Beer And Roaming

The next era of Beer AND Roaming shall commence. Spite, failure, restlessness, and other pointless happenings. For inane observation still consumes my waking life. The drunken words of a man are the sober thoughts of said such man. We’re Not That Hopeless. We’re Not As Fucked As You Think. In Short Lived Moments We Can Do Anything. I lost myself. Then I found myself. And then I lost it all again. The end was your creation. It’s funny how things came to me…

This is the absurd story of myself, the Bad Lie Man, and the two Aussies traveling 8318 miles to Beer and Roam in Southeast Asia. Who is the Bad Lie Man you might ask? He is a man who tells very bad lies. Who are the Aussies you might ask? They are two tossers from Melbourne. We together are pinpointed for oblivion. But maybe one day we will figure all of this out.

Blood Type. Unknown?

A constant sense of confusion already awaits us as we swallow pills in front of the airport.

The Lithuanian Tai Pan returns. The Noble House exists no more. But I am here to build a new one that will one day eventually fall into nothingness.

31 hours after departure we arrive in the city they still call Saigon. We walk out of the airport and there are 1000 people awaiting our arrival. StarScream has arrived for its first show on Asian soil.

Fighting exhaustion I get sidetracked for a bit but eventually I grab a Saigon Red and drink it half naked on a balcony on the 28th floor.

The Aussie and I decide to wander the streets like I wander my mind. And we almost get run over in the helter-skleter  traffic that never stops. We are so frazzled crossing the street that a man pulling a cart full of concrete beats us down the way by a full two blocks.

I now drink a 333. It tastes as bland as it’s name. Which suits me fine at the moment.

The Aussie and I play a Saigon drinking game from our perch. Anytime you see someone driving the wrong down the street. You drink. If you see anyone perilously attempt to walk across the street. You drink. If you see any near accident. You drink. The game turns out quite easy to play. You just drink constantly. I had heard the the traffic was quite crazy in Saigon, but I was not expecting this insanity.

The question is, Where is everyone going at all times of the day???

Well. We get robbed the first night. Of course. This is the start of us losing our possessions throughout the duration of the trip. One of the items stolen was the key to the apartment we are staying. A crucial item to possess. Lost. Tired. Confused. And stripped of all we were. Through the eyes of Tiger. We move onto the next day with no regard.

There are more motorbikes here in this one city than there are people in Minnesota.

We are walking around and we stop to use a public restroom by a park. I observe old Vietnamese men taking their shoes off at the entrance. I, of course, follow custom and take mine off with only socks left on. The urinal is lined with men smoking cigarettes with only their socks on. I join them and fit right in. Bizarre freedom has culminated.

We walk three hours and ten kilometers to find beer. Oh, Pasteur Street how we welcome thee. A brewing company that is worth all the walking. The Watermelon Wheat refreshes the driest of thirsts. The Bad Lie Man and one of the Aussies load kegs up flights of stairs to pay off our tab we have accrued.

The power cuts out and we lose electricity in the apartment. It’s like Berlin all over again. I go down to find help. They tell me to wait ten minutes for any assistance. I foolishly hop into the elevator. It shuts down. I sit inside the sweat box of steel for ten minutes. Function has restored and I go back up to the apartment and yes the electricity works. They were right. Just had to wait ten minutes.

Oh. Dailo’s. Our true hidden home on this side of the world. We walk in and we are greeted like royalty. One of the owners shakes our hands and sit us down to drink the finest whiskey one can be offered. On the sly I tell him the Bad Lie Man is a famous musician back home. He believes me. Next thing you know the Bad Lie Man is on stage ripping up guitar with the house band. He brings the crowd to a standing ovation. He is the epitome of chiller. Throughout the following days he would play more shows and would become a local celebrity.

Sometimes you have to eat hot soup in a dirty garage in 100 degree heat.

All of us are bonded forever. If I die, you die. That’s just the way it is.

A party of lost existence begins. And I am it’s king, it’s host.

We buy a coconut. By we, I mean the Aussie buys a coconut. He throws it into a wall to see if it would break. It does not. It ends up bouncing in the street almost causing a hundred motorbike pile up.

I wake up in the Saigon heat and for the thrice odd day it stifles me into consciousness. And decide that I don’t want to leave and stay another day in the city. This happened four more times.

I check the time, it’s 4 AM. And I just passed the west side buildings with all the broken glass. As I try to sweat the heat away, but anyways. It’s late at night and I’m about to crack. And I decide to just walk this path, that I just walked yesterday.

Walking into APOC at the late hours of the night and the bizarre notion of being here has still not worn off for me.

I find myself at another location where smoking at the urinal with no shoes on is commonplace. I have fully joined this budding trend.

The Aussie yells, “I may be drunk and lost! But I’m not confused!”

I don’t feel like walking and wandering home, at a certain point knowing that I will just get lost on the way. So I try to call an Uber. This entailed me riding on the back of a motorcycle with someone who wanted to get to the next destination as fast as possible. I barely hang on and close my eyes as we drive down the wrong way of the street.

I find myself on a street corner with a black spray can in my hand. And I’m doing graffiti next to one of the most notorious graffiti artists on this side of the world. He keeps telling me to get ready to run. I spray on the wall, “FREE TEOF!” But then I remember that TEOF remains forgotten still to this day.

I’m drinking a 333 while smoking a 555 on the banks of the Saigon river while the man next to me relays the absurdities of life. Now it doesn’t get anymore communist than this.

Days go by without a single word of meaning. Imagination predominates over mind or reason. St. Jerome stares ahead. A despondent winged figure of genius.

The real reason why I came to Vietnam. To play billiards. I played about ten games a day. Pool was free. Everywhere. No more exhortation of paying two bucks for a game on a seven foot table. Best thing about playing over here. As soon as the game finishes the employees of the establishment come running over to rack to the next game for you. I tried to rack my own balls one time and I almost got 86’ed. One night I get involved in a pool match that led me to stake hundreds of thousands of currency. Somehow I didn’t lose.

Mot. Hai. Ba. Yo. I knew I would pick up on the most useful of phrases while here. Literally 1, 2, 3 cheers.

All these streets in Saigon were dedicated to a single item you could purchase. There was a street where all the shops sold safes. Another had only shops that sold guitars. Another had shops that only sold flowers. Another had a street that only sold wrenches. Convenient and inconvenient at the same time. Yes, I know where exactly I can pick up a safe. But fuck I live all the way by hardware street.

I drink to Colonel Puff for the third and final time tonight!

The only ATM that works for me is from a bank called ANZ. I swear when I get home I’m switching from Wells Fargo to ANZ.

This is definitely the most random event I witnessed. We are in a mall in Saigon taking advantage of the A/C (AirCon) as respite from the middle of the day heat. The mall is fairly empty. We meander down to one of the far corners and there are about ten bins of clothing and shoes. Cramped into this corner is about 200 people losing their minds trying to pick stuff out of the bins. I’m thinking to myself what the fuck is going on. I meekly go on over and try to pick up a pair of shoes and instantly it gets slapped out of my hand. It’s a damn free for all. I quickly remove myself from the chaos and the Aussie and I gaze on in confusion for several more minutes. Back to the streets we go.

The best job to have here has to be the security guards that sit in front of the shops. They all sit on these little plastic chairs either asleep or smoking a cigarette. And I notice that they ALWAYS have one sandal off while sitting with their legs crossed. This is what I imagine the interview entails for that job.

-“Do you like to take naps?”

-“Yes.”

-“Do you smoke?”

-“Yes.”

-“Are you comfortable only wearing one sandal at a time while working?”

-“Yes.”

-“HIRE THIS MAN!”

The average price of beer at any establishment is about $1.50. I somehhow end up at a place that charges five bucks for a beer. There is no way I am giving in and paying that. I’ve found my limit for spending amount on a beer in Vietnam. I leave the Aussie and Bad Lie Man behind and get lost on the walk home.

Do you chart your own path or do you take the one given to you by someone else?

That damn Aussie keeps racking up tabs in the millions. He becomes very efficient at moving kegs.

The plane to Cambodia is boarding. The Aussies are nowhere to be found of course. They went to go find some breakfast sandwiches.

We arrive at the airport at Phnom Penh. I’m fairly certain we bribed the officials at the airport. I paid six dollars for a visa photo that was never taken.

The Aussie yells again at me. This time it is, “I’m drinking the water, I don’t care!”

Two seven year olds ride past me on motorcycles telling me to watch where I’m walking.

An elder Frenchmen tells me that Cambodia is the only place for one can be truly free. If one can traverse the chaos, the lack of any regulation or control allows one to be completely uninhibited. A complete lack of legalities and regulations. Back home I’m worried about getting a parking ticket for parking next to an expired meter. These people are worried about getting their vehicles stolen.

Another night goes by that sleep is barely attained.

The Cambodian highway system is not for the faint of heart. We took a bus on highway 4 down to the most southern region from Phnom Penh to Sihanoukville. The Cambodian Autobahn. There is no speed limit. No seat belts. On the road are cars, trucks, buses, motorcycles, cows, and goats. Two undistinguished lanes. All trying to pass each other while going as fast as possible. It is known as Cambodia’s most dangerous road. A ride full of screeching tires and swerving vehicles. The ultimate game of chicken.

Stolichnaya is the rail vodka in Cambodia. I have finally found inner peace.

Cambodian pool tables are not as well kept as well…anywhere. I played on a table outside. The felt was torn. Pockets were missing. Balls were missing. No chalk. I once called the 15 into the 15 into the corner with no pocket. But I still play for the highest of stakes.

Angkor Premium Beer. Anchor. Draft. Klang. These are the brews that I drink in Cambodia. They have a draft beer that is fucking called Draft. DRAFT.

Black out. All the power went out in the city. This is a common occurrence. This happened while I was playing a pool tournament. We ended up playing by lantern light.

75 FUCKIN CENTS FOR A BEER IN CAMBODIA.

I’m crossing the street at night. There are no sidewalks. I almost get hit 17 times. I end up just walking in the middle of the road with my hand in the air.

I’m watching the lighting roll across the gulf of Thailand drinking warm Cambodian beer. I still think I haven’t learned anything worth a damn.

KOH RONG ISLAND.

As remote as a place as I could fathom. We were not even planning to be here. Complete spur of the moment. No electricity. No hot water. No roads. Anarchy Island. For those burnt out on life.

A Frenchmen makes me a burrito. He tells me don’t each chicken here unless you are prepared to possibly get salmonella. I ask what is in the burrito. He says chicken. The island sickness shall start to seep into my body soon.

It seems as if anything can kill you on Koh Rong. King Cobras roam free all around us. Once bit you have at most five hours to live. There is also the blue ring octopus. We met a guy from California who was bit by one. Their venom is 1200 times more toxic than cyanide. 1200 times. There is no antivenom for this creature. So he got by bit by one. They estimated his time to live was about two hours. He stuck his arm in boiling water. Somehow he survived. This is the island we are stuck on.

I deserted myself on an island with nothing but my own thoughts. All the hopes and muse of men were floating away into the abyss of the ocean.

You could see stars for miles across the canvas of the sky.

I got bit about 70 times by sand flies. My legs look like I have been ravaged by the pox.

Oh, the JOSS shots. We took this elixir with no knowledge whatsoever. A shot of vodka was poured with a little room left on top. Then a packet (containing the precaution of only ingesting one dose a day) of powder that originated from Korea was poured on top, fizzling into a concoction worthy of apprehension. We drank to the gods of JOSS all night long.

I buy four shots and four beers. EIGHT DOLLARS!

And this is the part of the trip where everyone gets sick. Violently ill. For over a week. I’m fairly certain all of us at one point we’re convinced we’re not going to make it. I thought I was poisoned. Still not sure what exactly it was. Let’s just call it the Island Sickness.

A water spout tornado is something I will probably never see again. I am content to witness one last marvel of nature before the Island Sickness takes me.

The rats. And the cockroaches. Rat and cockroach encounters. Everyday. I got used to it by the end I reckon. We ended up playing a game on how many roaches you could kill in one day. I think we all lost count.

Non stop dancing. I think I danced at some point every single day. My limbs are usually as stiff as concrete pillars. I haven’t danced so much in my life. I danced more in 15 days than I will the rest of my existence.

Sometimes I look at someone and wish I could be half the man they are. And then I think that some days they think they are half the man they should be. So I guess that makes me a fourth of a man on a good day.

The Aussie yells out, “Don’t wake me up until I can move on my own!”

It’s 3 AM and the Aussie starts to throw donuts at me from ten feet up in the air halfway across the flat. His aim is impossibly accurate considering the circumstances. I wake up the next morning to sprinkles and frosting all over the god damn place. The Aussie might warrant his own dedicated chapter next time…

We stumble upon a pool tournament and end up playing the best players in Cambodia. The Aussie played the best player in Thailand. I played the best player from Beijing. They were confused as why we were there.

Does anyone have a lighter? If someone asks me this question one more time I’m going to end up in a tussle with an Aussie.

And the Island Sickness starts to ravage all of us with no regard for humanity.

Yes, I visited cultural sites and attractions. Why bore you with describing a spot where some point in history someone said something of minor importance. The image of someone throwing donuts at myself in some shitty Cambodian flat at 3 o’clock in the morning is much more compelling.

The Aussie and I can’t find the apartment we are staying for the last night. Our phones don’t work. The other Aussie and Bad Lie Man are no where to be found for miles. We wander aimlessly. We both fall asleep  on a stained ridden couch in an entryway of a building in 98 degree heat.

I lost three pairs of socks, two shirts, a hat, two pairs of underwear, and a pair of shoes. My backpack is much lighter on the way home.

The last night I climb onto a high rise apartment rooftop littered with beer cans and graffiti. I sit and hang off the edge. I look at the massive city of Saigon at night. And I wonder to myself. Where will I go next?

As always a special thanks to Dailo’s and Blue Gecko for their hospitality.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE COMPLETE CHRONICLE OF SPENDING 35 DAYS IN SOME PLACE I HAVE NEVER BEEN.

Well. Here we go. With reckless reasoning and impulse I came to a decision to quit my job and go to Prague, Czech Republic for an extended time. Problem is I didn’t really think all of it through. I do not know anyone in Prague and am not sure what I am actually going to do. I’m not sure. But I will write. About things I see and do. People I meet. Stories I collect. Or maybe none of that. Oh, and BEER. I have no idea what is going to happen. I’m absolutely terrified and excited at the same time. All I know is that I don’t know nothing.

Fuck. I made it. 4600 miles away from home. If home is where the heart then I live in my upper chest. Let the unknown ensue.

I have a conversation about electrical outlets. Why is there not a universal system. This random tangent consumes my thoughts for two hours.

Frankfurt Airport is what you would call a BFA. Big Fucking Airport. I saw half of Germany walking through that airport.

I’m in Prague for two goddamn hours and about 17 people try to sell me drugs. I swear I’m getting singled out. There is 100 people walking the same way and I get chosen as the one who needs something. Seriously, I’m obviously not the only one they are asking but I’m getting picked out of a mob of a crowd. Same thing happened to me in Mexico but at least they had to the decency to call me Mr. Whiskers before offering me the finest illegal substances they had to sell. I might have to shave this fucking beard.

I sit at a bench at Letna Beer Garden and I just watch people interact. I drink beer but taste nothing. I wonder are they disenfranchised, disenchanted, and disillusioned as the masses?

Three large Dutchmen walk into a small bar…

I meet two Kazakhs and they almost light my shirt on fire. They rant about the damage and chagrin that the movie Borat has inflicted on their people and country. We go to a subterranean underground bar with no entrance. Beer is free. At least the second one is. There is a man wielding fireballs to much delight of the crowd. I avoid being set on fire a second time in the night.

At dawn I find myself on St. Charles bridge. Only a few souls lumber across the cobblestone. I sit and bum smokes to a man with no shoes until I run out. He preaches on how the world goes round.

Today I walked down a street I have never wandered. Yeah, shook my head and made myself a bet. There was all these things that I don’t think I remember. Hey, how lucky can one man get.

Maybe I should talk about beer. I’ve had a few half liters so far. So essentially Czech beer is either a crisp light lager/pilsner or a dark sweet lager. There are other kinds but this is mostly what I have seen on tap at establishments. I personally enjoy the light lager. Oh, and lots of foam. It seems like the more foam the better. I have paid anywhere from about 1$ to 3$ for a half liter of tap beer. The one place that I paid about three bucks for a beer there was an old Czech man next to me absolutely outraged by the price of beer. Apparently $3 is way too much.

I’ve been spending a lot of time waiting at tram stops or just being lost in general. My phone died one night and I had no idea how to get back to my apartment. I was on about 4 different tram lines that night for about 2 hours before I finally found my way back. So I keep hopping on the trams without actually buying a ticket. I rarely see anyone actually validate their ticket once they get on unless it is in the city center. So I thought fuck it I’m not going to buy a tram ticket the entire time I’m here. Most of the tram stops don’t even have a place or machine to buy a ticket. I wonder how long it will take me to get caught? Over/Under anyone? 3 days? 5 days? 10? 20? No one checks if you have a ticket anyway. Not that I have noticed. Apparently the fine for riding without a ticket is pretty hefty though. I heard that in the Eastern European country of (NAME REDACTED) they hand you an actual live duck during your ride if you use the public transportation without paying. A living breathing fucking quacking duck. It’s suppose to be like a public shaming event I guess? I want that job. Handing ducks to unsuspecting passengers all day long on buses, trolleys, and trains.

Today I drank beer brewed by monks. And I drank said beer with some wise and pious monks. And with some wise and pious monks I mean with an older Russian lady who kept asking me for cigarettes.

Let the coherently incoherent ramble continue with a full force gale…

The first one tastes like vinegar. Hence the rest taste like honey.

Once again I spend half of my waking hours on trams, buses, and subways. UPDATE. On the night tram I take back to my apartment there are two possible stops where I can get off. One stop is before my apartment and one stop is past my apartment. Naturally I get off the tram at the one before. But apparently to new found knowledge that stop is extremely shady and sketchy at night. A hardened local relayed the message he would not spend time at that area at night. Good to know on the 11th day.

I am exhausted of being asked to pay money to use a restroom in any public setting. The scams of all scams. There was a restaurant that even had an automated turnstile with a coin slot for the restroom. A fucking turnstile. Another small shop had a keypad lock. I tried to guess the code a few times and gave up. An old Czech lady tried to exhort me when trying to take a piss at a park. Weary of the idea to pay 25 crowns to take a goddamn leak I begrudgingly coughed up 25 crowns anyway. She pointed at the taped crinkled paper that clearly said 25 Kc and said with the authority of a government official, “50 Crown”. I take out my coins and of course I only have 40 crowns. Now I am in a full blown negotiation and haggle and swindle.  Not only was she trying to rob me of my money, but she was insinuating that I could not read. Or maybe she was just fucking with me. Collecting people’s money to take a piss cannot be the most prestigious profession. Anyway I gave her my money to use the public toilet. I hope she buys something nice for herself.

A camel caravan in the eye of a needle…

I casually interact with a Slovak at a cafe. He rants through an entire beer how much he despises George Bush. W that is. He vows never to return to the United States. I have never encountered a person who was Anti Bush as he was. Now that is saying something or nothing. W has not been relevant in about eight years. I don’t think I have even pondered about him for ten years. At the end of the rant my only response was, “George W Bush has much influence and say in our politics today.”

I drink Gambrinus at a neighborhood pub. A cowboy from Texas pitches me his movie idea that he is actively pursuing. “Apocalypse.” Okay. “Extraterrestrials come to earth.” Now were talking. “Aliens come to Prague and steal ALL of the beer.” No! They would never do such thing! “The end is not near. It’s here!” Coming soon to the SyFy network.

Another old Czech lady works at one of the magnificent awe inspiring churches. By the way the old Czech ladies are my favorite people that I have encountered so far. This particular one walks around following tourists with their cameras. She points her finger at them and yells “NO FLASH!”. Whether they are actually using a flash on their camera or not. She startles more than half of them with her authoritative tone. I saw a few people jump. I quickly forget about the majestic inner workings of the church and follow her around while she follows other people around sneak attacking her NO FLASH declaration. This brings me much joy and peace and laughter in the house of God. She finally notices me and turns around with her finger pointed ready to declare, “NO FLASH!”. She realizes that I do not have a camera out and we stare at each other in the eyes with God as our witness. She smiles and says, “No camera. Dobry. Ciao.” And she shuffles away to let all be known there should be NO FLASH in the sanctum of God.

Signs of hours of operation I have seen for establishments:

14:00-Morning

16:00-?

I went to underground show at a small music club. I would describe the band as this. If one member of each the following bands played an impromptu show together for one night. Modest Mouse. Streetlight Manifesto. Less Than Jake. Rammstein. Except they were balding Czech guys.

A lot of public drinking of alcoholic beverages occurs here. I saw a guy with two full cocktail glasses he obviously took from a bar walking down the cobblestone streets at three o’clock in the morning.

Standing at another tram stop on the east side of town. And my thoughts start to slowly swirl away in the dust…

I got it. Finally. Light bulb. I figured it out. I have reached the stage of enlightenment. More like the stage of confusion and unknown. How do we preserve one’s sanity in such an absurd society?

I have a new Czech best friend. His name is John. He can only say three things in English. “My good friend!” “Marijuana!” “Cheers Motherfucker!” We clink glasses all night and repeat these three phrases. A most budding friendship has formed between us.

Foosball is the only bar game I have seen here. They are ruthless in their domination. And they have finally found something I am not skilled at.

A young Frenchman who is an anarchist. He tells me he steals lamb and cheese everyday from the market to make a point of his disdain for the established powers at be.

An Ukrainian with a mohawk. He is profound with his words. “There is no war if you want peace. There is no peace if you want war. There is no choice. We are stuck with hopelessness and despair.”

A waiter brought me a bowl of water after I got done with my meal. He mimed a splashing motion with his hands. I think he wanted me to wash my beard. I obliged. And I walked out with a wet face. I need to shave this fucking beard.

Klub 007. I go see a punk show. It was the loudest concert I have ever been to. It reminded of the myth that when the Clash first started playing shows people’s ears were bleeding from the sheer volume. I kept putting my hand up to my ear checking for blood.

A lot of British stag parties walking around. I swear the only thing I have heard any them say so far is, “We have to find the stag!”, in a bewildered primal outburst.

Okay. So I did try to tag along with an English stag party for a little bit. They didn’t really care about my presence at all. I did buy them about $30 worth of beer so they hung out with me for a little bit. One of the guys kept yelling out to no one in particular, “Tom is having a fucking blinder!” I have no idea what this means. Later on in the night I would walk up to different guys in the group and say, “Tom is having a fucking blinder!?”. And their responses were all the same. “Fuck yeah he is!”

I witness a heated argument. More like an older British man yelling at a young French guy. He yells, “You fucking cowards were shooting at us at the Battle of Yorktown! So you can take your questions and piss off! You fucking French coward!” The Battle of Yorktown occurred in 1781. Apparently this man never forgets. Never forget the Battle of Yorktown.

In thanks to the French for helping the Americans in the Battle of Yorktown I hang out with five of them in a pub. They buy shots of Absinthe for me. I am the smartest most understanding open enlightened American they have ever met. Well thanks guys. You are the nicest French people I have met. Paris is the greatest city in the world. I have to go club hopping with you? Shit. Okay but I’m not going to have fun. I don’t go to clubs. Oh, you’re going to show me the best clubs in Prague? Okay fine let’s go stumble around the town for a few hours. One of the guys starts “dabbing” anytime he passes by a pretty girl on the street. He asks me if I know what “dabbing” is. I say yes I do. Somehow. He says I should try it. Girls love it. I’m sure they do drunk French guy. All five of them piss on the street at least three different times while we are walking around. They piss on trees, alleyways, apartment entrances, trash cans, sign posts, cars…they are marking their territory like felines. Now I know how they feel about paying to use a public toilet. Complete disregard. Well now we have something in common I guess. You want me to join you singing in a random French tune while we walk down the streets? Sorry guys I don’t know that one. Well wait. I know Les Champs-Elysess. Fuck why did I open my mouth? It’s 4 AM and were at a club with strobe lights flashing me blind and a bass that’s going to rupture my chest cavity at any moment. In exhilaration the French start pouring beer all over each other. And I thought to myself. I’ve had enough of these crazy French fuckers and went home. Thanks for the Battle of Yorktown boys.

What was once so crystal clear. Is now cranked past the norm.

Once again. Cramped. Blocked. A plethora of scrawled black ink. At least scribbles speak louder than words! Or scribbles speak louder than thoughts. Or scribbles speak louder than actions. Yes. Scribbles speak louder than apathy.

First off. Let’s get this out of the way. The most important knowledge that I have accrued shall come to light. Good ole Tom. The most blinding blindly blinded blinder that shall come to pass. The moment we have waited for. The definition of a blinder.

-The event of getting blind drunk. A night (or longer period of time) on the booze when you get so fucked up you can hardly remember anything that happened.

E.g. Tom is having a fucking blinder!

Tom I wish you the best in all you future endeavors. And I hope we meet again one day soon.

I stand still and start to verbalize but my mouth is full of broken glass and razor wire.

I got into an hour long debate with an Aussie about which tangent is more genuine. Is Genghis Khan the original metalhead? Is Karl Marx the original hipster? We also discussed other things but I am trying to cut down on my use of expletives in this post.

I hung out with two Welsh chaps for about three days. They were the most jolly of company I have had. Absolute great people. And I was extremely interesting to them for some reason. When I introduced myself it was quite noisy in the arena we were situated. Several hours later I find out they think my name is Sean. I swear I was about to correct them. But we were talking about American football which they had an absolute hard on for. The one guy knew more about the NFL than I do. And their eyes light up and they say they are going to call me Desean. Like Desean Jackson. And I was going to correct them. I’m telling you I was. Neither Sean or Desean is my given name. But they were oh so excited. So…I let them call me Desean for three days. They introduced me to other people as Desean. I fucking introduced myself to other people as Desean. The night before they left they asked me for my Facebook contact. I told them, yeah just look up Sean Mills. It was a pleasure boys. Desean will always have a special place for you two in his heart.

I sat in a brick fortified bomb shelter bunker and I did not move for two days.

I look ahead and realize that this small circle contains my whole life. And in death I will be greeted by Ravachol himself…

UPDATE. I finally was checked for passenger verification on the public transport here. This is what happened. I was sitting down with my headphones listening to (name redacted) at high volume. In my peripheral I see a man flash what looks like a comic book superhero ring/badge at me. I think he trying to sell me something. I wave him off. He taps my shoulder and waves his embellished shield/ring at me. I wave him off again. No thank you. I have enough of those in my collection at home. He shoves his shiny shield in my face. I take my headphones out and say no thank you. With exasperation he says, “I’m the inspector, you fucking clueless idiot!” At least that’s what I translated his Czech words to me as. The day before I purchased a month long metro pass. Timing again. He checked it and moved on.

I saw a cigarette butt on the top of an elevator. And I wondered how it got there. Seriously. For about thirty minutes I thought about this. These are the sort of things that occupy my thoughts.

OH BOY. What a beer.

Every time I make a point, you make a counterpoint.

I keep seeing graffiti around the city that states, “Free TEOF”. I’m all on board. TEOF has my support. I think TEOF should be freed. Free TEOF I say! I will walk the streets tonight screaming, “Free TEOF!!!” Justice must be done. Justice has to occur. It is my righteous duty to stand by TEOF. And then in one week I will forget about TEOF. TEOF will be just another blur.

9 times out of 10 you might be right. But what about the one time you’re wrong???

I met this American expat who has been here for twenty years. He told me when he first got here it was ten cents a beer. TEN CENTS. For a half liter of beer. No wonder he never left.

Icarus was imprisoned in a labyrinth. Seven years later he was given wings. Do you want to escape this circumvallation Icarus? He was told and reinforced to glide in a straight path. Icarus. Do you want to keep the mind of your chest and the keenness of your head? Icarus. Do you want to keep resolve of your limbs? Icarus. Do you want to keep the quintessence of your belly? Choosing neither land, sky, nor sea, Icarus ate the fucking sun. And took it down with him. And then he strolled home. With utterly nothing. And undoubtedly everything.

I’m at a park at sunset. This is what I overhear. “Tom is gone. Let’s just face it. Tom is lost. There is no coming back.” Could this be the same Tom? Is he STILL on a blinder!? The sound of absolute resignation of his friends for his well being. I’m starting a habit of anytime I start to write something it all comes back to Tom. I’m going to miss you when you’re gone Tom.

Berlin. My only astute observation. The sirens for emergency vehicles are really fucking loud. I mean eardrum shattering loud. I almost jumped right now thinking about it. After a few times I couldn’t even relax without the fear of sirens overtaking my cerebral cortex. If there is a fire, police chase, or any sort of trauma in Berlin, trust me your’e going to know about it.

Alright that’s not all that happened in Berlin. I could have just sat outside and drank beer and listened to sirens for two days though. I did witness one of the strangest things that I have encountered so far. Maybe not all that strange, but just something I have never seen. Or even thought of. I’m in the basement of a restaurant washing my hands after a meal. I use the automated paper towel machine. Paper towel comes rolling out. And there is advertisements on the paper towel! Full blown advertising on the paper which I am about to wipe my hands with and throw away in the trash. On it was advertising for a swimming pool, auto service, and home design. I still can’t wrap my mind around it. Maybe it’s not that really interesting or that bizarre. But man. Just threw me off. Coming soon to an Arby’s near you.

I visited Cafe Einstein in Berlin. And I had a strudel. And I waited for the cream. I don’t know, it’s from a movie or something.

Friday night in Berlin was the night I partied the hardest. I will say that place knows how to go all out on a weekend night. I don’t think I could do it again. But this is not about me getting drunk on a Friday night in Berlin. I drank some beer, took some shots, walked around, went to some clubs, yeah yeah yeah. This is about my German friend who I spent the night out with. Late into the morning we are walking back to my hotel because I am done for the night. He insists on going to one more club. No way. While trying to persuade me he stops to take a piss in the street. He starts to laugh. I guess he fell over while urinating. I go back to the hotel and he goes on to the next club…I get a text from him the next day. I asked him how the last club was and he says it was fine. He danced til dawn. He then relays me this information. Apparently when he fell down the previous night while pissing…he broke his arm…AND THEN WENT TO THE NEXT CLUB AND KEPT DANCING UNTIL DAWN. I’m like super worried for this guy and just can’t believe it. He broke his fucking arm. He told me not to worry about it. It’s no big deal. And he asks me if I’m down for going out tonight. He says Saturday nights are even crazier than Friday nights in Berlin. No thank you. I can only handle one broken arm per weekend.

So I blew a fuse in my hotel room. All the power went out. And my adapter started to smoke. Good thing I was standing right there when it happened. Yeah I started an electrical fire. I sat in the dark and waited for the sound of those really fucking loud sirens…

Rome didn’t fall in a day. But it couldn’t have been more than a week. And the sons of barbarians became tax collectors.

They told me Rome was a very “walkable” city. Liars. I walked 25 miles in two days in 95 degree heat. But I did walk the same path as Pompey, Cicero, Crassus, and Cato the Younger…Did you know tangent. Cato tried to kill himself by stabbing himself with his sword in defiance of Caesar. He failed though however due to an injured hand. He just started bleeding from his stomach from the wound and his physician came into the room to sew him up. Cato incessant on dying shoved his physician out of the way and ripped his organs out of his stomach and perished on the floor. And apparently Crassus died when he was captured in war and the enemy poured molten gold down his throat. Just some did you knows. I learned quite a bit about violent death in Roman history while there.

Alright this is probably my favorite thing that I have done so far. Well at least the most entertaining moment for myself. The street vendors in Rome are fucking aggressive. Relentless. Ruthless. And I got sick of this pretty quickly. No I do not want to buy a selfie stick. Good deal or not. So I came up with a perfect counter attack. Every time someone tried to sell me a selfie stick I would turn the tables on them and try to sell them my Iphone. 400 Euros. They would tell me, “good deal, half price”, I would tell them half price for the phone. What good is a selfie stick without a smart phone? I pitched my stout reasoning to them. And here’s the kicker. Some of the guys got pissed off because they thought I was fucking with them (which I was), but at the place I stayed at in Rome the host family gave me a cell phone for emergencies. So I had two cell phones in my pocket. I would counter back, “What you don’t like the IPhone? Well how about a Samsung Galaxy?” And whip out another phone out of my pocket. Some of the hustlers took it good and we had a laugh. Others got pissed off. And I actually had a guy who wanted to buy my Iphone for 300 Euros. Ah man I love social engineering.

I’m standing on the subway in Rome and let’s just say the ride is not smooth so I’m hanging on the hand rail for dear life. Standing next to me is an 84 year old Italian man with a cane. The ride is not stable once again and I have two hands on the rail to keep my balance. We come up to a bumpy turn and he lets go of the hand rail. I freak out. I’m ready to catch this guy when he falls so he doesn’t break his neck. He sways. I’m still freaking out. And this is what he does. He licks his fingers. Leans over to see his reflection in the subway door. And smooths out and fixes some of the white hair he has on top his head. Satisfied that his hair is now presentable he casually grabs on the rail again with one hand. And then he turns towards me and winks. I’m in awe. Well damn old Italian man. If only one day I could be as cool as you.

Public toilets. Without toilet seats. And you have to pay!

I went to a two day punk festival in Prague. I could probably write 750 words on the festival alone. But the best thing to come out of those two days was a group of Czech dudes I met. There were five of them and they are in a band called Naked Pants. I want to be their manager. Fucking awesome guys. By the end of the two days I felt like they were my brothers. I want to make them the Houba of the Czech Republic. After the last show they ask me if I want to go buy some beer and just walk around. Public drinking in Prague? Hell yeah I’m in. We go to the mini mart. It’s about 1 o’clock in the morning. I buy two pint cans of beer. That should suffice? Right? One by one they each walk out of the mini mart. They bought eight beers a piece. Forty beers. I hold out my two and they laugh in good spirit. Well then I guess I will go back in and purchase more beer. We walked around until the sun came up and sang songs all night long. Can’t wait to hang again boys. BRO HYMN. This one’s for you. To our friends, present past and beyond. To all of those who weren’t with us too long. Life is the most precious thing you can lose. While you were here the fun was never ending. Laugh a minute was only beginning. Naked Pants, my brothers, this one’s for you! Whoa. Oh-Oh-Oh. Ohhhhhhh.

Do clams have feelings? Or cockles? Or mussels? They don’t have central nervousness. Could they smile if they had a face? There is no place for ears. They don’t have eyes to cry clam tears. They don’t have a spinal chord. So they must get bored. Eric told me that they don’t have feelings. But Mike stated in all actuality clams have feelings too.

The day before I met you. I had fallen asleep for too long. An amount that cannot be quantified by time. A feeling of thirst overtook me that could only be quenched by sand. A feeling that was strange especially when it came true. I couldn’t breathe. Sometimes I still can’t, but sometimes is better than never. I did not know much, but I did learn this. With a golden heart, comes a rebel fist. And I decided that I’m not leaving this place. Unless I’m leaving with you. And when I finally woke up I realized the day before I met you became the same day as today. For there is no tomorrow when it comes to this. The day before I met you.

I don’t know where I’m going. I just know where I’ve been.

Look at me. As I look back. Pissed off with a spirit that is hungry and dismembered. The mob that is wonderfully fit in and fit out of. And so I say fuck. What do I do?

I’d like to give a special thanks to The Ouky Douky and U Sudu for your hospitality.