This Fight Won’t Fight Itself

Sometimes they’re all scrambling to the top of the mountain when really what was at the bottom is way more interesting.

I looked up the mountain path to see almost two dozen humans climbing in the same vein upward to the top. Like ants in line going where they think they’re going, or where they sense they’re going. And that’s what I thought and I asked myself why would I want to follow them? Wasn’t I out here in nature to get away from people and literally stop following them?

And then I saw the leader of the ants. He was now leading them down from the mountain literally waving his hand in which way they should go as to safely descend. I realize that along with everything else I’ve realized today and within this life, most people are ants. They want to be led because it’s so much easier than leading.

The universe has repeatedly told me and reminded me of a very important fact. My opinion matters. Not my opinions on politics or religion, per se. But my right to assert myself within what I do and do not want to do, as well as what I think is logically and ethically the right answer for me and the people who wish me to answer for them.

This has been a very difficult realization for someone who so freely accepted the flow of the universe. I really did accept that if I just let myself go the universe would lead. That is true but the catch is that there’s a fine line between going with the flow and not letting yourself get washed off a cliff. We still need to think as people with brains in our heads and feet in our shoes. There’s flowing and then there’s absolute defeat. That’s not saying that sometimes you DO have to just let the rapids carry you, but there is a time and a place where you need to say yes or no, up or down, left or right, this plane or that plane.

Lately I’ve learned from leaders, gurus, and my very own psychic; a question is constantly posed by them to me. They ask me what I did about the trouble or frustration that is facing me. What did I do to head on the challenge and respond to it? And most of the time my honest-to-goodness answer is I was hoping it would just deal with itself. I was hoping that I would flow in the right direction instead of forcing me to look someone or something in the eye, taking a breath and a pause, and answering in a full sentence as to what my response, question, or recommendation is for the situation.

To the point, I never really thought that it was my responsibility to lead myself. It’s not really about other people or becoming some kind of grand master guru leader. It’s about my responsibility to myself. To quote one of my many gurus, Susan Powter, it’s finding your response to your ability, your responsibility.

Much like those ants crawling up and down the hill with their guide pointing the best path I was sure that someone would do it for me. For everything! Yes please tell me what to eat, where to walk, and what to wear. Please! Make this simple. Life is hard enough.

But instead I find that people look to me for that same guidance. And I don’t mean to pat myself on the back but since I exercise some semblance of knowing what I’m doing people automatically assume that I would know the way better than they may. My response is important. That’s something that I have learned, my response is important. I cannot answer in a mumbled voice. I don’t get to “get away with that.” I cannot respond in a half-hearted hyper and or depressed reaction. What I expect of myself is actually what others expect from me. I can’t let myself off the hook. I don’t get a pass. I can have all the support that I want and I need, and I can take all the time to suss out the way, but I don’t just get to wander haphazardly in hopes of being saved.

If you know me, you know that I love to hike and climb mountainous terrain. This is the perfect comparison to what I’ve been thinking about. You shouldn’t always follow the signs pointing to the easiest trail. Those signs don’t always mean it’s the only way. There are plenty of ways up and down a mountain. There are even a lot of ways around the mountain. It’s using your common sense and natural abilities to know when to do what ends up being the key to not only mountain climbing but living your life in the flow.

As I talk about the flow of the universe and letting go but still maintaining some control I ask myself the same question that you probably ask yourself. How do you know when to float with the current or swim against it? I don’t think there’s an answer here. Other than it’s like climbing a mountain. Sometimes you should use the posted trail and other times there’s another trail that is just as fine and won’t do you any damage.

However, most of us have the good sense to know that climbing that unclimbable side is not the right way to go. It’s an intuition. There’s one difference.

The Artist D, December 2018

The Artist D, December 2018

The Damnable Hum

And I hear the sounds of silence. That which is not silent at all. The rustle of the trees, dry and crisp in true Summer. The birds and creatures making little noises. But no hum. No damnable city-like hum. Only the sound of the truth.

I’ve been driving for a little under five hours and it feels like I just left. All I can figure is that this is the sign of unwinding a very tightly coiled self. I listen to books, podcasts, and music as I go. And it really helps shake me back to who I really am. Or at least who I presume myself to be.

This time it feels like I could do with five more hours before arrival. Five more hours of podcasts and books. That’s how much coil is left within to be shaken. Either that or I’ve finally acclimated to traveling far distances, again. I had ceased distant travel many years ago and eventually became impatient with it.

It is hot, but delightfully so. I have missed this so much. This time it may take me four full days to fully explain. To rattle out the words onto the paper and into the typer.

I run into a lot of people here who have very strange conversations with me. They’re small town people and I think they can sense that I am just a little off. I’m not a tourist, but I don’t live here. They ask me if I’m from here. They ask if I live around here. I tell them every time, “No, do I look familiar?” And they say, “Nah.” Then I ask why they would ask in the first place and they add, “It’s nothin’.”

It is nothing. It’s the void that I have which most people don’t. It’s that I am so very much and I have depth, yet I’m hardly a functioning human. At least, I don’t function like most of the humans. I’m some strange observer from a distant land. It’s that extraterrestrial within me that shines to the people out here.

People stop me and have conversations about their slipped disks or their desire to be transgender. This is not with any previous introductions as to who I may be! They simply open up. I think they just know. I’m not like all the others and I’ll understand, “for some reason.”

The wind rustles through this bushy field. There are leafy trees, burnt trees, and those magical looking stocks with fuzzy things on the ends. They sway and they glisten in the sunshine like a slow motion dream. A bird with a super bright yellow belly is sitting on a twig staring at me. We may know each other from another time and place too.

I sit here like I am in a dream. My happy place. My landscape.

I was talking to my psychic this morning and she asked me what my landscape was. What geography do I connect with? I love the way that she put that. I connect with many geographies and this is one of them. The flat dry Wild West. The rolling red mountains sprouting up among all of these slow motion weeds. The empty horizon. The empty towns. The lack of people and the lack of that damned hum.

I also connect with the ocean. Raging and wet as it beats against the land, sanding it down slowly throughout forever after forever. I love the ocean. It’s safe out there. At least as safe as floating in space with no man or woman to burn horrors into your spirit.

I come here like I go there. I escape the humming city walls and go off to these places where I cannot, for some unknown reason to me, live permanently. The universe keeps me locked up in that damned city. But I come here or there or somewhere just like I drift off into another dream. In my mind I float to magical lands. In my meat suitcase I venture to them.

The Artist D

The Artist D, June 2018


Originally posted at, August 22, 2017

Coyote Wanderlust

It’s 9 pm and no one has Liked my recent photo for the last hour.

I’ve been checking.

I’m reading a book about coyotes and I keep checking my phone between each chapter.

I didn’t know the book was about coyotes until I bought it. Now I read it uninterested yet oddly enthralled.

Some dumb author I found to be brilliant had recommended this coyote book to me. I guess he’s not that brilliant after all.

I keep reading this book. Like a badly cooked meal you’re too hungry to throw out.

This is the future. This is our 21st century.

I can’t get through a chapter or an act without checking. Feed me the Like. Like good drugs gone bad. Like drugs. The drugs of Like.

It could be worse. I’m not mainlining something that could kill me. Or am I? Likes are deadly substances.

Don’t snort too many Likes or you could OD. I learned that back in 2002.

They ruin our mental state. They take away from reading books and watching plays. About coyotes.

Back with the coyotes I go.

It turns out we’re all rummaging through the trash looking for things we Like. In cities we have no business being lost inside of.

The Artist D, May 2018

The Artist D, May 2018

Death of Passivity

I have always loved the ocean because it speaks to life. The ocean is a visual representation of life as I see it. I’ve often described the need to flow with the cosmic waves. If you become too stuck, too solidly stubborn against the waves, you will suffer more friction and destruction than if you were to just “go with the flow.” Much like how with struggle it becomes much easier to drown.

We creatures float through the galaxy like objects in the sea. All of the swirling, floating, and interweaving is critical for it to make a masterpiece. It’s a chaotic dancing stew, yet it all seems to work out for the best. The tide comes in and washes over the rocks to clear off some creatures while feeding others. If you happen to be one of these clam-like creatures you actually depend on it. You don’t really swim. You float, you’re buried, you’re uncovered, you live. It’s the Art of Being. Clams need not do anything other than be themselves while their environment carries them to live the life that they happen to live.

I think you will be taken care of whether you decide to swim or float in this universe. There is a place for both. However, we should not hold ourselves back when it comes time to paddle our feet to get us to the next place.

For most of my life I have often held myself back from swimming. I opted instead to float. I’ve let the waves of the universe carry me to some pretty great places. With that in mind I have always hesitated to start swimming in another direction.

I have feared changing course in life just about as much as I would fear changing course in the literal ocean. I am afraid to start purposefully swimming towards better land only to end up in one of those tidal wave storms which puts you farther away. Then you’re clinging to a plank, pissed off, and dying of hypothermia.

There’s also a big difference between swimming and flailing your arms violently until the ocean of our universe pulls you under into death. I see a lot of people confuse the two of these all of the time, literally and figuratively. Especially figuratively! There is an incredible amount of people out there struggling violently against the waves, gasping for air, and they have no idea. They’d tell you that they’re swimming. I’d tell them that they’re sinking.

If you float when you could swim you are being passive, possibly too passive. I am guilty of being passive at times when I should have been ravenously paddling. I’ve let people in my life just because they happen to have come into it. I’ve let a lot of things happen to me just because they were happening. It’s the pile of drugs you take just because they happen to be on the coffee table. It’s the sex you have just because the person happens to be all over you. It’s the job you take just because they hired you. It’s the first husband or wife you marry because they were the first one to put up with your cranky ass.

For far too long I was under the impression that this was the way it worked. In a lot of ways that can work, but it will not always be the way and you should not always accept it as such.

There is nothing wrong with making decisions. There is nothing wrong with saying “no” when you don’t want something. The same goes for if you want to say “yes” to something. There’s actually nothing wrong with asking for what you want! This is simple and obvious, yet completely unbelievable to a lot of people.

I was one of those people. That personality is still buried within me. If the opportunity came along then we might as well do it. If the opportunity did not come along then let’s forget about it. There wasn’t much push to obtain the opportunity. There wasn’t a lot of swimming against the current.

I deceptively resembled a person who took chances because I did take chances – passively. I blindly threw myself off of a lot of cliffs and hoped for the best. That’s where my faith in the flow of the universe stems from. That’s where I got terribly confused about being a drifter, never decidedly swimming to the desired opportunity.

This is why I had absolutely no understanding of college students. To put yourself in an eight year program with a belief that you are actually going to get to the end is as likely as swimming a straight line in a hurricane. Do you know how much can change in eight years? Do you know how much you probably will never want to do in eight years what you are doing today? I could not fathom the desire to do anything of the sort. For me, a one year plan was quite enough because I knew that at the end of that plan I’d be ready for a completely different map.

The only thing that has changed my mind about long term planning is finally capturing some realization about the hurricane in between. If we are open to changes of course during our plans then it makes sense. It turns out that most people understood this. I was far too black and white to see it until now.

The dawning realization has been that it’s OK to make hard choices. It’s OK to decline an invitation or disagree with an associate. We learn this even more when we are placed in management of others or owning a business. That can be learned from the corporate world or from managing an underground art magazine. Are you ready to have difficult conversations with people you may not like? Are you going to cope with the disagreement when your word is the final word? Are you OK with pointing out things that someone else may have absolutely no clue about? Would you be willing to fire someone for their shitty behaviors?

We do not always need to float. We are not all clams. We are allowed to decide on a course of action which may not be easy, but doable, if we have working arms, legs, or a giant propeller for a nose. The balancing act is to learn when to stop driving your boat into the Tsunami. The secret is to know the difference between swimming and flailing.

The Artist D, Autumn 2017

The Artist D, Autumn 2017, Beating a Metaphor to Death since circa 1997


We are always sixteen and I am not much better than He. I got locked into a certain style of step somewhere around the age of 15. That’s when I was engraved.

I found me between 15 to 17 years and have been working on Him, Her, and It ever since.

Some people grow up. Some people stay too young at heart. I know some fellows who have a baseline of about 8 years old as they head into their 60’s. I am no better. I have remained a teenager. My baseline is angsty teen. I am in love with being against the Lemmings.

The other day I was hiking down a steep cliff in the woods. I wanted to get down to the furiously rushing river beneath. It was a fenced off area where people aren’t supposed to go. There were all of these deterrents at the top. I saw a fence, some wire, big yellow pointy signs with stick figures in peril. All indicators which translate to, “Try me.”

I carefully climbed down the embankment, strategically choosing each foothold. While I did this some passersby stopped to observe. They too saw my goal of rushing river water down below. Once I safely got to the bottom I sat on a rock to do what my angsty internal teen loves to do. I sat and thought.

As I sat and thought about thinking I eventually heard a screaming panic coming from behind me. The people who were watching at the top were now tumbling downward to the bottom.

“Oh no. My ankle!” The Lemming screamed.

You may better understand me if you were ever fortunate enough to play the Lemmings game on 3.5″ floppy disc (Lemmings © PSYGNOSIS 1991). The computer game where you lead adorably cute piles of green-haired Lemmings to their death off steep cliffs.

I calmly observed the pile of tourists who now lay at the base of the cliff rubbing their ankles and emptying dirt out of their shoes. Battered and bruised they picked themselves back up to complete taking selfies for Instagram.

This is what I am against. They go to work. They go to school. They take selfies. They climb unstrategically. They have no problem dedicating 92.5% of their entire existence to an algebraic equation which has a lot of factors all equaling zero.

This is why I am always sixteen. I do not prescribe to that and I will never accept it as the right thing, even if it is a thing I have to do. I’ll do your thing, but I don’t have to like it.

They accept it and go with the flow. They sign up for adulthood and I run the other way. They buy a V-Neck Shirt while I get a pair of scissors to make my own. They tumble while I strategically climb downward.

My baseline is sixteen. My brain is set to punk. It is the fountain of youth. I love being petty. I adore finding the anger and the angst. To be anti-society and inexcusably horny, with some blended ADHD bipolar youthquake forever brewing against becoming a Normal Lemming. To rage against tumbling down the cliffs of adulthood to their boring lead-lined coffins.

To sit on a rock where I am not allowed to think and think about thinking.

The Artist D's Rushing River, February 2017

The Artist D’s Rushing River, February 2017

Travelers Inbound

They piled out of a beaten up cliché of a wanderer’s van. He wore a short raggedy belly shirt. His skinny stomach showing off to the world. He had a vest on. Tall with dirty blonde hair. I could have eaten breakfast off of his stomach had I not been so concerned with where it had been.

She was the quintessential new age hippie. She wore a Hugh Hefner smoking jacket, booty shorts, and a pirate’s hat with cat ears on it. An old guitar, non-electric also known as acoustic, hung from around her shoulders. At times she strode down the median strumming a god awful noise.

Their third and final partner in crime was also a woman. She looked like Janis Joplin. That was it. That was all. She stood near the van. She rummaged through their junk. She even had on those round sunglasses.

They sat there aside from the traffic going by. Some people honked and others stopped to have weird conversation. I was of course most taken with the man. Remember, breakfast on his abs, if only his abs weren’t the direct correlation of gum on a park bench. You just don’t know where those abs have been.

Bell bottoms! They all wore bell bottoms! Everyone was so cliché that it was a wonder if they were truly an organic 21st century wanderer. But you can put all doubts aside as they smelled organic.

It makes you want to run away. Maybe not you. Maybe it’s just me. I want to run away. I want a beaten up guitar and abs that surely someone would eat breakfast off of no matter where I have hung my hat. I want cohorts. I want traveling companions. I want to live in a van and play music down a median while wearing cat ears. We can bum coffee and donuts every morning. I can bum it. We will bum it across the country in that beaten up van. We can play Free Bird until our ears bleed. You can pretend that Janice Joplin hasn’t been dead for six hundred and fifty three years. You and your round sunglasses.

Let’s go into work on Monday and tell them to shove it. Let’s tell them that there is bumming to be done across this great country. We don’t even have to tell them. Let’s leave now. We’ll make this country great again with your booty shorts and cat ears. My abs. My abs will make this nation great. Our van and our donuts. Eating breakfast and getting off.

Me and my abs. The random villages. The random men. With random women. The random dicks. The random pussies. With the random breakfasts served upon delicious skin. You and me and Bobby McGee.

The Artist D Meets a Man in the Woods, February 2017

The Artist D Meets a Man in the Woods, February 2017

For Immediate Release

The key is to invent ways to speak into the machine but not listening to what it has to say. That I have been learning within this immediate future.

To release our thoughts into the machine. It’s what we do. It’s what I’ve always done. It’s what you have become obsessed with doing. Your sounding board. Your deafening stick. You keep preaching to your own choirs.

For immediate release. You are ready for immediate release. You should release. Doesn’t that word all by itself sound so delicious? Release. It is becoming of so many things.

Release yourself from thinking that you have to fit in. Let yourself flounder in the steamy pools of insincerity that humanity has conjured. Release yourself into the flow of the universe. Speak into the machine. Do not listen to the machine. You speak to it, it does not speak back to you. DO NOT LISTEN TO THE MACHINE.

The art of releasing yourself from the fear of them vs. you. To pull your hands away from each other just because a stranger approaches. We wouldn’t have these problems if we all talked to each other. I want to see you do more than hold hands in public. Right in front of me. In public.

To release yourself from the employ of the Barons of Normalcy. To put down your fondle pad and remove the ear buds blocking your canals. To call in and say, “I’ve decided to not come in this month.”

May your hair not look the same every day. May you eat banana cream pie with a modified paper cup because you forgot to steal a spoon. May it taste even better because you had to create a spoon.

Engulf yourself with enlightenment by taking the trail which has not been beaten. Take the turn with the sign marking, “Danger – Do Not Enter.” Do not go down their paths. Make your own damned paths. The secret is not on the paved road with all of the people crowding your view. The secret is hidden after the weeds and the trees, up the steep cliff where few have thought to climb. If you are not stabbed by a cactus while getting there then you haven’t gotten anywhere. You have to bleed on your unbeaten path to make it yours. Release yourself. The javelina must circle you in the dark.

Release yourselves to the wild. Release your wiles to the rainbows. Talk to strangers and steal a moment of release with them. Dye, cut, crimp, and straighten. Ferment in the muddy gully until you bring the hypnagogic dreamscape into the known landscape. Release yourself immediately for immediate release.

The Artist D, November 2016

The Artist D, November 2016


When it’s quiet. Like Blair Witch Project quiet. You have walked and walked out into the middle of nowhere and finally found nowhere. Silence. Pure silence. I am in the desert. I am surrounded by dead trees, burnt weeds, and red rock piles. It’s quiet out here in the desert. I piss on the side of a tree and realize that is the only noise.

Really alone. Where you’d probably have to run back through the paths to get anywhere quick, if you had to. I am out here in the middle of nowhere. I have walked for two hours. To be truly disconnected. There is no one here. There is no one to help. You realize this only when it is that quiet. To know that no one is near, anywhere, to help you if something happened.

True silence. And then you feel your vulnerability. That is the loudest thing there. Your own momentary paranoia. But you keep walking. Then it begins to get dark. You think you may come to the other side of the trail, the other side of the forest, the desert, the whatever. Surely it will be soon, but the sun is setting.

That’s when you realize the sun sets fast. It never seems to want to go down when you want it to, but at this moment in total disconnect you begin to miss it. Because you realize that darkness is dark. The only thing to light your way is a starry sky, if it isn’t cloudy. But it’s cloudy. And you didn’t bring a flashlight. This moment into the empty paths was spontaneous. No food, no water, no flashlight, no backpack with provisions. You’d feel better right now if you had provisions. Suddenly you aren’t sure how far away the other side of this space is. You begin to think of night creatures. You start to hear night creatures.

For the first time you realize what all those dumb people back at the trailhead feared. The thing that kept them in the parking lot was that nobody was out here in the middle of nothing. Out where you now are. They were scared. If they were not scared then they were lazy. They didn’t want to hike several miles into oblivion at this time of day. They wanted to go home and eat dinner while watching Wheel of Fortune. In fact that’s where they are right now. The people have folded in their Selfie Sticks and returned to their homes. While I’m out here with the snakes and wild bores. There are desert pigs out here just waiting to trample in snorting packs, I’m sure of it.

I get to the corner of a very large mountain and realize how much farther there is to go. I know this mountain. I’ve seen it before on a map. I know where I am and I’m nowhere near the other end of this thing! It would take at least another hour and the sun has almost completely gone down already. It’s past the peaks of the mountains on the horizon and is sinking faster with every excited hoofing sound my sneakers make. Then I begin thinking about the trail ahead for the next hour. The trail which is getting harder to see. The trail which seems to be more overgrown here than ever before. Is it darkness making it worse or am I really losing my way? I’ve never lost my way. I have an uncanny ability when it comes to finding my way back from whence I came. But I don’t know if that uncanny ability works in the opposite direction. Because I just realized at this juncture that I’ve never done this trail before and I have no idea where it leads. How am I supposed to get to where I’m going if I have no idea where any of it is actually going?

The trail seems covered and the trees seem taller now. The darkness is creeping. The animals are all around me. I need to go back. I have to get back quickly. I begin to run. I turn and run realizing that I had just hiked for two hours. Would it have been smarter to go forward for an hour or back for two? I take the way I know. I run back. I jump over puddles and leap back up rock formations. I run across the ridges and back, back, farther back closer to the setting sun. I am literally chasing the sunset that was just behind me. It’s still slipping away but at least I’m running towards it instead of away from it.

I have no idea how quiet it is anymore. I hear nothing but my breathing and clomping, my rushing through two hours worth of what was once a calm adventure. If I could just see someone else out there hiking and having a grand ol’ time. If I could just run into some people. I’ve never wanted to run into people before, but this time it would just be so nice to see that I’m not the only one. I look around and listen carefully for people to prove that I am not alone. I hear no one. I am alone.

My heart is racing. I just want to get back. I failed in going the full trail. I chickened out for fear of spending the evening lost in darkness without a flashlight and a granola bar. My blood pressure must be through the roof. I feel funny. I don’t like this. Everything hurts. I leap and I run until I find a very familiar space. I come over a ridge to a flatly familiar mountainside rock. I’m a few miles away from where I started, but I’m back to where I know and the rest of the way will be just fine. My pace slows while my heart cools. Darkness sets in as I near civilization again. In the distance some idiot is flying a drone that looks like a UFO. I’m happy to see signs of people again. Signs of idiocy. Warm comforting stupid people doing stupid things, again.

The parking lot is completely empty by the time I reach the trailhead and the night is pitch black. There were many clouds. There were no stars. I stand at my car looking out into zero visibility and think about being out there in this. For a moment I wish I had stayed out there to find out. I chase off the regret that I’m getting back in my car when I could have been out there adventuring through the darkness. I could have still been hoofing it, surviving it, overcoming the unknown conclusions. But adventures like that always look good in theory. It’s another thing when in practice.

By The Artist D, August 2016

By The Artist D, August 2016

Restrictive Bedfellows

There is no logic behind being shy and intimidated when it comes to the nature of flesh. I never let how I look(ed) stop me from pursuing what I want. The mindset for it is easy, but it depends on your intentions.

The people will say that they were intimidated to approach a “cute” person because they think themselves to be the opposite. They go about their lives not talking to people and never going after what they want. They never give it a go and yet never seem to realize that by not trying they have chosen their own fate. You aren’t alone because no one likes you. You’re alone because you never asked everyone you wanted to be with you.

I always saw that I could be turned down. I still kept asking. People are so afraid to be rejected. Yet if you don’t continuously put yourself out there, then how will you ever find any connections? It’s a lot like getting the right job. If you apply to one job per month you’ll never find what you’re looking for. Even worse, you’ll end up with something lousy. You’ve got to apply to dozens of jobs per week and go on hundreds of interviews before you might click with the right business. You’ve got to approach hundreds of people before you find one who will date you, sleep with you, or tie you to a bondage cross and whip you silly. You know, whatever you’re looking for.

That reminds me of intention. Everybody always thinks they’re looking for love. They want to bake pies and paint the baby’s room a shit shade of yellow. I wish more people understood what they wanted. Most of the time I was looking for sex. I misunderstood my desire to nest with my need to be sexually and psychologically released via intimacy. Unfortunately for most, they never discover their true intentions and end up wondering why they’re so unhappy when they finally do achieve “The Happy Couple” nesting moment. Love and nesting is good. It’s something I eventually found too, but it was certainly far after I had exhausted my blindingly psychological sexual desires to be accepted via going at it like rabbits with complete strangers.

Our problem as people of this time and place is that we do not know who we are. We are so distracted by constant distraction that there’s no time to find ourselves. So, we jump to find ourselves by gaining the acceptance of other people. Other people who can’t find themselves. The blind leading the blind into oblivion.

Know what you want and who you want. Do not be afraid to place yourself in the path of those you desire. Take these words and apply them to everything in your life. Do not be afraid to place yourself in the path of what you desire. Whether it’s a person, a thing, a place, an adventure. If you don’t, then you’ve already made up your mind to not have it. Do not be afraid to ask.  Do not be discouraged by rejection. So one ambitious goal didn’t work out, try a couple thousand more. It’s not like you have anything better to do.

Artist D in Summer, 2016

Artist D in Summer, 2016

Live to Go

My life has always been about travel. There is never enough money to go as far as I desire. I’m not big on flying. I’m not big on trusting my life in the hands of others. I can’t say this is out of line anymore as the world becomes more ridiculous with viruses spreading, security tightening and suicidal airplane pilots.

I like to travel my own way and forge it on through. There’s something about driving yourself a very far distance that resonates with me. It’s a lot like walking everywhere you possibly can. Things become more meaningful when you have to walk to the nearest shop to pickup the dinner you are going to make after you get home. The same happens with driving eight hours to be some place you wish to adventure to. It’s a lot of work to get to the payoff.

I’m not sure the majority of people understand the meaningfulness of hard work or the art of doing some. You know, “kids these days.”

My phobia for transportation driven by others does keep me back. I’m not jetting off to London all of the time and if I want to get half way across the country I’ll need two weeks to complete the full journey.

As I’ve read I’m much like Shirley MacLaine in that I’m always rushing to get to the end of the next challenge. I’ve always been near desperation to quickly finish everything I start. I always wish I had taken my time with it once I’m at the finish line. This is something that I’ve learned is built into my genetic character. It’s something to embrace and learn to live with. I can teach myself to enjoy the moment more, but I will always have a desire to get it over with. To win.

I love the in between of travel. I don’t like leaving and I’m not too swell with arriving, but the middle is glorious. I love the open road and the places that present the optimal amount of nothingness. This nothingness is of course full of somethingness, but people don’t usually see it that way. I like places without people. I like places full of things, creatures and natural creations. People sully.

There is so much love for just me and a canyon. A dark unlit road and I at 3 AM in the woods. The crashing ocean waves on a stormy night and I on the empty beach. The places people won’t go. The places people think are boring because they have no bright lights, throbbing music or fun family entertainment. Those barren spaces are the places that rule me. That and the desire to always find more of them. I live to be on the move. I live to go.

The Artist D, by Darya Teesewell

The Artist D, by Darya Teesewell, October, 2013