Walking to grab a burrito the other day, I walked by a sketchy street corner with a few people hanging out, up to no good. One of them had his hood up, mask on and stared me out. I took a wide path around some nearby dogs, tried to look tough and carried on my way to the burrito cart but could feel his eyes on me.

At the burrito cart, several blocks away I ordered my usual veggie burrito, and began doom scrolling on my phone as I waited. Before long a hooded figure approached me and said "Pete, what's up?" It was another pasty white Brit, who doesn't look unlike myself. A bloke named Will who also works with vulnerable kids. We had a quick catch-up chat, grabbed our food and went in opposite directions back to work.

On the way back, I had to walk past the sketchy scene again and the same dude was there, sat in the exact spot, staring me down. "Hey, hey!" he shouted. I was ready for him to ask me for some spare change but no, Instead he asked, "Do you know Will?" WTF? I thought. "Yeah, I know Will I was just with him." I replied, thinking there is no way he could have just seen us together unless he can see through dozens of buildings. He carried on, "Well when you see him..." I cut him off, "I probably won't see him we work in different places." But homeboy carried on, "When you see him, tell him I am the guy who will destroy him in ping pong." I cracked up, OK man, I might not see him for awhile but I I'll text him ... And we both laughed... He then took his mask off to reveal a big friendly grin.

Back at the office. I texted Will. "Crazy coincidence, after I saw you, a random dude pulled me aside and told me he will destroy you in ping pong." Will replied, completely unphased,

"That's Atlas. That kid is living in a dream world."

Atlas who lives in dream world!

...as do we all...

the firs wave back

 

sitting under a thicket of firs

i drink a small amount of beer. 

enough to relax and quiet the chatter. 

we talk about self-driving cars and plastics in the placenta of new borns. 

who asked for this? 

don’t talk to me about democracy

a dragon fly hovers above

the north wind wafts campfire smoke our way

uncle ted was right.

said it before/ say it again 

said it before/ say it again

the firs wave back

where is my fucking note book?

...continued investment in complexity as a problem-solving strategy yields a declining marginal return... -Joseph Tainter, The Collapse of Complex Societies.

Changing a Lightbulb

I change light bulbs for a living.

Don't get too excited, I don't actually change the bulbs. I coordinate the changing of the bulbsWhen a bulb goes out, I get an email from one of the staff. After my coffee break, I'll find the extinguished bulb to confirm it is indeed out. Then, I'll take a burrito break for lunch.

After Lunch, I'll generate a work order number. This involves some actual work. Location of the bulb, type of bulb, what trade I need to have it replaced (certified lightbulb changer), priority level and who to contact. After that I'll take leisurely walk around the city

Back at the office, I'll call the multiservices company we outsource to and usually they won't answer, so I'll leave a voicemail and watch videos of toddlers swearing on tik tok until they call me back. If I'm lucky Jay from multiservices will call me back before 6pm when I clock off.

"Hi Pete, I gotta tell ya, we're pretty booked out. How's Tuesday in two weeks time, sound? Say between 9am and 2pm."

"Sounds great, Jay. Can you not send Jeremy though, I've had some complaints from female staff about him."

"Don't worry. Jeremy no longer changes lightbulbs for us. But Joe is available."

"Hmm Joe.... OK, but can you ask him to take a shower before coming over?"

"I can but it's his first job of the day so he shouldn't smell too bad at that point. Gotta WO number for me? And remind me of the address."

"I sure do Jay. 1984. and its 1635 Tuttle St"

"All right then, you'll see in two weeks on Wednesday, sometime between 9am and 2pm at 1635 Buttle st."

"Tuttle st!"

"Right, Tuttle st I always mess that up. OK it's in the system. I'll bill your Admin team."

"Great, I'll make sure I have nothing on my schedule for five hours and I'll be here ready to let Joe in... Wait! I thought you said, "Tuesday?""

"Sorry Pete, yes Tuesday."

So, now I have scheduled the light bulb change in two weeks. Best send an email to the staff team letting them know, they will be pissing in the dark for two weeks. After my next break.

Two weeks later 215pm, no Joe. So I call Jay. Jay doesn't answer so I leave a voicemail and Jay calls me back 24 hours later.

"Oh damn, my mistake Pete, I thought we said Wednesday. Jeremey is on his way over now."

"Damnit Jay, I said not Jeremy! I thought you fired that lecherous maniac?"

"Desperate times, Pete. Lightbulb changers are hard to come by these days. I can see if Jack the trainee is available next week on Friday, if you like?"

"No. I don't like being bothered on Fridays, Jay. Send Jeremy today and then next lightbulb that goes out we can make sure it's Joe. No trainees. I'll make sure the female staff are out of the building before Jeremy gets here."

"That might be for the best. Jeremy's divorce was just finalized."

"Christ, Jay. Jeremy is single! This is going to be a fucking mess. I better get everyone out of the building. This is a lot of work for fucking light bulb Jay."

"I know Pete. Perhaps we could work out an alternative?"

"That could mean everyone pissing in the dark for another two weeks, right?"

"More like a month the way things are going. Joe isn't doing too well."

"What's going on with Joe?"

"He's on paid administrative leave while we investigate several hygiene complaints."

"Fucksake Jay. So you're down to one lightbulb changer? And it's Mr Touchy himself? Jay, honestly, if things continue like this I might have to get certified to change lightbulbs myself."

"Now hold on Pete! Let's not do anything rash. You do know that requires ladder climbing training, right?"

"I am aware that to become a certified lightbulb changer, I will need ladder climbing training. But so what. What's that? A two hour video?"

"Ha, if only it was that easy. No, it's a full day. And they are back to in person training with a practical examination. Ask your safety coordinator if you don't believe me."

"Jesus, I don't have time for the safety coordinator, it's nearly time for my burrito break."

"Your burrito will have to wait as Jeremey just got there. He says he's been buzzing up for 10 minutes."

"I'm right by the buzzer, Jay. I haven't heard anything. Let me check the camera. He's not there Jay. Jeremy is not outside buzzing up. Are you sure you gave him the correct address?"

"Of course, 1635 Buttle St?"

"How many fucking times, Jay? How many fucking times do I have to tell you? Tuttle! Tuttle Fucking st, Jay!"

"Oh shit. You're right Pete. I'm sorry. Let me text Jeremy to see if he can still get to Tuttle St today, still."

"You know as well as I do that Jeremey can't text. His slimy fingers slip all over his outdated phone."

"God, you're right. Perhaps I can have one of the lightbulb changer trainees rush over for you? I could do that for you, Pete."

"Jay, You know I need a goddamned professional to change a lightbulb. You know that! And I think I'm done with Jeremy. He's a liability. I don't want to be responsible for any more minor sexual assaults he might initiate."

"Damn, Pete. I want to do right by you. Let's say two weeks from today, I send Joe over? His hygiene investigation should be concluded by then and I am confident HR will just issue him a verbal warning to use soap every time he showers. Sound good?"

"Fine. Pending Joe's hygiene investigation, the lightbulb will be changed two weeks from Tuesday?"

"Wednesday."

"Wednesday?"

"Yes, Wednesday. Thanks much, Pete. Sidenote, have you thought about upgrading your light fixtures to LED? We could do that for you Pete. Might save us all some future headaches."

"Fuck you, Jay."

Unfortunately, there is no end to this story.

The sun rises, the sun sets.

We all continue to piss in the dark,

as we wait for enlightenment or oblivion.

Either can't come soon enough.

 

i used to get visits from the dead
after self-awareness this was
terrifying and unwelcome
later became a curiosity and profundity
but still not something i was sure i welcomed

when you were born
the midwife said,
watch her all night, make sure she's still breathing
countless hours your tiny body laid in the my forearm and palm
i put my forehead to yours
and you said, you don't have to worry about that anymore
i knew you'd just come from a place, i had long forgotten
you'd lifted some burden

three chapters of seven, later

all my favorite writers have hope
i only have a tiny bit left
if the world must end tomorrow,
i'll still try to lay a brick today
because of you.

"IN THE BEGINNING there was a river. The river became a road and the road branched out to the whole world. And because the road was once a river it was always hungry.

In that land of beginnings spirits mingled with the unborn. We could assume numerous forms. Many of us were birds. We knew no boundaries. There was much feasting, playing, and sorrowing. We feasted much because of the beautiful terrors of eternity. We played much because we were free. And we sorrowed much because there were always those amongst us who had just returned from the world of the Living. They had returned inconsolable for all the love they had left behind, all the suffering they hadn’t redeemed, all that they hadn’t understood, and for all that they had barely begun to learn before they were drawn back to the land of origins.

There was not one amongst us who looked forward to being born. We disliked the rigours of existence, the unfulfilled longings, the enshrined injustices of the world, the labyrinths of love, the ignorance of parents, the fact of dying, and the amazing indifference of the Living in the midst of the simple beauties of the universe. We feared the heartlessness of human beings, all of whom are born blind, few of whom ever learn to see." 

-Ben Okri, "The Famished Road" Chapter 1

Penblwydd Hapus, Medwen

The real story

A Welsh Expatriate in Qatar

playing golf

observes 

Iranian missiles being intercepted by Israeli missiles

Reading this headline 'news,' I ask myself, what is the difference between and expatriate and an immigrant?

The short answer is,

Racism

Then I wonder why do we care what a golf-playing Welsh expat thinks about a carefully orchestrated permission war that plays out above the greens?

I too was once a Welsh Expat, only skateboarding not playing golf

as another farce of a permission war played out in the skies above my head.

And now I am a naturalized 'citizen' scratching his head from an even safer distance.

Meanwhile,

Israeli arms, funded by US tax dollars and guided by UK 'intelligence'

continue to slaughter Palestinians waiting for food

That is the real the story

 Here’s the thing. I’ve nuked my social media countless times since I got sucked into it and I will likely continue to do so forevermore. 

On it goes. 

Know that I like seeing your life, even from a distance and filtered through a virtual medium. I love mountains you climb and  the trees you fall out of, the waves you surf, the things you can do with your skateboard, the music that is shaking you, poetry that is moving you. I love seeing the silly things your cat, dogs and kids do.

 I especially love videos of your toddlers using bad words. 

And the new taqueria you just found. 

But I just can’t scroll through all that shit and then see limbless children or people shot dead in the breadline.

I’m never going to ignore wars that my tax dollars fund and the juxtaposition of the scroll is just too fucking much. 

I’m positive it’s incredibly damaging to scroll from wrestling kittens to starving children.  

Who knows what it’s doing to our neural pathways?

I don’t like it and I can’t handle it.

!50!

I first thought I was too old for the four-wheeled-plank of joy at age 15, and then at every life milestone since. As I patiently await my membership for the Mumbles Lawn-bowling association, I realize it might be too late to really give up. Anyway, you are supposed to do "50 tricks at age 50." Since I only have 2, I did them to death during my 49th year... It is what it is... See you at the red curbs... or the bowling green.

Decolonize your mind and Iechyd Da!

 On St Patrick's Day every White American wanker is Irish. On St David's Day, you'd be lucky to find an American who even knows what or where Wales is, even among Americans who might have some Welsh heritage. One theory I read was that during the various waves of immigration (and yes there were far less Welsh) there were two check boxes for the Welsh on the various immigration forms, 'English' or 'Scots-Irish,' most Welsh chose 'English' by default, after all between 1707 and the late 1960s Wales was legally England). Thus Welsh heritage was watered down and harder to trace back unless you lived somewhere like Pennsylvania. Now with accessibility to gene-tracking tech that is slowly changing and I'm meeting more people claiming Welsh. White America is so desperate for culture and identity and not without reason. 

Today is St David's, yesterday Black History month ended. Interestingly, there is a disproportionate number of Welsh names among Black Americans. Think of the name Lewis or the poet Gwendolyn Brooks. It is understood that Welsh Quakers, who fled persecution in Britain, played a key role in the abolition movement. However, we have to accept that just as Wales played a role in and benefited from English Colonialism (after being the country where England learned how to colonize) the Welsh were also slave-owners. 

All this to say I'm not a fan of patriotism and certainly deplore chest-thumping, flag waving, unquestioning nationalism. Whether you are Palestinian, Ukrainian, Basque, Irish or Welsh there will always be a fine line between liberation and unhealthy nationalism. 

At this  dangerous juncture in history it is certainly important to resist homogeneity and a creeping global mono-culuture. Regional idyoscraties and local peculiarities should be celebrated. Power should be decentralized, devolved and hopefully one day dissolved. Regional autonomy will be crucial to resist the likes of the US and Russia carving up the rest of the world. But you can shove your flags. Instead of patriotism and nationalism, if you really care about identity, learn about the land, native plants and species, the people and the culture,  learn a language indigenous to your homeland. In Welsh there is the term "Hiraeth." It loosely means homesick or a longing tinged with grief, not just for people who have left Wales but for a Wales that once was. It is a pretty powerful word that celebrates the best of what it means to be Welsh, a yearning for the people, culture and land where most of your ancestors are buried. It transcends patriotism and nationalism.  Here's a fucking Daffodil in our American garden. I won't fight a war over it and I'm not celebrating any Christian saints. 

Decolonize your mind. Iechyd Da.

I spoke to Alan Ginsberg Last Night

 Alan was an overrated poet in my opinion but he had some moments, some lines here and there that resonate. Anyway, he let me know, 'they' omitted the last stanza from 'America,' that he wants you all to read now. 

America!

a juicier bigger carrot!

the Muskrats announce with a blow of their Trumpettes.

you 

cheer at the prospect

despite the same old s(ch)tick it dangles from

you

still the donkey, 

schlepping toward it

fruitless

carrying a combed-over sack of shit

one step at a time

toward oblivion

It all comes back to the slash and grind club

 

 

Meeting David Lynch in 1979 just North of Malibu

 I met David Lynch in 1979 just outside of Malibu California. I had just finished up surfing at Malibu with my friend Mickey Donta and we were famished. Mikey was stubbornly sticking to surfing old fashioned longboards and I was exploring the new dimensions offered by shortboards. And we were having a friendly debate about he future of surfing as a result. Mikey said, “There is no future in surfing. Just now.” I said, Mikey I’m really hungry. Let’s get some food. 

So we loaded up Mikey’s 1967 Karmann Ghia and headed to a Jewish Fish Taco place, up the Pacific Coast Highway a way. We tied down the boards on the roof of the Ghia and I briefly worried about the roof caving in but Mikey didn’t seem to care. I hopped in the car and as we sped North he said, “Maybe my friend David from Montana, will be there.”

Sure enough, David was there. He wasn’t eating tacos. He was drinking black coffee and smoking a cigarette. He was sweating a little bit, probably due to his attire. He was wearing well worn khakis, and a white Gant shirt that was buttoned up to the top and an unstructured black sports coat. 

Mikey and I ordered three tacos and a lemonade each and we sat down next to David. I’m often a little uncomfortable meeting new people but David was very nice and welcoming. We had a nice chat about the future or lack thereof , in surfing and then David said he was working on a script for a new film about surfing. Wild, I thought. Just wild. 

“What’s it called, David?” Mikey asked.

 David shouted very loudly back, “What?!” 

Everyone else in the restraint turned to look at us. 

Mikey didn’t seem surprised, “I said, what’s your new surf movie called?” 

David stared at Mikey for an endless minute and then replied, 

“Elephant Man!” 

We both nodded with approval at the title of David’s new film. 

Then David asked about our weekend plans. Mikey said, he was going to do what he does every day. Surf his 10’ long single fin surfboard in a straight line at Malibu. 

And what about you Pete, “What are doing with your weekend? David shouted. 

I said, I was going to watch the new Star Trek Movie at the Tower Theatre.

“That’s a nice cinema, Pete.” David said. 

And then another long silence. Mikey munched on his tacos and I was hoping David would continue the conversation but he was very comfortable being quiet. I wasn’t so comfortable and felt compelled to break it.

“And David, what about you?” I meekly asked. 

“What?! David again shouted at an even louder volume and people were visibly getting uncomfortable in their chairs, shifting around, except Mikey who must have been used to David’s speech patterns.

I nervously repeated myself, “What about you David, how are you going to spend your weekend?”

“Oh!” He shouted again. And then continued in a slightly more tolerable volume.

“I’m going to spend some time observing my mind.” He said matter-of-factly.

I frowned at his response and then, 

“Because the mind is the Final Frontier, Pete. The mind.” He said. “Oh and I might set out to find some good-fitting pants also.”

We finished our tacos in silence. David, his coffee and cigarette. 

Until Mikey said, “Well great to see you David. Hopefully catch you again real soon.”

“What?!” David shouted even louder than before, again unnerving the other patrons.

And Mikey repeated himself, “Hopefully catch you again real soon, David.”

All three of us nodded and Mikey and I were  on our way, leaving David by himself.

I never saw him again and Mikey and I went back to that Jewish Taco place many a time.