Hello non existing readers. It’s me again to fill you in on the progress to my journey… No my adventure.  I am still in New York (sadly) but a change a wind has blown my way… A way better breeze than California. But don’t misjudge me here and think I’m here shitting on the fine state. But she isn’t apart of this part of the story. No… Not yet. Oregon is now the new first stepping stone for my life. But a stepping stone it is. My very reliable sources have informed me of a possibility of legit business that I can become apart of off the jump. Hands on training to finally learn how to treat this fine green vixen that grows from under us to only be apart of us in both a spiritual, physical, and mental sense. The start of my new life. The life that has been shaping for me since before I was even thought of. The universe just points and I start walking. One cannot ignore a sign from the universe. The consequences are of biblical proportions…



So where to begin? To whomever is reading this blog welcome. You will be the readers of my long and most likely strenuous adventure to…well…The American Dream. Now what is the American Dream? To some its a life where you can AT LEAST have a roof over your head for your family. To some its having that car on the commercials. The list can go on and on and on, man. But to simplify it, the American Dream is what ever the hell you want it to be. That’s the beauty of this rotten country though. Make money and do whatever you feel like doing. But do it in style. Why? Because your fucking American that’s why! We who were born here were born in a place where you can do what your heart desires and pretty much get away as long as your money can help. We were also born with the idea we are better than anyone so why not be better? And the best part of this is that the American Dream is more alive than ever! Its incredible really. Don’t believe me? Well I’d be happy to give some examples. Lets start with the most famous one of them all in these times. The infamous Kim Kardashian. Why is she so relevant? Well because a talented r&b singer decided fuck her that’s why and decided to put it on tape. Now little 7 year old girls wanna be just like her. Making money for a show that has no purpose just because people feel so pathetically sad about their lives and will do nothing about it except for keeping up with people who don’t give a rats ass about them. William Hung, a man who made money off of being a BAD singer. All these you tube sensations. The list goes on. But I feel like I’m getting off track. All I’m saying is The American Dream is here and I’m here to make it my reality. I will be going  from New York to California soon to establish a life there. My goal? To make money growing and/or selling Gods greatest plant known to man. The only woman I would love and be ok to share with my buddies. Mary Jane of course. Because NOW America has given us Dreamers another dream to chase! This country is going through a change and I WILL be right in the fucking middle of this whole shebang when it pops off. And my journey will be crazy. Lots of wild adventures (my life has ALWAYS been full of them). My inspiration for this (obvious to some already) is no other than Hunter S. Thomson. The man who chose is destiny, went through it, and even died the way he wished. Did it ALL. The American Dream, man. The fucking American Dream.

The Hour Of Wonder

The Hour Of Wonder

•I step out my door and walk down the 3 small steps onto the sidewalk

•I look around this quiescent neighborhood

•It is 3 am and the streets are barren as well as the sidewalk

•I shuffle through my jacket pocket and pull out my source of wonder…singed it…and took a drag

•With my eyes sealed I respire and I feel my mind already full of questions…always full of questions but now…more amplified…more elaborate

•Some lead to more questions…which lead to questions that have more questions behind them 

•Why am I out here? •Why is noone else out here as well as I? •What am I looking for?

• I choose a direction and search for the answer

•With my source of wonder in between my fingers I take another drag

•Passing house by house by house…parked car by parked car by parked car wondering which car belongs to which house

•With all houses looking like the one beside it

•And all the cars, even though different, same in one aspect…exorbitant

•But never thinking or wondering about the people who live in these homes

•Never wondering if the man and woman of the house have children

•Never wondering if they had a son or daughter…twins or more

•Never wondering if they had a miscarriage and the man blames his lover so he goes out fucking every whore,slut, and prostitute exposed so maybe he can carry is precious legacy of owning a Mercedes and a home that resembles every other home in a 5 mile radius

•I journey pass the locality and soon arrive to a more thriving area

•With lights other than the luminous crescent in the sky

•Nightlife…something only found in a megalopolitan

•Where the dark vanity of people come out to mingle with one another

•To ridicule others

•To make apocryphal plans of getting rich 

•To lie to another for sex but sound so bonafide  thru equivocated sentences

•And here am I…wondering

•Wondering why I never wondered about the woman outside the bar

•Smoking her cigarette as I do my source

•She sees me…with pain in her eyes but smiles and waves thru it

•Wondering if she wonders about me

•Wondering if she is wondering why I am outside now

•Wondering if she wondered if I were to approach her or not

•But it is still in the hour of 3…the hour for me…and I just re ignited my source…

•I continue wandering and wondering

•I pass a sloshed crowd thru a small sidewalk budging no one and wondered if they noticed me

•Have they seen me and so graciously moved out the way as if they felt my presence is of some precious value it mustn’t be touched by their inebriated bodies?

•Or was it that they were so plastered they weren’t even cognizant of my being?

•Or is it that to them I am nothing…a stranger probably assuming I were comming from my home to a store or visa versa?

•I pass the string of bars and drunkards and reach parkland

•A road paved specifically for men, women and children with an array of trees, bushes, and everything that nature has to offer us 

•As I travel thru this trail which has no visual end or destination to it…I see an elderly man with a young canine unalike that of the owner

•He sits under a tree sparking a pipe with an aroma just as my wonder

•He sits there…watching his dog gallop thru the grass like a horse in the derby

•Wondering if he as well is wondering what I wonder?

•Does he watch his companion wishing he was as spry as he?

•And most of all I wonder what does someone of his age wonder about?

•But I’m halfway thru my time of 3…much as I am halfway thru my source

•I grew weary of the same path…seeing the same grass with tree after tree after tree

•I break off and reach something amazing


•Total solitude

•REAL solitude

•The shore…with only stones and sand

•Uninhabited by anyone with only the soul of the ocean and mine to keep one another company

•I look into the deep deep soul of the ocean and see a blurry face…a man…or a boy…

•It is there where I wonder…wonder about the face in the soul of ocean

•Why is he here?

•What is his purpose?

•Does he have a purpose?

•Is he just here for Godly amusement?

•Is he bad or good?

•Did he arrive too soon or too late?

•Does he look back at me with shame or with anticipation?

•Does he see a gaffe who has made mistakes that are irremediable?

•Does he regret seeing me thru the soul of the ocean?

•Does anyone love the face in the soul of the ocean? 

•If not then CAN anybody love him?

Is it methodical to wonder as I wonder?

•But alas…the clock strikes 4…and my hour is up…wondering is over…no more questions back to finding everyday answers

•But there would never be enough answers for this life is full of boundless questions

Familiar Unfamiliar People

-I am no longer in reality
-My instruments of sound are alerted
-A man…weeping in song of past grief and heartache is tenuous
-My eyes awaken
-I am in a den…nubilous with the smog of despair and misfortune from the men and women who surround my stool
-I perceive them to be my cronies…only in these times where reality seems to be contorted is when this appellation fits
-And they have been cronies of mine for many of times
-Times where I’ve seen just as they see
– Conceived as they conceive
-To enjoy that very second…With no regard for the next
-To revere the next second in silence…Knowing it is what bonds us as cronies
-The fear of it all
-The fear of the insanity of the world
-But now I sit here and watch them… For I now am a stranger to the ways they now wish to precieve the world
-Their grasp of reality…as well as there  souls…enervating with every line they consume full of toxicant promptly chased down with the chintziest piss you can replete a pitcher with
-They chatter amongst another
-Conversations full of babble and prevarications of this and that
-Memories of other cronies
-Who chose other itineraries
-As they converse of them… With jealous tongue through green lips… Red with hatred in their eyes
-Wishing they had… Critiquing their ways
-Imbibing their piss
-Forceful tittering as tears for aid are knocking on lids
-They’ve grown weak
-These are not my cronies
-This smog is thicker around them
-Have my cronies changed??
-Or have I surpassed them
-My mind awakens
-I leave the den
-I look back but asend foward
-Ascending in a reality I am familiar with
-Though not reality itself
-I could say it’s better than theirs

New Yorkers (challenge 1)

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly writing challenge: “Three Ways to Go Gonzo.”

I remember the day like it was yesterday, probably because it was in fact yesterday. I was at a bus stop waiting for the bus, obviously, I’m in the so called beautiful city of New York where I was born and raised. The pride of some people that come from here is high and honestly, being a resident of this place, I could say I don’t see THAT much of a reason too hold your chest high and brag of coming from here. Was it the buildings? Our reputation as “New Yorkers”? Maybe because its the birthplace of the American Dream. Whatever it may be causes these citizens to act however they see fit. “Yo bro, I just miss that shit?”, I hear a voice say. I turn and see a black man in his mid 20s. Hes standing but the beads of sweat and the loss of breath leads me to believe he just finished running with all he had a second ago. “Yeah man sorry I saw it walking to the stop.” What I said was true I, just as he did, ran to make the bus and failed. The man shook his head in disappointment searching through his pockets “Fuckin bus drivers. Don’t give 2 fucks if a nigga makes it to work.” he says while he pulls out a small hand towel to wipe the sweat. I shrug my shoulders as if to say “hey, what you gonna do about it am I right?” and turned back towards the street to see if maybe the next bus was for some reason early as planned. I never is. I thought, “This bus will definitely be late”, and I felt this to be true because every part of the street was filled with cars. God Damn rush hour. In a distance I see a delivery man on a bike. An Oriental man, “Chinese food”, I thought. Man I’m hungry when was the last time I even ate? My mind all of a sudden focused on the bag telling my stomach, “you wish you had what ever is in there don’t you?” “Fuck off!”, my stomach responded back. I clenched my stomach as to silence him but my eyes never came off the bag on the bike. The cyclist was about to pass my intersection. I looked away to try to ignore my appetite when I averted my eyes to the traffic light that he was about to pass which was green for his go. That’s when everything went fast foward. The yellow blur of  the new Camaro comming from the left straight thru the red light straight thru the cyclist then I blinked and when I opened my eyes all that was left was the aftermath. I noticed the Oriental on the floor screaming in his native tongue.”DAMN NIGGA! You betta sue his ass! Make that money!” the black man screamed towards the Oriental, like he was responding to the Orientals screams of agony. The scenario played over and over in my head twenty times a second. The sound of the crash was the only sound effect I remember hearing. The bastard in the Camaro didn’t even honk his horn to make his presence known. Did he want to hit him? Maybe i was wrong and the real bastard was the Oriental I look around in search of the bike which was now a pile of twisted metal in the opposite side of the intersection. I also see the bus finally here late as usual. Right before I get on I look back at the crash site. The Oriental man was still screaming for help and now leaking blood and people just maneuvered around him like he was just a pot hole in the road. “New Yorkers for you”, I thought and proceeded onto the bus going on with my day. This city will NEVER change.