This a journey into space with a place for time. No man knows time. 

I do know I was once stuck in Minneapolis for 14 hours recently. A nice airport to be stuck in.  Miss one plane. Catch another. Receive ridiculous Delta charges. Carry on. Arrive in Brazil. Fly some more. Surrounded by strangeness. 

There were gangster bears involved in last weekend. They reside in bathtubs in Santa Barbara. And then there was Will. And a music festival. I went with out my camera to ensure extra strangeness occurred. FuckYeahFest2013. Crowd surfing to STRFKR. The best of sports.

There was Vincente, The Standard Hotel (rather above my standards), sunflowers, and tacos de cabeza. Gas station coffee, unending conversations on the quality aspects of life.

3 days. 1 return voyage LA>Flagstaff. 5 hours of sleep. 3 10 minute naps [RPP](random public passouts) 1.5 gallons coffee. 12 hours straight trying to get from Barstow to LA. 1 lifesaving call from mum. 3 pouches of deep fried potatoes. A whole grip of lifesaving calls and comments from dad, Aunt, Uncle, friends, and associated strangers(friends).
Since I was stranded in Barstow. AKA Armpit. I decided that all people in Southern California are evil. Common thoughts among the hitch hikers of our lovely country that watch the millions drive on by with empty seats afraid of nothing but themselves. I tried and failed to board a 4 am Amtrak. I had some intense emotional trips about being 2 hours away from missing my everything to Brazil. Jumped on the most expensive cab ride of my life straight to the Brazilian consulate. Because sometimes its time to live the high life. While retaining the low life. On time. In LA. My sentence awaits: not going. Luckily the postcard game and a certain super rad picture made our desk assistant smile. The visa that was not allowed will be processed by Monday.  We are going to Brazil. Still. On Monday. Which still left me stuck and another ridiculous plethora of walking, bussing, skating (and falling)(bleeding)(sorryjoshtheresaholeinmyfavoritepants) and 5 hours before I finally and deliriously got to Casa Stella. To sleep.

Tucson passport.  I shot pictures of Hard LA. I drove over night and the next day to Canada. Silly. We went for Shambhala Music Festival. That was a completely transcendent experience. The gypsies took me in with my car. We blew a tire. Fixed a tire. Portland. Pit-stopped the car in Tucson. Hi dad. Drive to LA. Learn to love humans of LA. Discover the visa process. Drive to Flagstaff Police for a visa clearance. Wallow. Repack. Maybe sleep. Drive back to be stranded in Barstow.

14,000 miles. 6 Music Festivals. 33 cups of coffee. 1 caffeine pill. 2 jump starts. 2 push starts. 2,542 photos (until I import in 10 minutes). 23 sweet potatoes. 12 tins of smoked oysters. 6 bags of goon. 4 new dance moves. Bagfulls of love.
Where exactly have I been this summer? I couldn’t keep up the blog. So here’s a recap. The last blog was in Isla Vista. The day after that we drove without tickets to Lightning in a Bottle. We got tickets by sheer will. I took photos. They got published. We went to Santa Cruz. We cried. Visited airport departure gates. Went to What The Festival as press for Allyouneedisbass.com.
Photos from What The Festival.