I’m lying here in Byron Bay freezing to death in the rainforest after doing a show last night where the sound system turned my voice into Darth Vader half way through but like a trooper I played on because that’s what you do on a stage when all around you is chaos; play on and think to yourself “Fuck it.” How I got here was I was booked to go to Sydney to do a talk on the brain and the what it can do to you if you don’t whip it back into it’s cage, which lasted an hour (I have never gone that far to do a talk so this is a record). I thought it might be stupid to just get on a plane for 27 hours do a hours talk and fly back. Call me crazy but I thought: That’s nuts. So I’ve wanted to come To Byron Bay for 20 years and they just had a book festival so they said I could come and do some of my show and sell some books.
I’ve imaged Byron to be some hippie enclave where all the shops are beach huts, there’s drumming in the town square and everyone’s happy and beautiful living in a palmed paradise. It is stunning; everywhere you look is a perfect thousand mile white beach with surfers riding on wave after curling wave and the scenery is emerald green like “Jungle Book” but the town has done what all artist towns do; sell out. One rainbow, tie die, dream-catcher, plastic Buddha, surf shop after another and my beloved hippies burnt to a crisp in the brain department. There’s one wandering down the street carrying a stuffed dog in an afro wig and his pants around his ankles, there’s another playing a folk song on one note with a back-up flute player imitating dolphin sounds dressed pirate-ish. I went to a tourist site called Crystal Palace where you pay 30 dollars to wander around landscaped gardens dotted with crystals; not tiny ones I’m talking the size of a big walrus which in the gift shop go for (You’ll be happy to know there was a 30% sale) only $7,000. If you couldn’t afford that, luckily there were cheaper dream-catchers and your compulsive plastic fairy or Buddha. It’s good to know the dream is still alive, though it’s probably better if you’re stoned. I have also always dreamt of seeing a whale and was told there were hundreds of them podding or whatever they do. I go to the lighthouse and see a fin. I’m trying again today so I’ll get back to you.
I’ve imaged Byron to be some hippie enclave where all the shops are beach huts, there’s drumming in the town square and everyone’s happy and beautiful living in a palmed paradise. It is stunning; everywhere you look is a perfect thousand mile white beach with surfers riding on wave after curling wave and the scenery is emerald green like “Jungle Book” but the town has done what all artist towns do; sell out. One rainbow, tie die, dream-catcher, plastic Buddha, surf shop after another and my beloved hippies burnt to a crisp in the brain department. There’s one wandering down the street carrying a stuffed dog in an afro wig and his pants around his ankles, there’s another playing a folk song on one note with a back-up flute player imitating dolphin sounds dressed pirate-ish. I went to a tourist site called Crystal Palace where you pay 30 dollars to wander around landscaped gardens dotted with crystals; not tiny ones I’m talking the size of a big walrus which in the gift shop go for (You’ll be happy to know there was a 30% sale) only $7,000. If you couldn’t afford that, luckily there were cheaper dream-catchers and your compulsive plastic fairy or Buddha. It’s good to know the dream is still alive, though it’s probably better if you’re stoned. I have also always dreamt of seeing a whale and was told there were hundreds of them podding or whatever they do. I go to the lighthouse and see a fin. I’m trying again today so I’ll get back to you.
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