Let’s get naked…i did, and i liked it.

So I took the plunge. I couldn’t be more literal than that if I’d wanted to, but yeah, I dropped trou and took to the seas like some new age, psychedelic dream chasing, African hippie and…I kinda liked it.

So there’s some necessary background to be explored here, lest I come off as some eccentric liberal who makes a habit of taking his clothes off in public for the sake of taking his clothes off in public. There’s truth in that, anyway… I am a bit of a liberal. Go on, hate me you precious fossils you.

So what had happened was, I was in my room (where most of my more “Ingenious” plans are conceived) and where I normally have a very reliable “Stop nonsense” reflex that puts a halt on the more…insane/ridiculous/illegal ideas, this time around a part of me I’d long ago thought successfully smothered, tied up and left for the coyotes, decided to fight through the less than boy scout grade bindings and push the big red button.

We all know what button I’m talking about; the button that sees you jumping out of moving planes, swimming with man eating fish and hooking up with weird strangers from the net. Yes, that button.

So the button had been pushed, and what had been a silently waning wonder, blossomed into something of an obsession.

I wanted to get naked. Not just naked, I wanted to do it in public.

The idea of jail wasn’t a hit, so I thought a less illegal, but still very illegal (I should look into that) way to go about my new obsession would be to skinny dip.

I could have very easily done it in my backyard and been done with it, but no, I wanted to be reckless with it. Now I think it’s best to make it known that I’m in no way a creep. Sure, I have creepy tendencies, but my goal was never to fifty shades of gray it in a public pool with toddlers in tiaras and all things inflatable in sight, no.

The plan was to go to the beach on a relatively warm day, find a safe-ish spot away from prying eyes and go about my pseudo-nudist ways for a hot second before I get my fill without causing a scene and going to jail. Avoiding jail was where the bar had been set; I don’t see myself surviving the slammer.

Why do it, you ask? I needed this, not this in particular, but something as radical and as exciting as this to pull me from within the depths of whatever funk I’ve crawled into and to cure this claustrophobia I’ve steadily developed.

So, the plan had been set, the day chosen, and I was off.

I had fifteen minutes to talk myself out of it. I had fifteen minutes to reason with myself; my moral compass had one job and that was to put an end to this insanity, but as crazy as I was and am, I’m just as stubborn.

Fifteen minutes later, I was there. Not a soul in sight, it was me, the golden shoreline, the gentle giant before me and the clearest sky above head. I hadn’t taken a stitch of clothing off and I’d already begun feeling vulnerable. It was on some level knowing what I was about to do, also, it was that I was alone. I had no partner in crime, no lookout, no getaway driver, just me and this silly, silly idea.

But I was going to do it. Momma never raised no quitter.

I wish I could tell you that I felt liberated with each article of clothing I slowly slid off my person, I wish I could tell you how good the soft heat from the autumn sun felt and how sexy it made me feel, but none of that sensual, Baywatch stuff happened. I tore those clothes off me like they were on fire, trying as best I could to not think about it too much, before I gunned it towards the ocean and literally crashed against a settling wave.

I felt naked; I was literally naked, in public, with no clothes on. I mean I get that’s how being naked works, but I was in public for crying out loud. The shock of it all was almost suffocating.

My first thought? “What have I done?” Regret, absolute regret poured out of me, weeping with every jagged breath while my body acclimated to the ocean water temperature. Also fear, lots of it. I was afraid someone would wander to where my clothes were, figure the situation out and out of spite they’d run off with my clothes and I’d be stranded, naked, in the ocean. Then I was afraid that the very many things that lived in the ocean would wander as well, too close to the bits that could be nibbled…

After the shock and regret and fear, I guess I could say that a resilient calm took hold of me. It was kind of unexpected. The knowledge that it was okay, that I was somehow safe and free and stupid but incredibly at one with everything around me swallowed me whole. I can’t explain it without saying that it felt like a colour I hadn’t seen or experienced before but one I was familiar with and one that felt right.

Don’t worry, I’ve not been converted, I don’t plan on being a nudist anytime soon, but I found a new appreciation for the sheer bravery of letting it all go and allowing your body to be at one with the things that really matter around you; the tangible.

Five minutes later, a very long five minutes might I add, I dried off, put my clothes back on and stayed behind to stare out into the ocean for a good hour with a new admiration for the world and its many wonders.

This wasn’t some Avatar type of connectedness, but I felt real for the first time in a very long time. I both mattered and didn’t matter and through it all I felt in control. I made the decision to take my clothes off, I made the decision to go into the ocean and I was in control through the whole thing.

Some will call me crazy, and rightfully so, I don’t think this is for everyone, but it was certainly a great way to stumble upon a sacred philosophy I’m coming to terms with more every day; you may not be where you want to be, but you are where you are meant to be.


Night the leveler…

The dark’s been at the receiving end of some bad press for too long. Sure what lurks beneath the shadows is scary, dangerous and damn near fatal, but I happen to like the dark.

When the lights are out and the moon is out, people change. It’s like we can hide in plain sight, we can move as a tribe of unknowns, all searching for nothing and be content. I like the dark. It’s like magic; you get to be invisible, you get to be ageless, worry-less and perfect. I bet you vampires don’t go out in the day not for fear of death, but because time stands still when you’re in the shadows.

There’s something about the night that frees you. Something about the anonymity that uninhibits (if that’s even a word) you and cradles you and your cares.

Everyone is beautiful, everyone is perfect; it’s like God’s Photoshop. The world sparkles, the air is electric and you’re powerful.

But time’s a heartless beast, so night falls. The fall is spectacular; a shining, glorious battle that takes with it all the sparkle, the timelessness and beauty that once embalmed the freed souls that inhabited the earth in those hours.

Daylight sweeps through the streets and I’m vulnerable again, life’s real again and my imperfections are illuminated. I can’t hide anywhere; I can’t run without being caught; I’m faced with what’s really scary again; the real world.

Daylight’s the real monster.

Where the shadows have evaporated and you’re faced with the horrors that once inhabited them, when you see and hear of the beasts that you roamed the earth with, aimlessly. Daylight’s the real abomination, the destroyer of dreams, the incinerator of illusions and the great divider.

Where the night made us all equal, the day brought with it an inheritance of classism, fascism and make clear the pungent stench of war that’d we’d escaped for just a moment.

So we lay in wait, with bated breath and glazed eyes.

We anticipate the scent of twilight, and with it the promise of glamour and we wait for the night.

We wait for the great leveler.

I would live in the wind


I would live in the wind.

If I could, I would dance among the love songs that twist languorously in the breezy spring air. I’d inhale the soft lullabies of love and drink in the sweet caresses of affection that ripple through the ether.

If I could, I would catch the unheard “I love you”, the swept away “hold me” and deliver them back along the slipstream of summery scents that mingle in the atmosphere.

If I could, I would chase away the screams, burn away the cries and exorcise the vile, vindictive whispers of war that stain the zephyr, that live in the chill of winter.

I would travel over the earth’s integument, riding on the tides of nature’s breath while I lived amongst stolen tales, borrowed breaths and unheard thoughts.


My limbs would inhabit the unseen plane, the forgotten element and I would be free. My shackles would wither away and my bones would take to the sky. My ears would be trained to the sun and my skin would drink in the scorching, warm glory of content.

If I could live in the wind, I would witness the unspoken atrocities that go unseen, I would dodge bombs, missiles, daggers and bullets trained on the homes of brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers.

If I could, I too would remain unseen. I too would choose to not be heard unless I howl in anguish at the pain neighbours cause one another. I too would anonymously whisper sweet nothings to shy lovers and I too would sweep nations when rebuilding is the only way forward, the only way towards freedom.


If I could, I would catch prayers and blow them to the heavens myself. I would roar while dreams shatter and I too would slink deep into the night, keeping a watchful eye over a momentarily peaceful world.

If I could live in the wind, I would be happy.

Dear friend: the freedom you deserve

It’s like being born with a ticking time bomb. The second you realise what you have, who you are, the ticking grows louder and draws the eyes and questions of the many people that surround you. Like the day you come to terms with it; when you stop praying for it to go away and you realise that you had no choice in the matter, everything around you will evaporate.

The expected explosion will swallow up all that you’ve ever known. All that you’ve ever had and the kind of existence and love that you experienced before will be forever lost.

It’s like living with a secret jury. A chastising body of familiar faces in your head, constantly judging you; walk taller, speak deeper, smile less, laugh softer and say less.

It’s like you’re destined to be hated; to be judged, ridiculed, downgraded and unloved.

It’s like you can smell the freedom, but you’re not allowed to taste it, to feel it or know it. They know, they’ve always known and they’ve been waiting for you to realise it before they could hate you, publically, officially.

It feels like you were hand picked and crafted by God himself to be a pariah in the very church, mosque or temple you grew up in. You were loved for all those years by all those people until they chose to love you no more.

They were/are the ones that chose, but you didn’t; you had no choice. So you sit there, alone with your freedom and your truth, shunned and chosen as a religious sacrifice to please a God they wrong on a daily basis so they could feel right about their spirituality.

So it was never you; you never chose to be anything, they did. It was, and always will be, their problem.

So what i’m saying is that it’s like understanding what your limbs were designed for. Your awkward twitches, glides and falls will finally be smoothened out and you’ll finally wash the stains of uncertainty from your face.

You’ll finally find strength in your “watered” but perfectly genuine, powerful and existing masculinity. It’ll be like walking on air when the sun is out and you’re glistening with valour and you’re open to the world. You’ll be raw, real and untainted.

You’ll be judged, but you’ll be stronger for it and you’ll be free.

What i’m saying is, you’ll be free.