grunt and groan

It’s not an option of practical or literal education.

It’s a collection of rare butterflies with the clear and easily distinguished marks of a creature raised on pop, media and sugar.

A dictionary of friendly words and phrases that can be arranged and rearranged into so-called new forms of entertainment, loosely disguised as a culture of self-brainwashing.

I’ve heard all this before. Just in a different order or sequence.

Where are the new thoughts that cannot be described with old words, only lived as an experience that makes us utter strange noises like a new/old music sung by the first man?

Emotional reflex, the grunt and the groan, calling out like the beat box on your telephone.

Rhythmic and broken.

Plugged in and plugged… out.



Notes from the West Indies

Sometimes my favorite time is breakfast. It’s the beginning of the day and maybe you don’t know what’s coming.

We walked a couple blocks down the street to access Hillsborough Beach. It’s a one mile stretch of beach that runs the west side of  Carriacou island. We walked the long beach with our backs a little sore from the sunburn we got snorkeling in the Tobago Cays the day before on Dave’s Boat tour.

NancyUnderThis being our second snorkeling experience — plus a refresher in shallow water the day before — made it extremely cool. I don’t know what I was thinking on the first trip when I just jumped off the boat in the middle of the sea thinking, “Yeah, I’ll just figure this out as I go.” I drank a whole lot of the Caribbean Sea that time.

Anyway, at the end of our mile long walk on the beach — completely empty because it was Christmas day — we found a ship that had run aground years ago.


As we approached the ship it instantly reminded me of the final scene in the 1968 “Planet of the Apes” film. The closer we got to the ship, The Gulf Coast III, I seemed to be taking on more and more strange emotions. Something very connected to mortality. The  ship had a large hole cut in the side of it that I very slowly crawled into. A couple feet of murky water stood in the bottom of the ship and I felt almost panicked standing inside in the low light, balancing on a piece of metal that hovered just above the dark water. I had trouble catching my breath and tried to breathe slowly. I felt as if somehow I could be swallowed up and dragged down into the dark abyss of time long gone. I felt a big, strange, exciting fear. I took many pictures and looking at them now I am definitely getting a sense memory of that feeling of mortality I felt while I was there. (See more pictures here.)

After our walk, we returned to the Green Roof Inn. They have a great staff. The chef, Leslie Ann, prepared me a vegetarian meal that was not on the menu. It’s an island, so everything we ate was mostly local. I didn’t eat the fish but Nancy did. It was pulled straight out of the water we walked along an hour ago. The eggs we would have for breakfast were from the chickens that ran around the yard under our room that overlooked the sea.


I had a couple rum punches with dinner. In the Caribbean you never have to ask, “What would a pirate do/drink?”

The next morning, near 5 am, the rooster started his calls.



I rolled over and said, “Alright, mother fucker!” And Nancy said,


We laughed and went back to bed.


There are emotions and feelings that we can experience but cannot express. These are the moments that connect us to the universal Truth that cannot be written into a sentence, a paragraph or a book. These are the things to swim in like the deep pool that is the collective. No life rafts, no safety bars. Just the stillness of primitive man looking to the skies and knowing nothing is explainable.