WHO AM I?
(Photo: Mauritania, 2004)
For years, I considered myself a possible Jack Kerouac reincarnate; an outlaw. I was hysterically expressionate, cried easily and fell in love with every woman I met. Every movement was holy or cosmic, I’d thought, and with an equal balance of reckless abandon, death-defying lust for life and cut throat sincerity, I’d planned to live forever.
So I did everything with a violent willfulness. Yes, everything.
I saved holy men, hitchhiked 50,000 miles, felt the dirty ground beneath my feet in 75 countries, became a capitalist in Marrakech, Morocco and stayed for 4 years.
I’ve been described as the first sign of the messiah, as a full power wanderer from outer space, as brutally narcissistic and as an untamed genius toying with people like the I’m the nomadic center of the universe.
But it’s likely that you’re asking yourself, “Who does this kid think he is? I’ve climbed big mountains, too!”
Well, in the end, before reading more, why don’t you ask yourself, “Who the fuck are you?”
