Lucky D's Hostel, San Diego - "Just me, myself and I"

Just arrived and I'm pretty stoked to be in a downtown area as opposed to where I was in Scottsdale, seemingly eons away from anything. Seems like I've gone from yin to yang - deep suburbs to downtown. The hostel it's self has a real cool vibe too it, sorta what I imagine Sam's head to look like on the inside; big colours, lots of random art and shit on the walls. Overall psychedelic vibe. They got a sound system throughout the halls and I'm not sure whether it's radio or what, but the tunes are pretty sweet. Soundgarden, Offspring, Chillis, Tool...it's like a 90's music dream time as far I'm concerned.

Currently I've only met on person, Jim, who I'm rooming with. Seems a nice guy. Comes from Essex so we've been doing some marvelling at how hard it is to cross the road and either small details which rear their head. They're serving free dinner tonight, big up the FREE part of that. So with a bit of luck I'll meet some people when I roll on down to that.

Oh also I think I'm gonna be a young'un here. Dunno if that assumption will be correct. The drinking age is 21 and from what I've heard they're pretty strict on ID, so that kills any socialising off in terms of pub crawls and the like, not that I'd be drinking but y'know.

As a side note I just caught the end of the film The Marine...fucking hilarious movie.

Scottsdale - "I can't take pity on a man of his kind, he now takes it in the behind"

Penultimate day in Arizona. Earlier I was looking up potential travel routes for the rest of this trip and I went and got myself real worried about what lays ahead of me. Worry, worry, worry about money, about where I'll end up, about making my flight home, about all this shit. So I'm sat here musing on my emotions and I can like it to another time when I felt a similar emotional confliction. When I smoked my first joint; getting on two years or so ago. I was puffing the magic dragon, enjoying myself, just chilling with friends. Yet down in the pit of my stomach there was this guilt. That's the only way I can put it, I recognised this weird conflict at the time as well.

So I'm smoking, feeling guilty and yet I knew there wasn't, and still isn't I might add, any logical moral or pharmacological reason why I shouldn't have been doing what I was doing. I can only attribute this to conditioning, from continually being told that all that is illegal is wrong and that drugs are oh so very evil. I'd been programmed to feel guilty, to feel bad, because I was breaking this programming and acting on what I felt to be right as opposed to what I'd always been told was right.

The point then, is that I'm worried about shit I've been told to be worried about, I'm working on judgements and assumptions that aren't from personal experience or deliberation but have been pushed into me over time from various sources. So what do I do now that I've recognised this? I accept that I have no true answer to the questions of how well I'll survive on this budget, where I'll end up staying and how I'll get around. Once I've come to terms with this I say "fuck it, lets find out." A quote from drunken comedic prophet Doug Stanhope: "Don't learn from other people's mistakes, that's the worst advice because other people might have fucked it up and you might be the guy who can do it right an be a hero for everybody."

A quick round of "fuck you"'s.
Fuck anyone who tells me I won't be able to this trip without sufficient money. Fuck the Met police for kidnapping my friends and dropping them off in the middle of nowhere after saying they'd be free to go. Fuck all the police over here who where a smirk of superiority under their fascist lip toupee and for constantly looking at people as if to say "cunt". Fuck the TSA for making air travel a way to degrade and instill fear into all those they encounter. But most of all fuck Tom Dunt, fuck him for letting all these people get into his head and letting them wear down his confidence.

Tomorrow I arrive in San Diego and I can't fucking wait. Oh fuck Tom Dunt also for stealing the structure, tone and idea of the above monologue from the film 25th hour where Edward Norton performs a far superior version.

PS Feel free to drop me a line on facebook or email as I'm already missing the regularity with which I speak to you crazy sons of bitches.

tomdunt@hotmail.co.uk email/msn
tom.dunt skype

Peace and love.
Tom

Scottsdale - "I can

Green Belt, Scottsdale - "I am a whore of love, I'll fall in love with anyone, just give me time and I'll be yours"

So today I attended my first ever baseball game, complete with bottom of the ninth and all that crap. It was enjoyable for sure, maybe more due to the novelty then anything else but still 'twas fun. I know some may disagree but from what I can conclude; yes, yes it is a glorified game of rounders.

And now, a letter.

Dear large annoying woman sat to my right,

I appreciate you came to this event to enjoy a game of baseball in the sun with a cool beverage to hand. I can also appreciate that you want to strike up a conversation with those either side of you. However do you think constant jokes about me being British are really that funny? No you fat sack of shit I'm not attending the royal wedding HAHAHAHA... You're not playing to any friends you're just drunk. Now I support you're right to ingest the drug of your choosing, but Jesus Christ, getting drunk and chanting at the top of your lungs "Col-o-ra-do (clap clap clap clap clap)" alone is not cool. In my mind where, among other things, I'm sacrificing your life so someone worthwhile could have been with us a little longer, I'm screaming "Shut-the-fuck-up (clap clap clap clap clap)". It's people like you who successfully justify acts of terrorism being brought upon the western world.

Thank you for taking the time to read this I know it must have been difficult whilst pouring more witty down your head.

Tom

Green Belt, Scottsdale - "Do that one more time and I'll bite your fucking fingers off"

From above I imagine it looked like a naughts and crosses board, hundreds of stools and various artists pushing their wares, each trying to be more unique then the next. Side of the street a guy a couple years my junior has drawn a small crowd. You know those balls, about the size of a cricket ball, look like glass and get played with...by street performers so that they appear to float, he was messing with one of them. This is a festival of arts in downtown Tempe. So this guy's got pretty sweet moves and I'm now part of the group of impressed on lookers. After a few minutes a man gives the warlock of the floating ball some money. Within seconds festival security are saying he can't do that because artist's pay for stalls etc etc. Dumballdore wasn't asking for money, he just happened to receive it. I wonder sometimes how people like this security fellow can't see the sheer ridiculousness of their actions. They kicked him out of the festival.

In light of security's love of it's own power, and probably a desperate cry for attention, I decided to get some signage going in an attempt to hack the matrix of the collective unconscious. Signs included: "Don't believe anyone", "Including me", "Never question authority" and "Don't think, consume". As always with this exercise any conscious response can be considered a positive one, at least it means people are thinking on some level.

Scottsdale - "Maybe all of our art creates the fate of other beings"

Quick update on what I'm filling my time with. Small vague bouts of exploration around town, other then that reading, writing, listening, watching all things that are fascinating. Reading Brave New World, listening to various Terrence Mckenna lectures, Watching Athene's theory of everything, Writing all the shit posted below. Also one the reading list is Broca's Mind by Carl Sagan, Plato's Dialogues, Aldous Huxley's Doors of Perception - if I can find a cheap copy. Next to watch is DMT The Spirit Molecule and next to listen to more Terence. I'm loving devoting time to the things I find stimulating, not in that way, but sometimes in that way. Unfortunately for you guys me reading and researching all this shit oftens provides inspirtation for me to write and leads to the boring stuff as that written below.

Scottsdale - "Reach into the darkness for what you can find, travel great distance in your mind"

Dissonance: The mind's ability to hold two contradictory beliefs simultaneously. I was thinking about this as I wrote this entry so here's hoping it might give the following a little bit more sense..

A thought has continued to reoccur on a slow loop through my head, the idea of truth and the desire for something that is true. I've started this trip in what is probably one of the most affluent, well off suburbs in the USA and thus the world. There's no poverty here, there's no struggle, there's just giant house, upon golf course, upon holiday resort. To me it just doesn't feel true. What do I mean by that thought, I'm honestly not sure. If true is the same thing as real then it means nothing; seen as what's real is relative to the perspective from which I see it and to the state in which my consciousness is in at any particular moment. When I'm asleep dreams are real. It could be argued that the distinction between true and real is that truth is a constant which exists regardless of the state of consciousness or the physical location within which one finds them self. Hows that for reaching a conclusion without any research or experimentation?

Suppose "truth" and the "real" are one in the same though. That would mean that they are almost entirely determined by my mental/psychological outlook.

"You're in a house with a pool? I thought you were going all Thoreau?" So did I. I think more then anything this trip was about experience, good, bad, it doesn't matter it's all valuable in the same way that all knowledge becomes self knowledge. Within the next few weeks I have the ability to take this from a decent inexpensive holiday into a trip where I unlearn the unspoken rules I've been taught I must abide by to function within this society, and learn for myself what I truly need to get by. By pushing the self to it's limits and seeing how it, how I respond. I feel the question isn't why should I do this but do I want to? Sometimes I answer absolutely undoubtedly yes, sometimes "meh, see how it goes."

Right now this is real easy, I got free accommodation, free food and a Brave New World like suburb in terms of human interaction. I'm real keen to see what happens when I get out of here. This has been the slow lowering into the hot water, na fuck that - boring metaphor. This has been the slow introduction to anal sex, with the lubricant and the gentle, caring hands. Whats to come may be a full on ass raping. I just have to be patient 'till I get out of here.

Tempe Arizona - "My smile is a rifle and what are you?"

Rain is proof god has rhythm. If you choose to listen it will tell you the truth about that which you see. A small, vibrant area of town has me walking, strolling, listening for what is hidden from my sight. Clouds make the world seem darker when it rains but somehow that just makes smiles seem brighter. Truth be told it's never worth trying to stay dry, that's a battle worth losing, once you're wet you can stop darting from awning to awning and just enjoy the drum solo of the sky. It helps remind of the temporary nature of things, in seconds they're soaking, discoloured, washed anew.

Wandering in the rhythm is so peaceful, few wish to navigate falling oceans and one is left with a pleasant beat to their every step. Small, niche shops of the town's backstreets will always appeal to those who think they're individual, they love the enlightening realisation; "oh shit, other people like this stuff too!" Raindrops somehow slow everything down, like looking at the world through a strobe light but instead of flashing light they bend it.

Near the end of the excursion I end up walking past a group of four, two male two female. Situated on the sides of a small square, a space between two buildings which had fake marble supports. The style of architecture allowed for them to sit on the marble-esque blocks. The two girls sat on one side with one of the boys, who was facing the other sitting across the square.

Through the rain the men stared at one another slowly crafting images in the air with their hands. One would draw an arching curve with his left hand and a solid line horizontally with his right that would cut through, intersecting it. Not moving an inch except to slowly drag on a cigarette one of the girls handed him he fixated on his brother in hands. In a relaxed but deliberate manner he pitched his head to the side, as if the view would better serve his understanding. Slowly his neck returned his head to it's original position and with a faint smile which hinted more at satisfaction then pleasure, he began to carve out his own masterpiece from the space in front of him

The rain's melody had fallen to secondary aural status. The girl sitting across from where I stood was strumming out what seemed to be harmonious chords of nothing in particular. Her playing reflected the rain, still falling, it was erratic but pleasant, definite but unintrusive. It was undoubtedly present yet it faded more into the moment and stimulated a background for a memory that was heard not seen. The second girl sat to my left, a ukulele resting against her knees, up close to her chest and a cigarette passing back and fourth between her and the guitarist; slowly burning it's way to the end of the tobacco, beginning of filter. Sign language still filled the empty space between the cover provided by the roof atop these pillars and the gentle lapping of guitar was lost along with the chorus of the rain.

"Just jamming out while it pours down?" A polite smile and a "Yes", with the sentence left suspended by a drag and a puff.
"Where you guys from" I ask.
"Salt Lake City originally"
"What brings you out here?" The guitar continued to play. The space covered by the roof was a floor that held well travelled looking backpacks and modest guitar cases. Cue ukulele. "Our friend dropped us down here" "We're heading to Hawaii in a few days" spoke the ukulele's player. The girls were dressed in loose fitting trousers and earthy coloured cardigans, all reds, browns, yellows. Our guitarist wore her brunette hair short. A pair of red framed glasses held her eyes; which seemed to have a simple honesty within them.

The band keeps playing, somehow in perfect time with nature's rhythm section. "My name's Rocket" said the red frames. "Tom" I replied with a handshake. Five maybe ten minutes of father time had elapsed and I could tell these were four of the most interesting people I'd come across. I was filled with questions but somehow I could tell that the simple, honest answers I'd receive wouldn't warrant they're asking. Sixteen at the youngest, twenty two at the oldest? It didn't matter.
"I'll leave you and your band of misfits to your jam, nice meeting you"
"You too, goodbye Tom."
"Goodbye Rocket."

The band plays an encore, no audience is required.

Down by the riverside - "She's a bright girl, but she knows nothing of the world"

The "green belt" runs through Scottsdale, it's the ten percent of the city that isn't concrete. Grass, the colour of which would make the green giant proud, combined with small lakes and large ponds in between the turf and trees. It feels as if the green belt is to nature what pets are to the animal kingdom. It's aesthetically beautiful, it's just that it feels like a golf course for the public. If you dig a massive hole in the ground, fill it with water and fish, then turf round the edges what do you have? How far is it possible for nature to be unnatural? I suppose it's the same as being attracted to the girl with the spray tan and fake breasts; fine for looking at but no substance. Almost as though the idyllic image of nature supercedes nature itself. It's as though we want the desirable parts to exist separate from those we deem undesirable.

I'm not saying perfection isn't beautiful, I'm saying it gets boring. I don't mean to sound like a whiney bitch and I'm not moaning, I'm sitting beside one of these lakes as I write this and it's amazing. As I've said before these are just thoughts, not meant to have a point just meant to be honest. All the conflict and irony I've drawn out of this man - made natural beauty seems irrelevant now. I just took a walk and got to see the sun set into mountains. I'd liken that to the pale girl, with the average sized breasts, with the personality and the substance. The girl who has that smile that leaves you helpless to do anything but beam right back at her. Truly beautiful.

Scottsdale Arizona - "It's not so bad being trendy everyone who looks at me is my friend"

Look through the paper, get on azcentral.com, "what do you wanna do?" Do. Do. Do. Gotta be proactive, gotta be partaking, gotta be acting, gotta be performing, playing, doing. The great play goes on and you must contribute a verse. This is your life and you have one chance, I'm the only example of me that will ever exist... If I want something to happen I'll get off my ass and make it happen. But I'm all alone, outside all day, I have nowhere to be and no commitments tying me down, well shit; I'm happy to just enjoy that for a little while. I don't have that strange sense of urgency I used to get. There's something real peaceful about there being very little planned in front of me. I guess the most obvious way to articulate it is freedom. I feel real calm with everything, yet when I get back I got a job to get back on, school to go to come October and a fuck load of debt the four years after. This period just feels isolated somehow. My first time truly on my own?

Okay so I know if you're reading this you're probably gonna skip through the boring shit like that above paragraph. Third day in Arizona; mapping, exploring, fishing (I'll be surprised if anyone gets that, if you don't, fear not it's a terrible joke which at best would result in a week exhalation of breathe an a vague twitch of those 15 special muscles. Similar to how a corpse still releases air - similar to that only the guy died jacking off, so the endorphins were flowing when it happened...I think that's how I'd like to go...) Basically I found me some public transport to run down into the denser part of town (sweet!).

It's astounding how much TV and video games prepare you for how everything looks out here, it's like being a in a perpetual state of de ja vu except I'm not a black guy called CJ stealing cars. The scale is pretty indescribable. "Huge" just doesn't do it justice. Each city is built in what is essentially a grid system, leaving squares of land in between the roads that form the grid, these are used for housing estates or strip malls. A strip mall being a central car park and shops surrounding the edge. This is the construct of pretty much all of Scottsdale. Long roads edged with huge houses and strip malls. What more could the human being need?

Scottsdale, Arizona - "I punched a lion in the throat"

So I made it, I'm here. Twenty two hours of airport, plane, airport, plane, airport. It's currently half three in the afternoon and I feel as jet lagged as a bear who's missed winter hibernation. I wish I could hibernate. So my head's pretty fucked up at the moment, there's this persistent conflict of emotion. The weather's stunning; really hot, really sunny, only a vague remnants of clouds in the sky - Looks like a Jackson Pollack, only he's started on a blue canvas, only has white paint and really can't be asked. I've got three months ahead of me with near unlimited potential to explore, yet my mind tends to wander towards the negative, a fear of the unknown perhaps. I'm used to being confident and sure in my actions and decisions, why is this? Because my physical surroundings are sufficiently understood so that I may manipulate them to suit my own ends. Need to get somewhere?Find the nearest bus/train. Need to get somewhere? What, no car? Ha, fuck you. Everything really is bigger in the US. And it's that physical scale that on the one hand creates huge potential for activity and exploration but on the other scares the holy hell out of me. The worry then is that my wits alone may not be enough to get me by.

There's also the fear I may lose myself. The worry that changing the animal's parameters may fundamentally change the animal. Change is inevitable, it is the nature of our very existence, I mean what is this life if anything more then a single moment in perpetual change? I suppose I don't want to have to compromise what I feel to be my true self in order to get by. It's all very well knowing who I am, it's all very good being that person in a space where I'm comfortable with the parameters. The true test of the self is to be able to to accurately express who I think I am in an alien environment where I'm uncomfortable with my surroundings.

There was a long time spent thinking about this trip, planning it, theorising it, speaking it, verbalising it and all of a sudden it's real. I'm sitting in someones back garden in Scottsdale Arizona, in twenty six degree heat. Somehow I actually made this happen. I once wrote about how we can change our own world just by thinking it. By looking at things in a different light we can change how we think of them and how we react to them. I still stand by this idea. I also wrote once in a poem "There is thinking about acting and there is acting" now although that line may suck poetically, I like to think it means something. I can change my own world, my own perspective all I want but if I want to take that change and externalise i, if I wanna put that scene on a stage then I have to grow some balls and do it. Remembering that will put me in good stead for this trip: I need a good set of balls.

"Enough you pretentious, boring bastard! Give us some diary like diatribe." Ok. Couple of strange moments of synchronicity so far. Sometimes I think that the way the universe is it can respond to how we behave and create these moments. Sometimes I think that's absolute crap and I'm simply replacing the word "God" with "Universe" and taking away the fact that I myself made this happen. Anyway; got served by a girl in a restaurant who complimented me on my shirt (get in!) because it had a robot on it and she really likes robots. I don't think people liking robots is weird, ok I do, but beyond that it's very uncommon, she had a robot tattoo on the back of her neck. I know one person who likes robots that much and she's one of my best friends. Secondly I mentioned to Nancy, the woman I'm staying with here, that I'd like to see the Grand Canyon. Who did she meet a few days before I got here...director of tourism for the Grand Canyon.

One last thing. I heard on the news that the west coast of the US; where I'm heading may be at potential risk of some sort of geological fallout from the Japanese earth quake, that's to say they might have one of their own. Yeah, this trip is gonna be interesting...

The Plane

Made it onto the first flight of the day. Small squabble with security - I asked if being searched was a legal requirement, the couldn't answer, but I chose not to pursue it further cause I'd quite like to get on the plane.

Anyway it's slowly dawning on me how much of this trip is about me relying on the kindness and generosity of people, the kindness and generosity of my fellow man. I mean without that I wouldn't be on my way to Phoenix right now. Truth be told I' scared shitless and truth be told I'm worried. And although it's cliche it rings true from personal experience; the best way to deal with any fear is to dive right at it, unless it's snakes. The fear, the worry, the nerves of this whole thing come from the fact I'm alone. But I guess I have to trust myself sometime.

The Space Inbetween

I think the strangest part of being at an airport is the artificiality (if that is a word) of the whole thing. Terminal, customs, boarding are, plane. The only daylight I'll be seeing is through the window of the plane. Odd how when going through customs you feel guilty, maybe that's just me being me though, dubious about any sort of authority. A series of robocops and terminators checking my passport, constantly suspicious "Is there anything in here that can be used as or considered a weapon..." "...well I suppose if you if you ball one sock inside another and swing it like a fabric mace..." Somehow I don't think my awkward humour will go down well with these people. I'm more intimidated by the logistics of air travel then I am by the whole of this journey. Sitting here it's that same feeling you get in hospitals, s'all white and sterilised yet somehow doesn't feel clean, same as that feeling except you've got more shit to buy. Forty Five minutes till gates due open. I keep thinking once I'm on the plane I'm done, just get off and go, departing's always quicker then arriving. Unfortunately not though, I gotta repeat the process again for another flight. the nightmare of hyper - organisation, of efficiency, time is money and can't be wasted; herd the cattle. I swear the process of of getting on a place reminds me of "Oh shit! Get to the escape pods!!!"