at 9:14 pm this evening, tuesday, march 24th, i began a long and arduous process of attempting to communicate on a "large scale" to all you dear friends, knowing that you're spending the majority (if not all) of your free time sitting by your computer repeatedly pressing the refresh button on the flipflap bloggydoogle in a frantic swirl of anticipation, awaiting the next entry. i sat down at the computer that sits before me now, swirlyed the mouse to awake the computer, opened up internet explorer (already logged on to the "high speed" net zero dial up service), typed in flipflapflimflam.blogspot.com, clicked "sign in", typed my user name and password in the entry boxes, clicked enter, then clicked the "new post" button, then typed up to now. and i type fast. and obviously this paragraph hasn't taken much thought or effort. the time is now 9:36 pm, tuesday, march 24th. 20 minutes to open up 4 web pages. oh my god, i am living in the stone age. (this is my excuse for lately being so absent on this here bloggydoodle)

i've spent a week and a half at this here wilding farm and education center in the (christina) applegate valley of southwestern oregon. most of the time has been spent struggling to find myself in a sea of new faces, most of which, actually no, all of which, intimidate the shit out of me. life out here is so incomprehensibly different from the life i'd been living, while obviously being the same life all along. i've planted trees and plants. i've dug and watered, hammered, nailed, sawed. pitchforked straw, chopped firewood, cooked up some mighty tasty but not too new mexican pumpkin black bean enchiladas. i've met 30 new people, lost to 2 of them at scrabble, told jokes to several, and lived in very close proximity with 3 others, eating breakfast lunch and dinner together inside "the buckhouse", a beat up old trailer that serves as the main communal space, as well as working with each of the three on various projects throughout each and every day. i've learned about the natural ecosystem, what plants are what, how old the trees are. i've learned the history of man in these parts, from the miners in the mid 19th century, to the on the lamb ecoactivists who hid out here while being chased by the feds. i've ate well. i've done situps and pushups every night before bed and every morning when i wake. i've even held 2 day old baby goats in my arms, and eagerly awaited the arrival of an estimated 40 more. most importantly though, i've been pooping in a homemade wooden hut 15 feet off the ground into a 55 gallon bucket that sits below, 3/4 full of piss and shit from the past 5 months of wilding human waste production. what a life!

i've been missing people so much, and not that i didn't miss them or you before, not that the pain was even any less acute and blinding. its different now, knowing the time commitment i'm making to not seeing anyone for a long long time, and living a rural farm life that doesn't really provide a wole lot of distracting stimuli, not to mention the extremely limited access to even the most rudimentary (internet) modes of communication. its ok though. i think my fear was that things would change, even though in times of clarity, which lately seems like any time outside of this week, i knew they wouldn't. i wasn't going to let them, but i told myself when the fear that things were going to change first crept in 10 days ago, that i'd give it a week, and if i still was feeling an oncoming shift away from the people i love, that i couldn't do this internship, it just wouldn't be worth it. i'm realizing, with the time that's passed, and the love in my heart for them all and you all that's still just as strong, that its gonna be alright. that its a couple of months. big fucking deal, really. i mean, big fucking deal, yes, it really is, but also, in the grand scale of all things, a couple of months away at this developmental stage in my life will be fine. i love that i have relationships that are strong enough, that i know are strong enough, to weather just about any storm that comes, even if that's a HUGE amount of time apart.

this is me saying i can't wait to see you. and by that meaning holy shit! we're gonna see eachother again and i'm so fucking excited about that and it tears me up that its been so long it really does but the way that i feel about you hasn't changed and won't change, ever, like EVER, and you need to know this that you are in my heart that you are in my thoughts every single day even though i have a hard time expressing this and you may even be questioning my conviction cause surely i never expressed any of these feelings before but if that's true it surely i assure you is because sometimes i hold these thoughts inside because something in me won't let me fully tell you honestly and openly how much i care about you and need you in my life because of social fucking rules about being this honest or maybe with some people its fear that you won't feel the same way or maybe its a fear that i don't want to drag you into something that ultimately you don't really want to be a part of even if you don't know it now but really and truly "i can't wait to see you" means that i want to be near you so badly that when we finally fucking get to be together again after so god damned long my heart will be exploding into little bits and pieces that thank god will be wrapped behind bones and flesh cause the process would surely put an eye out and if this process is communicated via flaky manicness where i'm so excited you think i'm faking it and i even question it because the voice that comes out is too much for me to control or it may be communicated by somber "hi"s and "hello"s where i'm hiding back my emotion, or for whatever reason its not just said, who knows. this is me saying i love you.

AFGO another.fucking.growth.opportunity

i am now at a farm in very rural but not so isolated southern oregon. i plan on living here for some time. my only mode of communication is dial up internet. beraddaytimeparty@gmail.com is my email address. scared, vulnerable, lonely, regretful, are some feelings i've been having, but mostly, i've been totally fucking excited.

snacks demo v 3.0

for so long i left my position of power in this society unquestioned, ignored the privileges i've been granted. upon becoming concious of these phenomena, my initial reaction was guilt and shame, the construction of a self loathing persona, and a valuing of "victimhood". for so long i had been attracted to the role of victim, placing that label upon myself with even the slightest of justifications. never questioning why, or how, or even what it meant.


lately there's been a question of the validity of my labeling certain moments of "trauma" as anything more than an acute awakening to, or clarity/awareness of, the position of power i hold in my relation to society. contesting any and all identifications i may have with the role of victim. questioning the classification of events in my life as "injurious", rather than simply as disruptions to expectations, inversions of the dynamics that i am used to. are the stories i tell myself simply self imposed fabrications of victimhood used as a defense, an effort to escape the guilt of my position? am i using it to avoid actively challenging my place in a structure that categorizes humans based on generalized characteristics, creates distinctions between those generalized categories, and grants certain distinguished groups within these categories the advantages of assumed values and traits(innocence, skill, worth, etc.) while other groups generally are denied or lack these character assumptions? can an able-bodied, affluent, straight, white, male ever legitimate any "percieved" injury to himself?


all this questioning just leads to further self loathing and guilt, paralyzing me and forcing me into a place of theorizing and non-action, right? no. doubting and ctritiquing my thoughts and actions is not about digging for reasons to hate myself, it is instead, a process of creating counter-stories to all the things i've let myself believe for so long. this creation is not about replacing one "truth" with another, but rather, it is a tool. in the act of juggling strories and counter stories, the recognition of this contestation of facts has the affect of making their nature, as "stories", increasingly apparent. the process of generalized story-building altogether is thus made apparent, and at this point, its limitations are able to be transcended.


without a need to produce more stories, action is now possible.

the only question that remains is "what do i need to heal?".

people put some crazy toppings on a pizza

i am still quite alive.
my portland in five words:

sleeping in, eating little debbies.



walking ten miles, every day.