PART TWO- Toward the other organs of the American Dream

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<THIS IS GONNA BE LONG WINDED AND SCATTERED>

Well I had a very nice rant in my voice recorder about this novelty idea of mine. I have yet to expose to anyone only because I’d like to marinate with it a bit longer before putting it out there for someone to plagiarize.

That man, on the cover of this old school magazine, has drastically altered my life. Ever since that “bad,” it was actually revolutionary for my third dimensional mind, mushroom trip at Aura festival…THANK YOU MATTIAS….I realized, I need to be a writer. A writer of what I had no fucking clue. Throughout the trip I saw hieroglyphics and Egyptian symbols that were in triangles in a vortex spinning toward a piece of paper that I needed to retrieve from my pack but was tripping too hard that I couldn’t leave the safety of my mummified sleeping bag. And that was all okay. I realized at 5:43 in the morning that I should write. A book, a blog, a short story, an article, anything. I had a voice that, apparently in my head, needed to be heard. I had no clue what the fuck to do, so wordpress it was. And thank you to them they have made this experience for me outta sight 🙂

Yes I drink, yes I smoke, yes I ingest things that are “frowned upon.” But humans do WAY worse-rape, kill, embezzle, steal, lie, cheat, etc. All those sins which truly aren’t sins at all they are all our basic instincts just taken to the farthest edge possible which makes it “evil.” TANGENT END.

So this “Death of the American Dream” bit has blown way out of proportion in all my journals. I’ve got rants and titles and chapters and thoughts that I know I could write 10,000 words about. It would take a while but I know I could do it. I plan to contact RANDOM HOUSE publishing somehow, even though they don’t take unpublished manuscripts, I will pester them with my words until that inevitable thought comes into their minds “Hey this psycho chick could really make a nice author.”

I’m no fucking author. I’m an HST obsessed 21 year old, drinking wine and working out of home. If things expanded, which I believe they will, this novel will be the greatest ode to the off-his-wagon and grand man Hunter Stockton Thompson. Next year will be the 10 year anniversary of his death and I wish that I could have known who he was before he died at his own hands.

But there is so much BRILLIANCE behind that. This world was fucking crazy and goddamn if he didn’t do it himself, he would have gone by the hands of those that he exposed. That’s what I hope to do. Expose and exploit something for what it truly is. And currently it’s the insane hippie culture cycling back around on it’s two wheels trying to be green and save our mother.

That’s why I include myself in that counter culture. They ATTEMPT to provide through Gaia, but a lot of them litter and kill themselves with drugs and pills, and that kills me to see because we could be such a great part of the social movement I’m hoping will spring up like a geyser. We also only seem to care about people noticing us. WHY? WHY THE FUCK WOULD WE WANT PEOPLE TO SINGLE US OUT AMONG THE COLLECTIVE? We’re a collective for god’s sake, why the sudden need to stroke the ego and make sure people see us? I’m guilty of it too but jesus..we’ll bring him into this because he got mad too…that one chapter where he went crazy at the market and was shouting at the people to listen and apply and practice…I’m fucking awful with biblical references because I read the damn thing only once, and it was when I was maybe eight, not baptized, and was looking for an outlet to my mom and step fathers shouting match.

This has severely turned into a wine-oh rant about hunter and my life. oh dear, this is why I don’t drink very often. But I will admit it’s an allusive poison that is understandable why humans, father, become alcoholics. At least I know when I need to say no. ANYWAYS. HST.

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If you can’t read this it, it says “good people drink good beer” -HST

I found it driving to an amazing show at the Oceanfront, and forced my friend to stop at a green light so I could snap a  shot. Not the best quality but I don’t care it’s the content that counts.

That man is the greatest muse I have ever had. The rest of the organs of the American Dream will be brutally autopsied as I continue to ask the questions, “What is the American Dream?” and “Why is it dead?” Typical Americans, giving me their opinions on where that concept went. Most blame the faceless, nameless, suits at the top of this pyramid, I blame the whole fucked up pyramid. WE CHOOSE TO BE IN THAT CYCLE. Or we don’t. That’s where hippies, nomads, travelers, train hoppers, hitch hikers, homeless, street kids come from. Or the endless pool of shit their watchers made them drown in.

I’ve got my foot in someones door in Virginia Beach and this may be the unfinished business I’ve been wondering about. My health, career, and social standing. All seemingly improving..I don’t have a fucking clue how…but progress is back in my life. THANK THE DEITY.

So to wrap up whatever the hell this was about, I will hopefully be expanding the writing thing I’ve been working toward all year. Maybe in time I’ll be published and continuing this hair brained pipe dream of mine to exploit the hippies of the New Age times and the quest for the new American Dream.

POST SCRIPT: Thank you to The Sun, I truly appreciate every single opportunity to expand myself and words in this chaotic city we live in. I am forever grateful.

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