Playa Notes

This week’s “zombie” post reminded me that writing this blog can be fun, and it occurred to me that, lately, this blog has had more emphasis on the “serious” and less on the “silly”. And the last thing I want this blog to be is something that makes people think, “Jeez, that guy’s gotten so preachy – what happened to the days when Terry was fun?”

I like to think that this blog is just a reflection of my real life, and I try to write as truthfully and transparently as possible. And the space I’m in on my journey does seem to place a lot of emphasis on the spiritual, on admitting my human frailty and flaws, on the awakening consciousness — and all that shit. But as evidenced by that last sentence, I like to laugh, I like to be offbeat, and I like to be weird. And I don’t want to lose sight of that just because I happen to be growing up mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

So it is with this in mind that I give you — the random musings jotted down in my little pink journal that I carried with me everywhere at Burning Man this year. Similar to last year’s “P.S. Bullet Points” post, these notes are occasionally cryptic even to me, but most are linked to one-of-a-kind experiences that will never come my way again, thus making them priceless memories. Read On


And Nothing But the Truth

Some random truths about me:

I think life is sweet, but it is significantly sweeter on Saturday mornings.

I have freckles all over my body and they help disguise the fact that my skin’s color approximates the underside of a carp.

Without music, my sense of joy would go from grape to raisin in less than 5 days, and from raisin to moldy speck of goo in less than 20.

Beautiful women simultaneously delight and terrify me.

I can press my palms to the floor without bending my knees.

I have a tendency to love my children more than myself.

While fixing my bike yesterday, I inadvertently sunburned the “coin slot” above the crack of my ass.

I would have no trouble consuming 10,000 calories a day, and the only thing preventing me from doing so is the knowledge that I would end up as one of those shut-ins who cannot get out of bed and has to wash himself with a rag on a stick.

At my most wrathful, the only thing that prevented me from committing murder is the awareness that I’m not smart enough to get away with it.

Clowns are fucking creepy, period. No that’s not an opinion.

I am not afraid to hug men in public.

I just wrote then deleted something and posted this sentence instead.

I like to watch.

I am a Lover, a Warrior, a Magician, a King.

I will skydive before I die. I hope the interval between the two events is years instead of seconds.

I can use automatic sprinklers to help explain my connection to God.

All my troubles stem from a sense of grandiose inferiority.

I will like you until you give me reason not to.