Ghosts and Goblins beware

Deception is a terrible thing. It's not quite lying to someone, but it is giving them false hopes and presenting oneself in a non-genuine state. It is also a sure sign of low morale and personal integrity. I was deceived today. It was not pleasant.

Christ I'm getting fat. It's terrible when someone else says it to you, but to realize that you are gaining weight and becoming larger than you have ever been before is a disturbing realization. I mean I am lying flat on a bed and my stomach is higher than the keyboard. What sucks is the keyboard is on my stomach. It's like a senseless trick, as if gravity has given up and let my stomach defy natural laws of physics. And it sickens me to see. The meditative hands on my stomach look as if they are holding on to dear life that they do not release their grip. Straining at every nerve end, at every joint to hold their eternal place; grasping on to something that can not get smaller. It is a slow and losing battle to Bacchus and his friends. That terrible God. One that I adore, and one that I abhor.

Back to being deceived. It was a small deception, but an everlasting one. One I shall never forget, like my first kiss, or fight, or first time I saw a cat licking itself, just an unforgettable, awkward moment. And on the subject of cats licking themselves, why do they not just get over their fear of water? If they befriended water they wouldn't have to lick their own private parts like a bunch of sex driven maniacs.

Well shit. Now that I think about it, the deception doesn't seem like that much of a life hindrance. I shall let it pass. Anyhow how much can you really learn from a Halloween costume?
Happy Halloween. Take care.

Oh. Me Oh My Oh

I found a rose
on my walk home tonight
lying on the street
no hope in sight.
It smelled of great
moments once had.
And things we've done to make the
best out of bad.
The best out of bad.

You make me weak.
You make me moan.
A head full of evil, and
no place to call my own.
So walk I will,
until my body's sore,
my shoes are scratched away,
and my mind is tore.

One thing I can do
if I can't get along with you
is go my own way.
And you go yours to.

My rose has lost
a petal to the ground.
As I lose you
to a new king you've crowned.
Wash away
the time we've spent
in the sea of changing life that you represent.

The red is gone.
The scent left to.
They're on their way,
out to find you.
That's where they'll be.
Where they belong.
Where you are right
and I 'm often wrong.

You begged for a song,
one just for you.
This is all I got,
since now it seems we're through.

Rupert, come on.

I arrived in Melbourne just two days ago. My accommodation, a hostel. The Base as it is called. In St. Kilda, the prostitute district. I didn't indulge but I did spy some sly transactions in the making. It was like a fairytale, with hookers and loose change. The outfits that these ladies had on were fantastic; thigh high leopard form-fitting dresses, singlets and short pink shorts. All of their asses much too big for the clothes they had on, but they were trying, so good on them for that. There hair held up nicely by ribbons or bandannas, or loads and loads of greasy jell. I didn't find them attractive, but it did entertain me to see for a brief moment. That's their job though, entertainment, like Saturday Night Live or The Hills, except with a happy go home ending. I probably should have thrown them a dollar or two just for the spectacle.

The Base was nice, filled to the roof with travelers from everywhere. I stayed in an eight bed dorm with seven others. I was the only one with darker hair. They were all blonde, fair skin, with interesting poofs and parts and feathered fluffs this way and that. I like blonde hair, don't get me wrong, but there is something about darker, wavy hair that makes we want to dance. The kind you try to streak your hand through and it just gets stuck, like an ill-conceived and constructed nest. I like that. It took very little time to settle in. I just threw my belongings on the bed assigned to me, and headed back down to the lobby level, where there were computers, music, a bar and lounge, pool tables, and my favorite, a free barbecue from 6.30 until 8ish. It was fantastic. I ate three sausages and four steak burgers. Perfect meal.

At 8.oo there was a pool tournament. Australian pool. I didn't quite understand it at first, but seemed to catch on OK. There were 38 people in the tournament. I was number 7, not my favorite number, but it was fine. The rules were interesting. Everybody started with three chances (or misses allowed). All 38 played the same continuous game. When it was your turn you just had to sink a ball. If you didn't, then you would lose a chance. If you sunk the eight ball, you gained a chance. After about an hour, it was down to three of us. I had four chances, this English lad Alex had five chances, and an over-muscled man named Paullie had one chance. Paullie missed. So, it was Alex and I to play a final game. Normal Australian rules, which are not normal to me. Half the balls are yellow, half red, and one black ball. The black ball goes in last. Every foul committed gives the opposing player two shots (after you miss once, you still play until another miss). I lost the coin toss so Alex broke, and from there knocked in all but one of his balls and the black ball. Awesome. I countered well. I put all of my yellow balls in except one, because it was snuggled up next to his one red ball and the black ball. I went for a magical shot, and since I am a mere human, promptly missed. He gathered himself and finished me off soundly.

I wasn't to bogged down by the loss because I had survived 36 others, it was the prize that I missed out on. $100 bar tab, including food purchase. I could have used that, would have saved me on breakfast and another Jug. Alex bought me a pot of beer though, which in American terms is "a very very small beer, about two and a half sips." Thanks Alex, enjoy the other $95.50.

From the Base, I hopped on the old 96 tram to spot 27 to meet up with the MR. SAM HIGGS around 5 p.m. the following day. He was so handsome when he popped out of his vehicle in his monkey suit (Teaching attire). I just wanted to pinch his bum. We had our greetings and were off to his lovely abode with his lovely fiancee, the one and only Natalie Talia (who by the way was almost named Jenny Talia, which would have been torture for her as a child, but great fun for all of her classmates. Thanks to the quick wits of her grandmother she was saved the prepubescent humiliations). Again another fond hello, and we were off to the pub for dinner and how you beens? Their friend Caraugh came along (pronounced Cara) and we made a fun night of it. The food was good, the company better, the drafts hit the spot and there we were.

Caraugh, it seems, is a bit fond of one of the barkeeps at this local place and gets a bit gooey in his presence. We didn't know his name though, so we made a bet out of it. The stakes. $2 a name guess, up to two names, with a free guess at a not so common name, a stretch if you will. The pot was up to eighteen dollars, with some help of a call in bet from one of Caraugh's friends. Now came the moment we actually had to figure out what this mans name was. I went inside, we were outside mind you, in a beautiful little outdoor setting. The weather was very nice, the nicest day since I've arrived to Australia. It was around 33c or 80ish F. Quite nice actually, even as the sun said its goodbyes and farewells. I walked directly toward the bar, said hello, and asked his name. "Why?" was his response. "Our table has a running bet on what your name is. It's two dollars a name." I replied. "Oh, what are the guesses?" He sure was a talkative one. "Never mind that, just some generic ones and then a stretch name. You know, not so common. So what is it?" I again asked. He looked at me strangely for a second, he really seemed a bit strange himself, I mean he was handsome and cultivated a very nice beard mind you, not too tall or short, was plenty capable of not looking like a complete ass in a slightly tight short sleeved shirt, a jeans fellow, no glasses, hair about the length you would expect someone with jeans and a tighter short sleeved shirt would have, dark hair, not just because it was in a poorly lit pub, but because he wasn't blonde or anything, so a fine specimen for Caraugh to gaga over.

Then he dropped a bombshell. RUPERT. Rupert, come on. Not one of us guessed it correctly, not even on our stretch names. We were left wanting. So we decided to do the next best thing. Tuesday is the Melbourne Cup, the biggest race day of the year in Australia, everybody and their mom dresses nice with big, silly hats and thousand dollar nose towels and bets on who they think the winner will be. It's like if the Kentucky Derby had a larger, steroid hungry older brother. We decided that if there is a horse named RUPERT we would put our $18 collection and take the bet. If not, we'll bet on some other horse.

Anyway that's Melbourne so far. I'm excited because Saturday there is a Halloween dress up BBQ that I have been guilty through association been invited to by Sam and Natalie so I need to go find or make a good costume. Take care friends. May you all dream of Rupert tonight.

That is not funny

I have a good joke for everybody, except Cat because she has to deal with me until i deal with the punch line.

So I took out one hundred dollars from my account about an hour ago for travel fare tomorrow.

That's not the joke, but I wish it was. Guess what my available balance is. Here comes the punchline. Wait, first you should know I left my home, or home state, on the 3rd of October. It is now October 28th. I am, meant to be gone and traveling until late July 2010. OK sorry, jokes shouldn't have side thoughts. Punchline.

$22.18.

Have a good laugh. It's the only thing I can do besides worry and cry (if i could cry). I think I can sell a testicle or two for a few hundred. maybe that will get me through for a while. Then there is always the second kidney. Who in their right mind needs two anyway. I still have tonsils. They can surely be donated. Oh, and all of my wisdom teeth as well. There must be some not so bright person looking for a little wisdom. I have two feet. I reckon it only takes one to hop. I can sell an eye. One should suffice. Would any of you like me if I only had one eye, no tonsils or wisdom teeth, zero testicles, one kidney, one foot and no hair? Yep just decided to trade my hair in for a meal. Good luck everybody. I'll be one ugly bastard by the time you see me again.

I had a dream about you the other night

I had a dream about you the other night. It was a good dream. It was the other night. It was just you and me, just us. The entire dream we didn't say a word to each other. Not one. We were somewhere together, some place. It was half field and half beach, but not at the same time, like it was two different places at once, but also separate.

It was night I think, or it was at the end of the dream. I'm not sure about the beginning, the only thing I am sure about is that it was just us. We were watching a ball roll around. Roll around all on its own. There may have been wind but we couldn't feel it. It may have been on a slope, but we couldn't see it. Just rolling around on its own. Putting on a show for you, while I sat next to you. Maybe a show for us.

After a while you stood up. You looked at me with a cute little grin. Turned. And you kicked that ball into the ocean. A good, strong strike. You looked back at me. You smiled. You spun a brilliant spin, on your own, but like you were spinning with someone else. Maybe me. But on your own. After you spun you sat back down next to me. You leaned in onto my shoulder for a second and took a deep breath. It was the only time we touched. Just that one touch. Just that one lean. It's all it took to know.

You dug your toes into the sand. Cute, orange toe-nailed toes. Buried deep in the sand. I even pushed some over on them. You liked that. I had my shoes on. No sand on my toes. No thank you.

We watched the ocean and the moonlight carry the ball away. The subsiding tide took it by the frothy hand, lightly and delicately. It more led it into the deeper ocean.. It didn't coerce it, but convinced it that that's where it belongs. We didn't say a word. Usually there are colors in dreams. Other than various shades of light and dark. This dream had one color. It was the one color you would want. The color of the ball. Guess what color it was, and I'll tell you if you were right. You will be.

Then like the ball, I was gone. Just gone. I could still see you like I was sitting next to you, more of from above. I could see you but I was gone. It was just you. No colors, no ball. No me. You looked for me for a bit. A good bit. Then you just sat back down as you would. You sat back down and gave out a beauty of a laugh. From the soul. The sand made castles with itself you laughed so well. The only words of the dream you said. The only words you said. The only words said at all. You said, "He will be back." With a smile and a laugh. "He took my trick. Disappeared. He will be back."

I had a dream about you the other night. A good dream.

Magic trick

People come and people go
sometimes without goodbyes
sometimes without hellos
She's got one magic trick.
Just one and that's it.

She disappears.

It's like now you see her
and now you don't.
You think you're gonna get to know her
and now you won't.
She's got one magic trick.
Just one and that's it.

She disappears.

Easy come easy go.
Sometimes without goodbyes
sometimes without hellos.
She's got one magic trick.
Just one and that's it.

She disappears. And that's it.

M. Ward

You are an onion

I'm at a coffee shop just now. I do not usually drink coffee, but since I'm using their free wireless Internet and as I learned from Momo through guilt, you can not be at an establishment using their services and not buy anything. I do not agree with that, but it's a separate discussion then the one that has just fueled itself in my ever deforming head. I bought a medium black house blend. It's far to hot to consume just yet so I am letting it release some of its furry on the surrounding air, which is cooler than I expected. Actually it's been wetter and cooler than I ever expected Australia to be entering the summer season. Yesterday was the wettest day in Sydney in the past twenty years. I was meant to be on a long distance bike ride but those plans were shattered. Just re-iterating the fact planning is for the birds. And most birds don't plan anyway, they seem to just flutter and dart and dive about, reacting to whatever the world presents them. If they are planners, they are very good and sneaky with it. I mean you never really see a bird sitting there, legs crossed putting together a weekly itinerary. Maybe they do it whilst on the ground, hopping from fallen seed to discarded cracker. Just thinking about coffee makes me a little loose in the head, and all hither and thither in the brain.

Just across the outside seating area from me were two girls chatting about a recent university exam they must have both recently taken. From what I gathered it would have been a maths exam. They were at first complaining how it was similar to that of an English exam because the questions and most of the answers were essay size. And as abruptly as they started the conversation one girl says, "Who says you need a guy to be happy? I'm not interested in anyone right now." Then they had a brief discussion about the importance, or lack there of, of someone else in one's life, and even further discussed the idea of needing to really know somebody before decisions can be made about relationships. And further antagonized each other about after starting a relationship, the process of "peeling back the layers" of a person to see their true selves.

I dislike that analogy, or at least how they were going about using it. The onion analogy. Peeling back the layers of a person to see their true selves. I do not even like writing it. The idea is there, that of people having personal layers that they let some people see and others not. But the way these two were speaking of it though, was as if you needed to shed all layers to get to one's inner being, one's personal alter and place of genuine confession. Let's have a look at it then. Off goes the first layer, an introduction if you will, and this is only if people are uncomfortable with themselves at the start, or gloss themselves up a bit for a premier first encounter. I know most people don't fully relate who and what they are to someone right off, but they can at least be honest. Second layer, what would that be, politics, personal value and belief, religion, spirituality, favorite place of coitus. There that goes. Discarded right, we want to get to the center. Third, fourth, fifth layers being arguments, reconciliation, the ability to give in and admit wrongdoing, growing by each other and challenging one another completely. Learning just how one needs to be to sleep well, left side, right side, stomach or back, pillow between their legs, or your body pressed to theirs. If it's juice or water in the morning, sunrise or sunset, the little things that make it work or not.

Then the last layer or two. Getting closer to the grail here. Faults, flaws, pieces of them you just hate and want to throw in the rubbish during a fit. Finding out if truly, though these things exist, you want nothing more then to love them and be loved by them. You peel the last layer and there it is, there they are. NOTHING. You peel all the layers away, you get rid of them to find the true self, the middle of the onion, there is nothing. An inner desolate, hollowness. You've spent your well intended, ignorant time throwing the rest of it away to realize there is nothing there. Why is there nothing? Perhaps we don't grow from the outside in, from the outer-most to the inner-most layers. Perhaps we start from nothing, and the layers are who we truly are. Makes sense to me. It might even make sense to you. Sounds cliche I know, we are the sum of all the little parts, all the layers, without one we are not whole, not ourselves. As I said the onion analogy can be good if you mean to use it in a proper way.

Then as sudden as it started, the conversation about how she didn't need a guy to be happy, she wasn't interested in anyone, one of them said, "Oh here comes Ollie." They both snuffed out their cigarettes, found themselves a more elegant posture, and flirted with this poor guy profusely for a good ten minutes or so. In a childish way though. Ollie was obviously found out to be in the same course as them, and had taken the exact same exam. They praised him when he talked of the correct answer and nourished him back to help when he said something silly. Both putting on their sociable makeup, primping and glossing themselves for a masked encounter. It was hilarious. And best yet, when Ollie departed, not only did they return to the aforementioned conversation, but snidely took a dig at Ollie for his outfit, and "how could he get that one wrong, it was the easiest of the whole exam." I nearly fell over.

Fiji Pictures

Bad lens


Boat at sunset

Bad lens boat at sunset

Where i slept

still where i slept

Water so nice

Native patterns

Water still nice

The screen on the camera I am using is cracked and i can't see the pictures until i put them on this here computer. If you want more I'll try, but I'm not real premium with a camera. I should have hired a photographer for the next 10 months. I''m never thinking.

Mama

Mama never taught me to cry.
Mama never taught me to cry.
Mama never taught me goodbye.
Mama always told the truth
but now she lies.

Daddy never taught me to work.
Daddy never taught me to work.
Daddy's going to teach me someday, but for now
daddy's going to teach me to play for now.

There's an old drunk ghost in the house.
There's an old drunk ghost in the house.
There's an old drunk ghost in the house,
and he's never going to shut his mouth.
No he's never going to shut his mouth because,

Mama never taught me to cry.
Mama never taught me to cry.
Mama never taught me goodbye.
Mama always told the truth,
but now she lies, now she lies, now she lies.

And now I've gone and found me this girl.
Now I've gone and found me this girl.
Now I've gone and found me this girl.
I can't tell the world because

Mama never taught me to cry.

Pin drops and cannonballs

So take that step to the bitter end
because I'm not here to be your only friend.
I don't agree with your crass philosophies.
Oh lifeless man do what you can to make this your last leap.

Golden Gate boys and girls are all different
with similar endings and beautiful splashes.
One's great and one's small and sometimes one's broken
to one's empty feelings and one's selfish actions.

In rows they could wait
in numbers so many,
taking tickets for the ride that they have been planning.
They've got no worries,
but they're scared of something.
It's sad to see that their life has come to jumping.

Golden Gate boys and girls are all different
with similar endings and beautiful splashes.
One's great and one's small and sometimes one's broken
to one's empty feelings and one's selfish actions.

It's time to go.
It's time to show all these happy people what you're made of.
The only thing worth living for are the reasons you have for dying.
So jump into that big old creek.
Fall into the sea.
You believe in your own ineptitude
and fear mediocrity.

Golden Gate boys and girls are all different
with similar endings and beautiful splashes.
One's great and one's small and sometimes one's broken
to one's empty feelings and one's selfish actions.

You will feel the wind blowing
before you start glowing.
When you're falling to your watery grave.
Life is unending and mostly forgotten,
but never so un-lived to be saved.

Because you were waiting for something,
but it never came.
The storm came in heavy so that you could be the rain.
You can fill this bridge with the pleasure and the pain
of the Golden Gate boys and girls
pin drops and cannonballs.

Not much humour tonight

There is a certain love of life that people possess. Something in what they do that shows they have something worth living for. Something or someone that makes them want to not only wake up in the morning, but to jump out of bed and give the day a hug. Not everyone possesses this love in such a ferocious and outwardly recognizable way, but some do. I hope to be one of those people. I'm not sure if we are all allowed to be though. It's not always our choice. Sometimes it depends on things you can't control.

And that's the hardest part of it. The things you can't control. The things you hope for and wish for because that's all you can do, hope and wish, but not make happen. Does that make them better if and when they do? I HOPE so.

I was talking to a friend about girls a few weeks ago. The opposite sex is often a touchy subject. Let's rephrase that. The sex you are physically, mentally, spiritually, and dumbfoundedly affectionate for and attracted to is often a touchy subject to talk about. So we were wondering what sets one of them apart from the others. He put it plainly for me in what i think to be a beautiful way. It's not someone you have to think is gorgeous or smart or talented or best suited for you, I mean where is the challenge there, but it is someone that at the end of each and every day you would rather them be happy. Them be happy. If you're happy together that's even better, but it doesn't even need to be that astonishing. We weren't talking about the perfect life or relationship, but just about what we would want to give to someone. His answer, happiness and caring. How much one just wants to care for someone else. Make sure that they are ok, and if they are not do everything to make them even just the slightest bit better, or happier, or warmer, or less tired, or more comfortable. Anything to make sure they feel cared for and on the way to being happy.

I though it was beautifully stated. But I've been thinking if he was right? Do I agree? Is that what you should do and want for somebody? I mean maybe people do not always want to be happy. Maybe sometimes caring for someone means being the release they need. Maybe the person they need to talk to or yell at or kick out of the house for a few hours. Maybe you're the person they do not want to see for a while because that's how they need to refresh themselves and figure it all back out. Maybe that's what it's about. Maybe it's about being whatever they need. If that is the case, is that selfish on their part? Is it being selfish to yourself? And your own needs? Can anyone be that selfless to give themselves up completely to be whatever someone else needed them to be at all times? Is it even healthy for either party?

Back to the age old question, is there a right answer? Usually if you have to ask yourself that the answer will be no. You try things, experience what comes from them and then make adjustments. I reckon life is a long line of thousands of little adjustments. Thousands of little twists and turns you take just trying to go straight.

But I will say one thing for sure. I do just care for some people. I would love to just see them happy, even if it meant i was not.

Better be home soon

Somewhere deep inside
somethings got a hold on you.
And it's pushing me aside
see it stretch on forever.

And I know I'm right
for the first time in my life.
That's why I tell you
you'd better be home soon.

Stripping back the coats
of lies and deception.
Back to nothingness
like a week in the desert.

And I know I'm right
for the first time in my life.
That's why I tell you
you'd better be home soon.

So don't say no.
Don't say nothing's wrong.
Because when you get back home
maybe I'll be gone.

It would cause me pain
if we were to end it.
But I could start again.
You can depend on it.

And I know I'm right
for the first time in my life.
That's why I tell you
you'd better be home soon.

That's why I tell you
you'd better be home soon.

Crowded House.

Bula everybody

Bula everybody. Bula means cheers. Greetings from Fiji. Robinson Crusoe island to be more specific. And even more specific I arrived four days ago, but just now have come across an Internet computer (costing me 10.50 fijian per hour). Well I'm here, but it wasn't painless. Leaving Los Angeles, after a 5 hour layover, I was the last person to be allowed on the plane. First I had to get a transfer ticket from American Airlines to Air Pacific and whilst the transfer my passport wouldn't scan, for over 30 minutes. I was standing sweating with ten security guards around me asking me if it was truly a real passport, and if it was, why was it in such poor condition seeing it is only two years old. I stumped them when i told them I carried it around in my pocket for identification. Their eyes repeatedly called me stupid and idiotic after that. I even got a "You know, some people carry them in plastic containers." I laughed at that. They didn't appreciate my humour, because as soon as I did they called the ground crew to begin the process of removing my large luggage from the guts of the plane. I asked if I could see the passport for a second. They were hesitant, but in the end gave me a shot at it. I smoothed it flat once or twice on the counter and swiped it myself, backwards to the proper facing position, and it worked the first time. That pleasant little beep that allows them to say "Next in line." But for my case it was more like "Your the last in line. GO quickly you jerk. And when you arrive back home, if your passport allows you that far, go about replacing it asshole." Tata L.A.

As if that was the end of it. Now I had to play the role of jerk because I single handedly delayed departure already and spent another ten minutes rearranging overhead compartments and bags so I could fit my guitar in properly. People can give some really nasty looks when they feel like it. They hurt. I even had one guy, this is about a day and a half later, that was on my flight comment "AH I see you managed to fit it on the plane then." This was in Fiji when I was waiting for five hours outside the airport for a bus with my guitar out, playing some fine music mind you, while he was walking by from an overpriced breakfast being picked up in a Mercedes. I nearly kicked him in the shins.

Funny thing about flying west across time zones. I left on the 17th at 11.30 p.m. My flight was just under 11 hours and I arrived in Fiji at 5.00 a.m. on the 19th. I nearly lost a whole day of my life being the playing the role of "jerk" on an international flight.

Well I made it onto the bus from the airport, which transferred me to Nadi Bay Resort, where I am now 4 days later. When I first got to Nadi Bay resort I took an immediate bus transfer to a boat dock about 45 minutes away with some lovely German girls who I'm dining with later. We boarded the boat an hour late, which was fine, Fijian time I reckon it was an hour early, and were off to Robinson Crusoe Island where we were greeted by some of the finest people on earth. It is a beautiful place, if you ever have the chance, go there. I'll go with you. It's about 27 1/2 acres, you can walk the circumference of it in about 30 minutes for a normal person, for me 3 hours. I dawdle. There is bunk living, which is the way to go because if you;re up late at a bon fire or drinking kava to early hours you can walk back be a little loud and get a good rise out of people. You could also have private villas as well for you swanks out there.

Everyday you can go snorkeling, kayaking, fishing, turtle hunting, a walk, relax on nice white sands, avoid deadly sea snakes (which are in abundance there, don't walk in the sea weed) and enjoy people from all parts of the world. I met matt, nevil, charlie, her sister jade, tanya, ollie, jemma, max, and lidia from England, the aforementioned julia and Dana from Germany, Sophia from Australia, Susannah form Holland, Lex from Ireland, Tom and Jess from England I think again, and many wonderful Fijians, who could sing, fire dance, throw knives around like madmen, shake their hips (the women) like there should be no tomorrow without their hips, prepare marvelous foods, give tattoos, in which I am getting two in the morning (I'll be broke very soon) and mix the best kava around.

Kava, oh kava. The first bowl makes your tongue and lips a little numb. The second and their goes your face. Every succeeding bowl another body part goes numb. It's great, and there is no alcohol in it, which makes it free there. The custom of drinking it is completely bad ass as swell. I won't tell you. Go have some yourself in Fiji and you will know what I mean.

Once the first kava celebration was over us folks who were staying on the island were now Islanders. Day and evening trippers would come on boats everyday for festivals, dances, food, and swim. But we were the islanders. We felt privileged. We represented the island, the staff, and everyone on it. We even dressed up in warrior outfits painted our faces, and were given our respect at kava ceremonies. I myself was the chief on my final night there.

Anyway I'm running out of time here so I'll end it quickly. I hear in Australia there is free wireless everywhere, even McDonald's, which is a horrible establishment, so you'll here more of me soon.

I finally made it to the south pacific, it's quite pacifying. It always smells like salt in the air, but not too much of it. My skin tastes of it, I love that. I'm off to make some earrings out of coconuts. Coconuts. Delicious.

One blood

In the far away fires where the hills forever burn
at the feet of our heroes we try hard to learn.
But the lesson is lost there in the smoke and the mud.
That we are one flesh, one breath, one life, one blood.

I stood by the river that ran red with shame.
I stood in the killing fields where death has no name.
I stood with my brothers that awaited the flood
and we were one flesh, one breath, one life, one blood.

Then i fell to the ground
tasted ashes on my tongue
thinking that only the dead are forever young.
There is peace in the twilight
and for a moment or more
was a world without danger,
a world without war.
And I will take all your suffering if it would do any good
cause we are one flesh, one breath, one life, one blood.

Neck tie

I crawled out of bed today. The floor was cold.
This petty existence is growing to big to hold.
The shadow I cast is getting old.
So hold on, hold on it's slowly slipping away
and when it gets hard a neck tie is all it can take.

I like the sound of shoveling when I'm falling asleep,
the smell of leaves decaying,
the touch of warmth when the sun says hello,
a fond goodbye when you're letting me go,
the rush of life when you're hanging on the edge.

Five stories down is a long way to fall.
A leap of faith that you will bounce like a ball.
The pavement ends where your body begins.
Thanks again for letting me in for a while.

Dance

A lovely ballet so full of color,
a lovely dance that I can not follow.
Just give me a chance
well i'll prove to you,
it is a dance that we can dance as two.

If you're reading this you are probably human, or a well trained primate

How rare it is to be born a human being. Why not a fish, a tree, or a bird. A bird would be fun, flying from tree to building top, eating seeds and insects, regurgitating food into our little one's mouths. Oh, but then we would have more predators, like larger birds and teenagers with pellet guns. A fish could be a good life, swimming hither and thither, living underwater, eating water plants, squirmy insects and sometimes our friends and little ones. Oh, but then there would be more predators as well. If you ticked off a friend or family member they might just attack you and bite off your tail. Youch! Oh and if you're a delicious tasting fish people will trick you into a delightful dinner so that they can make you a delightful dinner.

It would be fun to be a tree, especially a giant tree that three people together couldn't wrap their arms around. The king or queen of the forest, and probably protected from loggers and fellers by strict environmental protection laws. But then you would have had to be the little guy at one point, no bigger than a seed. It would take years and years to grow tall, hundreds even. I'm not sure I'd want to be looked down upon by every other tree, fighting for sunlight for a hundred years. That's a lot of work and torture, i reckon. And then lovely little couple will walk up to you pull out a knife and gouge "Andy + Betty Lou 4-eva" in your ankle. Your only defense would be to lose a limb on their heads, but then you would have less chance to photosynthesize and eat and grow. Bummer. Maybe not a tree.

A dog or a cat. No not a cat, drama queens, lazy little drama queens that puke up their own fur on your pillow. A dog though, people cook for you, clean up after you, give you free massages, tell you your so pretty and good, give you your own bed or let you sleep on the couch if they're nice. Well no. You may have to have a rope tied around your throat just to go for a walk and use the toilet. And how awkwardly people would look at you if you were trying to poop and it just wouldn't come out perfectly so you had to move around a little bit to shake it loose. They would always laugh. Oh man, and what if nobody liked you. Man that would suck, you would be sent to jail, just because nobody liked you. No, not a dog.

You could be a polar bear, how fun would that be, You could live in glaciers and swim in really cold water and not be really cold. You could eat seals raw, delicious by the way, and fish. You could fight giant sea lions. You could get rich promoting coca cola classic. No wait, other bears could challenge you and fight you and win by killing or severely harming you. Men and woman who live close enough, or if they have enough money would try to kill you as well. You could never venture into a town to check out the local scenery, you'd surely be shot just for being inquisitive, that's not good.

A human, i guess you can be a human. Forced to go to school until a certain age. Encouraged to not play with your food or not tell dirty jokes at the dinner table. You'd have to go through the pressures and awkwardness of being a teenager and growing up. You would have to get a job so you look respectable in the eyes of others. If you wanted a significant other you would have to woo them and make them appreciate you, not just bite the back of their necks, growl a little and do your thing. That sounds tough. You couldn't just build a nest anywhere, you would need permits, town ordinances, purchase a plot, a contractor, and proper building plans. You couldn't eat your young, or you would be frowned upon and put in jail. You couldn't eat raw seal unless you understood the liability of consuming uncooked meats. You could however play a guitar, dance with a friend, carve a pumpkin, wipe your own ass with toilet tissue or leafs, pine cones, snow or roundish stones. You could ski and snowboard, build fires, jump on a trampoline, read a book, and cook fantastic meals.

How rare it is to be born a human. Well hey, at least you are not a mosquito. Everyone would hate you and want you dead.

Little Darlings

Last evening I had the opportunity to do one of my most favorite things. Carve a pumpkin. It is just so exciting. And I wasn't by myself either, I was with some friends of mine. Hello Darcy and Angela (Angela didn't carve a pumpkin, she just sat on the couch and watched modern t.v. dramas, which I was forced to do after the carving. Garbage t.v. that sucks you right in. I found myself, i dare not say liking, entertained by the ridiculousness of it). Darcy and I on the other hand carved some marvelous pumpkins.

You all know how to carve a pumpkin, and if you don't, shame on you. After cutting a not-so-perfect top off around the stem it's time to scoop out all that seed filled goop within. Darcy cut a heart shape as a top, awe. For all of you who use a long spoon to remove the guts you are not getting the full experience. You have got to get in there with your hands, feel the stuff squishing between your fingers (don't worry boobie, it feels nothing like sand between your toes) oozing stringy secretions up past your wrists. Beautiful.

After gutting the beast it's time to design the image. Side note here, you should always find the perfect pumpkin for you. I did not choose my pumpkin but I had an excellent choice out of five and there was one that was just right; tall enough, rough enough, lumps and bumps, slightly deformed on the right side, not too long of a stem, a real find. Ok. So, you have to choose an image to carve. Now, I love creating my own carving, but last night I tried something new. That's right, taking risks at every turn. There was a recommended design by Darcy, so I went with it. It was a trace, but it was still quite particular. They call it "Little Darlings" and darling it was. After the sketch it was time for the carve. I was lucky enough to be presented with the perfect carving tool, made only to carve pumpkins. I use to just use kitchen knives so the faces were always a bit wonky, but not here. Darcy and Angela purchased a fourteen piece pumpkin carving kit, which by the way only comes with four legitimate pieces, two of which are obsolete on their own, so really just two, but one was fit for the job. It was no more than a few millimeters wide.

So the carve began, I was a bit full of myself when I first looked at the design. I boasted I could carve it in about twelve minutes. A classic fool. From first to last carve it was more in the thirties or forties and I was concentrating and working the entire time, not one break, not even for the pacifico beading next to me. i was determined. Ah finished. Darcy finished heaps before I did. She chose a self designed image, a good one at that. And she sketched it out like a champ, handled it well in every way during the carve, supported its curves from bottom through the tip top of it. Well done Darcy. But, though she erected it well from nothing, she finished it off quicker than most could. So whilst she was separating the seeds from the goo, you have to use every part of a pumpkin mind you, I was working hard still at mine for another fifteen or so minutes.

Now time for the lighting. The first candle to descend within the depths of the hollowed art was far too small and inadequate, and that is never satisfactory. So it took a much larger candle to handle the proper lighting requirements. The kitchen lights went off for the first showing. This I have to say was the only disappointment of the event, and it wasn't that disappointing, and it wasn't the showing. It was the kitchen. I think it was the first pumpkin carving I've done inside of doors. There was an outdoor porch we could have used had the weather not have been so treacherous, 35 mph gusts, driving, cold rain, windows flexing in their frames, fun stuff, but not premium for a proper carving. So, the kitchen lights went out, candle lit, and their it was, the best carving I have ever done, even though it was not my own. Thanks Angela and Darcy.

Little Darlings.

So lately I've been feeling ok.

Alright, so I was just having a walk down a local San Francisco street called Filmore. It's close to my brother's apartment. Just running some errands. Had to go to the bank and transfer some money, but it was closed in celebration of Columbus day. Columbus. Christopher Columbus. He is an asshole. Anyway I'm sure he wouldn't even be proud of his commonly believed, untruthful legacy. I wonder If he would be glad to hear that some banks close down in memory of his accomplishments. I'm not, now i have to go back manana. Anyway besides the point.

I walked past this mother with two little girls. The girls must have been released early from school or something because it was only about twelve and they had book bags and were carrying other books. Just then I had a good childhood memory. I love when I get them. I do not get them very much at all, not because I didn't have a great childhood, I did, but because I can recollect mostly nothing; just a terrible long term memory. So I saw these school books, and guess what, they didn't have any covers on them. I used to find so much pleasure in making covers for my old science, math, English, and social studies books. I use to think social studies was great, until I found out Christopher Columbus was really a big jerk. Anyway, I always tried to make the best book covers, with the straightest folds, the flattest covers, and even with those great inside pockets if you could do it right. The ones you could store papers in. I use to love those pockets.

Well, I was never good at it. My covers were always ratty and homely looking, so my mother would always have to cut up new paper bags, and make them again. That's right baby. the best book covers are made from paper bags (preferably ones with no writing on them or printed ink so you could decorate them with self-drawn pictures and doodles). I would always see kids with those stick on fluorescent and eighties patterned covers that stretched a little. If you were into those type of covers I feel a bit bad for you. You didn't even get to spend the time trying to make your own out of paper bags.

That really wasn't what made me excited about the childhood memory, yes it was a good part of it, but not what made my heart beat a little faster. Two things. First, man how cool is it to get a book at the beginning of school and check out all the kids names on the inside cover who had it before you. I use to know people who if they didn't get anyone they wanted before them, then they would write someone they thought was cool above their names. Little cheaters. Those kids are probably in jail or only have two friends who think they are a jerk. Little cheaters. I use to get my brothers name sometimes in my books. I don't know why, maybe I thought he was a jerk at the time, but I would always scribble his name out when I came across it. Sorry Bob, only room for one brothers Marsella in this book. You're probably thinking I was jealous or something, and you would be wrong, and shame on you for thinking that. Not jealous, just probably didn't like him at the time. Even cooler than getting a book with peoples names in it you thought were hip was getting a new book, when you were the first person ever to write in it. That's correct, you're name at the top of the signing area. Always was happy when that happened.

Ok. So that was the first good part of the memory. The other you might think me weird for, but if you know me you probably think I'm weird already. When you first put those freshly covered books in your bag they were all so straight and proper looking. I hated that, it looked like an organized bag, and no kid should have such organized belongings. It's sick. No, I loved it weeks later, even months (not for me my covers always ripped by then and had to be replaced) when the paper bag was getting thin, bent at every corner, a little tear in the middle from when you were doodling to ferociously, the pocket on the inside had completely given up and quit it's job, so whenever you picked up the book twenty different papers would fall from it. I loved it. Even now I just love the idea of it.

I am and will always be under the firm belief that once your cover ripped off and no longer worked you should not have to replace it. I always hated having to replace a book cover with an un-doodled un-loved straight cornered paper bag. It just felt like you lost all those memories you had with the old one. And the worst part, you would be frowned upon and sometimes even punished if your books remained uncovered for an excess of time. That is just stupid, punish a kid because their books didn't have a cover. Who ever thought up that rule. If I met that person I would make up a stupid life rule for them that if they broke they would be frowned upon and punished. Like, let's say, if that person ever stepped off the last step of a set of stairs with their left foot then they had to wear the shoes on opposing feet for the next two hours. That sounds like a stupid enough rule to combat being punished for not having a cover on a book ten other kids already had possession of before you.

I do not even know if kids still have to cover their school books. You didn't have to in highschool or university. Why do the little one's have to do it. Maybe they don't. Maybe someone realized it's kind of a silly rule. But then again, it always gave you something to write or draw on when you were learning about jerks like Christopher Columbus. Have a great Columbus Day people, if you support and celebrate it. If you don't, please have an even better day.

Big man in pub

I was out with my brother the other night playing pool at a local place. After a few games, a really obnoxiously drunk individual made his way to the table and started giving high fives, pats on the back, drunken thank you's and inebriated salutes. He first tried to pin my brother against me and then me against my brother, saying he's better or I was better, just trying to rile the place up a bit. He seemed good hearted though, just a little loose in the head. My brother had won the table so it was up to him to have a match with this man. I was a touch upset about how the way the previous game ended, an unanswered question of what the rules of the table were, but whatever, my brother had won so I retired to a bar stool to watch their match. The drunk man swayed his way to the bar, sat next to me, put an arm around me and another one on his arm. He's a big man mind you, one you wouldn't want to find yourself in a scrap with. Or maybe you might, depending on your idea of fun. Well he said who cares if I lost, and I really didn't care all that much, but I let him on because it seemed he had something to say.

He said "I've lost pool before. It sucks. But, I just lost my wife, and she took my house and my car." Well that sucks way more than a game of pool my friend, sorry to hear that. That was my reply or something along those lines. He said, "yeah, but not too bad. I mean I came from nothing. Nothing. And then I started a business got married. My first wife. We got divorced. She took my money, but then I made more and got a new wife. Now she's gone with my house and my car. But, I came from nothing, (he said that many times actually) and I can always do something." It went something like that while I just sat there feeling sad for the man. Not to sad though, he was making his own choices. He said it was his fault that his wife left. I didn't ask why. But he made choices that drove her away. I couldn't tell if it was worth a conversation with the man, I reckon he doesn't remember the moment at all, and telling from his state of mind, and dance -like walking stagger, I would say no. But, I took something away from it.

It's just a game of pool asshole. Anyway, even your brother knows your better than him. Just a joke. Not about being better, but about what I took out of the situation. It's just a game of pool asshole. How steady can you be if your emotions are changed from a simple game of billiards? not very. So, as I continue along I will remember that. Steady, for now, until it's time to leap again.

The week is halfway over.

Well it seems as if I am still the only one following this blog so it is safe to say I am my own audience, which is interesting because i could just as easily not spend time writing anything down and just keep it in my head or pass it along to people i meet and actually talk to. But, I still have hope (maybe I'm delusional) someone will take interest someday, and if not, whatever, it's out of my head and I can sleep better at night. Only on my right side though, my left arm continues to get worse and worse, a muscle strain or something.

Good day to you all. This is an early afternoon break for me, 12.35 here, and when I say break I really haven't been doing much besides playing a little music, eating some eggs with Havarti dill and port cheddar cheese, and staring at how ugly my little toes nail has been getting. It gets less and less pleasing to look at. Anyone elses little toes nail get uglier as the years pass?

So I was thinking about tragedy and loss just now and how it brings people together instantly, but doesn't always have the power to keep those bonds strong forever. What are you meant to do in times of loss and tragedy? It seems the common and most useful thing to do is be present, to be around to give a sympathetic glance and half smile, a genuine hug and apology, be needed company (however you think you are needed), to reminisce about past laughs and pleasant memories. Is that what it takes to make people better? Do people ever get better? Does loss make them stronger, more emotionally vulnerable, numb?

Now every loss is situational so there is no right answer, no right reaction, no right agenda to take in moving on. Some losses give people the opportunity to reflect on life with that person, think about all the good and maybe not so good attributes that made them who they were, remember the moments of pure delight, half delight, and down right times of anger and impatience with them. It gives time to think about how that person has been an impact on you.

Some losses provide examples, generally sad examples, of what not to do, of how to think about the consequences of ones actions, and how to respect how fragile we can be. Other losses provide us examples of people's will to fight on, make the most of what they have left, do good to and for everybody, appreciate what they are and who they have. We will all lose somebody, some of us already have, some of us have not yet. We all will, and not just once. The more of yourself you can give to people, the more times you make a friend or pull someone close, the more you choose to care, and to love, and to share, and to be what people need you to be, then the more you will suffer loss. It seems unfair at first, I reckon, but if that's how you choose to live life, then the more life you live the more you can lose.

Enough about thinking about loss though, and how loss brings people together, even if it is just momentarily, even if it lasts a year, ten years, a week or a day. I do not want to spend too much more time inside, it is such a wondrous day through the window so I've come up with a list of things for us all to do, or since I am the only one who follows this, for me to do. Please feel free to tell me to take a hike (it is a nice day) and mind my own business, and not to tell you how to feel, or what to do, but if you choose to take a chance and do something that might be new to you, then..........

Go out and say hi to somebody today, somebody you have never said hi to before. Stop rushing around for twenty seconds and breathe, and listen to the sounds around you. Think about how you can be a good person and how much you can mean to people. Drink a glass of water, not too cold though. Play your favorite song loudly or quietly, however you best like listening to it. Put your feet in the dirt and then jump as high as you can. Spin around once or twice. Tell somebody you are glad that you know them. Think about the person or place you want to think about. Say thank you. Gentlemen, be nice to your ladies. Ladies, give us a smile.

Nothing to do, nothing to do

In regards to what i have accomplished today some would say it has been nearly nothing. A look at a brief itinerary would show that i woke up later than the average human, sat around doing very little, strumming a guitar, reading a book, thinking about whatever entered my head. Not much I could say, but it's only 3.30 I still have heaps of day left. But I feel generally accomplished. Being busy, i reckon, isn't the sign of a productive day. Some of you went to school, or to work, and good for you it is part of your life right now, some of you stayed home and fought off a hangover, went on a run, or out looking for a place to live or future employment, and if that's the case good luck to you. I've just been here, in my brother's apartment, enjoying the magic of having nothing to do.

I was thinking that people often have an agenda, or take to that of the agenda of the people they are around, like a forced assimilation into productive action. I'm not for an agenda right now. I have the next 10 months to fill, and that would take a lot of specific planning to have a full agenda. The general idea is there, be here at this time, go there then, see all of my beautiful friends (well not all of them, some will be missing) here,go to my own thing there, but as for a set agenda, i reckon it's not for me, it's for the birds.

So what should be up for discussion today. Anybody like stories. I love stories, hearing them, telling them, making them up from scratch. If anyone else is out there who likes stories raise your hand. Did you raise it? If you did you probably look a bit silly raising your hand in front of a computer, but whatever, no one really cares. What makes stories so wonderful? Are they really that important? Leslie Marmon Silko once wrote I will tell you something about stories. They aren't just entertainment. Don't be fooled. They are all we have, you see, all we have to fight off illness and death. A bit shocking at the end there, but it makes a good point. We have memories yes, some of us better than others, but memories are just for us, they are in a way selfish, but stories are what we can give to others, simple gifts of laughter, hard work, silly times, love, imagination, dreams, unapologetic innuendos, fierce moments of pulse pounding release.

Another wonderful thing about stories is that they can be so personal to who is telling them, to whom it is told, for what purpose, and in what manner. No one could ever hear or tell the same story twice. It's a magical moment that lasts when it lasts, then it jumps into the category of a memory. Not only are stories dependent on the story tellers methods, creativity, memory or agenda, but also on the needs of the story teller and the needs of the listeners. They are just beautiful.

I was just having a chat with my friend Sasha, and she told me the finale to a story we started a few nights ago. It's not a great story, or a long story, but it is a story about helping somebody. We were on our way back from the Fenway area where we helped our friend Extremily meet up with her mom and get a ride home because she was feeling a bit tired and loose in the head. (that's not the helping part, but i think it's just funny when parents help out their kids when their kids are old enough not to need their parents help. My dad had to drive me to a friends house just the other week and i felt silly.) Anyway. Sasha and I hopped in a cab and headed back to her place, she was kind enough to offer me housing for a few hours before i had to catch another cab at 5 to the airport. While in the cab i found a wallet. A brown wallet I believe. It was that of a gentleman's whose name eludes me. But i scooped up the wallet and gave it to Sasha, making sure she do everything in her power to return it to the poor soul who lost it. Then i instantly forgot about the situation until about twenty minutes ago when i had said chat with Sasha. It turns out, Sasha got in touch with the gentleman and returned the wallet. He is a doctor, and now wants to help Sasha with medical schooling, recommendations I'm sure, she didn't mention a reward. And also he is getting married tomorrow, and without his wallet would not have been able to leave on his honeymoon, which would not have been the best way to start such a wonderful lifetime with his wife. I'm sure she would have been a little displeased. So Sasha has connections and helped save a happy marriage. Not a bad nights work. See not the best story, but whatever, a story none the less.

I have to go now and do something that I should be sweating to do because I am starting to sweat whilst typing on a computer, and that is not means for sweating, so I have to go hide it by doing something active or I'll just feel upset with my over active pores.

Peace.

In the air, almost there

it's been a short flight for me. I fell asleep before the kind airline attendents even gave their monotonous spiel about hot to wear a seat belt and how to locate airplane exits in case of emergency situations. Quick question here. If we crash on either land or water do we think the plane is going to stay in one piece and the exit doors will still work properly? I'm skeptical. Let's take an optimistic approach of thinking about the chance of surviving a crash landing over water. Great, I've made it this far, and if i do not exit the plane and acquire one of those helpful, bright yellow, plastic flotation devices that are so cleverly hidden underneath my seat I am doomed to a slow drowning within the hollow of a sinking plane. First thing, planes were not engineered and constructed for normal sized people, they are perfectly suited for children about the age of seven. I can barely see my feet when I'm properly seated. How am i meant to reach under my seat to find a flotation device that is tucked up and Velcro attached to a place i can not see? Well, side note, it is possible, difficult yes, but possible. I know this because I occasionally remove them and give them as gifts to friends. It is a pure delight to watch somebody figure out how to put them on properly and then inflate them by pulling down on the tabs. When this happens they inflate so much it nearly cut's off an adults airway, i reckon it is they are made for seven year olds. It usually takes them a while. And that's the thing just there. It's nearly impossible to put the things on. Well educated adults in the comfort of their home struggle to put them on correctly and in a timely fashion. They are very tricky, like pulling spandex up over baggy jeans or a long dress with only your elbow. And I'm supposed to do this in a highly stressful, life threatening situation, with people who did not survive the initial crash floating around me because now the water has obviously made its way into the main cabin, probably not first class they have all the benefits, and is slowly ending the lives of all the folks who haven't figured out the seat belt concept yet. Also, by now fuel is pouring into the water, there is probably some small fires that have started from busted electrical systems and hooligans smoking in the bathrooms. Now let us say I did the survive the crash, somehow i put that tricky flotation device on, waded my way through floating, fallen passengers, survived the fire water, didn't swallow too much fuel, and i have made it to the open waters. Yes. I have made it right? Wrong. There would be at least four or five other people who made it out of the plane as well. But, oh, they couldn't get to their flotation devices, or they tried to but were shocked to find them amiss because some jerk on a previous flight thought it would be a great idea to relieve the plane of a few flotation devices so he could give them as presents to his friends. Great, now i have to fend off all these poor souls who are now trying to use me to stay afloat. What i have to do now is make a choice. First, i would kindly remind these half drowned fools that if they would have remembered the pre-flight video, that i slept through, that the emergency doors are all equipped with giant yellow slides that can be used as life rafts. Skeptical again here, I doubt they would still be intact floating through all this sharp debris and water fire, but I would use that knowledge to get at least one or two of them to leave me be and turn their dying efforts into pursuing those illusive exit doors, that by now are sinking down to deeper depths. Do not get me wrong here, I am not claiming self preservation is better than helping save peoples lives, but if they're killing you whilst your helping them then they can bugger off. Good luck with finding the slides. Ok, so there are two people left still clinging to me because they had no energy left, pulling me under a bit, so I would do the only thing I could think of, I would find some sharp floating object, of which I'm sure there would be quite a few, and stab the flotation device so it no longer worked. Now they would surely let me go. They would probably think me a bit awful and use words like jerk and mean person, and maybe even party pooper, but hey would indeed let me go. Silly decision you say? Maybe for you, but not for me, because knowing this would happen, even during a catastrophe I would have been thinking quite clearly- don't forget we are being supremely optimistic here- and would have thoughtfully taken not only my flotation device, but also that of the corpse sitting next to me. And as I swam away from the two scavengers I would easily connect the second flotation device around my torso, because now I'm getting quite good at ti, and float away to the safety of the expanding ocean. Yeah, the safety of the expanding, dark- of course it would be night time- frigid, marine animal infested water. Maybe it would have been better if i just didn't make it, but i still have things to do and people to spend time with. Some of you may wonder why if I had two flotation devices why not give the other two people one of them? My answer, surely they wouldn't want to share in this situation and I would hate it to see one of them over power the other and commit senseless murder. i would have to turn them in if we were ever rescued. And what's the point of surviving such an ordeal to be rescued and stuck in prison. Anyway, they looked as if they were finding a second wind and were both fairly good swimmers.

As i said, it's been the shortest cross country flight i have ever had, I fell asleep early and now I'm descending into San Francisco. Here I come big brother. Here i come. Ready? Ready.