Darwin CBD Sunrise

Ken Kesey committed pseudocide after being sentenced to prison for the possession of marijuana. He left a suicide note in his truck, parked it at the edge of a cliff in California, and took off with his friends to Mexico.

Huck Finn also committed pseudocide. He wanted to get away from his alcoholic father and go on adventures. There’s a brilliant scene where Huck and Tom hide in the rafters of the funeral home during Huck’s funeral. That scene made an impression on me as a kid. (What will they say about me when I’m gone?)

A pseudocode is a little death, and death is good for us in small doses.

The pressures of life expand like steam in a chamber and they need to be released or else. And sometimes man, a two week vacation just doesn’t cut it. Sometimes a vacation is a torturous little tease. The first dagger is a dreary life, but the second dagger is gazing into the future and realizing that nothing’s likely to change.

The doctor tries to patch you with pills, but really what you need is a micro dose of death and rebirth.

For some it’s a breakup or a divorce. For some it’s a new job, a new town. A psychedelic trip or a road trip. Quitting the habit you never thought you could quit.

These things feel like death. But now you’re reborn, and what will you call yourself? Maybe you’ll leave your iPhone in the drawer for a week and who cares? Time is on your side. The rainy days are even lovelier than the sunny ones. You suddenly realize that time travel is a waste. Because the men in black flashed a red light in your face and erased the past. People still warn you about tomorrow and her army of troubles, but you take it all with a grain of salt, because anyone who purports to read the future is a liar.

You’re like Huck Finn in the rafters, or Ken Kesey crossing the Mexico border. You’ve got $5 in your pocket, a sunburn on your neck, and a backpack full of apples. Once your soul is weightless, then baby you can really fly.


Create More, Share More: Tuesday, April 28th

1) Create More, 2) Share More

These are my two writing goals for the year.

It’s a fundamental aspect of my character that I’m happiest when I’m making things. Making things out of nothing is fun. It’s satisfying. It brings real happiness (not fleeting french-fry happiness). All life-long I’ve been making things: maybe it was a tree fort, a plywood speaker box, an American Gladiators obstacle course, a mock radio show, a pencil sketch, or a journal entry.

Songs-making and Video-editing are other sandboxes that I like to play in – admittedly I’m not so hot when it comes to either of these disciplines. But my happiness doesn’t know that.

Probably I’m not the exception to the rule. My hunch is that we’re all happiest when we’re creating things.

Professional artists are mystical superheroes because they’ve somehow managed to maintain a spirit of creativity and playfulness even into adulthood. We like to point fingers and call them “sellouts”, but that’s only because we’re jealous.

Imagine this scenario: Your family is gone for the week on vacation and they left you alone. Not because they don’t like you, quite the opposite: they love you and they want you to have some “me” time. All the chores are done. Money is a non-issue. All you have is space and money and time.

Now remember, you don’t want to squander this opportunity. You don’t just want to lay drunk in your underwear on the couch all week, because this is your one life, and someday when you’re laying in your grave you’re gonna need some good memories to keep you company.

You’ve got a whole week. What are you going to make? What are you going to create?

Whatever your answer is, that’s probably the work that you were born to do. (If you don’t remember, just travel back in time and ask your 9-year old self. Odds are they’ll know the answer.)