Venti

Hey, yo.  

So God is love.  And love is a man of war.  And this man of war is a serial killer.  And only this serial killer is good.   And I don’t believe in God.   I believe in me.   I’m better.   If you want to worship me, that’s fine.   But I’m not God, necessarily.  I’m not an avatar of Zurvan.  I’m just Jesse Teshara.   Jesse Lawrence Teshara.   Not the other guy.  I’m a buddhist.  Which means I believe I don’t exist.   I mean, I don’t have a self.  I have a body.   Which changes, daily.   Food in, excretion out.   Another day closer to death.  So I’m human, and I’m a deity, like Jesus, but I have no intention or desire to go out like that.  I’m better according to the criteria of the Bible, itself.   Thou shalt not kill.   Well, I accidentally crashed my car and killed my sister.   But it wasn’t intentional.   I’ve been kind of undead ever since.  And my mom is schizophrenic.  So I’ve got those genes.  I’m a telepath, too.  Yawn.   Yada, yada, yada, always about me.  What about you?   God made you too.  Your parents made love.  What a boring fucking blog.  The premise is I’m a deity, and so can you?  Like self-help empowerment or something?  But everybody just thinks I’m crazy.   Which I am.  But only God is good.  And God doesn’t exist unless you play the role.  And there’s a zillion Gods, not just one.  Unless everybody’s me.  I’m nobody.  My mind is a blank unless I’m talking, writing, reading.  Dreaming or thinking.  Like you care.  I’m just meat, like everybody else.  We’re almost all carnivores.  I had a steak today, with sauce. And gummy bears.   And some LU cookies.  I did 420 pushups.  I went to the library.  I read some Dave Eggers.  My blog got 767 views today.  It’s the last day of the month.  I averaged 351 views a day this month.  Best month ever.   I like traffic.  My birthday is in 3 days.   I turn 52.  Christ Jesus.   Halfway, if I’m lucky.  I’ve got plenty to do.    Miles to go before I sleep.  

What do I really want to say.   Need to say.   It’s all bullshit.  People suck.  Everyone is ugly.  I’m 20-30 pounds overweight.  The gym is no fun.  Fucking crazy people everywhere.   Swimming can be painful.  The money for the beef for the hate.  Pre-diabetic and still gaining weight.  I don’t want to be fat, like fricking Donald.   I want to set an example.  Be in love.  Love each other;  love all, serve all.   Impossible...  Not a chance.  Roommates drinking alcohol, and coughing, and being annoying.  Rat droppings.  Silent treatment.  Christian delusion.  Just keep to myself.   Patricia and Karen, and Marlen and Austin, and Julie and Sam, and Teresa and Johnny, and Greg and Liz, and Sara and Pierre.   And me, myself, and I.   And David.   Ugh.  Mom and Rose and Vicki and Erin and Dan and Ben, Declan, Esme, Summer, Augie, Hugo, Miette, Electra, and the occasional text to Caitlin or Kate, and the memory of dead cats.  Whatever.  Edgar y Isabel y Victor.   Elias and Giorgio and Jackie and Irineo and Aaron ("the ghost") and Miguel and Michael.   Y moi.  The 11 of us.  

I want to visit Japan and Europe.   I want to publish.  I want to read the NYT and Economist, and all the books in my room, and on my lists.   I want to hear all the recommended music.  I don’t think it matters much.    Will I ever finish?  All my trivia, and the J! archive, too.  And the World Book encyclopedia.  I need discipline, and intensity, and engagement with the material, not just mental masturbation.  Okay, get to work, dude.  Just do it.   Live and let die.   Be good,  Only God is good.   So be God, then.   Or be bad.  Be the devil.  Be a monster.  Be a demon.  Eat meat every day, and hate everyone you want to, in this rotten, fuct up world, in a world of human wreckage.  Get up, stand up, don’t give up the fight.  Or whatever.  Who cares.   Sometimes I don’t.  We all just live and die, and none of it matters one bit, on this stupid planet.   I’m feeling absurd.   I’ve never believed in heaven.  Destination, death.  So it goes.

9/1

Good morning, folks!   Another lovely day, here in the Bay Area.  I’m off to Benicia again for 3 and a half days, to sit a house, and look after Junie.  Another lovely home.  I’ll turn 52 on Sunday.  Happy Birthday to me! Another trip around the sun.  Gonna have dinner at some point with Mom, after.  I have gifts for Ben and Declan.   I’m ready for Xmas.  I’ll go to the gym.   It’s almost 10a.  I slept in.  Boring!!  I’ll go get a bacon cheeseburger from the cafe by the park (Broom bush cafe).  A good meal.  Or maybe French toast.  (No, I got the burger).

Free Fallin'

I just re-read American Gods, by Neil Gaiman.   And Insane City, by Dave Barry.  And Freud and Beyond, by Mitchell and Black.   Now, I'm working on Heroes of the Frontier, by Dave Eggers.  The (newest, Saturday) Economist still isn't at the nearby branch library (Tarea Hall Pittman).   Nor is it at Doe library at Cal, yet.   And the GTU doesn't have newspapers, anymore.  Strike 3! 

Myths and legends, stories and poetry, deities and divine beings.   The truth is we’re just scum on the surface of a lonely  planet, in vast empty space.   Destined to die, all of us, like candles, or bubbles, or hourglasses, or stars (or even diamonds) (nothing lasts forever, except death).   Did spacetime itself arise (and will therefore end?).

Life is good.   Enjoy it while you can.  Even undead, is okay.

Vampire is an anagram of I’m a perv

Just like Britney Spears is Presbyterians

Re-arranged is a song by Limp Bizkit

   Butthole Surfers and Vampire Weekend 

      befouls thruster, knew veep admire

Life’s a long song.  Life is a cereal.  Life is a magazine.

Hate and love, and Haight and Louvre

Good and evil, God and Elvis

Alive! (an album by Oingo Boingo)

Grateful Dead (phew, I’m not in hell)

Gods arise, and are forgotten

Humanity evolves, shit happens, and progress

Annual revolution, around the sun, and the Son

Daily rotation, record spins, earth axis

The sun is light, but heavy (it weighs 4.4 MTT pounds)

   That’s million trillion trillion

Heavy man.  Some levity about angels.

Visions, dreams, miracles, and God’s eidetic imagination

(Or Morpheus’,  anyway)

God is love, and people make God

Tantric god-creation, of God the Creator

Abortions that kill god, and deicidal Satanists

Waiting for Godot, eating Godiva, watching Godzilla

Antichrist and Chris Tucker’s aunt

Only the good die young

Love never dies

All is impermanent

transitory, ephemeral, temporary

fleeting, transient, passing

No one lives forever, not even Jesus

Not even the vampires, down on Mulholland

gods create gods, gods slay gods

king of kings, god of gods, lord of lords

Just breathe

Do what thou wilt.   Actions have consequences.

Be good.  Don’t be evil.  Live and let live.

Die well.  No regrets.  Seize the day.

God bless.  Namaste.  Adios.  

Adios means “to god”.   Going to God is dying.

Groening says life is hell.  And Sartre, hell is other people.

   So good bye.  Good hello?  good gawd, y'all!

We are all dying, always.   Getting closer to death.

Live long and prosper.   May the force be with you.

May the farce be with you, too.  Happy happy, joy joy.

peace and love, Reeses pieces and Luvs diapers

Buddha eats gouda, doo-da, doo-da

Jesus is fishy, magic

Allah is all?  the lawyer submits, "that is all"

all law and no funny business

unless you're a comedian

   take myself? seriously?

all-father, one-eyed trouser snake

dental jokes:

why refuse novocaine?  wanted to transcend dental medication

what time was my dental appointment? tooth-hurty

    levity (I weigh 240 pounds; around 6'2")

levitate with hebetude, transition to magician

magi kicking CIA agent in the shin

magic, jick and jew (ick and ew) (144 is gross!)

color me badd

Red Ryder, Orange Julius, Mellow Yellow / yellow submarine, 

Green-eyed monster, Poor old blue / Blue Man group / blue meanies, 

Indigo Girls, Violet Beauregarde, Purple Rain, Maroon 5, King Crimson

Green Party, Gray Davis, Jerry Brown, White House, Black beauty

Red Hot Chili Peppers and yellow jello and mandarin oranges

collard greens, blueberries, purple drank

algo rhythm

Al Gore, Gore Vidal, Val Kilmer, Alger Hiss

algorithm, regalo (gift, in spanish), galore

regal O (omg), real go, AG lore, leo gal

ale grog

belief criteria:

do you believe in (my supposedly "kind," stupid pro-life ass) 

or

(bible god (YHHW), who killed 2m+, not including flood)?

    question: how many does god kill by not killing killers? (!)

he knows who, and he can, but he doesn't! (is one avenue of inquiry)

right??  (G-D has "gone dark")

I'm afraid of being phobophobic, lol

It's true, I'm afraid

fear of god, in my foghat

theophobic, afraid of myself, my own shadow -boo!

department of the interior !

inferior interior, and superior exterior, and vice versa

incide and outcide

Dairy Air

Assemblywoman Fani and Butthead

An oligarch named Ollie

hm, Herman Melville and Hun Manet

Abduction and abductor muscles

Mercenary warlord, have mercy, lord

A slave tent on the pavement

Paying shekels for Shrek

What did the ink say?  I spent time in the pen

Sex Pistols, Sean Penn, suppressive persons, and press secretaries

Lola from Hispaniola

Good Thames, good thames

Talking cars and cartels

Having a blast in the Oblast

Torrential rain in Torrance

Prime minister by night, a.m. by day

   Attacking midfielder, air Marshall

Nasir from Waziristan

god kills by not killing the killers

Murderers merger

obits in his orbit

bitch that habitually reads obituaries

Renata at the regatta

ballades and blogs

okie dokie is hokey, folks

dull, dirty, and dangerous jobs

mathletes doing verbal calisthenics

prosector, prosecutor, and persecutor

antichrist's anarchist anchorites

banality of annual anal

interlude to inter the lewd

inhabited by inhibition

self-control vs. being possessed vs. godslave

   be mine - valentine's day, 

   own your future - Tony Robbins 

   do you not know that you are not your own? -bible

   selling your soul on ebay, like Bart Simpson

What comes after modernism, postmodernism, contemporary?

   I mean, time DOES keep going forward!! (for millions of years and beyond)

Sha’carri’s electrifying performance

Carmen Electra and Sha’carri Richards and Frank Zappa

Workers, shirkers, berserkers, and irksome twirkers

assemblypersons, assayers, assassins, and assessors

Melissa, Melina, Melania, Melinda, Melanie, Melos, Melodiya

air-polluting exhaust and noise-polluting engines/music

Jim Jordan, Sergei Surovikin, fractured field, heavy-hitters, often lofty 

feuds and falsehoods, criminal cases, wailing/western wall

biker bar, political pilgrimage, gyros and heros, ciao chow

roubles and troubles, coupons and the coup is on

special relativity, and the "special" relative

the retard in the leopard leotard

I and I, issues and ideology

getting even with an audience

urine and anus, on Uranus

Anne y Mel are animals

Himmel and Hummel and Mark Hamill

   a family homily for Emily and Amelie

inclusion in the incursion

NYT says Guantanamo bay has 30 detainees and 900 guards (!)

Quan Ping or Kwon Pyong?  ping pong with king kong

   playing donkey kong in hong kong to honky-tonk

   playing bongos in the congo (not Togo or Tonga)

pancreatic cancer is so p.c.,  test day is so yesterday

shots: jiggers, guns, fist, cum, basketball

Mass occurs, and so do massacres

The holy trinity has 3 perspectives (tri-angles!)

   the Holy Spirit has two i's

mathematicians that make a difference!

Mathematicians held a summit this summer…

    but something doesn’t add up

Por moi

 So I have some time, and I like to write, and I want to get better at writing, which only happens from reading and writing, writing, writing - so here I am, fingers tapping away, producing the first sentence (running on), and ending here, at the period, lol.

That’s the perfect way to begin a piece of writing - a little introspection, with crystal clarity, no?  Anyway, I’ve got electronica (global underground miami) bopping in the background, also from my computer, and I’m just back from a dinner (alone) at a nearby Thai restaurant I’d never been to before.  I had pra kra thom or something.  Spicy basil chicken on white rice, with a thai iced tea.  $25.   Too much, maybe.  It was good, though.  Tuk Tuk thai is the name of it.   They actually have a tuk tuk inside (like a golf cart taxi thing).  So I’m fat and happy.   I walked Kaleb for an hour this morning, and worked up a sweat, so I can check off the daily exercise box.  The gym closes early on weekends, now.  Today is the anniversary of my dad’s death, 3 years ago.  He would have been 80.  

I have so much I want to do.  I have thousands of trivia cards.   I like to look up the stuff I’m unfamiliar with, instead of just memorizing answers, so my process eats a lot of time.   Trivia cards with ChatGPT / Wikipedia / Google.   Good times.  I have my Kindle with the daily NYT and the weekly Economist.   I get like 30+ emails, every day.  And my room has so many unread books.   They’re organized by subject, so, for example, I have a pile of books in spanish, and a pile of David Foster Wallace, and another pile of Thomas Pynchon, and a pile of joke books, cookbooks, dog-related books, and martial arts books.   I have piles of philosophy, psychology, spirituality, and short story collections.   I kind of want to immerse in each pile, one at a time.  My Chambers dictionary is always fun to surf, anytime.  And maybe before I read anything, I should do 2 things: Read my “how to read a book” by Adler and Doren, and also, Speed Reading.   That’s logical, no?  I have another book, called “how to make it stick”.   Maybe that should be book number 3!   I’ve been sleeping in, lately.  It’s nice to have the freedom to do so, but I want to get my shit done, so I’m motivated to be disciplined, efficient, and productive.  I want to lose 20 pounds.  A pound a week is what the doctor ordered.  I’m holding steady at 240 for a couple months, now.  It’s harder than it seems.  I did 250 push-ups yesterday, in 5 sets of 50.   So that feels good.  

But enough about me.  My landlord and his parents are back from Mexico.  One of my (12) roommates (Irineo) has caught 17 rats.   He asked me for money to buy more traps.  I gave him $20.   I’m hoping Edgar will pay me back.  Mike has a nasty cough, and I’m debating whether I want him in my room tomorrow night, for our weekly Hearts of Space listen (from 10p to midnite, Sundays).   The folks in the back go through an awful lot of beer bottles.  I suspect alcoholism.  I should be drinking only water, but I do like my juice.  Today I finished a bottle of mango nectar, from Trader Joe’s.  Back to me, then.  I watched a YouTube video of Neil Gaiman, called “Make Good Art.”   Good stuff.   I’m re-reading his American Gods.   It’s a longer version, this time around.  I got a haircut, yesterday (short).  I want to visit Portland again.  It’s been awhile.  Hugo is talking, and Augie just got back from summer camp, and Sara and Pierre are some of the few friends I’ve got.  My circle is small.  Big enough, I think, but still..   Anyway, I turn 52 next month, soon.  I’m feeling healthier of late, in terms of mental health / less David.   Let’s hope it goes away, entirely.  If I lose my weight, too, I imagine I’ll feel like I’m on top of the world!

I’m having lunch with Julie and Miette next week, at Afghan Burrito, here in Berkeley.   She has a gift for me, which will be fun, too.  And Karen is back from North Carolina, where her 92 yo mother lives.  I’m hoping Snoopy has figured out how to use the new dog door without scratching his nose.  I don’t see my nephews much - I hope Greg and Liz give me more opportunities to bring (another pile of) gifts for the boys.  That’s the latest.  More of an actual personal journal than all the God stuff.   Signing off,  - J

Vampyrology

 Vampire stories

1. The whirl’d is a vampire, said the spinning sufi, baring his teeth.  Bite me, I said.  So he did, and drank my blood, and now I’m in the hospital with blood loss, and a chunk missing from my neck.  I’m lucky to be alive.  I don’t think he is.  Crazy fuck actually bit me. 

2. I’m a perv, she said.   Aha! I said, “I know what that means!.”   What? She asked.  It’s an anagram of vampire, I replied.  Well, maybe I am and maybe I ain’t.   Just because you’re Presbyterian doesn’t make you Britney Spears!  You have a point, I replied… Maybe two of them.   Can I see your fangs?  Only if you’re nice.   Come a little closer.  Are you going to drink me?  I’m thirsty, maybe I will.  You’re a tall glass of water.   And that was the end of me.  End of story.   She was a perv alright.   With a blood fetish.   So it goes.

3. The drunk staggered out of the bar, into the arms of a very sober, wicked man, who guided him into his vehicle, and -with an accomplice- zip-tied his hands behind his back, and his feet, and put a rag over his mouth (chloroform) and a bag over his head, behind tinted windows, to drive their prey to an empty warehouse, where they hung him, made expert, practiced incisions, and drained his blood into a bucket, which they happily imbibed over the campfire, regaling each other with stories of the hunt, from good times past.  Ahh, the blood is the life!  The meat isn’t too bad, either, actually.

4. Vampyr, the undead, arose from their graves, in the forgotten cemetary, distant from all sources of subsistence, so they turned into bats and flew the distance, to the nearest village, where they transmuted back into their humanoid hell-spawn forms, demons of the night, to drink their fill of red, delicious, warm, fulfilling, human blood, the ichor of their wildest dreams, to keep them alive until the next feeding, at the earliest opportunity, whether a single night, or a decade…  to live!  While they still can.  Drink deep, the gathering gloom.   Or something.

Well, whatever.

Astronaut

High as a kite

God created the world.   The world is a vampire, say the Smashing Pumpkins.  God created us in his image.  He looks in the mirror, and acts out the faces of his creation.  We all know all about mirrors and vampires.  So maybe God doesn’t see himself.  Maybe God is a vampire.  Maybe God drinks blood, nightly.  A little magic, and his wine becomes blood, for the evening’s refection.  God is a magician.  He’s everything.   Miracles are magic - ask the Pope.  A little mind control here, a little dream there.  Some eidetic intrusion is always fun, and sometimes necessary.  A wet dream might even be better than actual sex, who’s to say.  And what would that spawn?  Merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.   About Mary’s dreamy butt.   Or something.  God sees his mouth without fangs, but we know the truth!  Reality bites.  Says Chuy.  Chew on that.  Chiu on a choo-choo chews on Chuy, who’s just chewing the fat.  Small talk with the biggest of the big, the highest of the high.   Like trippin’ on acid, and heroin, while being Mr. Universe on the summit of Everest!   Does it get any higher?  Alcohol is a depressant, so it will bring you down, even if you get drunk.

Figmental

Figs, yum

God is what he eats, and gods eat ambrosia and nectar, but we all know we’re what we eat less what we excrete, and god’s shit therefore is pure evil, and should not be used for night soil or day soil or any kind of soiling you can think of, for farming or anything, really, other than smearing on bullets or stinking someplace up god-awful, say for a practical joke, or to clear a crowd.  Godshit is what the lake of fire is, not sulfur.   It’s really bad stuff.  The pipes from heaven go straight to hell.  That begs the question, is demonshit worse?  Well, there’s no food in hell, it’s full of hungry ghosts, wasting away in a pool of waste, waiting for something great, like the opening of the gates.  There’s food in hell, for the ones who can’t open their mouths.  The others can eat shit and die, but being born again is a whole different deal, in hell.  Because it’s never-ending misery, no matter what hole you come out of.  

Anyway, God is everywhere, and god is good, so hell is actually good, when you think about it, even if everyone thinks it’s eternal damnation, without respite, and really a sick dream of the most twisted God imaginable.  God thinks it’s good, and who am I to judge?  Maybe another God would have been kinder.   Maybe we need a kinder, gentler deity.

Or maybe we need a spiteful, malevolent, vicious, evil God who saves humanity by killing absolutely everyone.  Original sin makes us all unworthy of heavenly life on earth.  No one is good.  No one but God.   God the killer, who makes things right.   The righteous Republican who, with his right hand, writing, and rites, makes the sinister left leave, leaving only Right-brained folks like the Wright brothers, so everything will be alright.  Right?

With only half a brain, and a global population of 2 (Orville and Wilbur), the world is made right, holy, perfect, heavenly, utopian, and pleasant for the Holy One, God Almighty, who no longer needs to hear all that stupid incessant chatter of voices in his head, supplicating and praising and singing and whatnot, and never allowing a moment’s peace or rest, because of all that goddamn prayer, which I already knew every word of, anyway.   Ah yes, this is the life.   An empty planet to myself.  All those bodies in the soil are making the planet bloom with greenery and growth.  Much better.  I always know what’s best.  

Better everyone in heaven than God on earth in hell!  Two Adams won’t multiply, this time.  You can thank me, later.  I’m immortal, and those two pesky Wright brothers will be out of my hair in no time, before you can say, abracadaver!  I don’t need to talk to myself, because I already know what I’m going to say, :-).   I have infinity all mapped out.  I’m going to enjoy all my time by experiencing everything.  I’ll just become everybody, and do everything, forever, or until I get bored with it, again.  Billions of humans in my image and likeness can be fun, for awhile.  But nothing lasts forever.   Well, just me.   I’m nothing.   I’m imaginary, anyway.  Ask your smartest physicists.   They can tell you.   Science may be real, but the scientists themselves aren’t!   And God is of course a scientist.   I am.  I mean, I ain’t.   You know what I mean.

Fun fact: The philosophers sometimes say existence is better than non-existence.  Everybody in their own personal idea of heaven is of course the highest circle of heaven.  If God's personal heaven is everyone else's hell, well he can have it, even if it doesn't exist (or is only virtual).  God alone is good.

God isn’t a god.  He’s not even God.  He’s GOD!  Big and infinite and immortal and perfect and wise and loving and good!  What’s love got to do, got to do, with it? To do list? Todo.   That means everything, in spanish.  Toe-dough.  Doe, a deer, a female deer.  Doh! (like stubbing your toe).    A stub about a theory of everything.  So actually, GOD is God is god is gOd is GOd is gOD!  Or any other combination you choose, prefer.  He’s all over it.  It’s all you, dawg.   Queen Goddess of Wiccan delight.  The holiest of holies.  King of kings, lord of lords.  Yada yada yada.   Adi Da, ya.  

Gawd, God.   Y’d ya half two dew hat?  Create a universe so vast, with only us in it?  Seems an awful waste of space, if you ask me.   Well, you’re the omniscient one.  Who am I to question YOU.   Well, I do have a few questions: ...

Al Gore and Gorgeous George gorging on gorp and gorgonzola with gorgons at the gorge

Smurf's up, dude

Knowing (biblically) the abortion issue (AI!) inside-out (as it were)

We know what you are - it’s making them sick, Jesse -v

School pupils, of profit and sales, submission and prayer

What’s up Eve’s sleeves?  Adam’s atoms

false and misleading, lies, dishonesty, deception, and deceit

LEOs, law enforcement officers that love each other

A republican genie? A genie is a Guardian Or Protective spirit

GOP and Goop and my pet gopher

Murdoch the murderer (Mr. Dr.  plays drums)

With the internet, we can all be geniuses (…well, maybe not)

Abbess in an abyss in Abyssinia

Constant consultant

regions, religions, djinn and gin

Dutch duchess

Mister mysterious

My Kia Pride got rear-ended

Tall people that understand being understood

Swan song, smooth sailing, and scared straight

Angels named Angie and Angela

Angel, on hell: “i’ve fallen and I can’t get up”

Occult cult’s cultivation of faculty

In a coma in Colma

The hustle and bustle for muscle in Brussels

(take a) swing dancing and flinch fries

God guiding good, Devil doing evil

  haters hating hate, lovers loving love

Marsupial soup, my brother’s broth

Nutritious nutria, at the carnivore’s carnival

chocolate in chaulk, racists eating Reeses 

Pelicans, publicans, pubs, and the republican reaper

Watching The Mandalorian in a Delorean

Salesman selling sales, specialists specializing in specialization

Which side are you on, he sighed

Phuhn thymes B-ing stoopid

Hapie wyth mai s’elf

Know Matt, er, wut?

Seigh thatt uh genn -

O, U, R, A, B? Buzzawff, hunny

Gough Sting sum won Lse

No fly zones, patrolled by flyswatters!

Flea flu, and mad cow that thinks she’s a dog

Laughing cow, yes it’s true, they do, I googled it

Where’s the beef? Impossible burgers with a dash of hot sauce? 

No beef at all, none whatsoever!  Holy cow, batman

Swami eats salami? Orcs eat pork? Sharif eats beef? 

Food, dude, can be rude, and maybe consumers should be sued

When viewed with an attitude of you and moo, says newly unruly Julie

Swine flew, pigs in airplanes, and angelic porcine beings, like pigeon doves.  Chubby hubby, fat cats, obese from Reeses, and overweight Rover-bait!  Chowing on cow, eating meat, consuming doom, and biting plight.   Eat less meat, more plants, and enjoy your feet, and dance!

Less hell in healthy, and more wrong in strong, but happier yappier

Don’t be shy, have some pie!  Talk about jocks and walking blocks

Getting fit, and losing your shit, and being sane about drinking rain