Barefoot in The City

I slept all day today. ALL day. From like 10:30AM to 11:35PM.

During this sleep I had some of the most intense partially lucid dreams/nightmares I've ever had. Which has been a steadily increasing trend as of late. Each batch is more fierce than the last. During the peak of my lucidity in the dreams the most prevalent thoughts are a combination of, "This cannot be happening." and, "There is no way this is being generated purely by my brain/mind." A form of doubt comes into play. My keen sense of observation and constant watch on myself even extends to the unconscious realm and while there, I cannot, for the life of me, make a decision as to "where" dreams come from. I can only recall snippets now. They are over-saturated, brightly-colored, hyper-kinetic flashes of frenzied activity. Very reminiscent of my DMT trip and prior experience with psychedelics. From the height of my enhanced awareness, I remember being plainly impressed with the amount of detail and clarity in the sights I was seeing. A thought crossed over with me. One that has done so many times before. -- Either dreams come from "somewhere" "out there" or I am in possession of one of the most impressive brains to have ever existed. Possibly THE most. Thanks to my psychedelic training I'm able to recognize subtle differences between "reality" and non-reality. A big portion of what clued me in today was the sense/feeling of the dream being more "real" than reality. Something that greatly hearkens back to DMT. It felt almost like a superreality, a more pure form of the existence we all experience daily. 1080p HD compared to old silent films. Anime to children's drawings.

I've always had an incredible ability to recall with frighteningly accurate clarity the detail of my dreams and it is with the utmost confidence of a scientist steeped in years of intel and research that I can proffer: my dreams were not like this growing up. Something has changed. Perhaps is changing. Maybe doing DMT opened some sort of floodgate, maybe our proximity to 11.11.11 11:11 and 2012 is affecting ALL of reality. Maybe approaching my own personal deadline of 27 is a factor. Perhaps it is all or none of these things. Truth is, I do not know. There is also the factor of you. I have not met you yet, but we're due to meet soon. Time for you only moves forward, but for me I can already feel the ripples of a "coming" event. Too many variables to form a valid hypothesis at this time.

What I do know is that I feel like a teenager again. Unsure. Questioning the validity of the world around me. I have not abandoned the teachings of my training and as such have not lost the feeling of serenity I've fought so hard to earn, and yet still I can watch myself thinking these thoughts and feeling these feelings and my assessment is: huh, this again.

When I was an actual chronological teenager I'd received a slow trickle of media that allowed me to eventually break my own fourth wall. Well before the reality-bending of The Matrix, Dark City and Vanilla Sky there was The Maxx. An animated series on MTV's Liquid Television that, frankly, probably should not have been watched by my young developing mind. The series followed the adventures (and misadventures) of the titular character The Maxx.

A man that sat on the fence between reality and dreams. A very poignant expression of life imitating art in what I have become in my summer years. In reality Maxx is a bum, living in a cardboard box and semi-dependent on a social worker named Julie. In The Outback (the series' name for the Dream Realm) The Maxx is a wild superhero that often protects the alternate version of Julie known as The Jungle Queen. The symmetry between this and my two most recent relationships is not lost on me. The overall thought/feeling I took away from the show at that age, and that has continued into adulthood but since withered, is: the inability to differentiate between what's real and what isn't. Does one assign loyalty to the "real world" or The Outback? Teen years are difficult for all of us and I was no exception. The Maxx came to me at the exact moment I was beginning to call everything into question. Looking back, it's easy to see that it catalyzed the slow process that eventually resulted in "me".

The "two" worlds have since blurred for me and I'm fast losing my ability to separate them. Everything seems hopelessly intertwined and the feeling one is usually granted upon waking, that of being anchored back in reality, has been absent as of late.

I understand why humans are so dedicated to their rigid schedules of day and night, rest and work, youth and age. They're focal points. Breadcrumbs. Basically the whole point to this human experience. Just like when I was younger, when I start careening through space and time, my mindset becomes equally adrift. When I have a steady job, the ability to get to a gym and a girlfriend with whom to attach experience, things seem perfectly normal. Psychedelic experiences are limited to the occasional intense dream and of course actual ingestion of substances understood to create such states. However, amid the chaos I am now experiencing, and have experienced at regular intervals throughout my life, the lack of a discernible timeline throws everything into question. Mundane things take on an additional layer of profundity and simple human interactions become laced with synchronicity and meaning. The feeling of trying to be able to pay attention but not being able to has spilled over from dreams into the world. It's like when you go to a party or an amusement park or anything new and disordered. You have a certain amount of the experience that your brain will let you have in the actual moment funneled into sharp spots of presence and then you have the remainder to be experienced as time wears on and you are fed the overwhelming amount of stimulus you ingested earlier in portions acceptable for integrating interpretations.

My life is in boxes and I'm unsure whether or not to unpack. I've been at this apartment for a little under a week now and not too much is unpacked. An organic existence has developed inside my planned one. All useless possession have fallen by the wayside and just the essentials are being utilized. Kitchen, bathroom, clothing. Everything else remains untouched. I'm reminded of my brief stint in jail, or family vacations, or either of my periods of living away from home subsisting on only the bare essentials.

A question develops: Do I need all this shit?

The clear, immediate answer is no.

But I know better than that. Given enough time, everything would just accumulate again. So my charge becomes not attempting to rid myself of all of it, or even to grow so wealthy as to acquire more, instead I must strive to purify. Keep what is crucial to the existence I've created for myself.

Still though, even knowing this, the visceral visual of everything neatly packed n' stacked is hard to ignore.

A big part of me wants to leave everything be. Just unpack when and where the need for an item arises. Another part desires to request off a string of days and to get everything completely set-up how I see fit. This struggle would have defined stress in my youth, but in my maturity I view it from the third position and pick and choose when and where to ally my support without ever losing my sense of calm.

The lines between "me" and "out there" are starting to blur. I mean even more than they already had. Everything seems a perverted extension of myself. Upon waking, and still reeling from the severe states suffered while sleeping, I was still not fully "here". Reality still felt like a dream. Since showering and sitting down to type this, things have greatly settled down.

*Tangent: typing to me seems to be the very definition of the mode of existence we experience as humans from birth to death. Slow, purposeful, calculated attempts at capturing something that is inherently incapturable. When we are Moon-Faced Buddha, typing/life seems slow, boring and monotonous. When we are Sun-Faced Buddha, typing/life seems an elegant way to progress forward and simultaneously anchor ourselves. When you've had overwhelming dreams/nightmares, you long for waking life. When you've had a string of drawn-out tedious days in the Conscious Realm you pine for sleep and astral adventure. Such is the ebb and flow of life. Such is the expression of the very duality we are here to experience. Yin and Yang. The fundamental balance of opposing forces understood to create unity through perceived separation. /Tangent*

I was fully dressed from this morning, (I had to cover the portions of my anatomy deemed unacceptable for exposure to society in order to politely send off a young lady that had spent the night) and still very much out of it when I first decided to reach for my phone and rejoin the reality game. Motivated by hunger and confused by recent mental escapades I sauntered around my apartment aimlessly until settling in on a bag of baked goods acquired from work last night. I set in on them and leaving my front door wide open, traipsed down the stairs and out onto the double-wide sidewalk partitioning off commercial/residential space from the road.

Something snapped back into place.

"What are you doing?"

I dunno. Eatin' muffins/doughnuts and lookin' around. What are you doing?

"Where are your shoes?"

Uh, upstairs. We never wear shoes, don't act like this is something new.

"True, but typically we endeavor upon shoelessness mindfully. We are AWARE and actively CHOOSING to NOT wear shoes. You just plodded down here barely awake."

*eating, thinking about acquiring more food, wondering where everybody is, questioning the validity of his waking state*

"Go back up stairs, write a blog, title it 'Barefoot in The City' and focus on this ambiguity between wakefulness and dreaming."

*nods, heads up stairs*

The static routine that tends to bore and drive toward altered consciousness was absent and instead the unease and desire for stability was prevalent. It would appear I have achieved that. Sitting here, for the past few hours, typing this, has certainly done its part in anchoring me back to what we humans collectively refer to as reality.

Since quieting my minds investigation, a different focal point has emerged. Cyclical behavior. Days, weeks, months, seasons, years.

Cycles. I've done this before. In California. At 19. A theory is beginning to emerge. Perhaps I am destined to repeat my actions endlessly until developing an awareness that supersedes them and allows me to elicit real change.

While my overall progress has spiraled ever upward, that is only from the perspective of a certain vantage point in space. Rotated and taken top-down, I've been moving in circles.

My nonlocal nature is asserting itself as I simultaneously feel like I did as a young teenager living at home, a young adult in California, a twentysomething in my first apartment, how I will likely feel at my modest Vish mansion and in the property I will own in Japan.

It's a very weird, very hard to describe feeling mired in juxtaposition. I feel independent yet lonely. I feel free yet unsure of where to go. Calm and yet somehow confused. Deep inside I know everything will work out, but just below the surface I am anxious to get the show on the road. Sometimes I am so stereotypically human it disgusts me.

This susceptibility to the fickle flow of my mind serves to remind me why I support my own personal marijuana habit. Regular use of cannabis allows me to compartmentalize more efficiently. To definitively enter things into either reality or nonreality. As it stands, when left sober for long periods of time I veer toward the extremes most aim for with psychedelic use. Put simply: When unable to get high via cannabis, I am high all the time. Cannabis does not cancel out my high it merely allows me to schedule to experience it at times when it is more convenient for me to do so.

It would appear that I'm going to keep gravitating to the depths of this valley until my oscillation chooses a side to commit to. While punctuated by periods of perception wherein my immediate involvement is not necessary and the lack of such does not create unrest, overall I keep coming back to the same place. I am continually confronted with having to make a choice. And that choice is represented by a question. A question that is asked in more direct terms in our youth. -- What do you want to be when you grown up? -- At this point along the graph it has take a more broad scope of inclusion. -- What do you want to do?

While when I was younger this question served to torture me, I've grown enough to understand that if that is the main conflict in your life, deciding what you want to do, you are pretty well off. Then, it was something to "solve" or "fix", now, it's just something to think about. To grant dedicated thought to.

I am sure that I will figure everything out and be okay.

I am not sure I am awake.

Setting/Achieving Goals

11.3.11 
Yesterday, a buddy agreed to bring his truck over and to help me move. The truck only had a six foot bed. So, we took a few trips and then called it a night. Thankfully, he arranged to have access to a larger truck for today.

One of things we did manage to move was my couch. Whenever bed time came, I slept on the floor of the partway emptied out place. This morning, when I awoke, my landlords were standing over me. Which, in their defense, is not that creepy cuz a.) I was supposed to be gone on the 31st and b.) I sleep like the dead.

Compounded with that, I accidentally missed work. An entire shift. No-call, no-show. That never looks good.

And yet, despite all that, I had a great time today. Joey Booker helped me move, I have to say, with a raging broner, the dude is the bee's knees. It was like hanging out with myself. Funny, high-energy, full of vitality. I loved it. A grueling experience for most, was a hang-out/story-time for our optimistic asses. Ever the consummate gentlemen he treated me to bacon pizza not once, but TWICE, during our moving ordeal. Once yesterday and once today. I am rather shocked at what it essentially feels like to hang out with me. I almost never want to hang out with a "normal" person ever again. That young man, single-handedly took what was a daunting and somber task and turned into a funtime partytime cakewalk. It was so nice to for once be on the outside looking in. Take a look at dis rah-dikaluss mafucka right here:


Fantastic. I am definitely stoked to hang out with him without the need to ask favors or complete tasks. That kid is goin' places.

A few months back I started walking on my hands again. After breaking my wrist 3 years ago, I was told that I would NEVER again be able to walk on my hands and that I'd possibly never be able to lift weights. When I was granted one more month in my place, I challenged myself to handwalking the entire length of the apartment before I left. DIRECTLY (I have a witness, haha) after moving EVERYTHING out (2 dudes, 2 trips, 5 hrs total) I had Booker record this:


It's kind of amazing to me that I literally did something I was told by medical professionals that I would never do again. I'm having a real hard time not dwelling on the awesomeness of overcoming such a prognosis. Such is the power of Consciousness. Of Intent. If you fully and truly set your mind to something, NOTHING can get in your way.

Booker had to book it somewhat early and I had one last item left to transport. My big corkboard. He was kind enough to drop me off and after completing the handwalk challenge I was up for another hurdle to clear. Unfortunately I was not prepared for reality.

When he dropped me off, and I entered my old apartment, now completely bare except for the corkboard, I was overwhelmed with loneliness and memories. I broke down into tears (rare) and even began talking to myself (INSANELY rare), I eventually gathered my composure and set off on my quest. Not before ungracefully calling my ex and suffering a subsequent text barrage wherein she requested that we cut ties completely. I let the difficulty of the task at hand distract me away from that. I do love a good challenge.

It took me a damn long time to walk it over. I had to switch hands every thirty seconds or so. By the time I'd actually made it to Brookline blvd. it was around midnight and my forearms/hands/shoulders were screaming/burning. That trek was harder than the day of moving and the handwalk challenge combined.

The corkboard ended up serving as as conversation starter/topic of interest. A group of three dudes randomly inquired as to what I was carrying and a conversation developed. The readily available, and visually digestible, collage of all things Vish quickly ingratiated me to them. They were somewhat young and my frank/humorous nature seemed to take them completely by surprise. I spoke candidly about "beatin' ma dick" and then we waxed philosophical on the mathematics of a properly proportioned posterior. Mentions of Alexis Texas, Kristina Rose, Rachel Starr, Pinky, and Kim Kardashian followed. I do so enjoy a good rump.

*pauses to think about bums*

Anyhoo, a cop drove by and told us to keep it down. One of the dudes got lippy. The cop dismissed us and set in on the young buck. Myself and the other two rolled up to my crib where they practically fell in bro-love with me. Topics of discussion ranged from ass to cannabis to martial arts and philosophy. Such an amazing feeling to literally have it be your first day in a new neighborhood and to already be making friends. I offered to smoke them out for free and I hope they take me up on it. The concept seemed quite novel to them, and in our short time I already seemed to have a positive impact on their way of thinking.

Eventually I sent them home though because some buddies contacted me about middle-manning for them. The English language may be direct and nice for spelling out things plainly, but it's somewhat lacking in attaching beauty to events the way more Romantic languages do. There is something quite sublime about smoking for free in the company of people you enjoy. This seems an obvious and oversimplified concept, but there's much more to it than words are capable of communicating.

They came, we blazed, they left.

Shortly thereafter, I got a call from my "old" neighbor to help find her cat. I struck off her way but as I anticipated, the moment I was almost there, I got a call that they had already found the fickle feline. Happy she found 'im I about-faced and headed home, content to categorize the jaunt into the "health and exercise" section.

I was plenty high while walking and the effects of such a state combined with music and physical activity made for a powerful experience. One I usually take for granted. Walking, after such a long physical day, being high and listening to music felt just perfect. I was the master of my own destiny, forming my own path with my own two feet.

When I got back home, the concept of buildings seemed overly simplified.
"It's just outside that's inside is all."
Specifically what brought this revelation on was the stairway up to my new apartment. I live above a couple of businesses and it's pretty evident to me that over time, as things grew closer and closer together, the stairway materialized out of necessity. What was once probably wrought-iron steps on the side of a brick building has become wooden steps inside a building directly next to another building. The "coats" of "growth" seemed more noticeable.

On the way there, the sidewalk width, the road width, business, traffic, people all made perfect sense to me. The organic progress was immediately apparent. Hey people walk here a lot, lay down some concrete. Hey a lot of people walk here, lay down some additional concrete to increase the width of the path.

My buddies that I'd smoke with earlier had been texting me intermittently about ideas for some characters I'd explained to them. The Josh Vish show seems more inevitable than ever. What an absolute blast making it would be.

Another bonus of my new place is free wi-fi. Granted I have to sit dead center in the middle of a room I hadn't planned on using, but hey, it's free. Shutcho mouf n enjoy it, ya silly bitch.

I've waited long enough to publish this that a few days have passed, and with them more adventure/stories have occurred as well.

11.4.11
My old landlords refunded me the utility deposit they asked of me at the beginning of the month. The refund was granted in the form of a single hundred dollar bill.

Look at Ben Franklin. That smug motherfucker. Judging you. His pursed lips and solid stare practically scream "You're a fuckup." His face says, "What are you going to spend me on? It'd better not be petty. I hope you're using me wisely."

Fuck you, Franklin. I'm my own man, I'll spend you on whatever I want. Don't judge me.

And the game is on to figure out how I want to spend it. A vacuum cleaner is at the top of the order because I need one and I really wanna clean this place. I also need food. Decisions, decisions.

Tonight was the Annual After-Halloween Party.
One of the girls hosting it offered to pick me up. She's SUPER cute and nice and even popped my Phantom Fright Nights cherry not too long ago. I was broke as a joke and she picked up the tab. I was tired out of my mind before she suggested the evening but I could not pass it up. And my God am I glad I didn't. What a fun fuckin' time. Being at Kennywood at night is kinda magical. I mean being at Kennywood is in and of itself magical, but compounded with Halloween decorations/lights and workers in costumes, it was surreal. I was sober, but due to my lack of sleep and the novelty of the event it very much felt like one big drawn out psychedelic trip. It was epic. We had a blast for sure.

So when she offered me a ride, I'd just got home from work and she had just clocked out herself and was headed my way. I got in a superquick shower, showed her the place for a little bit and then decided on a "costume". We decided to get some pizza as both of us were hungry as fuck and had plenty of time before the shindig officially began. When we got to her place, the stress of having to set up/clean up was getting to her and I was eager to help. I did what I could yet largely felt ineffective. I communicated this and she told me a way in which I could help. She proffered some duckets and her keys and bade me acquire more beer.

Crew morale was the name of the game so I didn't want to prolong or increase her stress by asking for directions. I drove to where I remembered and then drove the strip back and forth to no avail. I came upon a CVS that I know a good friend lives near and here's where things got really adventurous.

Not finding the beer distributor on my own, I called my buddy and asked if he was home. He was. I asked if he'd come down and guide me to beer. He would. He did. He came down and popped in the car and while guiding me to the suds store told me of my serendipitous/synchronous timing. He and his girl had just ordered Chinese and were about to blaze. --- Sometimes I just really really REALLY love my life. --- So we went and purchased all the necessary provisions and headed back to his place. We headed upstairs and moments later the food arrived. They both insisted on sharing and being financially well off enough, for the first time in a month or so, I was able to throw a few bux their way for hospitality. I think of it less as "paying" them and more like keeping them in business. We smoked, we ate, we chatted. Our time was too brief, but unfortunately ice was melting in the car. They suggested I rock a custom-made Finn hat, and they didn't really need to twist my arm. Indeed, this was already shaping up to be quite The Adventure Time.

Hat in tow, high, beverage and ice in car, I headed to the party. Fortuitously enough I arrived just after the scheduled start point and thankfully many others had already arrived. My entrance wasn't as grand as I'd imagined (Kicking down the door, holding all three cases of beer, both bags of ice, shirtless, barefoot and capped FOR ADVENTURE TIME.) What actually occurred was decent enough though. After comedically interpreting an overhead insult as aimed at me (someone yelled 'slut') I furiously tore off my clothes and began setting up the brews in a bucket. Already the energy had been established. Ladies were starin'/touchin' and I was feelin' great.

A couple of dudes were apparently excited to see me specifically and indeed upon my arrival bromance was thick in the air. I was told that my youtube account and facebook profile were followed closely and that, and I quote, "I don't even fuck with Twitter, because I get everything I need from your facebook." My beard was complimented, as was my physique. The Ego was getting HEAPS of strokes from many different people.

My favorite moment of the evening however had little to do with fitness or appearance. One young man that had already expressed his fondness for my facebook and youtube videos went on to cite my encouraging his decision to quit smoking tobacco as pivotal in the execution of it. Absolute music to my ears. That is one of those bat 'em outta the park moments where something you always want/try to do actually gets done and to a degree beyond what you initially desired. I'm deeply honored and powerfully pleased to have contributed to a person eschewing tobacco use and reclaiming the sanctity of their flesh. Feels good, man.

This young man was also quite eager/excited to smoke cannabis with me. I don't know if you know, but I kinda/sorta enjoy smoking marijuana. I mean, just a little bit. The party was well underway and I was feeling great. Another crowd was indulging in ganja and quite willing  to share, again being able to do so for the first time in a little while, I threw a couple bux their way to pay it forward. To keep 'em in business.

Sometime during all the shenanigans, shirtless bro-antics occurred on the back deck/porch and my innerbro was all too happy to oblige. Rugby, wrestling and other forms of cock-measuring stirred up my age old desire to have a physical equal to play rough with.

Basically the night consisted of enjoying genuine conversations with some, silly ones with others, flirting with girls, bonding with bros, drinking shots and beers, hittin' pipes and blunts, and of course, eatin' snax. Floatin' from room to room makin' people laugh, ogling girls' legs/asses. An absolutely amazing time.

After the night had kinda died down a bit and people began trickling off, one bold young lady bravely swooped in for a few smooches before departing. I cannot stress what an insane Ego-boost this celebration was. I practically feel justified in calling myself a celebrity at this point. Definite positive reinforcement for continued development down this path.

I was hoping to cuddle and maybe a little more with the girl that brought me, but unfortunately she goes hard in the motherfucking paint and was passed out by about 2. I lost her amidst the sea of inebriated individuals that populated her bed/floor. No room for Vish. :(

As serendipity would have it however there was room for Vish in another female's bed. Yes that's correct, I was lucky enough to cap off my night by enjoying some cuddles with a cute/funny/smart girl on her comfy bed. I am indeed just that fortunate. On our way to unconsciousness she brought my youtube knowledge up to speed. She showed/introduced me to some of the funniest shit I have ever seen. A lot of it I can't believe I didn't already know. The funnies were almost (almost) more pleasurable than the cuddling. She also went on to display some of her accomplishments and achievements and I must admit they are noteworthy, I am genuinely intrigued, my interest has been piqued.

11.5.11
In the morning, I pressured her (in the good way) to relax a bit, as she definitely seems to be the workaholic type. It felt so nice to wake up next to a soft body under covers on an actual bed again. When sleeping alone, I prefer a couch/futon, but there's not much in existence that compares to the pleasure of regaining consciousness on what is essentially a giant pillow that's been raised off of the floor with a member of the opposite sex directly sidled up to you.

In another example of my/our "small world" getting smaller, she apparently used to date an increasingly close friend of mine.

I had to go to work, so the girl that brought me, then took me home and was also kind enough to take me directly to work. I worked a super short shift today, the purpose behind it was to practice steaming milk. I'm a barista-in-training and despite what some humble caffeine-slangers say, it's very subtle art. I worked with a new co-worker and we seemed to hit it off pretty well right from the start. Conversation flowed easily and he is exactly where I wanna be when it comes to coffee knowledge. A bona fide connoisseur. I will be shadowing him, and him specifically, closely in the coming weeks. So far I've found two worthwhile work-related mentors there.

On the way home I stopped by Molly's to try their by-the-slice offer and let me just say, WOW what a fantastic product. I am thoroughly pleased and will DEFINITELY return for more. Absolute quality food being serving at that establishment. I woulda taken a picture of those delicious slices of 'za, but alas my phone was dead. Between that and the "hand-pies" I've been purchasing at Pitaland I'm really enjoying my new apartment's location. The proximity to street-food that I can eat on the fly (and for pretty dang cheap) is a huge plus. I've been striking a nice little rhythm of waking up a little bit before work, heading out, spending $3-5 on something I can eat while I walk, eating free food at work and then having my tips from the day recoup and typically exceed the day's expenses. I am more than okay with this. Wake up, have certain amount of money in pocket, buy some food, eat free food, go home with more money than when you came. My net worth is steadily gaining currently and obviously I very much enjoy this.

Tomorrow is my first day off since moving in and I hope to at least establish a basic living area. Kitchen, bathroom and a moderate bedroom set-up. I'll let everything else kinda develop organically as I go. I really don't know how I wanna lay everything out. It's a lot of room for one person. I'm heavily considering having a roommate move in. I don't really wanna unpack too much because history has taught me that I don't typically stay in once place for too long. While the location is ideal, the cleanliness, or lack thereof, has me very much entertaining the thought of moving again after winter. I dunno, we'll see.

Remember, remember! 
The fifth of November, 
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot; 
I know of no reason 
Why the Gunpowder Treason 
Should ever be forgot!