There is a wiggle factor in expanding...you expand and then deflate...and re-expand...and deflate and re-expand and so forth. Organic growing.
Tis better to know how you get it before you get it than to get it without knowing how you made it happen.
We are doing well. We wiggled a bit for the last couple days but we're back in our groove.
We trust you know you are well underneath any thoughts or feelings to the contrary. The Source, like the sun, is always shining---even when you can't see it or are convinced it ain't never coming back. But it never leaves.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Money Droppings in Bath
We woke up on Friday around 3:pm in our lush, cosy bedroom in our beautiful house in North Devon and had breakfast in bed. We then got cleaned up and dressed and went to the stationary store in our hot tamale of a 1988 Toyota MR2. We bought a box of 500 palm-sized cards & envelopes and chatted with the clerk about the weather. We asked him if he could remember the last time he saw a bird flying around in the store and he said "No".
We let the matter drop lest he intuit our state of cannabis inspired thoughts.
We went home, happy we had found the envelopes we wanted.
10 May 1975, Milwaukee, Jeff Beck in concert, that's what we listened to as we wrote in each card: This is yours! Do Not give it to the police. Do Not ask anyone if it is theirs. IT IS YOURS! Love, your Source of Well-Being.
On each envelope we wrote: Hey You! Open me NOW!
We then inserted three folded £20 notes into each card and placed each card into an envelope.
We did not lick the envelopes to seal them, we used a postal sponge.
All in all, aside from a few distractions, the project took us about nine hours to complete.
On Saturday we loaded the pockets of our winter coats with about 200 envelopes between us and took a leisurely drive to Bath. We stopped four times along the way: Twice at Burger King and twice at roadside stands selling preserves & chestnuts.
I went into the loo at both Burger Kings and found both empty. I placed an envelope behind each toilet, one on the paper roll dispenser, and one on the floor where someone's right foot would stand (or left foot if said someone is seated). I then tossed a handful of envelopes on top of the heap of the overflowing rubbish bin. I used my foot to push the heap down a bit.
My wife put a small stack of envelopes on each sink in the women's loo.
We both snuck a few into the condiments trays at the counters, and I tossed a few into the rubbish bins.
People go through rubbish bins & bags---maybe not the person who ties them up and tosses them into the dumpster, but eventuallysomeone does. Don't ask me how I know. You would disapprove.
At the roadside stands, I secretly placed envelopes amongst the jars of preserves and bags of nuts while my wife shopped.
In Bath we placed envelopes in letter boxes, on empty bus stop benches, in rubbish bins, phone boxes, and one in each trolley of two lanes of trolleys outside of Waitrose.
And that was it!
All the envelopes we had brought with us had been dispersed.
We hugged outside of Waitrose and thanked our Source of Well-Being for answering our desires to be able to blow people's minds and make them feel lucky by giving them the opportunity to find money.
Here in the UK they do not print £100 notes, and many stores---especially little ones---won't take £50 notes, otherwise I'd put a £100 note or two £50 notes in each one.
Meanwhile, the kerching kerching just keeps flowing in.
And soon, very soon, a super literary agent and various well-negotiated publishing deals.
"It's so much easier when you understand."
We let the matter drop lest he intuit our state of cannabis inspired thoughts.
We went home, happy we had found the envelopes we wanted.
10 May 1975, Milwaukee, Jeff Beck in concert, that's what we listened to as we wrote in each card: This is yours! Do Not give it to the police. Do Not ask anyone if it is theirs. IT IS YOURS! Love, your Source of Well-Being.
On each envelope we wrote: Hey You! Open me NOW!
We then inserted three folded £20 notes into each card and placed each card into an envelope.
We did not lick the envelopes to seal them, we used a postal sponge.
All in all, aside from a few distractions, the project took us about nine hours to complete.
On Saturday we loaded the pockets of our winter coats with about 200 envelopes between us and took a leisurely drive to Bath. We stopped four times along the way: Twice at Burger King and twice at roadside stands selling preserves & chestnuts.
I went into the loo at both Burger Kings and found both empty. I placed an envelope behind each toilet, one on the paper roll dispenser, and one on the floor where someone's right foot would stand (or left foot if said someone is seated). I then tossed a handful of envelopes on top of the heap of the overflowing rubbish bin. I used my foot to push the heap down a bit.
My wife put a small stack of envelopes on each sink in the women's loo.
We both snuck a few into the condiments trays at the counters, and I tossed a few into the rubbish bins.
People go through rubbish bins & bags---maybe not the person who ties them up and tosses them into the dumpster, but eventuallysomeone does. Don't ask me how I know. You would disapprove.
At the roadside stands, I secretly placed envelopes amongst the jars of preserves and bags of nuts while my wife shopped.
In Bath we placed envelopes in letter boxes, on empty bus stop benches, in rubbish bins, phone boxes, and one in each trolley of two lanes of trolleys outside of Waitrose.
And that was it!
All the envelopes we had brought with us had been dispersed.
We hugged outside of Waitrose and thanked our Source of Well-Being for answering our desires to be able to blow people's minds and make them feel lucky by giving them the opportunity to find money.
Here in the UK they do not print £100 notes, and many stores---especially little ones---won't take £50 notes, otherwise I'd put a £100 note or two £50 notes in each one.
Meanwhile, the kerching kerching just keeps flowing in.
And soon, very soon, a super literary agent and various well-negotiated publishing deals.
"It's so much easier when you understand."
Friday, November 16, 2007
Ain't nothing but a party y'all!
For the last three nights we have been driving through the centres of Rochester, Strood, and Chatham throwing £20 notes out the windows of our car.
No one has seemed to notice us in the act and we haven't seen anyone go after the floating notes. Still, just the thought that people are going to find them and feel lucky, that's a priceless feeling---both ways.
Tomorrow we intend to go to the library and sneak £20 notes into about 50 different books---a mix of fiction and non-fiction.
Finders keepers!
I enjoy this much more than giving to a charity.
Have you ever found money? 5? 10? 20? More?
It feels really good. You light up inside. It feels like a gift from the universe.
Well, I'm giving it, so what does that make me? Yep, I AM the mutherfucken I AM. Me! I'm the universe.
Don't get nervous.
If any friends or family are reading this and wondering why I ain't offering them any of this free money, remember: All of you, before we incarnated, asked me to ignore your cries for help. Your Catherine Wheel of up & down agonies & drama & narcissistic stares into the abyss of familiar negative thoughts must spin unhindered. Thy will be done.
We're the Funkadelic; we're gonna groove for you.
By the way: My Youtube page works fine now. Youtube acknowledged responsibility for the java & flash error. Still, I am going to keep the P-Funk available on the blog under this very one you are reading. [Edit: Then again, I might not...]
No one has seemed to notice us in the act and we haven't seen anyone go after the floating notes. Still, just the thought that people are going to find them and feel lucky, that's a priceless feeling---both ways.
Tomorrow we intend to go to the library and sneak £20 notes into about 50 different books---a mix of fiction and non-fiction.
Finders keepers!
I enjoy this much more than giving to a charity.
Have you ever found money? 5? 10? 20? More?
It feels really good. You light up inside. It feels like a gift from the universe.
Well, I'm giving it, so what does that make me? Yep, I AM the mutherfucken I AM. Me! I'm the universe.
Don't get nervous.
If any friends or family are reading this and wondering why I ain't offering them any of this free money, remember: All of you, before we incarnated, asked me to ignore your cries for help. Your Catherine Wheel of up & down agonies & drama & narcissistic stares into the abyss of familiar negative thoughts must spin unhindered. Thy will be done.
We're the Funkadelic; we're gonna groove for you.
By the way: My Youtube page works fine now. Youtube acknowledged responsibility for the java & flash error. Still, I am going to keep the P-Funk available on the blog under this very one you are reading. [Edit: Then again, I might not...]
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
West Somerset June 2007
Top photo: Field of poppies we walked by in Porlock.
Next: The 17th century wall of our cottage.
Next: One of the numerous tree tunnels we drove through.
Next: From our front living room window.
Next: From our bathroom window.
Bottom photo: From the cliff at Lynton.
West Somerset was beautiful and peaceful.
We stayed in a 17th century barn conversion cottage near Wheddon Cross in the Exmoor National Park.
We went to Dunster but couldn't go into the castle with Benny. No big deal. We had a lovely lunch in the back garden of a nice cafe. I had eggs, ham, and chips, and Mrs Newport had a cream tea. We also bought 5 original oil paintings from an artist who paints in the same shop he sells his work at. It's on the High street. David Deakins. Only uses a palette knife and a roller. Creates these lovely unique impressions. We're quite proud of them. We shook his hand and told him flat out that he painted beautiful paintings.
We had a fun time at Blue Anchor beach. Benny really enjoyed running in the soft yet firm sand. We enjoyed looking at where a red land mass has collided with a grey/blue mass. We touched these humongous boulders of pink quartz (white and black, too).
We went to gorgeous Lynmouth and took the steam lift up to Lynton. I bought some "American style" chocolate chip cookies. The Mrs bought some bread. At the lift station to go back down to Lynmouth, we had milkshakes. Mine was cinnamon and...eh. Too thin. The British idea of milkshakes is some sort of throwback to WW2 rationing. They don't use ice cream. Just flavoured milk. It's kind of dumb and useless.
We also went to Porlock and drove through loads of places numerous times. We went to Minehead and found it a bit rough. Wouldn't want to live there but could bear shopping at the big Tesco. We had to go back to Minehead to take Benny to the vet. He had ticks. I tried to remove one but left its head in. My wife did the same thing to another one. We then proceeded to inflict grievous bodily harm to Benny's arm and genital region by trying to dig out the heads, first with a pair of tweezers, and then a piece of one of my disposable razor blades. Poor pooch had two ugly lesion-ulcer-looking things on him---and still 2 tick heads imbedded within his skin. Mrs Newport feared an infection, thus the visit to the vet.
The vet was nice. He said there shouldn't be any problems and gave Benny an injection for good measure. He said there are ticks about because the farmers don't burn their fields anymore. This used to kill off the ticks, and if didn't, the winter did. Nowadays the winters are mild and the ticks are surviving.
Next: The 17th century wall of our cottage.
Next: One of the numerous tree tunnels we drove through.
Next: From our front living room window.
Next: From our bathroom window.
Bottom photo: From the cliff at Lynton.
West Somerset was beautiful and peaceful.
We stayed in a 17th century barn conversion cottage near Wheddon Cross in the Exmoor National Park.
We went to Dunster but couldn't go into the castle with Benny. No big deal. We had a lovely lunch in the back garden of a nice cafe. I had eggs, ham, and chips, and Mrs Newport had a cream tea. We also bought 5 original oil paintings from an artist who paints in the same shop he sells his work at. It's on the High street. David Deakins. Only uses a palette knife and a roller. Creates these lovely unique impressions. We're quite proud of them. We shook his hand and told him flat out that he painted beautiful paintings.
We had a fun time at Blue Anchor beach. Benny really enjoyed running in the soft yet firm sand. We enjoyed looking at where a red land mass has collided with a grey/blue mass. We touched these humongous boulders of pink quartz (white and black, too).
We went to gorgeous Lynmouth and took the steam lift up to Lynton. I bought some "American style" chocolate chip cookies. The Mrs bought some bread. At the lift station to go back down to Lynmouth, we had milkshakes. Mine was cinnamon and...eh. Too thin. The British idea of milkshakes is some sort of throwback to WW2 rationing. They don't use ice cream. Just flavoured milk. It's kind of dumb and useless.
We also went to Porlock and drove through loads of places numerous times. We went to Minehead and found it a bit rough. Wouldn't want to live there but could bear shopping at the big Tesco. We had to go back to Minehead to take Benny to the vet. He had ticks. I tried to remove one but left its head in. My wife did the same thing to another one. We then proceeded to inflict grievous bodily harm to Benny's arm and genital region by trying to dig out the heads, first with a pair of tweezers, and then a piece of one of my disposable razor blades. Poor pooch had two ugly lesion-ulcer-looking things on him---and still 2 tick heads imbedded within his skin. Mrs Newport feared an infection, thus the visit to the vet.
The vet was nice. He said there shouldn't be any problems and gave Benny an injection for good measure. He said there are ticks about because the farmers don't burn their fields anymore. This used to kill off the ticks, and if didn't, the winter did. Nowadays the winters are mild and the ticks are surviving.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Amsterdam Centre
Just got back from 4 nights there. It was fucken cool, jack. Most of the people are friendly and helpful. The vibe is laid-back and the scenery is a welcomed change. It's quite pleasant seeing all the different canal boats and barges moving up and down the canals. And I don't recall seeing even one speed boat or fast moving vessel. It was all nice & leisurely.
But the bicyclists being everywhere, man, that shit will do your head in. Whether I was stoned or not I kept straying into the bike lanes ........BRRRINNNGG! BRRRINGG!..... PARDONE!.....
The pedestrian paths often have obstacles of one sort or another and so you can't help but gravitate to the bike paths because they are wider and clearer than the pedestrian paths...
The looks of the buildings & churches & houses are totally different than anything seen in the USA or UK. Many are quite attractive. Some lean into one another. You're definitely in a strange world. Perfect for getting high and walking about (once you learn to stay out of the way of the bikes, scooters, cars, trucks, and trams!!). The vibe is friendly & unthreatening (although there ARE dodgy, seedy areas where people hit you up for pocket change, but these are relatively small).
Come to think of it, the center of Amsterdam is like being in the best parts of the Haight district of San Francisco or the area around the UC Berkeley campus where the bookstores and used record shops and pizza places are. And I'm talking vibe, not scenery. There's just this...liberalness in the air. You feel like you could dress anyway you please and no one would look twice. In fact, I bought a hippie lookingpull-over with feminine frilly sleeves and put it on straightaway and walked about the rest of the day feeling at ease. Jimi Hendrix would've looked better in it, but, he's dead and I'm not.
I felt totally comfortable getting high in the coffeeshops and then walking the streets stoned. I can't say the same thing about where I live: Don't like to get high outside of the house nor be about in public stoned.
If you book a hotel room in the centre of Amsterdam, then you can walk the streets near your hotel and find a coffeeshop not more than 2 or 3 minutes away in any direction. We stayed at a hotel on Spuistraat, and Kadinsky Coffeeshop was just across the street. And the Tweede Kamer and Dutch Flowers were to the right, about 1 minute's walk away.
Tweede Kamer was my first coffeeshop experience. It was a bit busy so I just scanned the menu and ordered a gram of NYC Diesel and then took it back to the hotel and sparked the owl. It had a unique taste and seemed to affect my body far more than my mind. I liked it. And I liked the Tweede Kamer. I went there twice. Both times the dealers were friendly and helpful.
Out of all the pot & hash I bought from the different coffeeshops I visited, Jack Herrer kicked my ass the hardest. I bought a gram of it for 6 euros at Stix Coffeeshop. (Across the street is a cafe called Stacey's Pennywell and they served me the best mutherfucken pastrami sandwich I've ever had.) I smoked the Jack Herrer at the Arabica Lounge (after buying a gram of Silver Haze, first). I only took about 2 or 3 tokes...and then my dick went in the dirt. My wife wanted to leave but I was too stoned to move. So we chilled with the reggae for a few minutes.....and then we went a'walkin. And it was cool.
If you're American and you like to eat at proper restaurants then be prepared to wait a long fucken time during the intervals between your starter & main & dessert & coffee & bill. The restaurants are understaffed to save money. Some say it's the "European way of enjoying a meal", that is, taking 2 or 3 hours to eat your meal, but fuck that shit. It's being cheap & inconsiderate and that's all there is to it. There were usually no more than 2 or 3 servers for a roomful of 25 people or more. When I go out to eat I want to eat 1,2,3, and then leave. Spending hours in a noisy, hot-ass restaurant full of foreign tongues a'lip-lappin is not my idea of a good time. I wanna eat and then go hang out at a coffeeshop.
We did not find the food all that great. Grant it, we didn't eat meals that cost 300 euros or more, but our bill was usually between 60 - 100 euros. I've had far better meals at The Olive Garden or various pubs in East Sussex for roughy the same price. Was not impressed with their frites, either. But that pastrami sandwich at Stacey's Pennywell, holy fuck...whatta revelation.
As for getting lost: We were lost most of the time. Just didn't feel like trying to work out how the trams worked. So we walked. We had maps but they weren't much help...But no worries, we always found our way back to the hotel and never once asked anyone for directions.
Definitely look forward to going back.
But the bicyclists being everywhere, man, that shit will do your head in. Whether I was stoned or not I kept straying into the bike lanes ........BRRRINNNGG! BRRRINGG!..... PARDONE!.....
The pedestrian paths often have obstacles of one sort or another and so you can't help but gravitate to the bike paths because they are wider and clearer than the pedestrian paths...
The looks of the buildings & churches & houses are totally different than anything seen in the USA or UK. Many are quite attractive. Some lean into one another. You're definitely in a strange world. Perfect for getting high and walking about (once you learn to stay out of the way of the bikes, scooters, cars, trucks, and trams!!). The vibe is friendly & unthreatening (although there ARE dodgy, seedy areas where people hit you up for pocket change, but these are relatively small).
Come to think of it, the center of Amsterdam is like being in the best parts of the Haight district of San Francisco or the area around the UC Berkeley campus where the bookstores and used record shops and pizza places are. And I'm talking vibe, not scenery. There's just this...liberalness in the air. You feel like you could dress anyway you please and no one would look twice. In fact, I bought a hippie lookingpull-over with feminine frilly sleeves and put it on straightaway and walked about the rest of the day feeling at ease. Jimi Hendrix would've looked better in it, but, he's dead and I'm not.
I felt totally comfortable getting high in the coffeeshops and then walking the streets stoned. I can't say the same thing about where I live: Don't like to get high outside of the house nor be about in public stoned.
If you book a hotel room in the centre of Amsterdam, then you can walk the streets near your hotel and find a coffeeshop not more than 2 or 3 minutes away in any direction. We stayed at a hotel on Spuistraat, and Kadinsky Coffeeshop was just across the street. And the Tweede Kamer and Dutch Flowers were to the right, about 1 minute's walk away.
Tweede Kamer was my first coffeeshop experience. It was a bit busy so I just scanned the menu and ordered a gram of NYC Diesel and then took it back to the hotel and sparked the owl. It had a unique taste and seemed to affect my body far more than my mind. I liked it. And I liked the Tweede Kamer. I went there twice. Both times the dealers were friendly and helpful.
Out of all the pot & hash I bought from the different coffeeshops I visited, Jack Herrer kicked my ass the hardest. I bought a gram of it for 6 euros at Stix Coffeeshop. (Across the street is a cafe called Stacey's Pennywell and they served me the best mutherfucken pastrami sandwich I've ever had.) I smoked the Jack Herrer at the Arabica Lounge (after buying a gram of Silver Haze, first). I only took about 2 or 3 tokes...and then my dick went in the dirt. My wife wanted to leave but I was too stoned to move. So we chilled with the reggae for a few minutes.....and then we went a'walkin. And it was cool.
If you're American and you like to eat at proper restaurants then be prepared to wait a long fucken time during the intervals between your starter & main & dessert & coffee & bill. The restaurants are understaffed to save money. Some say it's the "European way of enjoying a meal", that is, taking 2 or 3 hours to eat your meal, but fuck that shit. It's being cheap & inconsiderate and that's all there is to it. There were usually no more than 2 or 3 servers for a roomful of 25 people or more. When I go out to eat I want to eat 1,2,3, and then leave. Spending hours in a noisy, hot-ass restaurant full of foreign tongues a'lip-lappin is not my idea of a good time. I wanna eat and then go hang out at a coffeeshop.
We did not find the food all that great. Grant it, we didn't eat meals that cost 300 euros or more, but our bill was usually between 60 - 100 euros. I've had far better meals at The Olive Garden or various pubs in East Sussex for roughy the same price. Was not impressed with their frites, either. But that pastrami sandwich at Stacey's Pennywell, holy fuck...whatta revelation.
As for getting lost: We were lost most of the time. Just didn't feel like trying to work out how the trams worked. So we walked. We had maps but they weren't much help...But no worries, we always found our way back to the hotel and never once asked anyone for directions.
Definitely look forward to going back.
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