The Mr.Nobody Podcast: Season 2

Here's a thought. I have finally become the father I would want to be for you. Ironic. Today I woke up from a dream. I thought I knew how to fight, then I found out I didn't I am remaking myself. You would love this. Ironic.    

  In this document, I bring together my studies in shamanism, psychology,, religion, prehistory and archeology and process the material through my personal work with grief and ancient healing rituals that use entheogens. I composed all the music but for a few sound effects and quoutes. I like to think of these pieces as dreamscapes, that allow for a broad pallet to explore difficult emotions. Use headphones. Thank you to my Profesor and advisor. Mark S.    

Thank you so much for sharing this journey. I share a primal fear and two dreams in this episode. I feel like he's playing the guitar sometimes, thru me. Same thing with  training, it's an altered state, a symbolic language of human geometry. Don't give up.  I share a book that laid on my night stand for 2 months annd then opened my mind to a new and yet ancient worldview. A see a path. And I weave in a few standards for fun. Enjoy    

What I would tell my son if he were alive. I imagine a radical art project. I can't seem to talk about the training. I don't trust the system. How did we get here.  He's is at the bottom, what can I do? Did I push you too much? Pythagoaras was murdered by a mob. How do I undo me?    

After my son died, I became aware of an inner life that I'd hidden from myself. At points I was certainly experiencing an altered state, I went in and out for weeks and months of catatonic moments and welcomed them to the waking-reality of my son's overdose death. I make these episode to reflect the delirium of an inner state, reflecting my subconcious. Having experienced profound altered states, I wonder if I could drum myself into a trance, from waking to dreaming. I had a breakthru in my training after many weeks of pressure. I play tomorrow night. Every gig is important. Miss you son.    

I'm heading into the serious portion of this semester of a masters program. Lot's to read and consider. I'm concentrating on Shamanism, from the archeological, material and anthropological perspective for a while and then shifting to more experimental approaches.  My second focus is on fighting competancy and all that implies and entails. In addition to training, I'm reading inspiring books (Touching the Void). Everyday I'm pushed to my limit in search of honesty, efficientcy and good strategy. I am humbled by my living-experience.  

Thanks for reading.  I try to explain my current horizon. looking forward across an unknown. My teachers have found me, more will follow. I love making the music for this, the sonic element helps my use words. I want to understand. How do I do that? thank you 

It's been 18 months since my last release. I needed time to come into my new mindset. My experience in the Amazon has been profoundly transformative and the well-being overall has not left me. I still grieve, but in a different way. I can describe it as a living Conversation with my son. Trippy. I'm 2/3rds thru a masters degree using a cross-disciplinary approach to grieving and self-recovery. Amazingly, I've been greenlighted to integrate my somatic work in MMA, Jazz guitar, Shamanic studies and Stoic philosophy using my body mind as the laboratory.   I miss you son.

Thank you for listening to my difficult journey. I feel it's time for me to move on. I have forgiven my son with all my heart. It's deeper than that, we've reconciled. isn't that strange? It is for me. I had a profound mystical experience. I know I will grieve him all my life, but there's a twist now. Please accept my deepest gratitude for your ears, mind and heart. I don't know what's next. Who does?    

I play a song my teacher taught me. I'll train you, we'll give it away. You are a good father, we're beyond that. I forgive you with all my being. You are me. How can this be?

La Selva: Part 2 My second ceremony consisted in running interference. A Russian Hare Krishna bully attempts to hijack the umbrella. It fell to me to handle a situation. What would my son do?, He would not have allowed abusive behavior. One turd intimidated the compound. I gave him another option. Bullies won't stop on their own. I came a long way for this surprising task.      

Allow. Astonishment. Fear. The smiling face of a warrior. We fused into one life. I tried to avoid you, then we superimposed. I raised my eyes and received the teachings. Ravished. Dad...don't forget. I'm sorry. I love you.  

I'll be in the Rain, Forrest. Letting go of your ashes. Surrending mine. I'm there yet, but I will be. Things like this don't happen to me. or do they? I'll be asking a question that doesn't have an answer. Going Dark.

I mention a potion. The love I feel for him. Admixtures, mush and slipping. My knows, my body doesn't. The word start comes up. One flower pushing up through the concrete. It wasn't an accident, he was leaving. On this day.  

The more I learn, The less I know. What's worth dying for? Opium, Mandrake, Cannabis? Junkies die a recreational death without ceremony, artless. I didn't know, I circle. I can't know. Is there a god? There are thousands, we create them, they use us. Fire, wind, water. Preverbal. A Void

The Aftermath. 30 days of hanging out my window. Now hold on a minute! I Chronicle my dope fiending.  I make harsh connections, I may have killed my son. No ceremony, just dumbing myself down. He was holding it like a jewel. Vacuum cleaners dying inside. But everybody isn't like you.  Wasting decades. Too late now.          

I smoked weed for a month. A duet. A Forgiveness Program. Let the guitar tell you. Don't seek Credit. I scrambled my brain for a month. A liquid melting chessboard. Point Zero. Glowing Coals. A text message. My son and I used to use a vape pen together. We need to speak with you today.      

A primordal thing. What question could I ask? You can't prepare for it. What were you trying to tell me? There is a fly under the piano keys. Awake me. Nothing is separate there. It's better not to talk about it. You were concerned about something. Out of my body. Untethered.  

Maybe you can. This is a program, a memorial. 100 00 00 It doesn't have to mean anything. What a loss, is it wrong? Entertainmant or something else. His first fight. She danced it. I know he would have said somthing like...  

Quicksand, I'm usually wrong. Each thru my other eyes. yellow bird. Dead end, Green bird. I'm using my eyes. The Juice. The clinic. I'm usually wrong      

It took a few years for me to read this short story. He wrote it before he died.  

I bought some food for a guy. Masks. Listen. Birds sing at night. Do you believe in god? Stop. Am I wrong? It's in my nature.  

Here's what happened. Whole Foods. A billion dots. I thought I might die. He had it coming. What is the nature of getting high? I surprised myself. I hit the switch. A habit is not a skill. My son visited me, a shower curtain away. I forgot. Behold my hypocrisy. What the f.    

Saying goodbye a little everyday. A beautiful life, one to celebrate. She, my son and eye... Does she know you died? Dark days, communicating through song. Pootie. Rituals She's fearless, still alive. Blown out, shot, hunting, she has a pet human. She's one of the last links to my son. My teacher. With her, something is right in the world.        

That's not fair! Who are your parents? 4 grains too many. I'm arrogant... even saying so is arrogant Technology turns you into a machine. My Fiction I try to solo in a mental buffet. meaning requires differences. it's complex

Does anything mean anything outside of our meaning making? It was like an acid trip. Basket weaving. As if time was woven. The feathers are just symbols. A spider fights to survive. The plumber cuts a pipe. My feelings don't constitute facts. I'm closed-minded. My fiction.

You would be turning 29 now. He insisted I listen to Alan Watts, so I do. 1000 years of guitar. We are a stream of gas...wut??? We're not who we think we are. I made myself into a drunk, I managed to find a way out in the Library. Mirrors are indifferent. I miss you so much on your birthday, every day. The you that lived.

I hear your man crying. It feels really really weird. Danger in immanent. I lost her for 2 minutes. Hey Monster! We're fractals. I made a promise to their father.

A tone poem of sorts. My Daughter called me as I was composing. She was washing dishes. The microphone was on, so I listened. This life. The trees were alive and beautiful. We're always going to miss him. Something happens...ya know? It's hard to put into words. This life.    

Stagnation. I asked a friend for feedback, It was nutritious. The truth is not eloquent. I edit in real-time. I use my son's death to go in circles. Funky and stupid musical language. I blab about reading..is that a thing? I feel an obligation. Inside out. Hastings. 1066        

I have triple standards. Grief is unreasonable. Overdose is a choice. Die for something good. He could have become. I chose to initiate myself as a new person, to live with a broken heart. To be consoled by reality  

Right, so I'm nudging myself to make a break from the past. Specifically my grievance with my son and what he choose. There's no easy or simple way to proceed, or is there? Perhaps It is as simple as allowing my actions to reflect a choice about what I will live for. I'm bored with being half committed to life and using his senseless death as an excuse. Being angry is addictive. It easier to hate than to love. I'm exploring this process privately, well, except for this this.

What was his name? Everybody has a podcast. Almost talking to him. Major and minor. Pathetic. Every moment is special...Huh... I play with the puppets in my mind. To me it means something, Time is the only thing we have. Choices.

I wanted to save my father. Social work and timelines collide. Trauma is generational. Sometimes there is no answer. He was only 17 when he lost his father...to murder. Can we control our thoughts? It's not ok, but it can be. For him.

Playing solo today on a little carbon fiber nylon string guitar. I use minimal background tracks. This experience ranges from weird to sublime. I record my walk, set-up and commentary as I drag myself out there. The day was sweet, sunny and peaceful. The guitar almost plays itself.  I remember how much I dreamed about playing music with my son.  He was a sensitive and creative budding Guitarist.  My wife played a whole year like this before I tried it. Usually playing like this is a "last resort" for musicians but I'm amazed at how many great players are doing it now! I created this collage of the experience all the music and the sounds are from the day. I confess things and play from my silent soul. It was cathartic.  

Realizing you were never born. Twisting and turning. Suddenly he gave up. Is everything a game of words? Grief is religious. I never knew myself. I face two little coffins...use them. It's a ghost. Walk on me.  

I was afraid for his life. A fence made out of iron spears. He gives me some boxing pointers. "and then you gotta have that realization, the fights over" Any addiction is self-imposed slavery. I hear his laugh, I feel his voice. A passacaglia underscores my confessions of envy. I'm forced to awaken to a sharper reality.x I'm allowing it, hear the sounds from a distant island.    

How may I help you? Are we responsible for our actions? How does this work? I sweet talked (manipulated) my way into many opportunities. I had a pot farm. Private school, gigs, college, art making, steady job: It seemed like life was going our way. pills... remember I'm here to help you. I'm responsible. what now? I can't understand you.

He died 4 years ago tonight. I recount a sort-of near death experience, with a gun. I gave his car away, his most adult possession. Drugs don't kill, people kill. Addiction turns your brain into a weapon you turn against yourself.  I was and still am selfish. What could make this possible?

It has been 4 years since I've seen my son  I listen to my Shaman, he doesn't even know he's a shaman what is it?  what happened?  where are you now?  are we just our memories? say it again. I've been trying to keep you alive. 

What is you emergency? Is overdosing selfishness? I don't think they're breathing right now, bruh. Not a legit emergency. What is our civic responsibility? I find a man passed out in his car with the car door wide open. drooling. It's my life, It's my responsibility, it's my fault. Leverage your shame and fight.

All This while weeping out loud. What good is your mind without your body Meth-head trout are just like us I explore the word "soul" I am terrified to confront my own origins  I speak to an unidentified brother I tap dance around the truth Are we all one organism?  I my son overdosed me as well as himself we were an ecosystem

Words are how we deceive each other. What if god's first utterance was "meh"? Our experience of reality is not ultimate reality. I face my lying self, I deceived my son with lies mixed with truth and half-truths about myself. I help 3 children bury their father's bones, we created our own ritual in the pure moment. Is my guitar lying? No one really has a name...meh      

I visit projections of my departure I hear birds  I visited a jiujitsu factory I search for my path with eyes closed I embrace a stranger who shares your name click I face a terrible thought

I take the train to where we lived. You became a Pawn in a business model I couldn't stay in your room son.  I confess to bringing you into a world of parental conflict, I'm sorry. I saw your bike and heavy-bag collecting dust in the garage  I found the guitar I left for you the week before you died. I've gone too far many times, you went too far with the world most deadly drug. I'm just an animal. I should have known,.. could I have saved you.. from yourself?       

I wanted a gun, I explore how that wiggled my brain What if men feared violence from women? What if aliens kept us as pets? Sometimes thing going wrong are the most fun. I get a phone call from my daughter. Who should have guns and why? certainly not criminals or idiots. I roll around in my ignorance... It's astounding. "The song of a thrush gets buried alive"   

Ready? here we go... The Song Is You An Accordion, a sax player and park jazz Begging for dollars, selling sound Storks visit What was I trying to sell my son? Polish your jewel even if no one ever sees it.  

Hi There I got into this to retaliate  Do our words really create reality? Knowledge is based on experience not faith The Grand Canyon, floor 59 and the mystery cults there is only the now in my wicked dreams I explore immortality, I cry when he died I felt an ecstasy beyond my form enjoy my priestess... ok      

Might be our last. I lost my rage...where? I sew a body back together with..remember.. A call from my daughter  I transcend my own understanding and it's odd I taped my son and I having our last face to face conversation  What has changed? every conversation could be my last

Good Cry... I reprise a song I wrote about my children years ago I was drowning in passions Intoxicated, I explore my narcissism is trying to get somewhere a vice? water. I don't know what this all means yet.. I miss you son, I will see your sister and begin a jiujitsu school tomorrow, I will be thinking of you. Dad

What do I do with my life? It's up to me I take Julio's advice I recall my helping my son when he was little with something uncomfortable  he teaches me  It happens as I play..  It's at an angle I don't know where I'm going but I make 2 choices ...I'm sorry he beat me the last time meaning, in lower-case letters