Modern Day Bible Stories and Manifesting Powers

So there's all kinds of people and there's all kinds of nuts and there's some nuts that sometimes... make sense and have magic powers. I'm not sure why some people just have this thing in them. Some kind of X-man kind of power over their world. Lately I've been fascinated with 3 or 4 friends that have what I call "Manifesting Power". So this is a trick I highlight in my close, but I really wanna tell you about the bible stories I live amongst.


There is at least one "Devil" and "God" represented, if not several. We have pyramid builders scattered throughout town. One friend of mine, Rocking J, has built an ARK similar to Noah's but more industrial. It is made of several upside down shipping containers with the doors welded shut. This new modernist ARK contains a music studio, ice bar, art gallery, and recording studio. All activities in this hip little town pretty much center around solar, lunar, and planetary phases. The most insanity happens on the full moon, of course. We have prophets spinning tales of impending enlightenment and /or doom. We have blacksmiths, carpenters, gangstas, artists, musicians, soldiers, and tax men. Some resident space aliens are freethinking farmers with ideas for new agricultural ideas. We don't have much parental supervision in our little experimental town. This tiny society also lies in a small, quiet, unsuspecting picturesque Caribbean beach town. A town which happens to be in a special land bridge between North and South America. I call it a Vortex. The biggest vortex I've ever experienced.


I'm not one to beleive in much. I don't believe in angels, fairies, ghosts, space aliens (earth visiting aliens... that is), time travel, esp, fortune tellers, magic, or prophets. However, since living here I'm starting to believe in all those things. Some of us, Jedis, Buddhas, GODs, and Devils, have a special power called "manifesting". Manifesting is the ability to conjer up things in the material world by just wishing them into existence.


Rocking J is probably the strongest manifestor I know personally or maybe Robert Cuigini in Seattle. Both of these men could manifest large material objects with ease. They also have created an almost fantasy like personal existence. I've seen Rocking J say, "I need a lighter" and one will appear loose on a table or a stairwell usually 3 meters or so ahead of his current path. One time, me and some friends were talking about sundials. I hollared up to J's window, "Hey man, you got a sundial." He replied instantly, "Like this one." There was one instantly in his hands. Those are small magic tricks or intuition by a powerful manifestor, but he goes big as well. He walks through his hostel's grounds dreaming out loud about changes, additions, and new features. The workers start the transformations immediately and he always does "exactly" what he says he's gonna do. He conjurs up things he imagines into his reality with ease. These folks seem as well to have a very sensitive awareness to future events. Almost psychic like abilities.

Well, there's a shit ton of manifestors in this town. Franke owner of Franke's Pizzeria had instantaneous access to small material objects like lighters, screwdrivers, car parts, and various small items. It's really interesting with these people. They can ask for anything... like a knob for an unusual European oven. It will appear if out of nowhere from a traveler that just happens to have that exact duplicate knob. It's fucking weird this shit. Who fucking carries oven knobs in a backpack?

Personally, I've been manifesting my whole life. I didn't really have a name for it until more recently. If I really want something. I get it. So, in a test of my own manifesting powers I've been experimenting with changing the weather. I'm at least 90% percent if not more on my accuracy to either change the weather in view of several witnesses. Several times. I have manifested lightning. I have manifested minor flooding. I can make it "not" rain on me. I have manifested double rainbows. I have manifested wind direction to change. Or maybe it's that I'm just so attuned to the nature around me. I think it's magic. I truly believe in myself so much... that my belief, just as Jesus spoke about in the Bible, is capable of moving a mountain. This apparently is a true magic ability that we can all perhaps tap into it. I'm doing my best to quantify and qualify me and my friend's abilities. There's got to be some kind of scientific truth in this way of conjuring up things out of nowhere, and changing weather. Native Americans still have rainmakers and have a long history of such weather manifesting shamans. Most cultures have similar folks representing almost the same kind of magic powers over local weather. As well as... other seemingly mystical powers.

I'm not sure how this shit got in me, but it got in me. As I age I will continue
to record my observations and continue to have credible witnesses confirm my facts. For the record, because of this Vortex land bridge or the intensity of the nature surrounding, my powers are at least double in Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica. So I encourage you to test out your powers and lemme know what works and what doesn't would you? I'm trying to build a rock star X-man army.

Zen and the art of motorcyle riding

I sit behind "Lazy Mon" plugged into an outdoor socket in a tree. The waves lap in gently three meters from my feet. I just heard "Jessy Chick" before her intermission. the sun goes down behind a grey cloud base.there are barely hints of orange and pink.. I've got a cold whiskey with a squeeze, fesh pack of smokes. There is a single palm tree that consumes my scene to the left. There's a certain sense of peace in a palm tree on a beach backdropped by the sight and sound of rolling waves.

It's the rythym of the earth... the waves. If they get wacky, better believe something wacky this way comes. Across the cove on the "Black Beach Pennisula" I see a flickering bonfire. The air has this certain oceany feel, There's no wind. I now hear the keys of "Jessy Chick" behind me again. The familiar warmth in her voice. Tonight I start to reflect on mostly this one moment. Where should I put my foot next? Should it even be a foot? Should it be wheels? Should it be wings? Should it be writing? Should it be music? Should it be art? Should it be love? Should it be all of that? Or should it be none of that?

I'll leave here in a little while on my motorcycle. Oh my motorcyle. Sweet freedom. Sweet moments it gives me. When I leave here on a night like tonight, there's this moment as soon as I'm off the curb... or in my case...the beach. My feet retract like landing gear. The centrifugal force of the spinning wheels take over giving a sense of faith in pysics. All my thoughts dissapear. I twist the throttle as I release the clutch. The machine starts to accellerate at an ungoldly rate. I become totally aware of my line. My grace... my quickest path through space time, cars, bicycles, people and dogs. As my speed increases and the jungle beach road unravels before me, I start focusing my projected coordinates in this dimension farther and farther ahead in time. By the time I'm full speed... I'm God. Completely in tune. Completely aware. Completely absorbing intense time chunks at an extremely rapid rate. On a good night, I won't brake at all until my final destination.


This motorcyle experience here in Central America is grand. The smells the sounds, the terrain, the beauty. The ability to go as fast as you can without hurting yourself or others. The moonlight casts it's light, hinting at the road ahead and flashing like a strobe light in the night as I fly through time. A pilot of a magical two wheeled land speeder of sorts. This two wheeled device is the most efficient machine I've ever operated. I weave around pot holes 200 meters away, but they pass under me almost instantly. Sometimes one will sneak up on me. I give a quick jerk upward on the handlebars. The bike doesn't even lift, but this strong yet slight movement, keeps the bike in its linear horizontal path. The pothole passes under as my ride passes over. Not even a bump. My velocity is constantly increasing as my acceleration and margin for error decrease. About halfway to Manzillo or in the middle of town are these speed bumps. They have a perfect concaved face coming up each side. I compress my suspension at about 20 miles an hour, drop down into second on a full clutch pull, hit the six inch high launch pad, pop the clutch right before springing off my shock compression, I squeeze the throttle as I launch some one meter high and clear at least three meters distance. If I'm on point that day, I land rear wheel first while maintaining a constant angled wheelie with the front wheel easing down like a kiss. Somtimes not so graceful. Like last night.


These are my moments of clarity and freedom. On my bike, speeding through town or down the jungle roads. There really not ever traffic or interections with stop lights and turn lanes. Just the town crazie's screaming "Loveless" or "Devil as I go by or occasional hotties bikinis. It's motorcyle riding at it's most pure. I usually just wear my crocs and rarely wear a helmet. I've had some accidents here and there. Usually after a fifth or two of whiskey or completely sober. Never in between. Similiar to a cat I always land on my feet and have nine lives. Amen to me, and Amen to all the folks I know that need their bikes more than they need love.

Carribean Beach community, Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica.

I live in a magic place. A place full of people that do not accept what society says is normal. A place where the law is loose, the police are complacent, the tourist are naive and the rockstars are free. The community base is strong. Hidden in the jungle are a massive collection of people who came here with a dream of a better life. A life that most folks would cringe at. There are not many TV's, there aren't many air conditioners, there aren't many closed mninded people. There are just us! The wanted and the unwanted. We stand here on this beach. We support each other, even if we don't agree with each other's views we still try our best to support each other's freedom of choice.

Music, food, art, surfing, fishing, farming, ecology and of course alcohol and drugs are the bonding social fabric we have. Crackheads and criminals live side by side with hippies and tree huggers. As long as nobody is stepping on any one else's toes everything has a way of remaining harmoniously balanced. There are so many characters in our little village each deserving of a full length story or epic film I'm sure. Lately, I've been writing articles about all the musically gifted people in town. That's not the only thing that makes this place amazing. It's all the colorful characters here that really help keep the dream a dream.

Recently, I've been showing up at Tex Mex at around 6:30am for my whiskey "come down" after a night of heavy cocaine use. It's the watering hole for early risers and two dayers. The proprietor of the morning crowd is an English white man in his forties named Roger. He has an uppety English accent, sharp wit and a mischievious grin. He's been here a long time. In addition to Tex Mex morning business he also runs Cafe Rico a few blocks down the road. He appears to be rather normal until you get to know him. He of course has a checkered past as do many folks here. His humor is dark and sarcastic. He'll blurt something out occasionally completely wicked and completely on point. It usually takes a second to digest what just came out of his mouth. Then I usually laugh out loud. Did he just say that? One morning he asks, "Hey, Loveless, I'll pay you 100 bucks to go to the 'Shall Remane Nameless Hotel' jump up on the reception desk. Drop trou and take a shit." Some might dismiss this as bullshit. I might have if I had not heard stories of a similar such incident about a year ago with my good friend Erik, Rocking J's younger brother. He paid Erik to jump on a guy's motor scooter and take a shit on the seat, Which, according to local folklore Erik immediately and proudly jumped up on the bike, in the center of town, in the middle of the day, and took that shit. Erik of course is worthy of a several stories which I'll do my best to capture as a write more about my experiences here. Roger though, with seemingly uppercrust British manners, has a twisted sense of humor behind his grin. One time I passed by Cafe Rico to pay a tab, and hollared out for Roger. He suddenly appeared, if from nowhere, by popping his head up from the hedges right in front me and said in his eloquent Britsh accent, "Roger dodger, hello Loveless." I immediately started laughing. It still makes me smile. He's a nut. He is also one of the first Expats to make Puerto Viejo his home and life. I attribute a lot of Puerto Viejo gringo culture to him and a few others like him that saw a blank canvas on an undiscovered jungle beach and started painting his vision of a new life on his own terms. Roger is probaly the most well known person in town, and deservedly so. He is the calm center in a swirling Vortex of insanity.

Then there's others like Alvin. Alvin is a forty something year old black man that is a member of the Brown family. The Brown's are the Patriarchal family of this village. They own most of this town and the surrounding lands. They are many. I meet a new Brown at least once a week. They range in personalities from uptight shrewd business folks to wandering beach bums. Alvin being the latter. I love Alvin. I don't know many facts about him, but I know him and stories of his legend. I noticed him the first time I visited Puerto Viejo. He walks with a limp and a cane. He always has the most beautiful tropical flowers slung over his shoulder. Walking from business to business he trades or perhaps sells these flowers for what he needs that day. The smile on his face is always genuine and his eyes are as deep as the deepest sea. I ride past him almost daily giving a Devil horn salute in his direction. He acknowledges me with a loud unique howler monkey styled grunt and a grin. Occasionally I stop to share a smoke and ask about how he is doing. He never asks for me anything. He is a non materialist from a rich family. His home is on the most beautiful stretch of jungle beach. It consists of of two aluminum roof panels leaned together against some bamboo poles. He is loved by many, known by no one. His presence here is as beautiful as the flowers he harvests. Such a simple man with such a grand presence deserves rockstar status.

I'll bounce the other way now, back to my beloved bar scene. A couple of years ago two couples moved into our stretch of paradise to start a dream in surfer's dreamland. "Tasty Waves Beachfront Bar and Cantina" Bryton and Steve were the two partners I think. The toll of time and who knows what... leaves Bryton here today standing solo. So let me try to describe Bryton . Bryton  is barely 30 I think. It's a tough call because he has a relatively healthy existence. Although, I've seen him barely able to stand up in front of  Mango's Sunset Grill more than once. Amen brother. His bar is at the very North end of Cocles beach called tasty waves. His appearence and demeanor was very similar to Spicoli from "Fast Times at Ridge Mont High" when I first met him. Nowadays, it's all Bryton. He's been one of the most honest, hard working and genuinely upbeat additons to this culture. I've seen him sigh as he turned away to count out bribe money to keep his bar open on that night. He has the courage, as many of us learn, to stand up to street thugs and isn't afraid of getting in a scuffle if he needs to. Especially, if a tourist is in a pickle. Bryton can be seen around town these days on his motorcyle passing out flyers and usually with his buddy Jackson(a character... oh what a character). Bryton is also very supportive of my music and myself. Always makes a point to greet me after my sets and tell me how he enjoyed it. I always see him in the crowd nodding along with a cold beer in hand. Welcome to the family brother.

Then there's Margarita, a fifty something kind of haggared and well worn black woman. She hangs out at the corner near the bank and what we locals call "crack bridge". She's a fiesty, firey, moody ball of energy. She carries a shank, and has no issues using it when things get out of hand in the gang of misfists and junkies. When I first met her some two years ago, she said, "I heard you think you are the Devil?" I replied "This is not something I think. I realized I was God one day and aware that God was evil. That unfortunately would make me the Devil." She replied, "Well I'm the Devil's wife." So I took her by the waist, gave her a dip and stuck my tongue in her toothless mouth. She nearly fainted. Obviously it was totally unexpected for a gringo like myself to do such a thing. We've been friends ever since. She still tells people she's my wife. Occasionally she'll dissappear for weeks on end. Usually, this means she's in the slammer for breaking a bottle over some one's head in an alcohol fueled rage. I like her. She's had a rough life, but still smiles and makes jokes. She is a fire cracker of a woman. Reminds me of my crazy grandmother Alma. She's always wearing these knee lenght shorts with a "pee hole" cut right below the crotch. About a year ago my nose was really fucked up do to my over consumption of blow. She said, "Devil, pee in a cup and snort it. It'll will fix your nose." I didn't try that and don't ever plan to. Lot's of people, hippies and locals, drink their pee for health reasons here. That's really strange for me. and think it's just not something a person should NOT do. To each his own. Amen to fucking crazies.

I love this town. "Ohhhh... these are the people in my neighborhood, in my neighborhood, in my neighborhood."

will to live

I'm a forty year old divorcey with no kids, no job, running out of money with a rockstar sized drug and alocohol problem. I spent nearly 400,000 dollars in cash over the last 7 years or so. Living life in the fast lane and in the extra slow hammock lane. Maybe it was the divorce that did me in? Or maybe it was my prolonged substance abuse. I'm not really sure exactly where or when I kind of lost my will to live. I wake up for my slumbers with a sense of emptiness. No one is waiting for me. I have no future appointments. I have no idea of what I will be doing beyond that moment. Do I really need to wake up? Why must I arrange food or comfort or projects to keep me fed, warm and occupied? This seems mundane and unnecessary. I've played my roles in society. I was once a millionaire if only on paper and only for 3 days. I have a pilot's license. I've owned an airplane, several motorcycles, and an expensive convertible German sports car. Had a beautiful, smart, successful wife with playboy looks and a rock hard ass. A woman who dressed to kill and fucked liked a porn star.I could continue to present my evidence of success but I'l stop there.

This man today has almost nothing. A fall from Everest type heights. There was a breaking point. I'm pretty sure it was in my office at Adobe Systems where I was working as a software engineer. The moment I realized the woman I loved was in love with some one else. I'll spare the exact details. Even typing those words at this moment some 7 years later, my chest has this deep sense of regret and heartbreak. I really never fully recorved from that moment. Something in my brain snapped. I had been with this woman for 17 years. We were fifteen when we met, just kids. I'd worked and been faithful. I provided a nice life for my woman. I played the game, for my wself not just her. Then this breaking point. This frustration. This dysillusionment. This dissatisfaction. This moment where I decided enough was a enough. I was checking out for a while, and I vowed not to work until I'd run out of money. What I really meant was if I don't die from the excessively risky lifestyle, I was going to kill myself at zero.

So approaching zero... what am I thinking. First off, I'm really fucking tired all the time. I'm burnt out. It took so much energy to conquer the first half of my life. Do I have to muster up the energy to do that again. I did not like it. It took so much out of me. I don't wanna ever go back to having a real job so I write you my thoughts in hopes that it may pay the bills. Shall be seen. Even with that... I find it terribly difficult to wake up everyday. I'm not one to off myself. Not yet. Seems unfair to the rules of the game. Seems like fair play is to be taken out of the game, not take yourself out. Yet still I have no will to live.

This game sucks... I know what I feel like knowing... and even that bothers me. Life is cruel, violent, and dark. There was darkness before light. There was violence before calm. There was Devil before God. This is truly disheartenbing. I have not much will to wanna perform tricks in its twisted little circus show any longer. I wish to be set free from this man machine so I can have peace. I have no peace. Tomorrow I'll crawl out of my slumber to do it all again... even without the will to do it. Really? Why? Suffer? Really. "Because that's the rules earthlings. Now go get some money so you don't die! Muhahahaah"