It was a day like any other. I was still in Bali trying to do as little as humanly possible while continuing to justify my proclamations of being a writer; the only thing giving my drinking any semblance of legitimacy. Sometimes, like right now, it doesn’t come quite as easily as I wish it did.
I’m not sure if this is because I’m not a very talented writer or because I tend to get distracted by, well, everything. Loud noises, fast movement, beer, shiny things, all seem to want to drag me away from my SERIOUS WRITER BUSINESS.
Continue reading “I Spy With My Little Eye, Something Beginning With “D””
Here I am sitting in a quiet, rustic Balinese warung for the past hour or so, enjoying a few cheap beers and attempting to write something meaningful or funny; both would be fantastic. And surprising.
Still, my ego is pacified when the waiter says he likes my look, my hair in particular. I understand it’s a pretty severe personality flaw to like/want completely random people’s adulation but spelunking that particular dank cave is a tale for another time.
I suggest to this spritely young chap that he too could have his hair cut into a Mohawk. I continue to ramble on that I had it cut not 500 metres from this very establishment, in a salon owned by a transgendered individual. I claim that she was one of the nicest men I’d ever met.
Goodbye meaningful. Goodbye funny. I mentioned the cheap beers right?
Continue reading “I Believe The Children Are Our Future.”