We hit the road in all haste. All I wanted to do was run…
“Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard”…?
“Somewhere over the rainbow”… more like it.
I desperately longed for my beloved, familiar, sandy, rocky beaches and the soothing musical medicine of the ocean. I longed to be home in my own quiet, non-toxic, naturally-lit room. In my own quiet, stable California king-size… MY—
aireloom
HYBRID
bamboo
tandoui
natural bamboo tickings
premium bio foam
sustainable forest lumber
HAND-MADE
HYBRID
bamboo
tandoui
natural bamboo tickings
premium bio foam
sustainable forest lumber
HAND-MADE
incomparable, peaceful bed.
But. We still had a minimum of twelve hours to drive back to northern California. Lisa, Jasper and I. In the aging, trusty Honda Odyssey van with 159,643 miles on it.
As soon as we started bumping down the avenue… I realized that the pain firing from my sutures was sending me through the roof. Ouch ouch ouch…
Could you drive a little slower, please? And try to avoid the… OUCH!!
Potholes.
Potholes.
Yeah, right. What was I thinking? Hello, major surgery! I was in no condition to travel.
Damn it!!
We would have to stay a few more nights in a… peculiar Airbnb rental… where Lisa and Jasper had been staying while I was in St. John’s Hospital Hell.
Oh god.
The carefully researched… not quite what it was cracked up to be… Airbnb with a vast collection of Tibetan bronze singing bowls of every unbelievable size.
Oh god.
The carefully researched… not quite what it was cracked up to be… Airbnb with a vast collection of Tibetan bronze singing bowls of every unbelievable size.
From DDDOooooOOoooonnNNnnnggGgg…. to… tiiinng.
With a bright sunny… every imaginable health supplement supplied… but almost no cooking or eating utensils… kitchen just barely big enough for two… to turn around… and make coffee in.
What?!! No automatic coffee maker?!
OMG.
Here. Try this French press.
A nice modern frig stocked with plenty of freshly milled organic almond butter.
A midget-size, shorty clawfoot tub in a closet-size bath.
A lovely, healing, nurturing, feminine… Bach flower rescue remedy inspired… magic crystal… bedroom… which felt like its owner had just stepped out of bed to go pee.
What?!! No automatic coffee maker?!
OMG.
Here. Try this French press.
A nice modern frig stocked with plenty of freshly milled organic almond butter.
A midget-size, shorty clawfoot tub in a closet-size bath.
A lovely, healing, nurturing, feminine… Bach flower rescue remedy inspired… magic crystal… bedroom… which felt like its owner had just stepped out of bed to go pee.
Not to lose faith, my fellow pilgrims on the great way.
Our little spiritual, hideaway nest away from home.
Where I received the angel’s blessings no less.
The totally awesome, gnarly healing session… on April Fools Day… with the young, yoga-fit, handsome, self-confident, long-haired, bearded, tattooed, ringed and studded… unrivaled hippy… multi-talented, multi-cultural shaman… who showed me… in a singular beatific vision… how I lost my original… goldilock’t, hauberk’d head… on the far banks of a forgotten river… in distant Prussia… in the eleventh century… chasing those cleverly devilish… swift as the wind through beach grass… Mongolian circus riders.
Where I received the angel’s blessings no less.
The totally awesome, gnarly healing session… on April Fools Day… with the young, yoga-fit, handsome, self-confident, long-haired, bearded, tattooed, ringed and studded… unrivaled hippy… multi-talented, multi-cultural shaman… who showed me… in a singular beatific vision… how I lost my original… goldilock’t, hauberk’d head… on the far banks of a forgotten river… in distant Prussia… in the eleventh century… chasing those cleverly devilish… swift as the wind through beach grass… Mongolian circus riders.
In charming, uptown chic, shady Santa Monica. Where giant, tacky, spanking newly plastered… property-line-to-property-line… 2014 Godfather-worthy palazzos… were overrunning, overshadowing… modest… ‘40s-‘50s-‘60s-style… crumbling California bungalows.
Where the… dressed in black skintight, leather-patched leggings… and, stiletto-healed, Roman-style, above-the-ankle, bondage-wrapped, side-buckled, back-zippered… Amazonia sandals… fine lady said to her… dressed in black skintight, leather-patched leggings… and, stiletto-healed, Roman-style, above-the-ankle, bondage-wrapped, side-buckled, back-zippered… Amazonia sandals… her towering, Milanese runway model… Fellini-esque madeup… fine feathered friend… in matching silk tunic… behind Lisa’s back… but, purposefully within hearing—
“I have just two words for that… Minne Sota”.
Referring to Lisa’s… apparently frumpy, midwestern-appearing… colorful garb… and… possibly her… “so not cool”… not very yoga tight… minivan chassis? And/or, her… unforgivable… total lack of “dry bar” makeup… after two nights of holding… round the cyclops clock… hospital vigilance with her… scarf-wrapped, ear-plugged… alleged pagan, ganja grower… Humboldt terrorist?… wave performance artist?… lunatic fringe… ungrateful, almost dead… boyfriend?
Trying to hang in there with… delirious me. As I went under for the third, fourth, fifth time…
Ugh. What would our dearest, saintly Mother Monica say?
Now ladies… We mustn’t be impious.
Wouldn’t want to end up strapped to a solid oak driftwood plank atop a bundle of faggots on Venice Beach with those fine skintight black, knucklehead yoga pants in flames…
Wouldn’t want to end up strapped to a solid oak driftwood plank atop a bundle of faggots on Venice Beach with those fine skintight black, knucklehead yoga pants in flames…
Not my idea of a decent Brazilian… wax job… no.
Would Monica have indulged at True Foods? Andrew Weil’s wonderful all natural restaurant? Would she have ordered the kale salad or the bison burger?
I had both. And, they were equally delicious, sister!
But. All of this stylish, Los Angeles hipster luxury was costing us… me… a considerable amount of cash.
And besides. Southern California is just not my style.
We had to head north. As soon as I was road worthy. Sooner, if possible.
My mysterious migraine?… you might be wondering.
I forgot to mention it. Apparently, it went miraculously into dormancy… after the unrivaled… native American prayer, drumming song, sage burning, owl feather waving… ayahuascan, Peruvian jungle tea, clay ocarina piping… Tibetan Buddhist empowerment chanting, praying… medicine dancing shaman… performed his mystery-revealing, healing session.
I was amazed. To say the least.
I had been having these horrendous… aforementioned, five-alarm migraine… headaches nonstop… for almost a week… in the inhospitable hospital… where they could offer me… nothing… beyond… heroin… antibiotics and jello?
And, here. In a rental Airbnb. On short notice. This skillful young man with his own… doctor’s bag of ancient/modern… medicine tricks had just relieved my pain en toto.
Kind of makes one wonder… who the medical experts are… and who the healers are?
But. I didn’t have all that long to ponder. For we hit the road soon enough. And soon enough the pain started in all over again.
The bumps on the road to glory will getcha some times.
Ouch ouch… OUCH!!
Would you stop that?!
Can’t you slow down?
Please!
You’re killing me.
Ugh.
Would you stop that?!
Can’t you slow down?
Please!
You’re killing me.
Ugh.
Ok ok… I surrender. Where’s that bottle of heroin pills?
Here we go. Down the hatch. Gulp.
About two hours out of LA on the I-5. With many, many bumpy hours to go. I just couldn’t take the stabbing pain anymore. The jiggling and jostling of my newly transfigured liver was definitely getting to me.
I had been assiduously avoiding the little magic pills. Not because I’m afraid of the… highly addictive properties of heroin… of OxyContin.
No no. Addiction is not a something I fear. After all. I was addicted to fine wine, homegrown organic veggies, beautiful women, surfing, sexual self-expression, art, music, poetry, movies… Well. The A-list goes on and on. Might as well confess that I was addicted to all of the finer things that life has to offer us glorified primates here on this amazingly wonderful, apparently completely gone mad planet.
But. Opioids had never appealed to me. And my recent experiences with the nefarious green cyclops on the—
Lost Island of the Health Insurance Plan Damned… well
You can see my dilemma.
Nevertheless. I surrendered to the call of… highly processed, refined opium.
Two hours of floating, narcotic… “Music for Airports”… kind of stuck on one groove… shallow… almost but not quite heavenly… relief.
Yes. Relief. I must admit.
And. Fast-acting… a two-hour long, dingy windshield of relief.
Then.
WHAMMOOO!!
What’s called a “rebound headache”. A headache reaction triggered by… withdrawal from the system… of the heroin… the narcotic, pain-masking effects of the drug… for the past two hours.
Wallah. We’re back again to full on surgical liver pain… with a renewed vengeance. And, a bonus of… a full on head ache, in the round… to go with. With flashing ufo lights! And, Bengal tigers roaring in mine ears. Which are the usual precursors. To a dreaded “hemiplegic”… occurring always on one side… or… my right-sided migraines.
Well. Kind of suspected… But. Hoped and prayed this would not happen.
What the bituminous/numinous fuck?!
Don’t the pharmaceutical gods answer our prayers without these…
Insufferable “Catch 22” consciousness traps?
Take another PERCOCET 5MG/325MG TAB, right? Sure. Why not? At least I got two hours of sordid relief… And. At this point in the transformational saga of our modern day Gilgamesh—
Who gives a fuck whether the mysterious “elixir of immortal life” is broccoli, watercress or… some hillbilly heroin?!
Down the hatch. My good friend, third cousin of morphine. Migraines be damned! Drive on, minister! We’re late for our very important date with el diablo en…
San Francisco, apparently. Or rather. Berkeley, to be precise.
That’s when and where. Jasper… Lisa’s emotional support animal to be… ESA K-9… Man’s best friend. Woman’s closest, most intimate, preferred companion. Lisa’s beloved silent partner, Jasper. Now, drooling on the floor in the rear of the minivan. Looking rather grim himself. While I lay moaning in the front seat… leaned way back… with a puffy pillow
Jasper— the big fluffy, kindly, white muppet, doodle dog.
Passed out with a fever of 106 degrees.
Passed out with a fever of 106 degrees.
Yellow crusties ringing round his nostrils and eye cups.
In the scorching hundred degree Bay Area summer heat.
Next to a prodigious Indian silk sari bridal shop.
Had to go to the VER!
Veterinary emergency room.
In downtown Berkeley, CA.
Right away!!
To stay overnight.
In the scorching hundred degree Bay Area summer heat.
Next to a prodigious Indian silk sari bridal shop.
Had to go to the VER!
Veterinary emergency room.
In downtown Berkeley, CA.
Right away!!
To stay overnight.
Uh huh.
Aaaaawwww. Poor puppy. Now you get your special night in the… hapless hospital.
“Just when you (thunk) it was safe to go back in the water”…
Yeah. Open up. Here comes… Jaws 2, 3, 4….
Our Blockbuster, Tearjerker, Epic Nightmare had only just begun!
Duuuunnn duuunnn. Duuunnn duuunnn. Duunn duunn. Duunn. Duunn duunn. Dun dun. Dun dun. Dun.
