The Oddities of SILVER BROWN

The Man Of My Dreams

I roamed the Canadian wilderness for three years. In a location that’s at least a four hours’ drive from what the modern descendants of the colonists who plundered Turtle Island laughingly refer to as civilization. During that time, I gave burnt offerings to the seasonal solar energies and baptized myself weekly in waters sanctified by beaver urine, and slept under a dreamcatcher. One I created myself. Unfortunately I don’t have any pictures of it, because its strong cosmick aura frustrated my ability to capture it photographically in a manner that would adequately do it justice. But I do have this picture of an artifact from a makeshift temple I constructed somewhere in a nameless corner of the taiga. I had to burn Deep Woods Off for the incense and enclose it in mesh to keep out the skeeters, but it performed its function as a sanctuary…


20170806_070855
Form is emptiness. Emptiness is form.

Then I got bored with all that and moved to London. Not the London, though. A city in Canada, which shares its name with a certain British metropolis. You can tell they didn’t put a lot of thought into the name. They could’ve derived a really badass name that hasn’t been used yet from the native languages spoken in the area. Like Chicago did, or Winnipeg. But no, they had to be all imperialist-snoblike and name it for their beloved capital across the pond. It’s now the fifteenth-largest city in Canada, and probably stuck with the name permanently. I give you a picture of its filthiest street…


20180911_135534


I like to think the dreamcatcher sucked something out of me in those three years. I sensed it when I saw my student card…


20190425_152540


I don’t know if it was the lighting, or the particular way I had my facial hair trimmed at the time, or the fact that I spent the first six months in this unimaginatively-named city living in a Zen commune run by my fairy ganjamother (one of the sweetest women I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting in my life). But there was definitely an aura in the picture. My first thought was: Holy shit! I look like a rock star! A certain rock star with vocal abilities that are either angelic or annoying depending on which critics you believe, who is well known for his pre-performance ritual of meditating in tipis with dreamcatchers. Specifically, this guy…


jon-anderson-makes-me-happy

Advertisements
The Oddities of SILVER BROWN

A Buddha in the Temple of the Squirrels (steal that title if you wanna)

I’ll paint you an elaborate picture of one of the supporting characters in my book next week sometime. Until then, I leave you this picture I took one afternoon in the backyard shortly after a ganja session. When I saw this thing, my first thought was that this squirrel’s chakras are aligned as fuck. Check out that third eye.


20190205_114847

The Oddities of SILVER BROWN

The Curse of Pooh

A strange beast, this Universe is. A.A. Milne wrote many things in his lifetime. Including plenty of books intended for adult audiences. Books he was personally proud of. To his slight chagrin, it was ultimately the Winnie-the-Pooh stories that made him famous. His son, Christopher Robin Milne, bitterly resented him for using him as the namesake and inspiration for the least interesting character in said stories. He had a bitch of a time getting laid because he never outgrew the public image his father gave him as a little boy who likes to play with dolls, and eventually had to marry his cousin. It was a resentment the younger Milne took to his own grave. Yet, it was from that cesspool of chaos and disappointment and familial strife that Winnie-the-Pooh emerged. Like a lotus flower blossoming out of a shark-infested swamp…