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<title> PhoenixÕs Travel Journal 2 March 2004</title>

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Two Dogs South Tour Part II Continued <br> <br>

New Moon, Friday 2.20.04 - Spent the eve in Sayulito with a new friend Porko (I haven't read "The Other White Meat" poem by the Octopus Messiah, to him just yet) who with his piano playing wife hosts a three day musical come all variety show at his place here in town each year. Rock, Mexican Ompha, and Folklorico third graders, and of course, good ol' N. American plain ol Jimmy Buffet type Country, and Sunday "spiritual" sets. <br> <br>

Next Friday night at sundown is their yearly Battle of the Bands and I'm excited to be putting some Liquid Light up on the small stage behind their beeeeautiful foliage hidden house which sits upon about a 1/3 of an acre of landscaped (palm, banana etc trees) piece of land. Room for a couple hundred people. <br> <br>

While on a stroll through the surf Mecca of Sayulito, average age twenty-two or six or twelve, I ran into a friend who owns the big Art Car ("La Tousha") at Camp Otter. She was on her way to meet an old warm pool mate from Harbin of mine who woke up at my beach earlier this week with one peachy yoga teacher women from Santee Fe. This incestuous world shrinks more each day. He's set up a chiro/massage shop right off el zocolo and he still has one of best set of hands on the planet. <br> <br>

Another women met us for dinner. She was also at Otter and it was old home week. I suggested a Full Moon Burn on a beach in a couple of weeks. <br> <br>

We spoke of the possibility of flying some sort of projection screen from her rig and what I might do w/ about a thousand bucks worth of e wire & other very very very strange lighting effects. Come to think of it, half of it was salvaged (and it all works!) from HER garage sale a year ago. Wow, full circle lighting effects. Edison on drugs.
<br> <br>
Festival Week in Sayulito and I'll go back up on Sunday and try to sell to the hippie artist vendors some of these glass beautiful Checzk glass beads I picked up shortly before getting busted. Then, I'm thinking, after the gig here next weekend, I'll move the rig up to Sayulito's northern campgrounds and experience that reality. My Otter friends are nearby and the town seems to have a number of single females,

1.5 hrs later:
always an allure, even for someone who loves quiet beaches, is closer to sixty then fifty or even forty.
<br> <br>
I went to bed and coffee at 7:00 pm doesn't want me to rest! It ain't my fault, my body was just a vessel for caffeine and I was being "social," damnit and didn't want to drink tequila and water seemed so benign and blasŽ! So, two mg's of melatonin, which I should have downed asap after, return home, and the first doobie and it's just about 1:20 am, 4:20 in Nova Scotia if I'm correct. AM, Good Morning Nova Scotia, Let's Wake And Bake! <br> <br>

So, ah, yeah, moving to Sayulito for a week or so. There's Spanish lessons to be had each morning in the library for two bucks for a couple of hours and I'm determined to move beyond the little I've learned living in Cali for thirty years - even with two children bi- lingual! I know a lot of words, just can't put them together very coherently and get stuck on the French I never learned in three years in and near Paris AND I get thoroughly confused behind conjugations cause I missed most of ninth grade when THAT was covered and NEVER diagramed a sentence properly! <br> <br>

With friends nearby it might be possible for us to get up a trek to Michocan sometime and Huichol country. Something about a culture where the religion is a cactus button called Peyote gets me high just thinking about what it must be like growing up with that experience and what it does to consciousness when the wisdom of your parents and elders has come from hundreds and hundreds of years of hallucinogenic experience. <br> <br>

The beautiful irony and dramatic relief offered up like it's own magic sauce, is that Peyote is depicted all over their art which of course is purchased by (mainly) North Americans, many of whom were the first on the "Just Say No To Drugs" bandwagon, are still on "that" trip, and who wouldn't know a Peyote cactus button from a shirt button on their finest Sunday polyester. They just see the colors and the dancing, idol worshiping pagans and possess no knowledge of any significance to icons in the art. "Oh look Dear at the sun and the moon and the pretty 'cushions' growing out of the jungle and the Indian's head." <br> <br>

The outcome from the magic of disappearing from this beach in a week for at least a week is when I get back I'd rather hear something like, "Oh, he's come back again!" rather then, "He's still here!" if I didn't go anyplace. This is rent-free and the whole town knows I'm here. A motor home on the beach two hundred meters away from where Main Street deadens at the Pacific can't be easily hidden. Up the coast it ain't gonna break me at three bucks a night with no hookups and all the sandy bottom, north facing surf I care to give my body to. This west faced beach, while quiet and beautiful, has rough shore breaks. Anyway, the hills around Sayulito are beautiful even if Gringos own all the big new homes on stilts. With its clubs and restaurants and shops and narrow and sometimes very steep side streets, it reminds me of Monmarte by the Ocean. <br> <br>

Doobie #2 celebrates Nova Scotia: <br> <br>

These waves whose every beached ending is heard clearly from where I type (or sleep) are however capable of producing some wonderful rides, esp. when the tide is coming in. It does that every day. Funny thing. I've been throwing balls and driftwood into the surf for MC Dog the Real Dog to get him somewhat "less" afraid of the surf. He'll fetch "anything" I toss. It's good that he keeps some fear. My daughter's Setter would try to swim to Hawaii to chase a ball and would drown himself if he had more then two balls to fetch! THAT's why it is said that cats are smarter then dogs. They DON'T fetch! <br> <br>

This morning tossing sticks into water that was almost neck deep for him, MC Dog the Real Dog caught an almost sneak wave, or rather, IT caught him in the white water, and, well, he surfed the sucker like a thorough pro, through about twenty meters of tide, right up to the beach while all I could see was his mouth, nose and ears AND barely those organs! And, he still had the stick! Fuckin Hilarious! I'm not certain he knows how proud of him I felt at that moment. I've got a Surfin Dog! Nope, sorry, no video - but it's got me thinking. <br> <br>

AW right! Melatonin startin to set in. The first hint for me is that my fingers begin to feel heavy and never wanting to exert myself, I'll say goodnight to myself from this point and anyone out there in e land who eventually reads this. Even if for you at this moment it's 4:20 in the afternoon, here it is 1:47 AM! And the sun comes up in just a few precious hours Good Night! <br> <br>

Saturday afternoon:
Very late wake up produces a very lazy day. Well some industriousness. I've got the MIDI keyboard connected as a controller device for this graphic animation program I am trying to figure out so can use computer keyboard and the MIDI together for thousands of effects. Still can't figure out how to use laptop as a monitor. This is a very involved program and I wish there was a class. Here on the beach would be fine! <br> <br>

The tourists are leaving! Each day up to fifteen Mercedes trucks carrying ten tourists and one caffeinated guide arrive for two hours of beach and lunch. All of a sudden, there are one hundred palsy white Gringo tourists with yellow wristbands stuffing their faces and tanning their cavernous stomachs, sometimes all at once. Then, pfft, their gone and we have the beach back to ourselves. Fifty bucks each and the guides keep them giggling. Some of them have the tourists shouting "Hasta luago baby!" as they depart in front of my motor home. <br> <br>

Within ten minutes, the trucks and their payloads are gone. <br> <br>

It's 3:20 here. That means it's 4:20 in New Orleans. Good enough for me. Then to email. <br> <br>

Adios................ <br> <br>

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