We drive through the desert highways millions of miles below one of the most beautiful star-filled skies I've ever seen. We stare silently out our windows, our eyes heaven-sent, time and space a far memory of another reality, fingers crossed for an alien hitchhiker on the side of the road.
As we start to see Vegas, I'm surprised to see even more lights on land than up above and can't help but lose a sense of connection to the Earth but focus on embracing the world of slot machines, hookers and degenerate gamblers.
We check into Monte Carlo and make our way along the strip in search of food not outrageously out of our budgets. I buy a $10 grilled cheese and make the economical decision to pass on the $12 whiskey my body craves.
The next morning I decide to wander the strip on my own and jump in and out of art galleries, shops and kiosks, mostly just incredibly over-stimulated. This city is an abyss of distractions for the Attention Deficit Disordered mind, my eyes constantly darting from lights to cleavage to bum to slot machine to lights.
I head back to the hotel after purchasing a sixer of Pacifico, feeling like my soul has been slightly raped by the city of sin, even during the daylight hours. Jack and I head down to the slots that he hit up solo until 7 a.m. the night before.
He teaches me the ways of the slots and I soon find myself loving sticking my dollar bills in the slot, only to watch some numbers move around on the screen, telling me it's slowly taking my money, and repeat the process. Maybe it was the free double Jack & Cokes that make me feel a false sense of accomplishment.
While Jack and I are being trained in the way of the degenerate gambler, Ben and Mark are at the Chicken Ranch to film. A trashier version of the infamous Bunny Ranch, the Chicken Ranch is full of STD-free hookers at your disposal. Because if you're going to lose any sense of pride, at least you know you wont go home with the clap.
That night I met Mama J out for dinner at Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville for margs and a plate of nachos 3 times bigger than our heads. While she's in town to sell wind chimes at a trade show, she serves also as a beacon of motherly wisdom for me and I leave her refreshed as ever to enter the testosterone posse that is our crew.
Mark's friend Tommy lives in the area and meets up with us at Monte Carlo. I'm grateful for his knowledge of cheap drink dispensaries on the strip and we head out. I get a little too drunk a little too fast and find myself going into my own world on the dance floor, a place I love to visit when it presents itself to me.
Rather than heading to the wedding chapel, we get some Vietnamese food at Pho King Long (ha). While an Asian chick is puking in the bathroom, the boys share more disturbing stories of true and false life events, attempting to make me lose my appetite. Or mind. I eat on regardless.
The next morning my Kung Pao Shrimp is a sassy little bitch and I spend a good part of the morning taking shots of PeptoBismol, hoping I don't poop myself.
We drive for a 19 hour straight journey into Oklahoma; our only stop being in Alberquerque, NM where we encounter a gay bar, multiple bums and crackheads, and one very good looking hooker.
A disheveled older woman wearing a midriff-baring T-shirt and baggy pants wants to ask Ben the meaning of life but we hightail it out of there, still hungry but content to know we are alive and disease-free.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
the spirit of the mask comes alive in the form of dance in the Vortex
Arriving in Sedona, one of the vortex's on this planet, the energy of the place is unmistakable as we are surrounded by Mama Nature at her finest amongst giant red-toned rock formations. Due to the immense energy and spirituality of the place, Sedona attracts all types of energy healers, clairvoyants, shamans and universally in-tune people. Here are some good folk, albeit they're mostly all over 50.
We take a drive up to a higher elevation where we rent a helicopter for 20 minutes to shoot some aerial shots.
With only one extra seat Jack selflessly makes the sacrifice to let me go up, knowing how much it means to me. (Love you Jacky)
The helicopter allows us to see what no other land or air vehicle could as we hover among the rock formations and dive between canyons. We circle high above Mark down below losing his mind through dance, wearing the mask and blasting Judas Preist's Leather Rebel from a boombox.
Then we shoot some land footage of Mark half naked in his skivvies with the machete in hand, singing to the spirit of the mask on a rock. We all become one with the cacti as we pick their friendly reminders of their existence in the form of prickers out of our hands and feet, but we leave the scene with a sense of pride and fulfillment at the art that was just created and I'm grateful to be a part of it.
We wanted to get a family photo of our auras for the mantel, but that was a wrap and Vegas was hollering.
We take a drive up to a higher elevation where we rent a helicopter for 20 minutes to shoot some aerial shots.
With only one extra seat Jack selflessly makes the sacrifice to let me go up, knowing how much it means to me. (Love you Jacky)
The helicopter allows us to see what no other land or air vehicle could as we hover among the rock formations and dive between canyons. We circle high above Mark down below losing his mind through dance, wearing the mask and blasting Judas Preist's Leather Rebel from a boombox.
Then we shoot some land footage of Mark half naked in his skivvies with the machete in hand, singing to the spirit of the mask on a rock. We all become one with the cacti as we pick their friendly reminders of their existence in the form of prickers out of our hands and feet, but we leave the scene with a sense of pride and fulfillment at the art that was just created and I'm grateful to be a part of it.
We wanted to get a family photo of our auras for the mantel, but that was a wrap and Vegas was hollering.
the land of love
It's the night before our westward adventure of finding and creating magic when Ben and I are full of a healthy amount of wine and creep our way into my basement in search of Faja's mask collection. Each mask has its own spirit and the chosen ones instantly speak to us. We celebrate with more wine and look forward to the journey ahead.
The next day, the three amigos board a train to Chicago; Jack listening to hip hop in his new fur-lined hoodie, Ben devising a plan to steal the bulletproof vests of the train security and me requesting and receiving a dose of bubbles from Martin the drink cart man.
In Chicago, a white rental Yukon SUV picks us up and I meet Mark, the lyricist and madman behind Everything Under. We put our bags in the trunk along with the top of the line rental camera gear and Mark tells us about a time he was high on ketamine when his mom sent him some boxes with enough packaging puffys to fill the room as he did snow angels amongst them.
Solid first impression of Mark the "wild card" if you ask me. I would soon come to realize most of Mark's stories begin with "This one time when I ate acid.." and so on.
He speaks in pure visuals with a mind flow like I've never quite experienced. Even the music he makes is a visual happening as he will say things like "make this more red" while in the studio. "Make this yellow like the eye of an alligator."
And I dib you permatripping.
With our roadie crew formed, we journey westward, listening to Mark's insanities and attempting to pass out in the back of the Yukon with raging industrial metal playing into the wee hours.
I awake delirious to a gorgeous yellow sky and soon enough we arrive in our first destination, Loveland, CO. The land of love.
We stop by Gramma Becky's for some stuffed peppers and then Boongey and his little bitty pick up Jack and I to take us to his new home up in the mountains.
I am stunned that such beauty even exists, much less that two of my best friends from high school live amongst it.
We sip our beers and sit out back on the porch, reminiscing about the olden golden days and talking about things like the effects of DMT, modern childbirth practices, and suggest the incorporation of yoga in prisons; all while getting burnt by that big, beautiful Colorado Sun and overlooking a lake and only more mountains.
After a quick 'find-my-mind' nap, Boongey and I head to a Walmart parking lot to drink vino and shots of jaeger while waiting for Regs. The long lost Regs.
He pulls up with golden locks in his silver minivan with traveling companion/dog and fedora, full of fantastic energy per usual and we trek it to Denver for the Sound Tribe after show.
The people of Colorado are of a friendly breed like I've never experienced before. On the street there is no vibe of unfamiliarity as everyone openly talks to one another. It's a beautiful thing.
Regs tries to get us in to the show for free by bribing drogas and calling the doormen "Jersey" but this backfires horribly and we almost don't get in at all. We separate and individually persevere.
Big Gigantic plays with Alex B from Pnuma Trio, V joins the party, and I am all smiles in an ocean of ecstasy vibrations and movements, the saxophone leading my way.
We go back to V's apartment in downtown Denver and watch the most beautiful sunrise on her balcony before passing out on the futon.
The next morning, we evacuate Loveland just as the forest fires are spreading and heading towards Benji and Phil's home and make it down the mountain, our hearts heavy for the people who lost their homes and the earth that lost its trees.
On our drive through the majestic mountains, Ben, Jack and I sprawl out in the back seat, feet outstretched and quietly observe our surroundings, smiles spread across our faces in pure bliss. We smoke a spliff and listen to the psychedelic genius of Terrence McKenna as we curve in and out along the mountain side.
We stop in Vail to eat, Jack and I buy a couple jugs of Mississippi Mud black and tans, and Ben and Mark buy a machete for $19.99. Best $20 spent all trip.
It's here that I see the third black person during my 2 days in Colorado and I take a swig from the love jug in accordance to the rules of the drinking game I decided upon at arrival in whitefolkland, CO.
The next day, the three amigos board a train to Chicago; Jack listening to hip hop in his new fur-lined hoodie, Ben devising a plan to steal the bulletproof vests of the train security and me requesting and receiving a dose of bubbles from Martin the drink cart man.
In Chicago, a white rental Yukon SUV picks us up and I meet Mark, the lyricist and madman behind Everything Under. We put our bags in the trunk along with the top of the line rental camera gear and Mark tells us about a time he was high on ketamine when his mom sent him some boxes with enough packaging puffys to fill the room as he did snow angels amongst them.
Solid first impression of Mark the "wild card" if you ask me. I would soon come to realize most of Mark's stories begin with "This one time when I ate acid.." and so on.
He speaks in pure visuals with a mind flow like I've never quite experienced. Even the music he makes is a visual happening as he will say things like "make this more red" while in the studio. "Make this yellow like the eye of an alligator."
And I dib you permatripping.
With our roadie crew formed, we journey westward, listening to Mark's insanities and attempting to pass out in the back of the Yukon with raging industrial metal playing into the wee hours.
I awake delirious to a gorgeous yellow sky and soon enough we arrive in our first destination, Loveland, CO. The land of love.
We stop by Gramma Becky's for some stuffed peppers and then Boongey and his little bitty pick up Jack and I to take us to his new home up in the mountains.
I am stunned that such beauty even exists, much less that two of my best friends from high school live amongst it.
We sip our beers and sit out back on the porch, reminiscing about the olden golden days and talking about things like the effects of DMT, modern childbirth practices, and suggest the incorporation of yoga in prisons; all while getting burnt by that big, beautiful Colorado Sun and overlooking a lake and only more mountains.
After a quick 'find-my-mind' nap, Boongey and I head to a Walmart parking lot to drink vino and shots of jaeger while waiting for Regs. The long lost Regs.
He pulls up with golden locks in his silver minivan with traveling companion/dog and fedora, full of fantastic energy per usual and we trek it to Denver for the Sound Tribe after show.
The people of Colorado are of a friendly breed like I've never experienced before. On the street there is no vibe of unfamiliarity as everyone openly talks to one another. It's a beautiful thing.
Regs tries to get us in to the show for free by bribing drogas and calling the doormen "Jersey" but this backfires horribly and we almost don't get in at all. We separate and individually persevere.
Big Gigantic plays with Alex B from Pnuma Trio, V joins the party, and I am all smiles in an ocean of ecstasy vibrations and movements, the saxophone leading my way.
We go back to V's apartment in downtown Denver and watch the most beautiful sunrise on her balcony before passing out on the futon.
The next morning, we evacuate Loveland just as the forest fires are spreading and heading towards Benji and Phil's home and make it down the mountain, our hearts heavy for the people who lost their homes and the earth that lost its trees.
On our drive through the majestic mountains, Ben, Jack and I sprawl out in the back seat, feet outstretched and quietly observe our surroundings, smiles spread across our faces in pure bliss. We smoke a spliff and listen to the psychedelic genius of Terrence McKenna as we curve in and out along the mountain side.
We stop in Vail to eat, Jack and I buy a couple jugs of Mississippi Mud black and tans, and Ben and Mark buy a machete for $19.99. Best $20 spent all trip.
It's here that I see the third black person during my 2 days in Colorado and I take a swig from the love jug in accordance to the rules of the drinking game I decided upon at arrival in whitefolkland, CO.
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