Welcome to the Garden of Sithis

A Strange and Sultry Visitor in the Stay-Moist Mansion.

Welcome to the Garden of Sithis!!

It was raining when Drake got the request. A sodden warm jungle wet permeated everything. Hot, humid and dank like the steam rising off a tub of dirty laundry full of boiling water. The kind of pure jungle funk every lizard dreams of. The thick native foliage of the place is nicely shaped and carefully pruned in places, with Deshaan, Ashland, Vvardenfell, and Shadowfen trees and shrubs predominating. Numerous jungle palms, a huge scintillating swamp fabricant tree from Clockwork City, and a massive banyan loom up along the edges of the path, where a stone gray gargoyle pillar looms leering at a slight angle, having sunken into the swampy ground a little. A small skeletal undead dragon guards the front gate, his neck and tail swaying to and fro endlessly so the little skull ends up looking at you no matter where you stand. Spiked agave and aloe shrubs here and there and some strange glowing otherworldly mushrooms prop up the corners of the varied verdant vegetation blanketing the grounds. An ornamental cherry and thick boled hist bring further color and character to the yard as the dark lord Sithis overlooks all, sword, severed head, and flaming bowls in hands. A soul shriven figure in rags shuffles around, half braindead, looking down in impotent wistful horror at a headstone and the body of a wrapped corpse – his witch mother in life – a past lover – possibly both!!  The glowing eyes of the Lord Warden of Imperial City Prison glare hatefully down on them from the back wall with the promise of endless suffering and the inevitable eternity of oblivion.
Invisible waves of apathy and enervation emanating from the statue proclaim the meaninglessness of existence and absence of anything of value in all creation. Truly, this is the garden of the Dread Father.    

A swampy dawn in the garden of Sithis

Drake was in the back 40, pondering the meaning of the strange platform that had sprung up in the sky behind the stay moist mansion – with a pirate flag heralding the sight of two well wrapped witch corpses beside a patch of glowing oblivion shrooms - their presence a peculiar mystery of unknown consequence. His light argonian tunic of green with Ayleid golden embroidery kept magically dry in the rain, allowing only such moisture through as to keep his scales refreshed and comfortable. An unknown friend from one of many thousands of previous random adventures was asking to drop by for a visit and drinks. How excssssssiting. My firssst housssssse guessssst. "Are you in the guild? Shades are always welcome in the garden", Drake responded, but there was no confirmation forthcoming.  This was to be a different kind of visitor, an interloper of a strange and sultry nature.

 The latest addition to the garden of Sithis had been some Argonian eggs laid lovingly by the hist tree – foreshadowing ovulating pulsar echoes of the next generation of shadowscales. She arrived quickly – looking angular, evil, and peculiar - not entirely unlike the form of a woman posessed by some dark force. The Bovine Domihaus skull looked appropriately spooky as she sat in a daedric throne behind the house to admire the trophies set into the mud on the back of the mansion. A large glowing oblivion shroom hung over each chair providing an eerie pale blue light. The visitor was all compliments and very animated, seemingly excited to be here and praising the design of the place with great praise. “You made a UFO!!”, she shouted, seeing the ring of bronze busts around the top of the mansion. Such unexpected observations. Soon we were inside, laying down by the fire on Argonian reed mats sipping Argonian bloodwine and laughing about how this home was a dream within a dream. A fantastic place to call home, away from home. "Can I live here?", what a pleasant complimentary request.  He was pleasantly drunk and nearly asleep when she started dusting him off with a broom of palm fronds and tossed a bucket of water on him – which had him jumping up and down wildly – Maw of the Infernal helm bobbling weirdly on his short little Argonian frame. They hit the bedroom and while he sat down to read “Cheeses of Tamriel”, she got comfortable on the bed in a sultry pose that looked oddly incongruous with her bovine skulled head – like something out of a seductive fantasy snuff porn nightmare. You're turned on and horrified simultaneously. You want to look away, but can't – the sexual tension is too exciting and bizarre to allow distraction. Drake could barely focus on the 'cheeses of Tamriel' text in front of him. She took a deep breath and suggested slipping into something more comfortable. He managed to suppress a choked cough, and wheezed out a breathily whispered reptilian 'alrighty then'.  A moment later she returned as a beautiful Breton enchantress, with a surprisingly stylish flowing dress of gently quilted sequined pink design and an upturned smile and glittering eyes unlike anything the lizard had ever seen. The smile was crookedly mocking and vaguely self-depreciating at the same time, a bizarre and attractive transfiguration of a mouth that was immediately appealing to the assassin. Her long flowing blonde locks held back by a platinum ruby broach and ample bosom cradled majestically in muted pink tones of padded sequined light armor, this was without doubt the most beautiful looking Breton woman Drake had ever seen.

Sorry, no pics of the Babe - too stunned and bedazzled by the smile to get a screenshot.
Who is this witch?!!

He was dazzled by the quirky upturned edges of her smile and not sure what to do next... They spent some time exploring the interior of the mud hut 'mansion' and making small talk about various things. She confided that she'd been living in a cave, and loved fishing. Curiouser and curiouser... They admired the painting of the ruins behind Belkarth as being one of the best works of art on the market, and basked in the light of carefully crafted and enchanted Argonian wax candles. Moments later Drake fled the scene, as she requested the presence of the true master of the house and protested the deformed ugliness of his twine wrapped desiccated crocodile skull head. Knowing himself a wonderous gifted shadowscale mage assassin, and having absolute confidence in his capacity for laughter, mirth, and murder alike, Drake took no offense, and gladly deferred the company to his alternate compatriot.

D'erzalus the endgame templar-healer showed up - golden goblet in hand, - sipping wine with perfect aplomb and looking darkly handsome - somewhat amused that she thought him 'spooky looking' after the Argonian with the zombie croc head!! His wavy ashland-pyroclastic-red hair and serious grey faced demeanor are only visible when drinking, otherwise the grim, savage horned visage of Bogdan the Nightflame dominates his looks. He wore a silver-blue silken robe of scintillating legendary quality and incredible detail from Falkreath Hold – legendary - as all his gear – through endless training of years and fights unnumbered. Wandering outside to the courtyard, they danced and sang and laughed like drunk mad children in the garden of Sithis, shifting effortlessly from dance style to dance style, and she pranced around in a jester's walk and we laughed madly at the beauty and magic of the scene. She took a chair at the foot of Sithis' statue, and D'erzalus genuflected wildly at her feet – the mystery of that moment being, was he worshiping the Idol? Or the incredibly attractive and amusing blonde bombshell of a Breton? She walked up and down the path in a stately noble's gait, and made it clear that she liked pretty, beautiful things – but that the magic of this particular stay moist mansion dwelling was most impressive and pleasurable despite being both 'spooky' and 'weird'. She juggled blue Telvanni fireballs, and he juggled huge wavy bladed assassins daggers and they impressed each other with spectacular displays of agility, skill, power, and hilarity. She looked so pretty in her muted pink dress, talking her girl talk and dancing stylishly – until.....

D'erzalus at dawn, Valenwood coast

Suddenly, the polite attractive Breton facade shimmered, shifted, faded, and she revealed her true form – a dark seducer!! Decked out completely in black and red Xivkyn plate armour!!

The duel request came suddenly, and the battle standard dropped just as fast. Fire erupted from the base of the banner and a globe of iridescent purple lined darkness popped up around D'erzalus as she made the first attack. His horned nightflame helmet took a moment to come through, but by the time it did, he already had 3 other HOT's up and running. A blood altar and rapid regeneration followed by heavy attack to activate drauger's rest AOE HOT sent a red-golden glow over the entire area as her globe of daedric darkness faded away and a leathery batwing lined anchor dropped from the sky. The Bogdans anchor would only last a few seconds, but during those seconds D'erzalus was invulnerable with so many other heals going on in tandem. She launched attack after attack at range, venom arrows followed by acid spray from a daedric bow – a few light attacks – venom arrow – then drawn swords – dual wielded wavy things all spikes and poisoned rage as she charged in to bring the violence to close quarters in melee - but with so many simultaneous heals running, the effects of all her efforts barely phased him. Calling down a fragment of the sun upon her darkened head with solar disturbance, he pressed on with heavy staff attacks, blast after blast – each one absorbing and returning magica for more attacks and heals - the golden glow of Draugers Rest ever present. She swung 'round and instantly stunned him with a particularly virulent attack, both blades singing through the side of his neck and spraying blood and acrid green poison hissing onto the base of the statue of Sithis - D's health bar fell ten percent below the mid range mark as she pressed the attack with light followup jabs, stabbing through the magic defenses of his silken robes punching bloody red holes in the flesh of his chest. D'erzalus arm swung in an arc for breath of life and the wounds closed immediately - just below full health again, his robes looking as though they'd never been touched or punctured. He pushed on with relentless heavy staff attacks from the Dweomer stave he'd wielded in so many campaigns. Her health dropped gradually and steadily, the outcome inevitable. Blades flashing to the end, she fell silently at the foot of the statue of Sithis. All sound ceased, as though everything had been muted by the blood pounding in the eardrums after heated battle, the music of danger, chaos, and survival singing louder than any other music could ever possibly sing. Everything in slow motion. Eternity and entropy in ever-present singularity. A soul torn asunder by violent death and the sable black nothingness of the void, ripped from its mortal coil by oblivion magica resurrected and seeking answers to questions that only the magnanimous ubiquity of fate and eternity may provide. The endless oblivion of the Void as the garden grows on, forevermore. As she rose up and took on ghostly form she asked with great surprise, “how did you kill me?” The response was simple. “Sorry dear, my heals are pretty mad”. “The only way to kill this Dunmer is with a well timed massive burst DPS”, his honesty and humility in victory absolute. “I'll remember that”, she said with a demonic grin as her gorgeous body re-incorporated and her beautiful Breton facade faded back into place.  “I'll remember that”.....

“I think the sun is rising...”

They exchanged gifts, danced with mad joy and had a few more drinks, then she said with the perfect poise and self-assured pseudo-wisdom of the attractive female heroine, “Make a hot breton male and I'll see you around, biiieeeeeeeee”. FWOOOSH!!!! She was gone. D'erzalus chuckled with the knowing mirth of the benevolent hometown victor, “Not bloody likely, but maybe I can hook you up with someone sometime”.  

A tiny bright red tree frog is marauding slowly across the top of a crumbling brick wall in the yard, eyes like hematite sapphire pinheads taking in every detail of the scene.  His right hand strays absently up to cradle the monstrous goatee of the Bogdan's helm.  Heavy dew is dripping slowly from palm trees all around and somewhere out there cicadas maintain a mesmerizing hum in the canopy.  Exotic birds chirp, wail, and cry out beyond the walls. "What a grand morning to be alive", he thinks.  Turning with the swift precision of recent combat alertness he glides pensively down the path past the glistening hist tree and up the back steps to the second floor apartment, where a good book and a cozy bed await...
...and what dreams may come...

"We are what we pretend to be, 
so we must be careful what we pretend to be" 

- Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night.

BEAUTY.

THE END.

All names and artwork express property of ZOS, Bethesda, and ESO - the writing's mine. PEACE!!  
Published by @herbalremedde

PARADISE LOOSE.

Paradise Loose.

“Knowledge forbidden?
Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord
Envy them that? Can it be a sin to know?
Can it be death?” -Milton, Paradise Lost.

One finds if one studies and researches literature and culture long enough that there are common threads and themes throughout – across all time, space, race, beliefs and backgrounds. It takes a lifetime of experience and keen observation to begin to tie the threads together later in life, and inevitably, this process takes on a particular flavor of understanding based on subjective perception, “all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be”.  Now before I get pedantic let me take a perfidious posture and pose the notion that subjective perception is everything – it is 'better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven'.  I have chosen to be here now - personally chosen to sit here in relatively comfortable surroundings writing. Is it wrong that I have wound up here rather than suffering without food or shelter in the streets of Tacloban, Philippines after superstorm Haiyan has creamed the place? No. It's not. Flat out. Was it wrong that I was drunk as HELL the entire weekend of November 8-10^th 2013 partying my ass off with friends in Bahrain while that storm raged and killed thousands? I leave it to you to decide if I'm ignorant, insensitive, or just an evil asshole (honestly, I was unaware of the extent of the storm at the time). Fortunately the governments of the world are willing and able to donate some aid to those unfortunate enough to get hit by that storm. Compassion demands a response.  But based on global warming trends, it's only the beginning. Where will the 600,000 (this number amended to a whopping 3 MILLION by CNN yesterday) displaced people go and what will they do when global aid funds dry up? Will you welcome them into your home? Suppose it's going to get worse (and it is people – YOU KNOW IT). Let me pose another question as devil's advocate: what if it were 10 million displaced instead of 600,000 (or 3 million)? Would there be enough aid to help them? Would the elite of the global corporatocracy sign off on aid for this number? Would race, nationality, and geography have anything to do with it? Let me assure you – in the halls of power – there are serious conversations taking place about whether or not it is feasible to obliterate large populations of the human race (preferably in subtle, clandestine ways) rather than shell out resources to assist them in times of desperation – race and nationality will play a factor. Culling the herd.  These are grim times - and if you're a Filipino on the ground after Haiyan today, or a survivor in the slums of Kibera, Nairobi, you're feeling a 'pinch' that the wealthy comfortable bankers and politicians of the West can scarcely imagine. But they can see it coming – and have no intention of ever being reduced to such estates – risk management and harm reduction are high on their list of priorities!! A mass uprising is feared by global economic leaders.  Russell Brand has become an overnight hero for being so candid about things most people are already aware of – especially since he's proposing some new ideas about what to expect in the not-too-distant-future!!  THIS is one of the more intense socio-economic+political articles I've read recently – highly recommended if you're 'keeping score' on 'the people' vs. 'neoliberal corporate hegemony'.  Meanwhile, I can't help but be turned on by $70,000+ motorcycles from Confederate bikes in the U.S.

I can't help it – it's my nature – bikes are exciting to me and always will be – and this thing is GORGEOUS.  But at that price, it seems like an elite product for greedy motherf*ckers. I wouldn't turn one down if it was offered me, but I'm not spending my whole life in pursuit of such material wonders. Also in my nature, the will to power and fight for what I believe in. Once upon a time I was a 'kitchen slave' - in the 90's - working at the Elephant and Castle in downtown Victoria – 8 hour shifts at $8.50/hour under intensely stressful conditions whilst trying to 'get ahead' any way I could – firstly with Camosun college cooking school, then later by studying English at Camosun College and the University of Victoria. I was an avid comic fan during those years – the art was beautiful and the ideals and strength of the characters was inspirational. I can't help but see mythic connections between Erik Lensherr, Satan, Dr. Strange(?!!) and myself (because 'myself' is always involved as the 'seeing eye' and constant figure of comparison/contrast whether I like it or not). When I say Satan here, I'm not saying I identify with the devil exactly. That would be extreme hubris and very foolish indeed. However. I do identify with aspects of all the characters I've ever felt resonated with my own thoughts or aspects of my own being – in all the literature, pop culture, and art I've had the honor to experience in my life. Bottom line? Life can be hard – use your illusions – because those illusions can shape who you become – and form the basis of your future reality. “Thoughts are ephemeral aurora and unreliable compasses,/They are marshlights not to be trusted.” YoungTimothy's words, like this electronic blog, are ephemera – and will only last so long as you are able to read - and possibly believe in - some of what you can feed your imagination with these words...

THE WEIRD TURN PRO.

Tomorrow I will wake up, go to work, proctor exams, and banter with other teachers and friends over lunch at the college cafeteria. I will drink strong imported free trade Lavazza coffee in the morning with sugar and cardamom cream and eat lemony crisp Italian biscotti. I'll teach my morning class of adorable 18-20 year old Omani students who seem so much younger. I'll attend the morning meeting for test alignment. Then I will receive an email from corporate America, saying 'come join our team in Saudi Arabia'.   At this time I'll be in my office, reading a visa invitation for a job I've known about for some weeks. Immediately, I will get on the phone, book a flight, and be out of the country by the time classes start the next day. No one will know I am leaving. I'll spend the afternoon packing my large green MEC 'Ibex' expedition pack and black Arcteryx day pack. I'll make sure my Les Paul guitar is comfortable in it's hard shell red plush velvet lined coffin case. With the blink of an eyelash and a wee puff of brimstone and Frankinsence, I will be gone from their lives forever. How strange it is to be THE MIDNIGHT RUNNER. In 13 years as an EFL professional I've never done this – but for triple the pay in the Middle-East, it's simply the right thing to do, and most of my colleagues would agree – even friends who wish I'd stick around. Time grows short for making hay while the sun shines, and I am going to need a little piece of ground to kick around on out on the West coast of Canada while the world dies. We do what we have to – and there's a fact. You is what you is – and there's a Zappa-ism. So without further ado, here's a glimpse of the unfinished 'ghetto' villa I've called home for my two months in Oman. Poor by the standards of some, rich by others, I've been in a large air conditioned and comfortable apartment on the second floor under the unfinished concrete chaos up on level 3. Two of my colleagues have 'pulled runners' in the past 2 weeks, and I'll be the third.  What a way to go!!!

Frankinsence is one of the most brilliant things about Salalah – I've been loving it – weekends with coffee and incense burning – room full of sensuous smoke - a good internet connection – a good book – and a beautiful white sand beach one hour away for the afternoon swim. You could almost wonder why the heck I'd leave - $$$?

I regret only having had the chance for one decent overnight hike in Salalah (Mirbat). This is what you might call my 'country home' if I stayed – if you look closely – you can see the 'living room' in the cleft of rocks below where we made a fire ring and enjoyed the stars while considering what manner of wild animals were howling around us (Hyenas or Leopards?).  Thanks Andy!!

The inside of our cave – there was an adorable gecko type lizard and little poops that looked about antelope or hyrax sized.

Speaking of coming down the mountain, if you're ever hiking in Oman in Summer or Fall – pray for clouds – or you will have your mind broiled...

DEATH FOR DRUG TRAFFICKER.

“Ignore that nightmare in the bathroom. Just another ugly refugee from the Love Generation, some doom-struck gimp who couldn't handle the pressure. My attorney has never been able to accept the notion - often espoused by reformed drug abusers and especially popular among those on probation - that you can get a lot higher without drugs than with them. And neither have I, for that matter.”-Thompson.

Tales of ribaldry. They're coming. I swear it. No narrow frith to crosse. The trouble is, I'm heading back into the belly of the beast, and if I say too much right now and it winds up being read by the wrong people, things will get...difficult. Potentially dangerous. As I'm in the business of risk management and harm reduction myself among other things, I'm going to hold onto these stories for now, maybe write some up and hone them down... There was a moment – and most such tales will at their best consist of sublime moments framed in appropriate language – where I lay back and thanked a friend most sincerely for the gift of altered consciousness, glanced at the movie on the wall, and lay back to get centered and observe the inside of my own mind. This is always a brilliant place to be on psychadelics – for awhile at least – and this particular time, an immense horse head nebula, full of stars and BREATHING with soft cool colors of red, blue, and purple hues reared up and drifted out above my head. The ceiling melted away and I was looking out into space – in realtime - and I WAS that space – as it was me. Simply and ineffably. Expanding and contracting – the entire cosmos in concert with my own breathing. Intense feelings of peace, well-being, and emotional balance filled me and washed over me and I had to remember to breathe deeply in order to cognitively process the immense depth of the moment!!  Profound gratitude.  Life is a miracle. If anyone ever tries to tell you different, just show them the horsehead nebula in their third eye. It's easy if you try. Infinity and bliss are always just one breath away - as is death – mortality too a divine gift in its own way. I had the honor of teaching 'carpe diem' to my college students in Salalah – as Muslims, I wonder if they 'got it'?!! Perhaps the desert bedouin among them wondered why I was taking time to state the obvious. One thing I'm relatively sure they don't know – the visceral sensation of 'being' a kosmic nebula (in a psychadelic entheogenic trance). For that reason and others, I'll be keeping further tales of total chaos to myself for the time being.  Out on the fringes of space/time autonomous zones at the edge of the waves where entropy rides infinity along distorted aural noise gate guitar sounds - Truth will out and I will share.  I hope to see you there.  The stars will rise again tonight along with the November full moon.  If you're alive and reading this, take a deep breath - congratulate yourself for being here!!  Enjoy the moment.  As for 'tripping balls' in the Middle East, specifics are matters for surreptitious disclosure - and I prefer to play it safe and keep my butt outta the fire as they say.  I hope you'll stick around with me as the journey continues – I'll stay safe long enough to reveal more later...

A DREAM OF HARMONY.

“All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.” - Milton, Paradise Lost. I'll be posting a detailed review of Leon Uris' book 'The Haj' soon – this book has taught me more than a few things about 'the Arab mind' – and while I admire 'the courage never to submit or yield', I admit I am annoyed with mortals who propose 'immortal hate' as something to hold onto. Hate that crosses over from generation to generation is to my mind the height of ignorance and stupidity. Humanity needs a state of 'world peace' and cooperation as never before in history. It's never going to happen as long as people hold to outdated ideals of hate!!! As for me, I'm leaving. POOF. Gone. Leaving nothing in my wake but a broken down Honda Steed chopped bobber motorcycle I paid too much for.....

With any luck a good friend from back East (THE BISHOP) will sell it for me in Muscat, or I can somehow get it delivered to Dammam, Saudi Arabia, the belly of the beast, where I am once again going to work for 'the man' as a technical English trainer working for an anonymous corporate Saudi entity through a huge anonymous American non-profit educational organization (anonymous cause covering your ass is absolutely necessary in this game - and I've just pulled an exhausting runner out of Oman).  Why the HELL would any West coast boy from Canada (and a bloody Aussie to boot) do such a thing??? Let me put it this way. As a 'kitchen slave' in the 90's I made around $1000/month and could barely pay rent. Let's just say I've more than tripled that figure twice since then (as of next week for a first), and with any luck will be able to afford a slice of property in my homeland to live and die on sometime before I'm too old to carry on working my butt off overseas anymore!! Check this out:
YouthUnemployment, A Western Epidemic!! 

Even now with all my experience, education, and connections, I can't seem to get a job in my own country that pays a third what I'm offered in Dammam this year. Being an expat is exciting – the lifestyle is a blast – but – what many of us want more than anything is to go 'home' someday and be at peace in our homeland. 21st century Hyperreality has every dream in high tension (D?)evolutionary flux. Things are weird as NEVER BEFORE and respected Canadian environmental scientist David Suzuki has gone on record saying exactly what's been on my mind lately. If there's another earthquake in Fukushima of 7.0 or above (and Suzuki puts this at a 90% probability in the next 5 years) it will mean 'bye bye Japan' (his words) and we will have to evacuate the entire North American West coast. Suzuki calls this 'terrifying'.  I don't think this is the right way to put it. 'Terror' is an absurdly abused word these days - many comfortable North Americans would regard numerous phases of my life as 'terrifying'.  Certainly it's been more fun than boring!!  I've become comfortable with a fast pace and constant change. I've existed continuously in 'hyperreality' for over a decade now. Regarding the possible loss of the entire nation of Japan and poisoning of the West coast (my birthplace and where I feel most at home in the world) - Sadness seems more appropriate. Sorrow. Great, unimaginably crushing sorrow. Not to lose my homeland to my own wanderings, lust for life, and need for money, but to an environmental catastrophe from across the sea that kills all life in the ocean and makes the very air poisonous. At what point does the spirit crumple? At what point does Eric Lensher buckle and fall under the boot of Apocalypse? At what point does Satan fall from grace and say “To hell with all of you!!” This horror will grow mild, this darkness light!! Our cure, to be no more; Sad cure!! If human imagination is responsible for the indomitable will and spirit of characters like Satan and Magneto, can collective human imagination not manifest a state of peace in the world? As a student at UVIC I once read some graffiti someone had carved into a desk in the philosophy wing of the Clearihue building – it stuck in my mind for years, “fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity” - author unknown. It's kind of a mindfuck that statement. Two unrelated clauses that are somehow proposed to be the same. Fucking for virginity is an obvious paradox – fighting for peace makes good sense – depending on how you define the fight. I would like to find peace in Canada someday. I pray for this.  If CANADA is somehow obliterated by the cataclysmic ignorance of greedy avaricious men, I can always run off to Australia?!!  I believe in the power of the collective human imagination – particularly my own!!  I'm leaping into the void tomorrow - the naked quad rider pulls a midnight run in broad daylight!!  Jebus.  Good Lord.  The scandal!!  The headlines!!  Heaven help me now!!  Where's my crackpipe FORD?!!  Total hysteria.  FUN.  LULz.  Get a grip man.  A week of Limbo in a hotel in Bahrain (again!!) while I await the grace of a Saudi visa processing bureaucrat.  In this vacuous meantime, I continue to stand at the edge of a precipice, looking down at a long black drop, with another deeper chasm at it's bottom, wondering if I'll ever make it across the oceans of time and space that separate me from my one true Love. Whomever or wherever he/she/it may be...

“Into this wild Abyss/ The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave--/ Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,/ But all these in their pregnant causes mixed/ Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight,/ Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain/ His dark materials to create more worlds,--/ Into this wild Abyss the wary Fiend/ Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while,/ Pondering his voyage; for no narrow frith/ He had to cross. ” -Milton, Paradise Lost.

As a luminous irridescent butterfly flits on by...

CAMEL TRUCKER

“The more radical the person is, the more fully he or she enters into reality so that, knowing it better, he or she can transform it. This individual is not afraid to confront, to listen, to see the world unveiled. This person is not afraid to meet the people or to enter into a dialogue with them. This person does not consider himself or herself the proprietor of history or of all people, or the liberator of the oppressed; but he or she does commit himself or herself, within history, to fight at their side.”

-Paulo Friere. 
 

 

Coming down the Mountain.

So, writing again. Why not? Never had a moment's peace in Saudi – couldn't continue with the online M.a. at Athabasca University while there because downtime was crucial socializing time – the only way to keep from going around the bend completely. Who knew it would wind up being a drunk, stoned rollercoaster – all the moreso because of theologically enforced prohibition. Also, the course package for EDST 632 'Global Education' seemed utterly absurd in the Saudi context.

Check out these beauty titles:

Goldstein, Tara, & Selby, David.(2000). Weaving connections: Educating for peace, social andenvironmental justice. Toronto: Sumach Press.

Abdi, Ali & Schultz, Lynette(2008).Educating for Human Rights and Global Citizenship New York,NY: SUNY

I skimmed the books on several occasions. In a perfect world, some of what these people are saying might make sense. In a perfect F*CKING world??!!! Have you writers been paying any attention whatsoever??!!! Have you ever traveled further than the end of your bloody block – or made a circuit greater than school – home – school – shopping – repeat? These texts are pedantic and almost entirely oriented to North American perspectives, and even the bits that were trying to be 'inclusive' were like cucumber sandwiches double mayo'd on white bread with the crusts cut off. Perhaps if I'd had more time for contemplation and reflection from a purely theoretical point of view (endless time to waste) I'd have been enthralled with the sagacity of the writing in these texts. I know they're good people trying to effect positive change from where they're situated, but these privileged suburban authors helped make it impossible for me to continue serious M.a. Studies from the ugly bloodstained trenches of international EFL classrooms... Skimming these texts in Saudi was like choking on ashes with dirt in the eyes. Totally absurd – try teaching social justice and racial inclusiveness in elementary English to Saudi technical college students – who choose HITLER and SADDAM as team names because these are their HEROES!!!

Bloody hell.

[Saddam says]:  Drop the BOMB, kill them all...

-Kurtz or Kurtzweil?

Why not do something productive for a change? Write that novel/collection of short stories everyone's been expecting you to turn out for decades. DECADES, MOTHERFUCKER!!! Turn it into another opportunity to beat your head against the wall. Why not, I'm clearly a bona fide sado-masochist. I must be after 13 years of expat life. I include the 2 years of living in Canada recently, as I was hardly repatriated to the bizarre, civilized(?!!) 'Brave new World' before feeling the insatiable grip of need to get the fuck out again. 'You're in Canada now Motherfucker'!! Right on, Susan (Musgrave). And bloody hooray Alice Munroe. It's not that I don't love the place – simply that I'm disgusted by what it's turned into. The hypocrisy was always there, but never so transparent as in recent years under the Harper administration. Lies and dark secrets are the norm now in the Canadian government. The greatest irony is that it's spread all over the front page, and there hasn't been a bloody revolution!!! The unresolved 'Robocalls'scandal that was swept under the carpet and is no longer considered 'newsworthy' means that the election that put this scheister in power was bogus anyway, and thus, Canada is no longer a democracy, but a corporate technocratic dictatorship ruled by an oligarchy of political and big business interests. Holy shit. This is what my grandfather laid down his life for in WWII in the name of protecting our nation? Thanks to the communications medium of the internet, the number of people aware of this is greater than ever before – it's up to like, 14!!! Including me mum's octogenarian miniature poodle!!! Political manipulation and corruption have become transparent to 'the masses'...but most people are unsure of how to act on their outrage. Global collapse is an everyday household phrase, and business plows on as if catastrophic climate change, nuclear disaster, economic implosion, and the worst, most radical income inequality in human history could be avoided by moving to an agreeable climate in a peaceful (well regulated and policed) part of the world. Pip, pip dahling, would you be a dove and pass the bickies and cream. I do believe it's tea time again. The absurdity of living in this time and space on our beautiful planet Earth almost defies description!!!

Desert Rose – wonder how much liquid is in those roots...

Home again, home again?

Home is where the heart is. An Omani, a Bangladeshi, and two Pakistanis walk into your apartment and start pulling up pipes in your bathroom. It's an altered scene from the Hobbit when the dwarves show up at Bag End – only these are tall skinny brown people in pajamas being very polite in broken English before going to work banging and smashing away in the bathroom. No joke. This happened to me 3 days ago. When building owner Musalem gets back, there will be a reckoning. I haven't noticed anything, but apparently, there's an issue with the pipes. If the pipe problem is in my bathroom they'll have to tear up the floors. WHAT??!!! Fuck that. I'm moving out – down to his property on the beach over the cafe, Hell yeah. Beach view?   Never in me life – would be like Heaven in theory.  Except – oops, it's being torn down by the Omani government to put in a new tourist attraction.  Since nothing is paid for yet and local construction is legendary for sloth, it's likely this prime piece of heavenly real estate will remain a derelict shithole or pile of rubble lined street indefinitely.  There goes my niche in paradise again.  Nice potluck at Irish-Indian-Kiwi Fiona's the other night – ground floor – sandy beach in Da'hariz – beautiful - sliding glass doors right onto the beach. Surrounded by a black ghetto, but a low crime neighborhood nonetheless. A 10 month lease means she's gotta move out for the Khareef season and allow some rich Arabs to move their families in and destroy the place over the Summer months (at double the normal rental prices). They literally trash the place.  Then 2 professional cleanings, and one personal cleaning later, move back in. Not so bad for a relatively inexpensive beachfront apartment with a gorgeous view the rest of the year. Watch the mildew though – gets into everything in Salalah during Khareef (June+July+August). It's not like I'm unaccustomed to moving constantly – home today, gone tomorrow...who knows, might be in Saudi again by Christmas – Jingle Hell, Jingle Hell, Jingle all the waaaaaaaay... “Habalagumbeleh” (exploding camel shit bombs)...

9:00 am. Office Thoughts.

Moodswings. Too much caffeine – thank you red balls!! Easy man, get a grip. Another morning in another office in another part of the world, drinking schite instant coffee and visualizing lesson plans, listening to Lemmy crank out 'The World is Yours' and wondering why the hell I'm here. Window full of palm trees in bright Arabic sunshine. Teaching has/have and object/personal/possessive pronouns to low level English college students. Since when do you go to college to learn basic English grammar – and they're expected to be writing academic papers in English after a year? Bollocks. Good Luck with that!!  Falling standards and lowered expectations. Omani students are enjoyable to teach at least – with the odd exception (arrogant male students – I had a mutiny today) - and my 'A level' class is relatively impressive for having only been at it a year or two. There's less overt disrespect like I experienced in Saudi. On another note for the after hours office crew: There's no action here – no 'vibe' or excitement in the air. That sense that anything is possible I get striding fast downtown in Vancouver, Hongdae Seoul, Osaka, Byron Bay, or Victoria on a busy Friday night. Even Jeju has a decent buzz of excitement in the air on weekends. I met a Brazilian woman that utterly repulsed me with her que sera attitude and sense of superiority, but her thoughts on how it was safe to raise a family here were interesting to hear.  What's app? Call Deutscher in Vietnam and bail then. Thai poon season. Well it's that or another season in the abyss of Arabic non-existent social life. Lay low. Meditate. Haven't done a year-long cleansing meditation since 2002. Best thing on the radar is a trip to Bahrain and getting smashed with the totally awesome fun metalheads of Manamma. Ya'gottalove'em!! That and the red Honda Steed Chopper I'm stoked on tuning. (Not) throwing taxi money at Pakistani taxi drivers ought to pay off the bike completely – but will I be here for a full year??? This uncertainty is delicious. It inspires the 'don't give a fuck' bones essential to us contracted disposable heroes. Seems I'm destined to deal with this in the professional world – as a teacher, writer, cook, or musician. I'm expendable. I can be used, wrung out, then thrown on the trash heap. Oh yeah? So can you motherfucker – here's a knife at your throat for your troubles... Whatev.  Never bought a bike with the intention of riding hard and selling it in ten months – or 3. If it's ripped off by a Pakistani, I'm out 2grand – I see hungry eyes walking the streets here. And I'll have to ride like hell to avoid accidents – locals don't have much respect for bikes - thinking that'll be the fun part – riding like a bat outta hell every day to avoid getting crunched by A-holes in SUV's. Maybe carry a heavy 'Ghost Rider' chain to whack anyone gets too close for comfort.  Fortunately the Steed is hella loud – and I have a safe shortcut route across desert waste to get to the college every day. Salalah is temporary...? The longer I stay, the longer I'll stay – and there's nothing and everything for me here. Go down to the coffee shop in the core and hit on the beautiful Nepali girl the A-man seems keen to hook me up with. “If I was single, that's what I'd be doing”. No doubt. But you're not single, are you? You have a gorgeous Thai wifie here in semi-permanent exile, and that's nice for you mate. Have you considered the long term angle? Sure you're doing the right thing buying that sailboat? There is a massive age gap here among teachers – ages run from around 25-60!! The 30 year olds are still relatively 'free' and I enjoy their company, identifying with the fresh vibes and audible chaos of constantly uncertain shifting futures. Some of the older teachers are classic expats, and have their own kind of rough charm. I'm looking at finding a decent balance of lifestyle and money. Emphasis is on the latter at this point thanks to years of living well in Korea whilst paying off student-debt leaving me dirt poor – I may return to Saudi again?!! The 50-something crowd here is a little sad and desperate, God love'em. Really nice, caring people, but driven to scramble for a maximum-returns-life-in-Saudi-Arabia by the need for more $$$. Is that where I'll be in a decade?!!! My future self is looking back and telling me to get a bloody move on. Run like Hell. Who knows? Relax, buddy, the world is over in 2 minutes. It's 2 minutes to midnight again. It's a Fukushima death sentence for all, wheeeeeeeeee!!!   FTW. WTF??  GTFO. Again, again, AGAIN!!! 30 minutes to class, Indian economics department office mates come in. What to do. GTFO out of FB!!! Saudi cleric beats, rapes, and burns his 5 year old daughter to death because he was concerned she wasn't a virgin, and gets off with a light sentence - a 280,000 Riyal fine, 600 lashes, and 8 years in a country club prison. There are (girly) lashes and there are (bosun's cat-O-nine-tails) LASHES – wonder what kind he'll get. My visceral-gut-reaction: 'Fuck these people'. This guy should get the same treatment he gave the little girl. A brutal gang rape and torn open rectum sealed with a red hot burning poker. I've been thinking I should go back to Saudi for the money. Fuck Saudi. Any country that condones this kind of brutality lacks enlightenment.  And still that oil $$$ beckons. So it is for most of the 'civilized' world in that regard here in 2013 – corrupt leadership and absurd financial cliffhangers. What a bloody mess. I've had CNN in the background on an ancient 'Okia' television provided in my apartment as part of the contractual deal here while I teach, surf the 'net, study, and research, and it's been a deplorable psycho-dramatic soap opera of late. The Saudi cops who danced naked on their car in Buraida got 5 years in prison, 2000 lashes, and a $10,000 fine. I thank God none of these thobe-wearing, Allah fearing, Sunnah punishing dickheads are showing up at BC music festivals!!  Jesus, that really would be THE END.  Is this not a serious argument in favor of protecting our cultural borders?!!!

Camel Trucker.

THE END of Freedom and freedom of choice as we know it. So why did I do a whole year in Saudi?!! $5000/mo. Baby. Best money I've made teaching in my life, and I'm still in the hole. Making $25,000/year in S.Korea for a decade was the lifestyle choice of a lifetime – aaaaaaand that's why you're still broke. What would be considered poverty wages in Canada you can live like a king on in Asia. Best times ever, aaaaaaand you're poor. This guy 'Wandering Earl' has some really interesting ideas about how to live permanently on the road. I'm impressed with his getting into Yemen and chewing qat with the locals, and reporting about it so honestly on the blog. He's a character. We're located just a few hours' drive from the Yemen border here in Salalah, and while many talk about how it would be cool to travel there - and there is talk of ancient seaside cliff towers - the conversation usually turns to how there are also border guards who will take you off into the desert to be murdered for a kickback.  This article strongly reminded me to be on my guard while living here.  Salalah is peaceful and sleepy, but conservative in the Islamic sense, and full of (dodgey) expats from all over.  The wandering Earl also inspired me to consider making a little side-money on the web.  I've put a little advertising here.  TheKosmicNexus is meant to be an extension of the nexus of my mind, body and soul in cyberspace – and a connection to the 'spirit' of cyberspace itself – the 'ghost in the shell' on multiple levels of simultaneous evolutionary interface – and is rather personal – so I'm generally against the use of advertising.  I probably won't make a dime, but you never know.  Maybe I'll make a few bucks.  How does one live in Canada now? Unless you're already rich? Work yourself to death>? Most people are clinging to the edge of a high cliff with stiff fingers that are constantly being crushed and lifted off one-by-one-by-one-by household debt and plethoras of payments. In order to let go and take flight with angel's/demon's(?) wings you've got to first figure out a way to get the splinters of compound interest out from under your fingernails, jackknife and tweezers gripped in a free hand, whilst the other clings to the cliff under the weight of a bankers' boot. Got a few switchblades now and I'm about ready to cut the motherfuckers leg off!! Don't worry mate, it's just a metaphor... Seems like every time I get out of debt, it's time to upgrade the education and spend another 10-40 grand in the name of 'professional development'. Yeah, right. Not anymore mate. I'm finished with your BS post secondary education scam. Nothing more you can teach me I can't teach myself... I'm as much an asset here as any of your Phd's, who are welcomed in to stand at the front of a room full of educators and say 'none of you is qualified to be here' like it's not the biggest load of horseshit ever to come out of a person's mouth. So you can focus on text, analyze data, schmooze it with the tenured staff, and put up with mountains of BS – that's what it takes to make it through grad school baby. Good for you. You might even have a portion of true genius, who knows? Anyone who's got that sheepskin from a reputable university has my respect for what it took. But the greatest of my qualifications come from places beyond rational comprehension. Spend a few precious minutes talking with me in the right place at the right time under the right circumstances and you may understand. I have had direct insight of the unknowable, incomprehensible beyond. You can see it in my eyes if you look closely.  Intuition persists. The paradox of everything and nothing is wound up in subatomic particle physics around the DNA helix at the core of my body/soul like a constantly healing evolving double headed snake, a burning flame in the darkness of a spiritual landscape beyond the written/spoken language of man. I've seen things - and I'm not the only one. At the risk of quoting some demonic entity from a Hollywood movie, we are legion!!! A titanic ego that lives in the constant utter absence of ego, I am. Paradox. Oblivion. Ecstasy. The piper at the gates of dawn, outside and beyond time and space – playing scales of sweet delight on a guitar made of purest manifest thought, shed of all pretense. I might come crawling back for that sheepskin at some point so I can get the cushy university gig in Korea. (???!!) Bad joke – no punch line...?  Is this some kind of wind up to savage lurid tales of entheogenic drug frenzy nights?  Boogie Nights?  Nights on Broadway?!!  Why yes, yes it is... I'll be telling a few hair raising tales of ribaldry from Saudi and Bahrain soon...  What a long strange trip it's been...
Full on...ship of night...Grateful Dead...Above and Beyond...Event Horizon...and then?  Another morphing moment savor sublime segue stretch and you arrive at yourself – in peace and happiness – and all is well...for an infinite transient time of hope and bliss...

-Grayson.

SELECT DESERT SONGS FOR WEARY TRAV'LERS AND SPIRITUALLY ENLIGHTENED BEINGS OF HUMOR AND LIGHT, PART I.

MUSIC IS HARAM. Grayson, 2012 – A7 Ska.

Music is haram!!

Music is haram!!

Camel, camel trucker.

Camel, camel trucker.

Oooooh yeah, camel fucker.

Music is haram!!

Every morning, camel milk.

Every morning, smooth as silk.

Every morning, sucking eggs.

Hard boiled wonderland, is my life!!

Haramco!! Haramco!! Music is Haramco!!

King Abdullah and Caffeine (and Thayne?!!!) – are my masters!!

Disasters, circumvent. Contingency. Running HOT.

Time and Space. Blues from a Gun.

My camels. On the Run.

Out in the desert. The Universe.

A grain of sand. Plastic penguins.

Drowning sorrows, across the land.

Haramco!! Haramco!! Music is Haramco!!

Beware of CEO!! Music is Haramco!!

Camel, camel trucker.

Camel, camel fucker.

Black fusion, Earth and Soul.

Go faster, you never know!!

Music is Haramco. Let's GO!!!

GTFO!!

GTFO.

Right. So this one will be somewhat link-heavy and (utterly) slightly mad. 

Don't worry about it.  I've not got Nietszche's syphalis (yet), I'm not trapped in the onanistic discursive outhouses of expat (dysentry) cliche, and I'm staying slightly ahead of the bloody clicking jaws of hell grinding at my heels.  All's well...ish.  Tap the highlighted bits for links if you want more information on whatever particular topic you're looking at.  Have FUN for Gord's sake - you've only got so long...

 

This is what 40 liters of liquid sunshine looks like...
Red grape and apple-pear cider - 6 and 3 weeks old, SWEET...

Jonesin in Salalah.

I just got here and I feel like I need to get the hell out of here – so much for getting the fuck out. Salalah is lovely – blazing sun, gorgeous beaches, sweet female college students, jellyfish, bilharzia - that's “Bill Harzia” – your most unpleasant wadi host – parasitic snail disease), hyenas, leopards, impoverished hungry eyes in posh 5 star establishments, ubiquitous SUV's, Pakistanis holding back room cock+dog fights, underground heroine problems, massive port city, palm trees, sand, sand, more sand, green hills after summer monsoons, huge corporate shopping centers (Carrefour, Home Center), Indians on bicycles, fabulous Turkish restaurants, Arabic loudspeakers blasting prayers from the Koran, fresh bananas and coconuts in waterfront street stalls, etc.!!! Things always get pretty quiet in the 30 degree midday heat. BTW: For anyone planning on being in Sa'ada, Salalah, the best chicken tikka sandwich is at Marmara Al-Turkey restaurant in the Al-Mashoor market – AND – word to the trav'ler - Siam Kitchen http://siamkitchen.org/ is now closed – been closed for over 6 months now – and people are still showing up!!   It may re-open, and I may be part owner and/or kitchen manager - time will tell - there's been a very tentative offer.  I'm making around $1000 more (/month) than the standard average teaching wage in Korea, and $2000 less than the standard hell-wage in Saudi – and around $5000 less than the better starting wages for Saudi employees at places like ARAMCO and TQ.  I need the higher flow, but lifestyle is worth a lot when it comes to your peace of mind. A kitchen gig on the side bringing decent coin would make Salalah do-able for awhile – but – at this point in the line of thinking you have to consider the social scene here (or lack thereof), and what other opportunities exist. Also, knowing what I know about the U.S. federal reserve and our current monetary system$$$, why the FECK should I bother to work at all?  I can deal with a lower wage if there's a good music and social scene and something exciting happening on the side. Another year in an Islamic country and I may go totally fucking insaaaaane. Most people here are decent, peaceful, caring human beings. However. The ones in charge seem to be sanctimonious hypocritical assholes, not unlike our current leaders in the West. Sweeping generalization?  Yes, but if the shoe fits...exceptions aside...  It's a grim, untenable situation for all but those who've already cashed in their souls for hard capital gains. Bottom line East side – Sharia law – a man can (multiple) rape, burn, and murder his 5 year old daughter on the suspicion she's not a virgin, and get away with a minor penalty while the whole world looks on in horror – more like remains blissfully ignorant while it's locally swept under the carpet - this will NOT be on the 6 o'clock news in Canada. I find it hard to believe that the Prophet Mohammed or Sunnah tenets would allow this. How can this be?  Would he even have been sentenced if the story had not drawn international attention?  How about the Saudi student who got away with killing 6 expat children in Jubail last year - whisked away by family - no known penalty - no information whatsoever.  I was an eye witness to that accident and can't believe the driver survived - the SUV was crumpled like a twisted metal accordion.  Cranking Type-O-Negative 'Dead Again' is the only thing that makes sense tonight. Bottom line West side – Harper is selling out to corporate America as fast as the Canadian people will let him. Checks and balances? Yeah, right. Meanwhile, the news out of Japan is slim, while TEPCO messes about with reactor 4 and the future of the entire human race hangs in the balance. Sound dramatic? If that thing goes, and sets off a chain reaction with the rest of the storage pools, it will be THE END...

14000X Hiroshima, 85X Chernobyl.  One HELL of a wienie roast.

An extended nuclear winter for the entire planet. I'd say that's cause for dramatic rhetoric!!! If you think this is exaggeration or fear mongering, you've not been paying proper attention to alternative news sources. The Pacific ocean is dead. Seriously??!!! This is not a joke, and does not require a million dollar grant for a 5 year project of empirical scientific verification – it's bloody obvious and plainly visible. Not all is well with the world today. I still believe in the power of caring people – behead me if you like – post it on facebook – show it to your children – no worries – it's not like they have a future anyway.  The so-called 'Illuminati' must be having a ball. Nice one. Kickass. CASTRATION!!  DOUBLE CASTRATION!! Warning, this post contains extremely graphic content and may be upsetting. Stop reading now. How much is too much? Truth? What truth? Yours or mine?  Objective Truth? That'll be clarified very soon by forces well beyond you and I.......

 For now – stay on target!!  

What's your point? 

 

LOVE those rabbit ear balloons... 

$$$ is the root of all evil?

Everyone teaching here in Salalah wants to make more money. So why are they here? Unwilling or unable to move on. Physically damaged? Socially or psychologically incapable of 'getting something better'? Then there are those who are already deeply accomplished intelligent expats who've chosen to settle here. My first impression was 'decadent expats rotting on the vine' but there is something more going on here behind the scenes, something interesting. Usually is if you look a bit closer. There seems to be a lot of fatalism towards the culture of our hosts – which is fine as a matter of respect – and it's a safe, peaceful location which is great. I have been warmly welcomed by the local Omani's of Salalah, but as a temporary, visiting foreigner. I don't think this status would change much if you decided to remain long term – Arabs are powerfully tribal and I'm learning more about the intricacies of what this means and how it developed over history. Actually, Leon Uris' book 'The Haj' has done more to inform me so far than any other single source (book review to come). Apparently he had a Jewish background – will have to factor this in to my analysis.

I did some research yesterday morning regarding ocean currents in Salalah, and learned that if you're tied to the ocean in any way, Salalah is a fascinating spot. The 'Khareef' (rainy season) in July, August, and September shoots storms southwest along the coast, which causes massive deep water upswelling by way of Ekman transport, the Ekman spiral, and the coriolis effect. This causes a huge phytoplankton bloom, which brings small feeders and bigger fish who feed on them. It's brilliant!! In December there is a sort of counter-storm, in which storms moving north-east cause the opposite ocean current, with less powerful upswells moving from the northeast on south. This originally became of interest to me because of my knowledge regarding dumping of toxic sludge into the waters of Somalia. Somalian pirates have been using this as an excuse for years, and the international community has lent some credence to the notion via independent studies by NGO's along the coast, especially after the 2008 tsunami, when empty storage containers washed up on shore. There is wide speculation regarding the Italian mafia underground buying toxic waste from global corporations, then making it quietly (inexpensively) disappear off the Somalian coast. Trafigura is the only company caught red handed so far, and this was off the Ivory Coast of Africa. It's only slightly more nasty than the Corexit the U.S. government threw into the gulf to assist BP in covering up the full extent of the massive oil spill there.  If there is any truth toxic waters offshore of Somalia, with the prevailing ocean currents headed this way, and I'm considering spearfishing here, and eating local fish regularly, I want to study the toxicity levels of the fish!! This would make a great thesis topic, and I know the Omani and regional governments have a vested interest and are probably conducting private research. My only concern at this point (when looking at that as an option) is that doing an M.a./Phd on this topic could get me killed by Somalians!! We have a flotilla of 'pirates' offshore from Salalah, and my expat friends here with oceanfront properties sometimes sit and watch the ships pull out with their security escorts and run the gauntlet to get past the Somalian pirate blockade!! This is an ongoing thing!! Some interesting opportunities exist here for the entrepreneur willing to take a little risk. The place is slowly blooming – there's a general boom – entire subdivisions are popping up overnight – one year and whole new neighborhoods are appearing - with European and Arabian tourists flocking to hotels like the Crown Plaza in Da'hariz. But there is little-to-no social scene at present. Much as it may be the 'one true religion' for millions, Islam is not good for night life. There's nothing exciting happening here beyond one small expat bar at the port with a nonexistent music scene and expensive drinks (that get less overpriced as the owner realizes you're a 'local'). So you might run into an Asian hooker and get lucky on a good night, but otherwise you're on your own, bud...I was thinking to overhaul the place with some decent tunes – win over the locals with my particular brand of musical charm, but from all accounts, there is no appreciation for music here at all!! 

Inconceivable......

10 hours by car, BIG thanks guys, what a blast.

WE CAN'T STOP HERE, THIS IS BAT COUNTRY!!!

One last comment on the general boom in Salalah – Omani oil has about 15-20 years before it runs out – and there is no water here at all. Tourism is doing great right now, but when the economy dies after the oil runs dry, who will want to visit a 5 star hotel surrounded by desperately poor Indians, Pakistanis, Somalians, Philipinos, etc... The gorgeous beaches here are full of 'brown people' happy to live on a few dollars a day for now, but when the money runs dry, what then? Take a look at Yemen to get an idea about the future of Oman – unless the (apparently flaming) Sultan Qaboos has some radically innovative wild card up his sleeve. Arabs are not known for hospitality when the chips are down. In general yes, Sunnah tradition is great and all guests are treated with honor and respect – but when times are desperate, doors will be closed, and chaos will reign in the streets. I don't think my graceful, beautiful, fashion conscious college students have a clue that this economic, political, and social apocalypse is potentially coming to their country within their lifetimes.  The sense of lazy privilege particularly in the male students seems bizarre - culturally conditioned - I'm trying to get a sense of where they're coming from, but man...  For now they have Wifi and smartphones and assuredly comfortable futures through excellent family connections. Really? Bless them, I hope they have a future worth living for. Of course, their only stock answer to this? “Inshallah.”

Now for a little self-depreciating humor.

May you find peace and contentment in Allah, the compassionate, the all powerful one true God.  I haven't had a single non-commercial, voluntary, mutually agreed upon and enjoyable physical encounter with a woman since moving to the Middle-East, not in a year and a half. Have I paid for it? As much as this blog is uncensored and 'alternative' and going to stay that way, I'm not up to writing the steaming hot juicy-as-fuck red-light-column just yet. Is this an 'obviously, yes'? Na – but it doesn't rule out the maybes... At least I could make some money for a change writing smut – more than playing the clubs in a rock band for endless booze? Who knows. Not the sort of thing to brag about right?  No worries, I've had a blessed charmed life with women – guess it's the hand of fate dealing me some desert contemplation.  Time to reflect and plan - study - enjoy the silence.  But it does cause inevitable moodswings – like the most intense Full Metal Jacket in-your-face-type moodswings, “They are ready to eat their own guts and ask for seconds”. So many great quotes in this movie, but I know this one in my SOUL now. This place is death to singles – the whole Arab world is death to single male expats. Get used to abstinence and solitude...

Just Kill me now.

Nice one, fatalist. Washed up suicide wanker? Not on your bloody life. Death and oblivion are inevitable – better than another year of head down busywork and escapism? Sure, why not. Who needs suicide anymore – it's just a matter of time before the world does you in baby, just ride the wave with everyone else – we're all heading for a heavily reinforced brick wall at 800 mph anyway. What happens when an unstoppable projectile meets an insurmountable force?   Something RADICAL.

A KOSMIC REVOLUTION OF MIND, BODY, AND SPIRIT.

Beyond the wall the doors of oblivion

mark the end of the beginning,

The beginning of the end,

and back again...

You know?

BIG LOVE,

-Grayson. 

XXXX

Hiking the Wadi, Mirbat, Oman.

Hiking a Wild mountain Wadi into the Jabal Samhan Leopard Sanctuary, West of Mirbat.

Halfway up – sooo thankful for the cloudy skies – it was 30 celcius and the sun was scorching on the lower slopes.  The pack weighed about 20 kilograms with 7 liters of water in it – which was slowly disappearing as we went. The return trip the next day was considerably lighter. A LOT less water weight!! I picked up some WHO supplied and recommended electrolyte powder at the pharmacy night before – great to throw into a few liters on the hike. Funny how salty powdered electrolytes are!! Salt helps with the absorption of water apparently. As we climbed the final stairs to the top – noticing that someone had laid down concrete to the top of the cliffs – the clouds came whipping along past us bringing cool relief.

Some abandoned shell cases. Omani's love their guns like most Arabs – check out the 'Battle of Mirbat' for some history – I'll be checking out the castle there soon– and visiting the fishing harbor seafood restaurant again – Mirbat is famous for it's fishing grounds and lunch by the ocean after 2 days of hiking was Amazing!! Good fresh fish. I'm stoked to get in the water and do a bit of spearfishing, but I'm REALLY curious about the toxicity levels coming up from Somalian waters.  Haven't found any data online relating to this yet. It's something to consider and there might be some research on that in the next post here...

The wadi – we slept right down under the left eye of the old man's eye socket in the rock face opposite. It's a little hard to get the scale looking at this pic. If I were standing in the eye socket over there, I'd be about 2mm high – those 'bushes' down there are trees!! The scale here is pretty massive... At this point in the hike I was sunburned and walking on an ankle that had been sprained only 3 weeks previous – slow going with caution was crucial on such rough terrain. This was the 8^th hour of hiking!!  Ohya – consider – pirates, refugees, all kinds of wanderers great and small have used these caves for centuries, but we didn't see a soul after entering the wadi – just the Somali refugees at the head. Of course, I can't help but think... TREASURE!!! I'm going spelunking if we ever get back up there. Of course, it's risky country. But after we had a small fire going and some tea, looking up at the stars, it was amazing. A different feeling than camping in the West. Same sky, different wilderness... Wherever you go – there you are!!

We were just drifting off to sleep and the coals were dying when we heard the first 'YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO'.  A few minutes later there was another distant 'yoooooooooooooo'.  5 of them came toward us from 3 different directions, and it wasn't until we heard a 'YOOOOOOOOOOO YIP YIP' about 50 feet off that we jumped up to build up the fire inside our wadi cave.  My hiking companion and I speculated about what was watching us while I held a very large, heavy meat cleaver close.  It was the only weapon I'd brought along, for use in dire (mortal) emergency.  My first thought was Arabian leopards and I was excited (and alarmed) but they usually hunt alone.  We had a pack converging on us.  We're fairly certain through process of elimination that they were striped hyenas.  I'm glad they backed off and left us alone, and I actually slept fairly well after awhile...  In retrospect, I wish I'd gone out to greet them (and see what they were!!) - after the exhaustion of the 8 hour hike and the beauty of the fire and starlit sky, I simply wanted to avoid any conflict.  I think the animals may have felt the same way.  This range is in the Jabal Samhan wildlife reserve, and technically off limits to non conservation officers.  American Andy and I are experienced eco-travelers and we left little footprint behind - we're pseudo-locals - the mountains are pretty desolate and not many people make the 8 hour climb for fun!!  The only wild animals I actually saw were hyraxes - adorable chubby surprisingly fast rabbit-gerbil creatures.  Yum!!   

 

The massive face of the old man in the desert. We camped the night under his right eye down below here...and yes, this is where I pulled out my phone and played

'YOU SHOOK ME ALL NIGHT LONG'  

while putting a little fire together to brew some tea.  It had never, nor will ever be heard in this place again...  Unless...

It was exciting to realize that I'd discovered the Frankincense trees in their natural ecosystems – and picked some resin right off the bark to put on the coals of our fire later. Beautiful smell – available in all the local markets here in Salalah, but not easy to find in the wild. It's an 8 hour hike to find wild trees that haven't been picked clean.  Incredibly, I picked up a 20 ounce bag for 1 Omani Riyal at the waterfront market – that's about $2.75 Cdn. - incredible. That's enough to last me months - burning every weekend.  Light up a little charcoal, drop on a few nugs, and the room fills with the most appealing smoke – technically not narcotic, great for meditation and contemplation.

Interesting rock formations – a geologist would have LOVED this hike. Some FASCINATING ROCKS!! I took this one for COOP...and all the hamsters and gerbils I've known and loved...

I see these all the time in Salalah – been wondering if they're 'Monarch' butterflies...?  Back to work after 10 days off...  Hope everyone here had a good  
Eid al Adha 
- it's been a welcome time to reflect and plan. 
   

"Eid al-Adha commemorates the Prophet Ibrahim’s sacrifice of his son, Ishmael, to Allah as an act of obedience. Allah spared Ishmael after seeing Ibrahim's devotion and instead gave him a sheep to kill. In the Bible version, he is named Abraham and it is Isaac, not Ishmael, who is almost sacrificed.
The three-day festival also marks the end of Hajj, the annual pilgrimage to Mecca in Saudi Arabia, Prophet Muhammad's birthplace. Muslims are expected to make the pilgrimage once in their lifetimes."

 Next Post: GTFO!!!