pointed at me tonight and was like, “Us Real Women know’ – and I was like, “Yeah – we do!” … “and thanks for the validation”. Holy. That was holy. Crazy people often are.

As I love to quip, “Genius is often called crazy but crazy is never called genius.”

The point being not my genius but that I am certainly that rare ostrich-sized breed: an individual. And most individuals are loners. It’s okay. A lot of cool, and usually the coolest, people are.

Bruce Fucking Lee said it, “Most people only actualize the image, not the self.”

Why do you wash the outside of the cup? Don’t you understand that the one who made the inside is also the one who made the outside? – I can see why a wise person would ask such a question.

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