Back and Froths
Yesterday I had a yarn with a fella from Brazil.
Turned out he lives in Florianópolis.
Ahhhh Flori’, a place I experienced through a sparklingly jaded memory of deabuch and awesome.
About ten years ago about 20 of the boys descended on the town to celebrate Carnivale.
We’d heard it was where the locals partied.
And having many of our friends travel to South America previous (several now having beautiful wives from varying Latin American countries) we knew we didn’t want the tourist trail.
Do you want the stories, from that time?
Like how my friend Swanny aptly titled the whole adventure ‘Frothenopolis’, apologies to the locals but you gotta admit it that it’s creative AF*
As Flori*
Or like when we drove into a gated favela in the pouring rain to pick up supplies.
Before you ask,
Cheese and biscuits for the next days picnic.
And a pretty gnarly argument in Portuguese ensued…
We got out alive.
Of course we did.
Otherwise I wouldn’t be editing this article…
So!
Good times.
If you want the rest of them, perhaps ask me in a real life yarn
and
I’ll most likely decline.
Here I’d prefer to talk about the interesting thing about a conversation with someone on the other side of the world.
A dude who’d been reading my mediums and watching my videos for quite some time.
I’d never met him, just a few texts back and forths.
Or perhaps…
Texts back and froths. (MENTAL NOTE: WRITE THAT SOMEWHERE…) MENTAL NOTE: THIS IS SOMEWHERE) OTHER MENTAL NOTE: ACTUALLY IT’S NOT SOMEWHERE, IT’S FUCKING NOWHERE, THE ONLY WORDS THAT WILL TRULY REMAIN FOR ANY CONSEQUENTIAL AMOUNT OF TIME ARE SET IN STONE) MENTAL NOTE: ENSCRIBE ‘TEXT BACK AND FROTHS’ IN STONE SOME TIME) MENTAL NOTE: ASK PERMISSION OF THE STONE PRIOR TO DOING THIS, HE PROBABLY HAS MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO SAY))))
Fuck sake, that was a lot!
Lay off the Caps would ya.
All this talk of Favelas and picnics…
Feel a bit stoned.
SO Tiago,
the fella from Floripa,
is setting up something pretty special for entrepreneurs to connect over doing good,
but at the higher end of the scale with established entrepreneurs who can invest time, money and resource into their individual and collective missions.
It’s going to be rad when it launches and I’m not going to give away too much. He’s a fella on the journey himself who’s being so kind to invite others with him.
It makes me think —
What parts of your journey are you proud enough to invite others on?
I’m curious,
I’d like to know.
Perhaps if invited,
I’ll come hang and share your journey with you sometime…
Throwing shades of gratitude. IT was only the morning before, and I had the most beautiful conversation with a lady named Linda.
She was born in Mexico, now lives in the USA.
Before she felt the call to support young people through their struggles with depression and suicide, she was a chef and ran a restaurant that sourced 90% of its food from local farmers.
YEWWWW!
And now,
She still supports local farmers through a movement called slow money, which provides 0% loans to people working in agriculture.
The money is then recirculated to others doing the same.
I spoke with Tiago about Slow Farms and he was already doing something similar through a platform called Kiva.
Never the less, he’s going to check out this movement as it may align with his passion for sharing the magic of the land with travellers.
And its now with these two stories and their wisdom holders, I can take back with me to Shambhala Farm on Gubbi Gubbi Country, QLD.
The custodian of the farm Craig, who you may have heard me mention in previous blogs, might find some use for the knowledge and dots connected through these previous conversations.
YEWWW2
My partner Jacqui and perhaps others will tell you I often float away to a different part of the Universe.
Sometimes mid-sentence.
It’s because my brain is connecting dots, exposing patterns and then stepping outside them to see if they actually make sense.
Knowing full-well that nothing makes sense.
But that’s ok.
It’s a different level of Day Dream and may look to the outsider like I’m ignoring them.
Reminds me of London.
And not the way that most sad people ignore you in London.
I had a radical Dean at my college in South London.
His name was Mark.
When we’d pitch a concept or idea to Mark, he’d sit there for minutes at a time, staring into space.
It fucked me off no end,
but that’s because I was impatient.
Now I do the same thing as Mark.
And maybe I’m fucking people off no end.
And I’m cool with that.
There’s a thread there to tease out…
How do you fuck something off no end?
I’ll let you know once I’ve figured it out.
Or let me know if you get there before me.
End.
