The future of...

Journalism used to be a revered craft. We once received our news from a fully functional, professional writer who had interviewed sources that didn’t always know if they should be giving up the information they tenderly spoke out loud. The articles we read were expertly written with great care and consideration for the art of words and language.

In short, it all seemed so very important.

As of the time of this writing, our news has been sequestered to the realm of the social media abyss. Just as we scroll by the major achievements of our children, the minor accomplishments of our own lives, and the mundane existence we bore outwards for a serotonin boosting thumbs up; we take in our news with an alarming indifference as it flows away from our vision.

Our heroes were writers, at least they were always mine. Dr. Hunter S. Thompson was a giant of epic proportions, creating astounding landscapes from blades of grass and grains of sand. Tom Wolfe was a master of the standard in spectacular. Every journalist at the local paper had something to lose if they sacrificed their integrity, and that integrity was derived from a sense of accuracy and morality.

Influential-based money and interest-based censorship signed the beginning of the end. As soon as the opinion section turned to a monetary mission, the intellectual honesty of our information was sacrificed indefinitely and forever more.

There is a light at the end of the subway towards 1984. There are still those out there that have trust in the fifth estate. Those that remain a belief the watchful eye has a place in our broken society.

Every once in a while, there comes along a participation in the patronage of honest journalism.

In my own hometown, a contender for sanity has emerged. Sprawl (in Calgary) has carved a path towards what they call “slow journalism.” Taking time to realize a story that many of us had no idea existed at all, and turning that into a fascinating report of suddenly essential media.

In this web-based easy access way of life, the prospect of a deranged initial vision is always a possibility. If the model of slow and crowd funded news becomes more the norm than the fringe, we will all be much better served towards a brighter future. One in which we can still have our watchdogs and servants dedicated to righting the wrongs most times previously unseen.  

Apparition Musings

Dean Miller believes an apparition is defined simply as “the sudden appearance of something surprisingly remarkable.”  

Upon experiencing an apparition presented on canvas, the ultimate goal is to activate a part of your mind that you don’t usually access. A swift presence of the unexpected.

Dean Miller

Often the reality of our collective struggle in the human experience is strikingly comparable. When the everyday existence we all work through is considered, apparitions become a sort of bar that is out of reach. We know there is more than what is in front of us, we just have trouble taking the blinders off long enough to see the beauty all around us during the journey.

Tunnel vision creates problems that creativity attempts to solve. Without our most bizarre, our most sterile become our most standard, and the vibrant colours that make us human will fade away into a dull gray background.

Dean Miller

Without an unexpected appearance or an apparition, the predictable will easily become the normal way of doing things. Without distractions we become the scenery, as we march towards a certainty that was always expected. Without the sudden appearance of something surprisingly remarkable, nothing is remarkable anymore.

For What it is Worth

"Art is leaving a piece of your soul to stand behind when the ashes of your once existence have long blown away. "
- Dean Miller

The moment you realize that art has a life which dictates and documents the ebbs and flows of an individual experience. Art is our beckoning desires and greatest impulses compressed into a physical creation of which means so much and so very little at any given moment.

Dean Miller

Constantly redefined by every step and every experience, art becomes its own world. Rising from a spark of black emptiness, the ultimate markings of pure imagination take form.

Art is so internally human and something so vaguely alien, art is something that is from another plane of existence yet keeps us rooted with our own sense of history. So incredibly individualistic yet so unbelievably connecting, a landmark of our shared world in each unique vision.

An attempt to define the undefinable, a stab at something more, a legacy left in an eternity of infinite possibility. Have we ever existed? Or have we always been present to experience the scope of what is truly possible?

I am either an artist or not an artist at all and I don't give an actual shit either way. Some have been tapped to release their own vision and some are just trying to survive the reality in front of them.

A hierarchy of needs creates a vacuum of urgency for the majority. The potential of a true artistic expression becomes hindered by the bleak political and dire landscape that has been constrained by the desire for more. That pressure, in turn, creates a yearning to produce diamonds and occasionally succeeds.

The Journey Never Ends

The last time I posted anything here, I was on the trip of a lifetime.

Having never completed the travel blog throughout the whole trip and ending up with far more adventures than I wrote about, I considered relying on recollection to see it to the end. Memory is a fickle bitch however, and is quite possibly the downfall of humans in general, so I will not attempt to finish those blog posts.

I ended up going to Malaysia and Burma, living at a tattoo shop, falling in love with at least 4 more people, and clinging to the brink of existence on several occasions. (You'll just have to trust that it was all very insane and surreal).

I'm sure the scope of my reach with these posts will be far less than it was before as the scope of my life is far, far less.

I have since entered the wild world of procreation and succeeded beyond my wildest expectations of raising a child. My son is now almost 3 years old and he is the joy of my, and anyone else he meets, life. I plan on taking him to northern Europe in a few years and starting back up on the ol' travel blogging hitch.

Until then, whoever is reading this is stuck with my internal musings and overall weirdness about life. And if nobody reads, well at least I'll have a journal to look back on until Skynet or Ajit Pai or whoever becomes aware and destroys the internet completely.

So yeah: Guess who's back, back again... Skippy's back, tell a friend.

The Ride. The town of Pai

I’ve done it. I’ve been to Chiang Mai for Songkran, bucket list, life goals, all of the clichés. I wanted something more from my time there. Living life on a whim at this point had only improved my situation, and I wanted an adventure for my last few days up north.

“Fuck it.” I thought. I need to go to Pai. I had heard all about it from the travellers I had met and figured that was my next destination.

I got to talking with John, an eager brit that was staying at the hostel and loved motorcycles, and I had casually mentioned that I was thinking about renting a proper bike (none of this scooter business) and booting through the 700+ twists and turns through the mountains to get to Pai. He was all about it. Sold.

No turning back now

So the next day we rented our bikes for 24 hours and started on a journey that will continue to be the best memory of my trip so far.

The view was amazing

As we rode through the amazing scenery I figured this was pretty much why I wanted to come here. It was times like these that made me want to scream to the gods of insanity and thank whatever forces made this happen. Life was good and I had nothing but a smile on my face for the 4 hour drive there and then the same (same) back.

We arrived in Pai in time for dinner and I immediately fell in love with the town. The vibe was much more different than other parts of my travels. An impromptu jam session took place as I tried to keep up on harmonica. I was asked to stay and get paid to perform at a bar the next night which was unbelievable but I had a flight booked in Chiang Mai for the next day. I’m not sure I can carry a performance anyways as most of my playing is highly improvisational and usually fairly booze fueled.

We only had the night and I saw the town. I met some people, had some laughs and then woke up the next day to ride back to Chiang Mai and catch my flight back to Phuket.

More and more I love this country, the north may have my heart but the south may be where I belong in the long run.

To the next step and back to Phi Phi,

Daniel Double-u

I am hooked

The city of Chiang Mai (Songkran 2014)

Setting out to plan the trip I really had no plans in mind. I just figured enough to book a one way to Bangkok and hit the ground running. I was going to burn it on both ends as long as I was still breathing. Plans meant constraints, and constraints were pretty much shackles at this point.

I did know I wanted to make it to Songkran. Every year starting April 13 Thailand celebrates its new years celebration. In sanskrit the word translates roughly to astrological passage. The holiday is very important to the Buddhist majority of Thailand as it marks a new beginning and a way to start clean and begin a new trip around the sun. 

Just a wild scene

On the streets it is pandemonium. In what has to be the world's biggest water fight, businesses and people line every lane with buckets of ice cold water and load up the water guns and proceed to have the best time ever.

In Phuket they celebrate for one day/night. There is water everywhere you go and if you enjoy the craziness you hit up Patong and get buck, but you could be on a side road in central rural Thailand and some kid will pop out of the bushes with a bucket of water and proceed to soak you with the biggest smile on his face. 

This kid would stand there all day

In Chiang Mai (Northern Thailand) they go for five days straight. As Songkran got closer I kept hearing that was the place to be. They go harder, and longer than anyone else. I mulled over going up there for about .7 seconds before booking my flight for the next day.

The old and inner city of Chiang Mai is surrounded by a canal (think moat) and a brick wall. This moat provides the perfect water gun replenishing station for everyone to keep on soaking eachhother. For days. Hundreds of thousands of Thais and tourists flock to this hub and party their freakin asses off.

If this video doesn't work, click this link SONGKRAN

And we did that as well. The solid group of people that convened on the Bann Nana house hostel definitely enjoyed the odd cocktail . A good mix of Canadian, English, Belgian, and German. There was a bar district that saw its fair share of us during Songkran and it was insanity. On separate occasions I danced my ass off to drum and bass (a rare commodity over here), drank 4 buckets in one night, and broke up two fights (one resulting in a concussion). Alcohol and I have an abusive relationship, and it beats the crap out of me on the regular. 

The Chiang Gang

By the time the five days were over I had been wet and partied enough for five lifetimes, but that just seems to be Thailand in general. 

Happy new years!

Daniel Double-u

16. The (Koh) Tao of Banana Rock

After the madness of Koh Phangan I needed a break. A break from the partying, the people, the noise and commotion. The boat to Koh Tao was a short journey and there were plenty of amazing small islands to watch as they passed by the scenery. Windblown and awestruck once again we hit land and I met up with a friend Derek who had been working on the island as a DJ for several months.

Derek not working

He showed me the hotel he was staying at and I snapped up a room right across from a hard-court soccer pitch which would be hosting a tournament featuring players from Koh Tao and other islands of the region.

These guys were good

Mr. J's

I was bottom left, Derek was by the blue bin

After getting settled I took a look around and quickly decided this was far more my speed. It was in places like Koh Tao that really allow me to reflect on what an incredible trip this has been. From the giant and sheer cliff walls of Phuket with its incredible views, the atmosphere of islands like this and Phi Phi, even the craziest moments of Phangan were awe-inspiring, any backpacker or traveller looking for a soul cleansing journey will likely find whatever it is they want in Thailand.

And then Derek told me about Banana Rock.

No words

I wasn't sure this place existed until I actually saw it, but it took a 20 minute ride on a largely hilly and winding road to get there. I only dropped the bike once on a steep dirt road but managed to save it before metal met earth. Scaring my passenger enough (another Canadian with some stirring words tattooed on her thigh) to walk the rest of the 50 metres, we arrived at what looked like just another slightly off the beaten path resort area.

Words, thigh

Unbelievable view

I had figured out earlier that if you walk into any resort or unfamiliar area like you have been there all along they won't pay any attention. The minute you start asking stupid questions and raising a scene you will be asked for a key or room number or anything similar. This has come in handy getting into a few different resort pools and places I probably shouldn't have been in the first place.

I don't think this type of elusiveness was even needed here. We walked through the resort and approached a tree-house like structure at the back, looking like it was built straight up from the ocean on stilts from the trees in the close area. We climbed up to the second of three levels where there were a few tables and a help yourself type of fridge with beer, pop, and juice. They had a small bar area with staff (I think?) that prepared some fairly special coffees and other assorted drinks. Our group, which included four Canadians and three Germans settled into the living room area for the day.

As we alternated between climbing up to the top level to "drink tea" or "coffee" and relaxing in our cozy little hut we watched the sun set on another perfect day. These types of moments were the reason I took the journey. The blissful high of the ocean breeze wafted through us as the night melted in and everything would fade to black once again.

I'll be back Ko Tao,
Daniel Double-u

Mr J's philosophy (Click on picture to enlarge)

Sounds legit