Monthly Archives: May 2013

June 4, 2013

May 31

In Whitehorse. A new place. I walk around a new town not caring about fitting in; I don’t want to fit in. I don’t want to look like I live here. I am proud to be a Gypsy. I accept my role as the Stranger, the Outsider. I have so many friends/acquaintances around the world that I know I am loved and that I do fit in with certain people in certain places.

Sometimes I feel sad and very alone, but knowing that many people care about me relieves the loneliness. My spiritual, inner life is very strong, and this also gives me strength. And my connections with nature enlarge and ennoble me.

It’s extraordinary how coolly some people in isolated places (like Whitehorse) respond to strangers. I don’t care (I’m used to it), I just notice. Whitehorse is a huge tourist destination (in summer), so this helps the locals to accept new people. The Aboriginal People here are, from what I’ve heard, open to “allies,” or people who are definitely supportive of them as individuals and as a group. Some people call Whitehorse a “bubble” because it’s set up here in a wilderness.

People in towns and cities often won’t acknowledge strangers. But to us Gypsies these townspeople are the strangers. Strange strangers.

What I am NOT interested in (in general): people. businesses. traffic/cars.

What I AM interested in: the rhythm of a place. sounds (including conversations, but not so much for their content as their pace/feeling/intent)


June 1

Taking advice from (a book about ) Bob Dylan life: be super polite and don’t play any games. Online here in downtown Whitehorse at Tim Horton’s. Rain today, and people at Tim’s are saying, “Winter’s back.”

I woke up this morning very nervous and paranoid. Was it the pot I smoked last night? Was it the hard cider I drank? Was it constipation?

I spent yesterday walking around downtown Whitehorse. Went to the Victoria Faulkner Women’s Center and Kaushee’s Place (a women’s shelter). Met some wonderful women, like Olympia at the shelter and Conch at the Center (who firmly advises me that hitching to Tok would be fine; she hitched here to Whitehorse from Ottawa). I also went to two backpackers’ hostels here; one is $30 a night. Yipes!

I like this town, Whitehorse, and I like the Yukon (and upper B.C.). I may want to spend more time around this area every year.


June 3

Whitehorse. Surfed with Teagan and Byron, and now I’m at Stephanie’s. Today, I’ll meet Anna (another local CSer) and we’ll hang out. I really like it here. I could conceivably make this town my summer residence. Winters in New Orleans, summers here, international travels in between. Sounds good to me.

I want to put together a little band and sing some songs. I was thinking about learning to play the bass. I may get a little egg-size “shaker” this week at the local music store on 3rd Ave. I am doing yoga for about 10 minutes in the morning and in the evening. It orders and grounds me. It’s also calming. I read yoga teacher Alexia Bauer’s words on Ashtanga yoga practice; here are some excerpts:

…the room fills with the collective energy created by the whispering sounds of Ujjayi breathing and each person’s quiet concentration.

The primary series is an intense physical journey inward, in which the practice becomes a tool not only to purify and strengthen the body but also to focus and strengthen the mind. Through practice the yoga practitioner slowly removes layer after layer of stress, emotional baggage, insecurities, and mental clutter, in order to see the true Self.

A student may spend several months exploring one posture, without moving beyond that point in the sequence. This allows the mind to become familiar with the sequence and gives the body time to fully absorb the benefits and lessons of each posture before moving on.

…Mysore* practice is essentially self-guided. (*…the Mysore system of practice [is] named after the city in India where it originated with Pattabhi Jois, Ashtanga’s founder.)

The student learns how each asana carefully and steadily opens, stretches, and strengthens the body. Each contains keys to locked doors that will be encountered further down the path.

This is what makes practicing Mysore so effective: Each asana is learned one at a time until the body has reached a certain proficiency in it, so progression depends on finding the keys to those locked doors. This method requires great discipline and encourages introspection. Its ultimate lesson is patience.

The asanas become a tool of self-investigation, revealing much about our personalities, our samskaras, or those deeply ingrained behavior patterns, our relationships, our emotions, and our minds.

~~from Yoga Journal, June 2013


Ode to My True Love

I have been looking for My Man, The Man, the One with whom I am locked forever in the tantric love position (me sitting on his dick throughout all eternity). I know for certain that he is “out there” somewhere. He exists; he may be alive or he may be dead (and thus he is a Spirit around me).

Here is my fantasy:

A man (any age: 19 or 90) really gets to know me, and he totally loves me. I also totally love him. Over the course of a few years we become close friends. We don’t have sex.

Eventually, this delightful, good-hearted, trustworthy man and I begin a sexual relationship. And it is good.

I travel, and he stays at home. We are both free to do whatever we want to do when I am away. And we don’t tell each other about it.

When I come home, there he is. Yeah.

That’s my dream of the perfect relationship. I long for it with all my heart.

I will never give up looking for him.

After this world is another world. Here in this material world, Spirits are all around us, guiding us. We can let go (of trying to control everything) since these Spirits are always guiding and helping us, even when we sleep. They will lead me to my True Love when the time is right.

In my dreams, while sleeping, I am often together with my Eternal Soulmate. It is my most blissful time.

For now, I must work on myself . Yoga and my other practices (meditation, travel, camping, writing, being a better friend, learning when and how to let go, nature studies, the Navajo Beauty Way, etc.) help me to go deeper into myself.  I have dedicated my life to knowing myself well and becoming a better person, not only for my own sake, but also for the sake of my relationship with my One and Only, True, Eternal Love.

This search always on my mind. I am preoccupied with it when I get stoned.

For me, being reunited with “God” means being reunited with My Love. In Hindu texts (or is it Buddhist), it says that the Divine Marriage may be with someone who is in the flesh. THAT is the Eternal Soulmate, one’s literal “Other Half.”


June 4

Stephanie, my current CS host, describes Whitehorse and the whole Yukon, as a “bubble” funded by the government for the purpose of sovereignty (i.e., England must occupy the land strategically in order to hold on to it). Of course, living up here in any way other than in the ways that the First Nations people and the Inuit used to (and still do, in some places) is absurd and, in every conceivable way, completely fake.

Up here, we are very far from living sustainably or living in a harmonious relationship with nature. Yet, here we are, most of us up here in the Far North, because we love the land here.


May 31, 2013

May 27

I keep falling in love with very young men. It’s a sickness, an addiction (like sex used to be for me). And what a great addiction it is. These young men are kind, darling geniuses. The ones who aren’t geniuses are almost unbelievably good looking (like “Angel”). The others (the darling geniuses) are sexy and warm-hearted lovers (well, not MY lovers).

I don’t have sex with any of these very young men. It’s not the age difference; I don’t give a rat’s ass about that. (Of course, age may be the deal-buster for many of them.)

Unfortunately, sex complicates and sabotages my relationships. It brings up negative feelings (like jealousy). One-night stands with perfect (!) strangers are fine, but good relationships and sex are, so far, a tricky mix. However, I am not giving up.


My latest sweet genius is Greg from Poland!! Very sexy AND very good-hearted—such a rare combination. He took me to a burlesque show last night here in Vancouver. It was lots of fun. Greg also bought me dinner and beer beforehand at a restaurant where, along with his Turkish pal, “Yapa,” we met up with a couple of French Couchsurfing gals. Greg also paid my way into the show and  bought me a couple of drinks there. Very few hosts have done such nice things for me.

Greg’s a kind, hockey-playing, gentle giant (he’s tall!). Greg  is the Year of the Sheep, Day of the Rabbit: a peace-loving artist. Rabbit people hate confrontation so they get what they want in covert ways. Sheep are the sensitive artists of the Chinese zodiac.

I asked Greg to be my adopted nephew.  I barely know him so I don’t know if this will last. Chuck is my other adopted nephew, but I’m not in love with him.  Chuck (Hillman) is a good friend.


Lots of my male pals are gay. Gay men often make really good friends. Couchsurfers Daddy Jose and my “brothers” (Hector, Roger and Francisco) are my Venezuelan adopted family; they live on Lake Maracaibo. I love those guys.


May 29

4:30 am: our Greyhound arrived here in Dawson Creek, British Columbia, Canada. A heavy fog accompanied us en route here. I slept for a few hours (minutes?? ha ha). Hard to tell on the bus; time becomes distorted and spaces keep moving by, relentlessly and magnificently.

At Tim Horton’s (cafes, open 24-hours, internet, all over Canada–or at least here in Western Canada): tea, everything bagel with cream cheese.

True love has to be from the inside out. It originates in the Soul. It seeps out, effortlessly, into the material world. I have a Go Go Go Go attitude so I love the bus.

Gogol Bordello (Gypsy band) sings of “purification fire.” I think this is a spiritual metaphor. Evolution comes from the inside out, like love. The purifying force of love and life help us evolve. “Revolution is internal” say Gogol Bordello (Russian guys singing in New York).


Oh, Canada. Big birds, cattle, horses, deer, mountains, trees, lakes, rivers, an eagle, lots of raccoons (in a Vancouver park). No cell service for hours coming through the mountains heading north out of Vancouver.

Thank god I am once again in a country where women can do whatever the hell they want. Bus drivers (nice one on Greyhound) or anything!

Vancouver Sun (newspaper) headline yesterday: South British Columbia grizzly bears in danger of extinction. One new female named “Power” is the big hope for the future of those animals.

Austin was marvelous to stay with in Vancouver. He’s very touchy-feely, and, boy, did touch-starved me take advantage of that. OK, I didn’t give him a blow job (ha ha), but at the Amsterdam Cafe I hugged and touched him for security and comfort whenever I wanted to while we ate and smoked pot with other stoners. Can’t do that (lots of touching) with too many people outside the Latin countries. I think lots of people–like me–would just adore more touching, but we are afraid. Not the wonderful Austin! A gem.


I want a Stay-At-Home-Man. Someone who loves to be settled in and not to travel (or perhaps he just loves a little travel). Or maybe he is a Traveller, too, but we would travel separately; we could meet up at various places on the road.

I will travel and let THE MAN know where I am.If he’s sedentary, we will reunite whenever I come off the road. When I’m gone, we are both free to do WHATEVER we want with WHOMEVER we want. And (a change in my attitude), we don’t have to tell each other anything about what we’ve done when we were apart. It’s being free while having that Touchstone (as I am coming to call Him). I miss someone.


touchstone (plural touchstones)

  1. A stone used to test the quality of gold alloys.
  2. A standard of comparison or evaluation.



  1. A piece of fine-grained dark schist or jasper formerly used for testing alloys of gold by observing the color of the mark that they made…
  2. A standard or criterion by which something is judged or recognized.
criterion – test



This afternoon I arrived in Fort Nelson, a B.C. town near the British Columbia/Yukon border. I was welcomed into the Father Poullet Hostel, a homeless shelter, by Gordon (from the Philippines). The shelter is a neat, clean little house, and I have my own room with a TV and my own bathroom (or “washroom,” as they call it here). Clean towels, too. And Gordon gave me a $13 meal ticket for Subway, across the highway from the bus station. Only one other guest is staying at the hostel now.

The country up here on the B.C./Yukon border is ALL TREES. It’s like being in Tree Wonderland. I love it.


I have realized that we “disabled” (differently-abled) people have a different walk and presentation style. I have seen this all my life, but I never picked up on it. It’s more about letting your stomach hang out (if it is like that) and not getting into fashion or looking “cool.” I am beginning to be able to do it; I say “beginning” because this style is so “uncool” to Neurotypicals (and I tried to be an NT for so long) that it’s quite a brazen, daring statement for me to make.

I posted this on Facebook today (before giving away one jacket to Gordon at the shelter):

Bright and chilly at 4:30 am here in Dawson Creek, British Columbia, Canada. I am getting to love Canadians: repressed? Yes. But also quiet, respectful, polite, orderly, law-abiding, and that’s only those people (mostly Caucasians) whom I’ve observed. Other populations (First Nations) are heavily represented up here. Locals, glad for spring, are sporting T-shirts and shorts. I have on two jackets, a flannel shirt, two other shirts, jeans, long johns, a wool cap and a scarf. Ha ha.


May 30

Fort Nelson and the Rocky Mountain Regional area around it:

Wildlife found in the area include animals such as moose, black bear, grizzly bear, caribou, deer (White-Tail and Mule), elk, bison, stone sheep, mountain goat, wolves, and several more. The region, especially the area around the Liard Hot Springs, is home to several unique bird species such as the Golden Eagle, the Bald Eagle, and the Great Horned Owl.


I opened a Scotia Bank account today, and it was notable because the people who helped me were so patient and relaxed. Shaun (from Botswana) talked to me for fifteen minutes (or more) after we had finished our transactions. Just talk about this and that. Amazing. That would never happen in the US where it’s just in-and-out as quickly as possible to facilitate more business (and money).

Yesterday in a small IDA store, I asked for directions to the library here in Fort Nelson. Three teenagers gave me very complete directions with one gal even pretending to walk to the library, showing me where to turn, and being very specific about the crosswalk locations. Apparently, people in this little town with light traffic and wide, mostly empty streets do not jaywalk.


May 31

Gordon gave me another Subway meal coupon when I left the shelter this morning. It was also for $13, enough to get a good breakfast and lunch.

Here is my message today to Seth and Anya (Meg’s still mad at me for turning her in for child abuse):

I arrived here in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, Canada at 4 am this morning. Light out. Cold.
I went right to Tim Horton‘s, Canada’s ubiquitous, open-24/7 restaurant (with free WiFi). Two of my bus companions (from Germany and Austria) are at a nearby table and another guy (Canadian [he shared a joint with me en route]) is sleeping on the floor beside me. I love the little fraternity (sorority!) of riders that  develops during a long-distance bus ride.
We saw about a dozen bears (brown, black, and grizzly), 100 or so scattered bison (including rollicking cubs), four wild mountain sheep, one moose, a porcupine, two wild swans, and a deer alongside the road on the over night trip here from Fort Nelson. Our bus driver stopped many times so we could see the animals “up close” (from inside the bus) and take photos. Wonderful!

So far, this is north country is my favorite place on earth. Upper B.C. and the Yukon is ALL trees, big wild animals, lakes, rivers and rocks.

Joyful Love to  you, My Children!


The difference between bison and buffalo is nothing or a whole lot depending on what you mean. Let us explain: The animal that we’ve come to know and love in this country as the buffalo is the same as the bison. People refer to them as both names. And that’s OK. There are 2 subspecies of bison in North America: the Plains Bison (mainly in the U.S. and Canada) and the Wood Bison (mainly in Canada.) There is also a European Bison called the Wisent (pronounced wee’sent). All 3 look a little bit different from each other. The scientific name of the bison is “Bison bison” (Genus species). However, the bison is not a “true” buffalo scientifically speaking. There are at least 2 true buffalo which include the African Cape Buffalo and the Asian Water Buffalo.



The Traveller’s best friend? A big, friendly, sincere smile.

May 26, 2013

May 25

I am studying birth order.

Since the 1970s, one of the most influential theories to explain why firstborns frequently score higher on intelligence and achievement tests than other children is the confluence model of Robert Zajonc. This model states that because firstborns mainly have adult influences around them in their early years, they will spend their initial years of life interacting in a highly intellectual family environment. This effect may also be observed in siblings who, although later born, have a sibling at least five years senior with no siblings in between. These children are considered to be “functional firstborns”. The theory further suggests that firstborns will be more intelligent than only children, because the latter will not benefit from the “tutor effect” (i.e. teaching younger siblings).

~~excerpt from Wikipedia article on Birth Order


Sexuality and birth order:

The fraternal birth order effect is the name given to the observation that the more older brothers a man has, the greater the probability is that he will have a homosexual orientation. The fraternal birth order effect is the strongest known predictor of sexual orientation, with each older brother increasing a man’s odds of being gay by approximately 33%. Even so, the fraternal birth order effect only accounts for a maximum of one seventh of the prevalence of homosexuality in men. There seems to be no effect on sexual orientation in women, and no effect of the number of older sisters.

~~Wikipedia (“Birth Order”)


In 2007 Norwegian epidemiologists Petter Kristensen and Tor Bjerkedal published work showing a small but reliable negative correlation between IQ and birth order: the more older siblings one has, the lower one’s IQ. Whether birth order affects intelligence has been debated inconclusively since the late 1800s, although the sheer size of the study (about 250,000 Norwegian conscripts) and the rigorous controls for family size make this study especially convincing. ~~
Victoria seems to be a bunch of middle class, retired Caucasians trying to exert control over others. This is their facade after lifetimes of being told what to do (by their bosses) and telling people what to do. Ami and Andre told me that the gulf between First Nations people and Caucasians here on the Island is huge. And the gulf between those two groups and others (immigrants from other places) is also huge. I discovered this myself on my first day in Victoria when I approached that small group of First Nations folks on the grass in Centennial Square.
People in Victoria, or at least here in Cook Street Village, don’t smile at or look at each other on the street (unless, of course, they know each other). It’s so much like New England! And old men and old women are trying to retain their former dominance or find new ways to be socially dominant.
The requisite, entrenched politeness of Victoria society allows people to assert themselves in covert ways. This aggression is not dealt with openly; confrontation and public displays of anger are frowned on. But, perhaps in accordance with the English ideal, people’s social status is preserved (saving face). I presume that most social interactions here are  manipulated by whoever can fake niceness long–convincingly–enough.
The position of dominance that first-borns and only children try to maintain gets very tiring. I am no longer thrilled by dominance. it’s more fun to be receptive and open.
It’s hard to be open to people with big egos; they are always showing off. I don’t want to give them attention to boost their already disproportionate egos. They play lots of mind games in places like cafes, trying to assert dominance.
These games go on in the individual mind. Meditation and letting go of thoughts stops these games. People often don’t want to let go of their personalities and their mind/power games. The game is based on self-image: a picture of oneself as superior to others. And a main component is devaluing other people and getting those people to accept that devaluation as truth.
These are invariably people whose main focus and perhaps the only reference point they really know in the world is themselves. Everything is oriented toward them (or so they think).
May  26
Keep things new by moving around. Gogol Bordello sings about “new ways to think and see.” We Travellers don’t get jaded; we don’t get cynical because we keep moving, and we constantly have new challenges and new vistas. It’s like being an immigrant: you get really excited by the new place. A new home, a new job, new friends, new work… it’s the excitement and truth of change.”
Sherlock sees the crime all around him. I see homeless people,  families, gay people. Nerds. Immigrants. Global travellers. New parents and all the work they have. Birds and animals on leashes. Trees, flowers, trash, pretty girls and handsome men. At night, I see prostitutes. I don’t recognize criminals or people who are high on drugs. I see sad people and crazy people.
West End, Vancouver: no homeless people here. Wealthy gays? Families. Many Asians. Well-dressed people. Athletes. Disabled people like me. Old people, losing our minds, leaving our bags behind, missing our bus stops.People who are out of step, not mainstream, looking at other things than the mainstreamers, walking to a different rhythm. NOT IMITATING THE NTs is always a goal.
What do I still do  that I was taught (brainwashed) to do/think/say/be and that’s not really me? What was I told I HAD to do/be… or else? Or else what? Dad and Mom undoubtedly knew how,  in moments of heightened passion, crowds can respond to social outcasts. This always has to be watched for when different people walk the streets.
Sitting here at Blenz Coffee in the West End of Vancouver, listening to Bob Dylan and his interpreters on WWOZ: yesterday was Bob’s birthday. It’s early afternoon. At 3pm I go a few blocks over to CSer Greg’s house; he’s just coming back from at trip. Who is Greg? He lives here in upscale Vancouver where a plethora of tall, handsome, undoubtedly well-educated men and women in good clothes parade by. And scores of old codgers stumble and limp around.
The boreal forest mixes here with palm trees (or is this palm tree outside the cafe the only one in Vancouver?).
“If you ever go to Houston, you better act right… or Sheriff Benson will arrest you. So let the Midnight Special shine its light on me.” What’s Vancouver like? Like Houston? Where “you better act right or Sheriff Benson will arrest you.” Miss Rosy comes to the penitentiary and tells the Captain: “I’m losing my man, so let the Midnight Special shine its light on me.”
I am definitely more right brain. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I have both and, yeah, they work together. But I am primarily an intuitive artistic, romantic dreamy type of person.

The Right Brain

According to the left-brain, right-brain dominance theory, the right side of the brain is best at expressive and creative tasks. Some of the abilities that are popularly associated with the right side of the brain include:

  • Recognizing faces
  • Expressing emotions
  • Music
  • Reading emotions
  • Color
  • Images
  • Intuition
  • Creativity

Of course, my Aspergers limits some of these abilities (like reading emotions and expressing emotions). I express emotion better through writing than in words. And my Aspergers increases my (potential) creativity. My love of music is huge; must be just me, and it’s in the Boswell genes (if Daddy sang in New Orleans… Hello!).


People walking through this crossroads at Barclay and Denman in the West End and the people right here in the cafe are confusing. Who are they? I don’t know. Some people look at me (some stare at me), but they don’t usually smile or say “hi.” (Sometimes they do, but rarely.) I am a harmless, a good person. “The Saints Are Comin’ Through” is a  line that appeals to me. I am of no interest to anyone, an anonymous person, someone not interested (was I ever?) in negativity or badness or hurting others. Minor misbehaving? Yes, OK. But only that. I am quite transparent, or I try to be. This blog is an effort in the direction of self-revelation.
People are around who are criminals, people who hurt others, I can’t tell who they are. Police and detectives are around; I can’t recognize them either. I just know there’s a lot going on at this corner, but what it is, I have no idea. The Aspergers prevents me from understanding the social scene. I think it protects me from the dangers of most social scenes.
Maybe this is a gay cruising corner. Maybe the West End has a huge underground movement of some kind. Perhaps a police sting that has been in the works for years is about to go down; probably tonight. I wouldn’t see the clues Sherlock sees (who would, except him?). I don’t even want to see those things. I don’t need to live in others’ minds; I have a beautiful mind of my own.
I want to see the things that turn ME on: love, friendship, birds, families, children, beauty, kindness, wisdom, understanding, people trying to be better people and trying to make the world a better place. It’s all about ME. I am my Higher Power: the I, the Self, the Me. The joke is in the contradiction that, while,  it’s all about ME, it’s also about ME trying to be a better person and help others (others = all Sentient Beings).
I know what it is here. I have never come across such SERIOUS people. Maybe among the Russians I’ve met, but, as far as I know, these people are not Russians. Intensely serious looks. Are these people unusually serious (and, if so, why?) or is the style here just to look serious? Has something happened here lately that makes these people look so dour and closed-up into themselves? Could it be because I’ve been in Southern, warm climates for a year? Have I forgotten how a gray environment (which this is: usually overcast) can affect the populace? Are  love and kindness and gentleness confined to home here? Is it not in fashion on the street?
Even in Boulder, Colorado, where a large percentage of the population have Ph.D.s, I have never felt this alternation of ignoring me and appraisal and assessment.
I do see one more thing here: it’s almost all Caucasians. A certain number of other ethnicities (Asians, Latins, Blacks), but the vast majority are Whites. The middle and upper-middle class. An old man collecting cans and bottles from trash cans on the street;  a man spare-changing (“spanging”)–he’s holding out his cap (I don’t see anyone giving him anything [he could be an undercover cop]). It’s a Sunday afternoon in the spring.


To collect spare change, either from couches, passerbys on the street or any numerous other ways and means.


I have picked my areas of life to focus on (love, beauty, kindness, compassion, dreams; nature/camping, travel, music, movies). And I have picked the path of righteousness. I don’t mess with anything else anymore. I am basically an artistically-based interpreter of my own life, the social scene, and the mystical world. I maintain the positive and “eliminate the negative.”

Text from Austin (CSer I will visit tomorrow here in Vancouver): “I live in a bohemian neighborhood full of dykes, schizophrenes (sic.), and natives. A gypsy traveller nomad is not out of place for us.” I am the gypsy he writes of.

May 24, 2013

May 23

I have learned from my Super-CS hosts,  Amy and Andre (Andre is a musician and both work with kids with autism), that Victoria is much wilder underneath than it appears on the surface. Laura calls it “the California of Canada.” That’s good to know.

It’s still not Mexico (or Jamaica or anywhere else where people are “wilder”). No one sings in public (on the street, on the bus, etc.).


I am at Serious Coffee again. Had coffee and toast with Andre as Amy rushed off to work. Slept well on the couch and did a little yoga this morning plus my knee exercises (osteoarthritis).

Andre asked me how different I felt after I got my Asperger Syndrome diagnosis. An interesting question, and now I realize I did feel different–better–after the diagnosis. I knew my group; I understood my history. I began connecting with other Aspies.

I had always felt “on the outside looking in.” Suddenly, we Aspies began making our own IN GROUP! We didn’t need the NTs (neuro-typicals) in the same way anymore; NT acceptance of us no longer mattered. And (big thing) we didn’t identify ourselves as “flawed” anymore. We weren’t required to change according to NT standards and expectations. Neuro-typicals had to do some changing of their own. We identified THEIR flaws (eg. lying), and we let them know we wouldn’t stand for it.


May 24

I am making changes in myself–as always–and one involves doing things in smaller segments. I used to challenge myself with huge, long projects. If I walked somewhere, it had to be an hour’s walk. When I exercised, it had to be an hour or more. Now, when I do yoga or meditate or whatever, I do it in ten minute increments. That works, and it doesn’t scare me away the next time. Doing ten minutes of ANYTHING is very doable.

I also am implementing the “Do Nothing” rule: empty my mind; let all the thoughts just float away, harming no one. This is a form of meditation that can be used anywhere, sitting, walking, playing, socializing.

And I know it’s true that “It’s none of my business what others think of me.”


People here in Victoria (or at least in Cook Street Village) don’t look each other in the eye on the street (like they do in New Orleans). It makes me very uncomfortable.

A New Orleans show is on WWOZ and they are interviewing someone in the burlesque scene in NOLA. Trixie Minx (who has performed [somewhere; The Royal Sonesta?] from midnight to 2 am for three years)! Trixie has been doing burlesque in NOLA for seven years. The New Orleans’ approach to sex–and sex shows–is humorous, open and inviting to both men and women, and fun. It’s not sex-as-something-bad-and-divisive-forbidden.

“Just because I want someone who’s kind with a heart as good and pure as mine…” (from Creole String Beans‘ song “Just Because”)

A musician, Desmond ______, is on WWOZ now, being interviewed. He talked about growing up in NOLA and starting to play music on the street at age ten or eleven. Like my dad (Karl F. John) was out on the street in Berlin at about that age, selling newspapers.


In some ways, I am getting less, not more, comfortable socially around NTs. Especially the men. I suppose I found out too much about men’s sexual side, and I saw too much ugliness in them, when I was experimenting with sex and exploring my sexuality. Now, anything untoward about men–and especially men my age or older–disgusts and repels me.

Einstein supposedly said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” And my imagination about men’s sexuality is often more accurate as well as more important than my actual knowledge about individual , anonymous men sitting in a cafe. And it’s not good. I can imagine their sex lives, their sexual tastes and proclivities, their weaknesses and strengths, and their prejudices. It’s a very unpleasant picture and it makes me uncomfortable around many people. I wonder if this is why some counselors seldom mingle in public. They know people too well.

Old men are really a public nuisance when they try to retain the social power (based on misogyny and patriarchy) they had in their heyday. Awful old buggers. Of course, some old men are wonderful, so I don’t want to just avoid them all. I have to be vulnerable and open myself up to the awful ones in order to not miss the good ones.

Another problem I have with men, and especially older men, is that they sometimes seem to think I am flirting with them or perhaps they want to flirt with me. I don’t flirt! And I REALLY don’t want to flirt with these old farts. Ugh! I feel like Sherlock Holmes (BBC, 2010, with Benedict Cumberbatch) when that awful reporter came to him in the men’s bathroom for an interview (she later turned up as a supporter of “Rick Brooks” a.k.a “Jim Moriarty”).

Being online here at the cafe, and especially having my earphones on (wherever I am), helps me avoid and ignore undesirable people. I turn my body away from them whenever possible. I don’t want to see them or hear them or know that they exist. I appreciate good works they do, but otherwise for me they are invisible, thank god.


I sit in cafes a lot these days, and I am doing more yoga and meditation. When I’m at someone’s house, I just hang out there and get to know the hosts and their lives and their neighborhood.

This little Cook Street Village is quiet, slightly upscale, and full of retirees. It’s the kind of faux-quaint “village” I used to avoid. Now I find places like this (and Ojai) comfortable for a few days at a time. Any more of any oh-so-cute place, and I’m ready for a challenging, two-week stint in a cozy, mental institution. Or perhaps a week of hitchhiking: out there, living by my wits, among The People, rather than in this pre-death graveyard.

The old men at the table next to me are talking about sports cars. “Well, at least it didn’t break ya’.” And “My lady friend, ya’ know, she died on me!” The old women are saying things like, “She didn’t get that from my side of the family.” Where in the hell am I? A nursing home in Siberia? No, these old codgers and bitches would be much less annoying in an incomprehensible language.

Now that I think about it, I find it very hard to believe these people in Victoria ever GET DOWN. Maybe Canadians’ definition of “wild and crazy” is different from the American one. There are those of us, I suppose, in every culture who know from experience what “wild and crazy” means. And some  people certainly have explored that field much more thoroughly than I.

May 22, 2013

May 21

The  “game” played in public here–on the street, in cafes, and at most social events–is calm, cool and collected. Very English, I would imagine. I like it, but, I must say, I have gone another way (New Orleans: let ‘er rip style). But, so as not to confuse people here (or anywhere I go) I will do my best to play their game. It’s nice (“Be nice. Everyone’s having a hard time.”), and it allows me to observe and not be the center of attention myself.

Fun with Phil Hoem last night: we went to Monday Movie Night and saw Beasts of the Southern Wild. A low-budget movie made by a bunch of amateurs, and it’s wonderful!


I posted this on Facebook today:

I have the distinct feeling that the very English (I imagine) Canadians see me as a degenerate. They are such nice people. And quite reserved and polite and peaceful. “Civilized.” I have followed such a different path! I am being quiet and imitating (very Aspie behavior) their collective public/social persona: respect others by being honorable (follow the law) and peaceful (stay calm at all costs). Can’t hurt.

I can’t exaggerate the difference between this culture and Mexican (and other) cultures. Nevertheless, the social class differences have their huge influences wherever I go. And here it’s all so correctly middle class. What are the lower and higher (economically) classes like here? Do these social class differences carry through all over the world? (Note: I am still working on this idea; it’s not clear here in my writing or in my head.)


May 22

Saw “The Weeping Camel” last night. Made in 2004. One of the best movies I’ve ever seen.

Material World is a book at Laura’s which shows one middle class family and all their possessions  from a whole bunch of countries around the world. My favorite: Kurdistan. (Is that it? Damn! it’s one of those countries that came out of the Russia breakup). They had mostly carpets!

Had a delicious coconut curry soup for dinner last night. Laura treated me to dinner. We also went to Value Village thrift shop yesterday, and I got my first pair of jeans for years. They are actually comfortable. I also got a men’s flannel shirt and a warmer jacket for going up north.

The planes to and from Inuvik will cost $300 so I think I won’t do it. Plus the Couchsurfing host I was hoping to stay with isn’t really available. Maybe I’ll come back through Canada (after Alaska) and go up to the Arctic Circle (Inuvik) then.


I posted this on Facebook today:

OK. I’ve had just about enough of these quiet, polite, very English, middle class, Border Canadians here in Victoria! Their reserve is killing me! It’s the antithesis of New Orleans, Jamaica, South America, Panama and Mexico. I feel strange in this little cafe, having my morning green tea and scone, because everyone is so careful, highly disciplined, and restrained. Nothing “inappropriate” is allowed! Sounds good on paper; in real life, NO. The song on the radio is “No Love Without Freedom.”

The song on the cafe radio now is about: “Swing your hips. Just pull me down hard, and drown me in love.” The morning cafe sitters don’t seem to object, but it certainly doesn’t go with the, dare I say, repressed atmosphere. Are they blushing? Pretending not to hear? Or do they simply accept this sexy song, as well as their own unusually rigid behavior, as comfortably, unremarkably normal?

The western Border Canadians are subdued, safe (I feel very safe here) and, as my friend, Laura (who lives in Canada now) told me: they believe in organization and strong government. I must admit that I feel very comfortable in many ways among these people. An element is lacking for me, too, and that element is wildness, spontaneity, and passion. The Southern cultures are so expressive and dramatic! I would miss that here.


Three topics Laura and I discussed this morning:

1.)     Intimacy-

-what is it? It’s being able to be “transparent” and reveal yourself to others. Like, not just telling people about all the good things in your life, but the bad, too. Being vulnerable, yet feeling safe doing so.

2.)     Sam-

-let him know that Megan’s abuse is NOT ABOUT HIM. It’s Meg’s problem. She is unhappy/ashamed/guilty/or something, and she projects (see below) this onto him. Laura said I can even talk to Sam about this with Megan there by not making it  about Megan. For example, I can ask Sam about bullies at school; or I can talk about (or invent) something about myself where I was bullied; or I can make up a story about anyone and how they dealt with bullying (by not taking it personally).

3.)     Projection

-we all do it. It’s just being human to project what’s in oneself out onto the world/others. Some of us (me, Noelle) also blame everything on ourselves. We beat ourselves up, and sometimes we (try to) commit suicide. But even those of us who do that also project out onto the world and other people. Nothing  we do is totally objective; no communication is free of projection (even silence or non-communication). It’s all about ME, and this is true of everyone.


Two things from the May 2013 GRASP newsletter:

Keep life weird. (From Two Pleas For Sanity in Judging Sameness by Dwight Garner)

If we can’t get away from social rejection, we get aggressive. It’s the old “your best defense is a good offense” plan. What looks like an angry outburst or a zero-to-sixty temper may actually be a protective reflex built upon emotional scars and real insecurities. Heightened memories of past threats will increase the wish to disappear, hide, avoid the conversation, or just flat out quit (flight). Those same memories—of feeling like a failure, unwanted, or hurt—also make us quicker to anger, and with greater intensity. That’s our shield. We are trying to immediately stop what feels like a threat. (from Green Shirts and  Unlikely Heroes by Jennifer O’Toole [from Autism Asperger’s Digest])


My two visions from the Ayahuasca journey I took in Cumana, Venezuela at the beginning of this year are becoming more and more meaningful to me as time goes by. I am remembering now the bubbles vision. Everything that is bubble-like (spacey, floaty, light and pretty, fun, drifting silently, sensitive, gentle, fragile, and so forth) is very meaningful to me.

When Megan and I were online together on a Susun Weed group, Meg chose the name “Fluffy Bubble.” I love that. My name was “Bunny Blissfully.”  Bubbly. Where do bubbles come from?


Definition of BUBBLE

: a small globule typically hollow and light: as

a : a small body of gas within a liquid

b : a thin film of liquid inflated with air or gas

c : a globule in a transparent solid

d : something (as a plastic or inflatable structure) that is hemispherical or semicylindrical


a : something that lacks firmness, solidity, or reality

(Merriam-Webster Dictionary)


Physical bubbles

  • Liquid bubble, a globule of one substance in another, usually gas in a liquid
  • Soap bubble, a bubble formed by soapy water (a thin film of liquid)
  • Antibubble, a droplet of liquid surrounded by a thin film of gas




A soap bubble is an extremely thin film of soapy water enclosing air that forms a hollow sphere with an iridescent surface. Soap bubbles usually last for only a few seconds before bursting, either on their own or on contact with another object. They are often used for children’s enjoyment, but they are also used in artistic performances. Assembling several bubbles results in a foam.


Soap Bubble in Mathematics

Soap bubbles are physical examples of the complex mathematical problem of minimal surface. They will assume the shape of least surface area possible containing a given volume. A true minimal surface is more properly illustrated by a soap film, which has equal pressure on inside as outside, hence is a surface with zero mean curvature. A soap bubble is a closed soap film: due to the difference in outside and inside pressure, it is a surface of constant mean curvature.

While it has been known since 1884 that a spherical soap bubble is the least-area way of enclosing a given volume of air (a theorem of H. A. Schwarz), it was not until 2000 that it was proven that two merged soap bubbles provide the optimum way of enclosing two given volumes of air of different size with the least surface area. This has been dubbed the Double Bubble conjecture.



Watched “Long Island Medium” TV show yesterday with Laura. Wonderful!! I love this kind of show, and I believe 100% in mediums like Theresa Caputo.

May 20, 2013

May 20

At Serious Coffee, a cafe in Cook Village, an upscale little village in Victoria, the capital city of British Columbia, on Vancouver Island. It’s one of the few places open today because it’s Victoria Day; a parade is going on downtown right now. Laura, my kind and sweet host, is there, but I begged off.

This whole city is genteel in the extreme. I do not pretend to understand Canadians, but the people near the US border are very “civilized,” shall we say. Perhaps a better word is calm. Or “English” (Canada is, afterall, part of the British “Empire” [what is it called now?]). Or reserved. Low-key. Peaceful. Very polite.

As it happens, my prejudices (which are unfortunately much more common than I care to admit [and which I write about more, below]) include one against stiff, exceedingly “civilized” Caucasians (or any breed of the same). So, I have never been really relaxed around sedentary, middle class types like these. Ah, well. My loss. But I am enjoying them, particularly now that I’ve met Phil (to whom I could relate quite well)–more later on him.

Laura, by the way, is from Wisconsin; years ago, she married (and later divorced) a Canadian friend so she could get dual citizenship. Laura is 72 and very attractive with her long, wild, freely-flowing, white hair. She proudly says young men are attracted to her; they want to be with her, sexually and as a friend. When she asks these glorious, often (according to Laura) annoying, young men if they know how old she is, “They don’t care,” she says. Laura’s a Grand Gal with a peaceful, airy apartment here in Cook Village.

Very nice people these Canadians. Patient. Whites. Few blacks here. Few folks from the First Nations (Native Americans, as we in the US call these people)  here in sedate, refined Victoria (or I haven’t seen many). I approached a small bunch of First Nations young people as soon as I stepped off the bus two days ago, and I seemed to have surprised (they tittered). I asked a guy in the group sitting on the grass in Centennial Square to text Winnie for me (she was my first Couchsurfing host here in Victoria). They directed me to the only woman in the group (why?).  Do Caucasians and First Nations people not mix freely here in the capital?

I love the rugged look of most of the people in Canada . I think I can generalize about that. It’s gorgeous in the men especially, which I have also noticed in Maine. In some ways, I fit in better among Canadian women (than Americans and others) because I am rather rugged myself, and I am usually very casually dressed (as if for permanent camping!). The strong, independent, feisty type of women seems to be respected up here. I am just guessing at this point, but I bet people in Canada are quite familiar with camping and the outdoors; most Americans, I think, are not. Not sure.


Yesterday, Laura Fellman* and I went over to Phil Hoem’s house. (*I met Laura a few months ago when I was camping up in Horn Canyon and she was attending a Krishnamurti Foundation meeting or perhaps just having a week at the guest house. She invited me to visit her up here.) Phil is an Aspie man, age 62, and lived in Amsterdam for his first five years. His wife, Astrud,  has MS and is in a nursing home. Phil is building an addition to his home, hoping Astrud will be able to return and that he will have adequate facilities to take care of her.

Phil is the first Aspie man I have ever met who is very attractive to me, both as a friend and sexually. This is interesting because I have been wondering if I could ever fall for an Aspie. He’s very Aspie and is apparently active in Aspie things (?). I sent him some GRASP stuff since he has never heard of GRASP. He and Laura also work in a Restorative Justice thing up here which brings prisoners and their victims together for possible reconciliation. And Laura works with prisoners in some other capacity, too. Very good work.

It was just super-divine to spend time with Phil. My true self emerges with a vengeance. I became so comfortable with myself and with Phil–in all of our Aspie-ness–that I could only hope Laura didn’t feel too left out or bopped over the head with our talk about NTs (Neuro-typicals). She was a good sport and mostly an observer.

Phil and I hit it off. He’s a dominant Aries. He’s full of original ideas, is very smart, and he’s also funny (a rare and amazing quality). We are going to Movie Monday tonight, hoping to see Beasts of the Southern Wild. I can’t even express how much better I feel after being with another Aspie, especially one who was so friendly to me.

Right now, I’m in a cafe in Cook Village with all these NTs who expect certain social behavior from me (which is not forthcoming, and, if it were forthcoming, would be forced and exceedingly uncomfortable). When this expected behavior does not appear, the NTs have certain judgements they automatically make about me. It’s all very disconcerting unless I just accept and love myself as I am, unless I don’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thinks of me (it’s not my business), and unless I have been with an Aspie like Phil recently. Phil told me that Rainbow, who will be at the Aspergers Meetup at ABC Restaurant on Thursday, is just herself and that she really doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her. Excellent!

A lot of why I bother to relate to people who don’t understand me (or want to) is in order to explain Aspergers (or being an Aspie). Why bother? People who want to know about it can go online and google Aspergers.

We drank beer and smoked pot! Few Aspies will do this! Laura had a tiny bit of beer and no pot. Awww!

Phil touched on bullying yesterday during our little BBQ at his house. He is a big guy, but I guess he, too, experienced bullying as a kid. He said people notice that there’s “something different” about an Aspie-in-their-midst, and that’s when bullying starts. I put in that, because we Aspies loathe confrontation, we shrink from the bully. We don’t get mad at the bully and punch him/her out, for example. Now, Phil says that nowadays, he just walks away or gives the bully some smart and probably incomprehensible (to the antagonist) reply. “Ripost” is the word I think Phil used.


ri·poste  (r-pst)


1. Sports A quick thrust given after parrying an opponent’s lunge in fencing.
2. A retaliatory action, maneuver, or retort.


n. 1. In fencing, a return thrust after a parry.
2. A quick and sharp retort; a repartee.


A new concept: “Aspies in the Arctic.” I’m heading due north to Inuvik on the Arctic Circle and then to Alaska (and maybe Parts North there). I love this kind of wild, big, open country filled with trees and wild animals.


I have already noticed how much more “active” and dominant (in numbers and activity) the birds are up here. Once one gets to a place like this, where huge wilderness areas are nearby, wildlife takes on a whole different tone and meaning. More visible, more active, less afraid of/aware of/affected by humans, the birds and animals up here are much more of a Presence. In a big way, now that I think of it, I couldn’t live anywhere else (than a place LIKE this [“this” being Canada]). In places where wildlife is a curiosity, an unknown, a mystery and feared, and where huge expanses of wilderness don’t exist, Nature is never (one’s) Home; it’s just someplace that you visit now and then.


I asked my Algerian Facebook friend Djamel about visiting Algeria when I go to Europe and Africa this coming winter. Is it safe for Americans, I said. He said “Why does it make a difference?” I don’t know what the hell he meant by that. (Was he being defensive?) Then, he said that Algerians like foreigners, and that he will be my tour guide if he’s in Algeria when I visit.


My prejudices (besides stiff, tight-assed people) include:

1.)     Anyone with a German accent or any similar accent (eg. Dutch, Swiss, Austrian; not Russian). This often extends, irrationally (all prejudices are irrational), to German people (and others with that Germanic-like accent). This prejudice originated with WW II. We all got to hate the Germans after that. Poor Dad. He was cursed!

2.)     Rich people. The upper class , even many middle class people, and certainly the upper-middle class (in the US at least and probably everywhere). Dad definitely influenced me here, and in the 1960s many of us (in the US at least) turned against people with wealth.

3.)     Men. And not most men. I love men. It’s true. But it’s these old fuckers (usually men born before 1945 and some born a little bit afterward) who still think of women as inferior. We feminists in the US have been fighting misogynists for decades. It’s hard to give up this prejudice of mine because it’s so fucking righteous! And it’s a prejudice that is a RESPONSE to a prejudice. Can that be wrong? No, but it’s a personal handicap. I’d rather judge a man once I get to know him as an individual.

4.)     (What else? Oh, I know there’s more.)

I am not proud of my prejudices; I am ashamed of them. I don’t try to justify them; I am too wise for that now. Prejudice cuts me off from people and experiences I would probably enjoy. It’s ridiculous and something I am working on ridding myself of these extraordinarily dumb attitudes. They are beneath me. I am better than that, and I don’t want to be a prejudiced person.

May 19, 2013

May 13

I have undergone a swift change: I will be the change I want to see IN MYSELF (and not wait for others to inspire and change me). I have, thanks to the influence of Bonita (a housemate here in Long Beach CS house), become rededicated to YOGA. Bonita’s love of the art of yoga really turned me on yesterday; we had a session together here in the house. She not only helped me with asanas (poses, like the head stand), she also gave me lots of yoga philosophy.

I have never thought too much about the spiritual and physical benefits of yoga that go beyond the stretching and general health aspect (although I knew they were there and have read/heard about this). Bonita talked to me about the relationship between yoga and the chakras, control of my own mind (calming my mind, etc.), meditation, and other stuff. I suddenly think I want to make yoga a daily part of my life.

The focus and grounding aspects of yoga are very important to me. I am very normally very “floaty” and “spacey.” Yoga–even the simple stuff I have always done–gives me permission (it’s true) to NOT be that way. Perhaps spacey was a way-of-being I learned in order to fit into ’60s and ’70s society in the US.


Me and Yoga, Yoga and Me:

Continuing with just stretching. Nothing difficult or stressful. It helps awfully to have an inspiring mentor around like Bonita. She’s only 24, but she’s my yoga mentor.

Fly to Seattle tomorrow.


Here’s what I put on my bio:

Global nomad. No home, car; just my backpack. I travel around the world. Spend c. 3 mos. a year in my home-bases: New Orleans, La.; Ojai, California (USA). . Camping, hitchhiking, dance, yoga. A free, liberated woman with a degree (B.A. Psychology).


May 14

Angelina Jolie (American actress, director) had a double mastectomy. And she has made it public.

Fat bags (breasts) = full of pollutants

I am at the Long Beach Airport, downloading some movies. I got a ride here from my CS housemate, Tom Nguyen, and I got here at about 9:30 AM for a 2:30 flight. This gives me lots of time to download; plus, I love being at airports. Just sitting around, watching people, listening to music, being online, and seeing the planes arrive and depart. If I weren’t flying, it wouldn’t be very fun though!

I haven’t flown much in my life. Tom said he enjoys striking up conversations with people (“meeting interesting people”) at airports (“but you have to be unafraid of striking up a conversation with strangers). I like to atmosphere of people moving around: going places and arriving here.


May 15

In Seattle. Given free food (she said,”I’m gonna throw this away… Want it?”) at the Long Beach Airport yesterday (chicken and cheese tortillas with salad and sour cream–yumm!). I was really early for my flight. Downloaded a little (Sherlocks from BBC TV); then had a beautiful 2 hour flight up here to Seattle. Past all these gorgeous, shining, snow-covered, mountain tops in the Cascades. Window seat.

Couchsurfer host, Nick P., picked me up at the airport. Today, I took a bus downtown to the center of the city: Pike Place Market and the Central Library (online here). Had four strong cups of tea today: two at “home” and two at the Tea and Crumpets cafe. Wired (which invariably makes me terrified… of everything!). Riding the wave of terror.


May 16

At Starbuck’s on the edge of Pike Place Market in Seattle.Seattle is a very low-key, beautiful city.


Recently, I stayed with a man who reminds me of two other male Aspies I know. None of these men know they are autistic (or they won’t accept it), but, because I am and because I’ve been around quite a few Aspies over the years, I recognize the signs.

This most recent Aspie guy is extremely anal (uptight), hates loud noises, rigidly neat, super-organized, minimalistic, and has few (no?) friends. He is very conservative (politically), trait I have noticed in a female Aspie friend who is (also) very homophobic.

Two of these men are Couchsurfers and dependent on Couchsurfing for friends/social life. All three men are very self-centered loners who love and want companionship, but they don’t know how to make friends or keep them). While they are extremely unaware of who others actually are, they try. Like many Aspies, they mean well, but they are not fun to be with.

Two of the three men spent a long time in the military. Aspies often love uniforms and routine.

These guys are awkward sexually in the extreme. They want sexual partners, but they don’t know (again) how to get them. One man put a magazine photo of a swimsuit model (at least 25 years his junior) on his living room wall, partly, as he told me, so people would know he’s not gay. Another one of these guys told me (after we had sex) that his ideal lover would be an older man. One of these CSer men prefers hosting young women, and I think he hopes to have sex with some of them.

These men usually (not always) haven’t been married and don’t have children; taking care of other people definitely does not come naturally to them. They are almost totally focused on themselves.

They pass along “facts” that aren’t true and may be self-serving. They may strictly, fastidiously follow insignificant rules to the letter. They seem unable to let go, laugh, be silly, and have fun with others; they often attempt to do so, it’s their emotions, facial cues, body language, and understanding of what’s going on is forced and fake. (Note that while many these things are more than obvious to me, NTs don’t seem to notice what’s going on.)

The three men are strange, insulting, insensitive, and unpleasant people in many ways, but, despite all their offensive qualities, they are saved by their naivite (ignorance?) and their basic, underlying goodness.

In MANY ways, I am exactly like these men. We Aspies have so many traits in common (that’s Being Aspie!). I am sure many people think of me in the same way that I think of these three men… especially when I tell them that one of the common Aspie traits is a higher-than-average IQ. Among Neuro-typicals saying that is a No-No; you don’t say it even if it’s true. (Boo hoo. They are jealous.) So lots of people don’t like me because I am an Aspie. Do I care? Fuck no.

In the episode “Hound of the Baskervilles” in the BBC series SHERLOCK, Dr. Watson refers to his partner as “Asperger.” We Aspies are proud of being like Sherlock, like Bill Gates, and like so many other fabulous, though flawed Aspies. Whomever YOU are, you, too, are flawed. You may not have realized it; you may not have admitted it, to yourself or others; and you may not have publicized it. Just the facts, M’am.


Here’s what I just posted on Facebook:

“Don’t let nobody take away your smile. Don’t let nobody change your funky smile.”* I’m at a downtown Seattle Starbucks with a ton of staid, white retirees (probably tourists). I have on my earphones and am rockin’ out to WWOZ (New Orleans live radio). I am, like, dancing in my seat; they are sitting sedately, not moving. Weird. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?? They have been my contemporaries throughout life, and I don’t fucking even know who they are. It’s all so different in New Orleans where everyone is rockin’ out and very funky (or at least that’s the majority of the people in the French Quarter and the surrounding areas are that way). I think this whole trip is just a way back to Sam (in Colorado) and back HOME to New Orleans (it’s been too long!). *~~Honey Island Swamp Band’s “Cast the First Stone”

Yeah! Who are these people? I really don’t know. I am certainly not one of them, and I never hang out with these people so I don’t know WHO they are. What do they think; what do they talk about; how do they live? I don’t know. Do their children turn out to be stiff robots like them? Or some of them at least people like me who don’t act like these stiffs? Are these the people who bought the American dream? They have probably worked all their lives: sat still at weird jobs where they told people what to do.

These stiffs (are they actually dead inside?)  love to think they are superior to others and should “guide,””help,” “lead,” or control the rest of us. SOME (not most ) of these people are truly saints; all the rest just have (or want) big egos. Few are top bosses (if they are, watch out!); most of these Walking Dead do/did what their bosses told them to do.


Walking on the streets of Seattle is a wonderful, positive experience. It’s a real City, and Seattle seems to  have a thriving street scene. Nothin’  like New Orleans, but what city is? (None.)

I hung out on streets with street people in Berkeley (1975), Santa Cruz (1976-’77), and a little in Santa Barbara (1984-5). Who I identify with on the street: some disabled people, some misfits, some artists, some travellers, and some street people. “Some” meaning the ones who are the most like me.The disabled: Aspie-types. The misfits: orphans (I was one at the very beginning of my life), intellectual rebels/mavericks. The artists: writers, I guess; many others, too. The travellers: world-ramblers (not local homeless). The street people: not the super-rough, dangerous, hard-core ones.

I have “a place” in the social, public, sidewalk scene. It’s light and amateurish, but I was out there for a while (off and on).


May 17

Taking Greyhound to Vancouver this afternoon. CSer, Percy, will meet me at the station there. Then, tomorrow, the ferry to Vancouver Island.

I mingle with local homeless people on the street, and, with my big backpack, I am probably mistaken for one of them by some people. Other people, like those professionals at the lovely, upscale cafe I went to in downtown Seattle this morning, probably don’t care: a backpacker is a permanent outsider. These are the same people who will grow into the WALKING DEAD: the stiff, tight-assed retirees I sat among yesterday at the Starbuck’s by Pike Place Market. Their condemnation now is funny and acceptable in this light, but that’s not why I think this way; I think this way because it’s true.

The local homeless and the street people (are they the same thing?) know I am not one of them. Some of them acknowledge me in one way or another; and some of them recognize who I am: a world-traveller.

Why can’t most Caucasians dance? What the fuck is wrong with them? They sit like robots, like wooden statues, when the most rockin’ music is playing. They don’t seem to feel it, and they certainly can’t do much with their bodies but sway and wiggle a little. It’s sick.  I am not like that at all. I can’t help but move and hop and jump when I hear great music.


Here’s how I walk down the street (especially with this big, obvious backpack): I don’t ever try to be cool and fashionable; I look around at everything (at people, but more so at nature and buildings). I look UP (at the sky, at tall buildings, at tall trees). I appear–and am–non-threatening.

People in Seattle are pretty restrained. They aren’t loose and relaxed. They don’t look at each other on the street. They want to be cool, but they are afraid. Nevertheless, Seattle is a very cool city.

I am starting to see more Native Americans now. The further north I go, the more there will be. I fuckin’ LOVE that! We global nomads/Traveller-Gypsies are blowing through, rocking out, jumping and jiving, the embodiment of fluidity and flexibility. The Native Americans are holding a place, standing firm in a space, meditating, the embodiment of stillness and stability. It’s all wonderful.

I have to go to some upscale places, like the nice cafe I went to this morning. If I only go to cheap places, I will get conditioned to them and only them.


Smart is the new sexy (from SHERLOCK).

I no longer say “Thank you” to my Couchsurfing hosts when I leave. The proper response, “Thank you for coming” is usually (not always) beyond their awareness. And certainly if a host said this to me, I would respond with a heart-felt “Thanks,” but that hardly ever happens. Too many hosts pride themselves on giving to surfers, without acknowledging how much we surfers bring to their lives. Hosts who rely upon surfers for their social life (like the Aspie hosts) are maddeningly ignorant of–and unwilling to admit–our role in their empty lives. They seem to think of us like many pet-owners think of their dogs and cats: when they need or want us, there we are  to fill up their vast loneliness.

Seth is experiencing a psychic bond with Myles. He told me he suddenly feels a “psychic connection” with his new son. Seth is amazing: strong, wise, and kind. he is definitely going to be a good father.

SHERLOCK refers to his memory file (see Temple Grandin on this) as his “mind palace.”


May 18

I am up in Victoria on Vancouver Island. It’s pretty great here, very low-key and relaxed. Or at least the feeling I have here is like that.

Tonight I am at Winnie’s. Tomorrow I will go to Laura’s; she’s someone I met in Ojai at the Krishnamurti (philosopher) Foundation.

I am falling in love again with all the men I have loved in my life. Many men, many moments of fleeting love. Cliche. Yeah, I know. What is love? Why do we even bother with emotions when thoughts can be so complete and lead to the same place as emotions.

Up here in Canada, the Native traditions and the other more frantic, new side interact, intersect, like lovers. What is it about very cold climates?They scream and yell in New Orleans; here they have to be very low-key because it’s so cold so much of the time that they have to be exceedingly mellow.

I feel able to write very honestly tonight. My CS host is a very kind woman who is older than me. She’s been through the deaths of two of her kids and one granddaughter. She was raised by difficult parents.

Child-abuse is the worst human crime against other humans. It’s strange to hurt those one loves the most. Why does this happen?


I am thinking about who my ONE LOVE might be. I feel him close to me, but I still don’t know who he is. So many men around me (they must number four or five or more… possible Soulmates of  mine). I guess I am not quite ready to meet My Man. So, he couldn’t quite be ready for me, either. When I meet or met him, I will notice how flawed he is. I will not like that.

I am now focusing on myself; I see that I am also very flawed, often by willful ignorance. I was looking at photos on Facebook of my favorite male/lover-type face of my life, the one I saw in Tapachula, Mexico a few months ago. He takes my breath away every time I see his face. But is that just “skin deep”? Of course, I will start looking for a deeper connection with men.I ADORE beauty though, especially in young men.This Latin look is overwhelming. Asian and Native American looks come next in my male pantheon. In the end will it be all about how a person looks TO ME? Can’t I trust my own eyes?


May 19

A mild, pleasant night (the window was open all night). Parades today; hope it stops raining. A very quiet city, this.