About Saint Edmond Lovecraft

My Mother has always told me the story, about when adventure and I became one and the same. She would tell me about a movie theatre in the late 1970’s where she and my father went to see Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, while she was pregnant with me. When that great boulder started rolling after Indy and it looked as if there was no escape, my mother let out a scream, as people would in the films of yesteryear, at that moment I started to kick and wiggle, more so than my usual, she still says it was that day her great adventurer was born. It’s a great story, and one I have always cherished, my mother helping me understand my insatiable wanderlust and drive for romantic adventure. It was only later in life that I realized that Indy and the Temple of Doom didn’t come out until I was three and it was more than likely my sister in her womb. It’s a great metaphor for these tales. Whether it was my sister or me in the womb during that classic Spielberg film, my mother wanted me to feel secure with my lust for adventure, to not be afraid to take all those leaps and risks that she could see that I wanted to take at the earliest age, to push those boundaries, to ask as many questions as I could, more than the other kids my age. At the heart of everything I do is an aim to be honest with myself and be selfless and the person most people will never have the chance to be. Although, like all people my age, Indiana Jones held a different type of hope and dream for us. He was educated, he took big risks, he was rugged, good looking, charming and in the end he always did the right thing.

Mission statement:

Why is the most relevant question that I could answer here. Why this way of life? Why travel and explore, why this lust for anthropology and the study of mankind?

Admittedly I have a lust for conquest in all its forms. My heroes include Alexander, Caesar & Marc Anthony. Just to categorize this as conquest would be such self-righteous aggrandizement of myself. The “why” goes so much deeper. It goes deeper than the blackest hole breaking atoms into nothing in that theoretical void in space. I travel. I experience the world because the majority of its people wont or cannot. Mankind has trapped themselves in invisible jails, saving money and fighting a crusade to maintain some kind of status quo, to fit in with society. Working their lives away in fear with hopes to one day enjoy the end of their short lives when their bodies have given up, energies have failed them and their loved ones have since passed on. I travel for them, those poor souls trapped behind their picket fences, in their fucking apartments, trapped in their jobs and relationships they hate, chained to the very ground that should be their emancipation. It hurts me, it hurts me to know that so many people live under the rules of society and let the dogma of others completely control them. My goal is to inspire, motivate or at the very least, give a glimpse into the exotic adventures and cultural understandings that await any man woman or child on this earth with the strength to let go. After all, in this wonderful era of technology in which we exist, we can be nearly anywhere on this earth in less than a day. History has always proven the same, societies divide, and people find reasons to hate their differences. My mission is to unite people with my experiences on our tiny little planet hurling through space. I aim to enlighten myself and further my intelligence and understanding of mankind in the process. Its also a great excuse to be the obnoxious crazy person that gets to write whatever the fuck he wants to while racing towards my own end. This whole adventure will finally halt when the mighty Saint Edmond has died a glorious and beautiful death, having lived a life without compromise. For this cause I would happily martyr myself, if only to change the heart of one soul from the hate and misunderstanding that continues to divide our species. If one person steps away from the comfort of their lives to immerse themselves into a foreign culture I will consider myself my mission a success.

About me:

The story starts in the middle, like all my favorite stories do, on a dark and stormy night in Corsica, the Mediterranean island I had found myself living at the time. I had been on the road for more than a year during my first circumnavigation of the planet. I was staying with a seventy-four year old woman I called Mammi, in a large home just outside the city of Ajaccio. Our only other company was the litter of kittens she bread that shared my bathroom. My room was on top of a hill that overlooked the sea on the south-western-most point of the island. She has since died, she was like family to me and although we couldn’t speak the same language we were kindred spirits. She couldn’t pronounce my name so she lovingly called me “Jean.” Daily I would return from work, to the screams of “shoot the balloon” (the football) from the 4 year old who lived in the duplex Mammi owned next door. His name was Antonino and as I drove up the driveway nightly in the twilight; he would be running down the dirt hill while Mammi had a beer and dinner ready for me. It was some of the best months of my life.

I guess it was then I realized the true importance of family, having been adopted by the entire larger Corsican family, solely for the purpose that I was renting a room in their mother’s home. It was just after that, that strange and wonderful things started to happen. I had just returned from a month’s holiday in Sardinia, Sicily and mainland Italy after making a fortune in Corsica on the Euro, (after months in Asia living off cigarette butts and one packet of dry noodles a day).

To return to the start, the night was storming, the moon shone brightly through the clouds that stormed with electric flashes of lightning, which lit the open shutter doors in my room in dramatic illuminations. The palm tree outside shook violently. I stared into the darkness of my room with an empty stare. I had just returned from Italy and was reeling from such precious time with my folks and all the magic we experienced. I returned to Corsica to learn I had been betrayed by people I thought friends, lied to, stolen from and fired from my job mid way on my mission to circle the planet, a mission that was my soul purpose for living at the time. I was betrayed even after a handshake deal with the owner of the shop who agreed to keep me on for another 3 months the day before I left to tour Italy. With that knowledge I had no trouble spending all that I had earned in Italy, nothing short of a small fortune to me at the time. After saying goodbye to my mother and father in Rome I took ferry back to Corsica, landing with less than €100 to my name. In Ajaccio I had an incredibly gorgeous Corsican, underwear model girlfriend that broke up with me after her father found out I was an American; ironically the same day I learned I had lost my job. Fortunately for me my rent was paid for the month, and I was left with less than 3 weeks to perform a miracle to find a way to get somewhere other than Europe, where my Visa was already in overstay status and winter was quickly approaching.

I found myself jobless on an island with 3 tattoo shops and not enough money to get anywhere on the earth. The Tattoo Shop was run by non-tattooers (a cardinal sin) and they wouldn’t pay me what was owed, worth about €750, which could have got me nearly anywhere.

In the dark I lay there listening to the storm, eyes unable to close knowing my chips were about to be cashed in and my dream of circumnavigating the planet was about to be crushed after coming so fucking far west from my starting point on America’s west coast to return with my tail between my legs. I was staring at the paint pealing from the plaster ceiling of my room, waiting for some kind of inspiration while the lightning crashed and the wind howled through the hot night air. Then, the universe opened up and it actually came to me, the things I long to find, the shadows between the shadows. I crave to be terrified, I want to experience fear beyond fear and find those mysterious things that live just beyond the plane of our existence. There in the darkness a phantasm, some sort of spirit or being, whom I had long begged to reveal itself, knowing somehow it was always there. It looked strangely familiar to a ring wraith from The Lord of the Rings with long black robes that moved with the wind of the storm. Skeletal fingers and a face concealed just enough to leave it a mystery. I rubbed my eyes, shook my head. Was this a hallucination?, A dream?, was I on drugs? It coldly stared at me from behind the veil concealing its skeletal face with nothing but black holes for eyes as I sat up in bed. For a moment timed slowed to a stop I could feel my breath slow and in the humid, lightning blasting weather and scorching heat of the Corsican summer I could see my breath exit my body and evaporate into the night. This was really happening, not a flashback, no drugs in my system other than a few beers with Mammi’s dinner that evening, not a dream. The Phantom turned its head from me and pointed south for a moment and then with out ceremony disappeared into the ether. I was terrified, motivated and fucking elated, emotions I had never felt all at once. At last the beasts, ghosts; magic of our world had revealed itself to me. It was real I thought, that’s all that mattered at that point, I laid there all night, unable to close my eyes. The message it bore hadn’t even crossed my mind. The one thing I search for more than anything is the magic left in this world, the soothsayers, the witches, monsters and things that live just beyond the thin veil between us and the dimensional fog.

The next morning, I interpreted this message as the universe guiding me. I laid the world map out before me. South of Corsica left few options, South America and Australia was too far and expensive, the Middle East wasn’t exactly a place I could find work and I was left with Africa. I literally scoured the earth for two weeks trying to find work, drinking Mammi’s beer, way too many bottles of wine and smoking cigarettes filter to filter the whole time. Eventually I found an obscure ad for a job in Simons Town, South Africa, so after some silver tongue hustling I had a very vague agreement for work and sold the last few possessions I had back home through kind advocates and eventually I found my way there, Africa for the first time and this is where our non linear story is going to go to the very beginning of my life, the creation of Edmond.

The Origins:

Once Titans ruled the earth. The king of the Titans, Kronos ate all his children in fear they would depose him in time. Until one day his wife tricked him into eating a giant boulder instead of his son youngest son Zeus. His mother hid Zeus away in a cave in Crete; where he stayed until he was strong enough to confront his father, free his brothers from the Titan’s belly and as a team imprisoned Kronos in Tartarus. The three brothers decided Zeus would rule the Gods and the Sky, Poseidon would rule the Seas and the Earth, and finally Hades, who was the oldest, drew the short straw and would rule the Underworld and the dead. The brothers went as far as to castrate their father, and throw his genitals into the sea; where through the magic of Greek mythology, when his genitals landed in the Mediterranean, Aphrodite rose from the sea and into existence off the island of Cyprus. Fast-forward through time and Zeus had twins with a Titan God named Leto. The twins were named Apollo and Aretemis. Aretemis became the god of hunting, a virgin goddess of bounty and purity. Apollo, as a baby killed a giant python and claimed the sacred site at Delphi and his legend grew, the only God on Olympus praised more was Zeus himself. Most of the Gods lived a top Mount Olympus alone in the universe.

In Greek mythology, Hephaestus, the god of the forge, created the first version of mankind. Molded out of gold, the men were too soft and too perfect and quickly became a failed experiment; a similar result was found when Hephaestus made man out of silver. It wasn’t until he molded man out of mud and earth that we became what we are today, although in those times, men were much bigger than the men of today. VHS fast forward again, Pandora, the first woman, crafted again by Hephaestus of water and earth opens the jar unleashing all the evils of mankind, save one. Now, here is mankind, over populating this planet reveling in our own destruction and failing the Gods that created us.

Before color, race and religion fucked this world to this ash, Gods would come down from their cloudy perch on Mount Olympus and seduce human women. Wonderful stories of Zeus taking the form of a swan and making love to a young girl and other stories depicted in some of the most famous renaissance paintings in existence. Apollo, like his father Zeus, was much the same, he is the god of the bachelor, the God that strikes from afar and the God of the Sun, daily driving his fiery chariot from the gates of dawn and back, Apollo is also the god of truth and punishes those that exist in falsehood.

Fast-forward through the millennia with our magical Sony Beta time machine remote, and we find ourselves in the 1970’s. The Gods have all but forgotten this failed experiment of man. The mighty Apollo found reason, which I fail to understand, to come down from his perch atop Mount Olympus to anoint my Mother and Father with an immaculate purpose, to conceive two children, a daughter and a son, possibly the last Demi-Gods on earth. I am that son, Saint Edmond Lovecraft, the last son of Apollo.

My human family is the most important thing to me, but as likely the last Demi-God to walk this earth I feel I have an enormous responsibility. I offer Apollo a blood sacrifice on his alters every time I make my pilgrimage to Delphi. I am an instrument of his will and the will of the collective consciousness of the universe and daily I look for the hanging lanterns lighting my path to guide me the direction I need to be going. Through the magic code of the universe, signs that light the path I follow, as willed by Apollo and his prophetic power. These signs are my guides. Some say when you believe in numbers, numbers are all that you’ll see, but mine have made choices for me that have guided my life in ways nearly impossible to explain. Those are the Holy numbers according to Edmond: 11 and 29. 29 being the strongest being that 2+9 is 11. They guide my steps, when they show up with their opposites (the unholy numbers according to Edmond) they cancel each other out, if their opposites appear together then I reevaluate and start again. When 1129 appear together, be on train cars, my watch or other random instances, that is the direction towards my enlightenment. The Gods have handed me the map to my existence and each day with their guidance I move closer to my destiny.

I know, I know…what a fantastic thing to hear, Edmond just running his fucking mouth. The truth of it is, I am so tired of the fear of judgment and persecution, so here I lay it on this page acknowledging that fear and revealing it in the light. In all honesty how different is it that a man named Jesus called himself the Son of God? The Great Alexander’s father was Zeus himself. Like all the conquerors after Alexander, including Jesus, all of them recognized that without a Godly parentage they could never be taken seriously. The Travel Villain is here for conquest, to change the world, because I absolutely do not agree with the way the world is now. I’ve always kept my beliefs quiet, silencing the story until now.

Early life:

Join me in the Delorean and back to the future we go in this non-linear yarn. I’m curious by nature; I was born in the late 1970’s in the most fantastic and incredible family. My Mother and Father took a wonderfully nurturing approach to parenting. My sister and I came into adulthood with full knowledge that anything is possible. My younger years were nothing short of supernatural. I spent my time fly-fishing the rivers, mushroom hunting and hiking in the wet forests near where I grew up. Every weekend was an adventure unlike any before it. I can’t recall a time when I wasn’t on the road with my family for the weekend, summer or just to go catch the fish in some wonderful tropical sea or frozen river with my Father. When we weren’t road tripping on $0.47 a gallon gasoline we were working in my Fathers woodshop or doing some kind of creative project. Our nights were filled with the family dancing to the Pointer Sisters or some other wonderful record or the wild and exciting voices of my parents reading literature to us until our eyes slowly shut to end each day. What I couldn’t understand then, but understand now, as an adult is that everything that my parents did, from the smallest gestures to the grandest, was with a predetermined purpose, a training to prepare me for this extraordinary life that I would lead. I was often told, that one of my Fathers closest friend’s, the first utterance from his mouth the day I was born in the hospital, was: “Without doubt, we will see that name in lights one day.” I have tried to live up to that statement my whole life.

My Mother is the product of a solid working class Catholic American family; solid as a rock, educated, balanced, devoted to family beyond measure, highly disciplined, yet forgiving. My Mother possesses uncanny intelligence and organizational abilities. She is a loving and wonderful mother who is responsible for my morals. I grew up in the Catholic Church and was an alter boy who went to CCD classes every Wednesday night. My mother is my conscience, my ability for absolute love and forgiveness. She is the strongest woman I have ever met, having whipped cancers ass twice and still swinging like the holy gang member that she is, she made Chemo drips look as easy as a fucking haircut and I love no woman on earth more and never will.

My Father was a national champion collegiate wrestler who somehow managed to apply himself in athletics and school, earning his Ph.D. Learning is my father’s world. He applies research methods and curiosity to everything academic and not. He is the most learned and exciting man I know. His energy is still contagious. His Energy, at double my age, is still impossible to keep up with. He taught me the glory of being humble, the magic of discovery, the importance of study. How to meditate in his way, with a fly rod surrounded by, in his words: “earth, water and sky.” I realize everyday I am who I am because of what he has taught me. He is my hero, he is my whole world, fearless, tough, fair, compassionate and lives without anger. The man has quite literally handed me the entire world through his teachings.

The most burdensome part of it is, everyday I worry I will lose these unique and immaculate parents and not have those precious last moments with them. I celebrate their lives now, with their encouragement to travel while I am still young and plan to continue that tradition after they are gone, celebrating their lives. The most difficult part for me is that they understand this life I live better than I do. They have a divine understanding of how important what I am doing is, something I don’t fully understand most days and I’m not sure I will ever be able to live up to what I think their vision is. I’ll never be a tenth the humans that they are, and that is the haunting ghost that I am constantly racing against.

3 years into life my sister was born, she is a blonde haired warrior Demi-Goddess, who has had rough times in her life but still manages to spread knowledge, peace and understanding to someone new with each day. She’s smarter than me, and so brave. She believes in the impossible as much as I do and will always be my brilliant soul mate of a sister that has tackled the planet with me. She and I have racked up more countries together than most do in two lifetimes. We share this incredible upbringing and in her case it shows through the immense compassion for people and wisdom beyond her years. She has this divinity about her, a true understanding of the flowing waters of existence and I find myself turning to her constantly to guide me to understand my connection to our universe.

These people are me, they’ve trained and created me and share this bloodline. They have taught me to approach the world in order to create a better one for the people. My Mother, Father and Sister have constantly picked me up from the ground and carried me when I fall from exhaustion. They are my true center.


Everything in my life growing up was so perfect, right up until I fucked it all up. I was always an artist, locking myself in my room and scribbling poetry and writing until there was literally blood on the pages, drawing, painting any and every outlet I could find. With my perfect life and so much wonderful escape into all those fantastical mysterious things my parents exposed me to, somehow I was, and still am, filled with a middle class uncontrolled rage that I’ve attempted to fill with women, drugs and near death experiences my entire teenage and adult life. Deep down I think I wished for some sort of pain or agony to utilize and create from, because, foolishly, I assumed that only real beauty could be created through pain. By putting that into the universe I created it, I willed it into existence, this self imposed suffering in order to create beauty in writing or art or life, my race towards death or whatever the fuck it is that I do. I consistently create havoc in my life in order to fulfill the higher cause. I leave my loved ones, I sabotage relationships with women I love, and I leave as soon as I feel comfortable. The life I have chosen is a difficult one, its not all romance. I’ve gone to such lengths that my personalities have split in order to maintain the iron will needed to keep inching step by step towards this vision of conquest and understanding.

I started drugs when I was 13 and have continued on and off throughout my life. It was a time when 90’s grunge was happening and no one knew it but us, before MTV acoustic bullshit ruined it all, before the magazines, before fucking Subpop. Drugs were falling from the heavens while gang violence spilled into the streets all over the west coast. Drugs were just part of my culture growing up, like the fucking hippies, except we really didn’t give a fuck about politics or love or any of that bullshit. We just wanted to push the limits, to find the edge and we did it by smoking sherm, LSD and whatever else we could find to destroy our brains like that fucking Reagan commercial. I do drugs still, sometimes recreationally, at times to enhance the love I feel for the world, at times to embrace my hate for it, sometimes as a fucking full-blown dependant addict with fuck all for self-control. I go on and off, replacing drugs with women and women with heavier drugs when women get boring. Then women aren’t boring and I go on epic binges perfecting the art of the pickup. Each time trying to better my skills at pleasuring a woman. Then I repeat. It has been that way for 20 plus years now. I have spent every moment since that faithful first taste of drugs and women trying to make myself feel better. It has always been part of me, trying to cure that rage in me with some kind of feeling for humanity. I’ve done every drug you could throw at me. Research chemicals, crack, heroin, pills without names, grass, PCP, fucking embalming fluid, every version of opium based products, and years spent exclusively on LSD. Nearly every drug, in large quantities or mixed together all at once; at rock n roll shows, in swanky black tie parties, in orgies and in ghetto drug dens.

My depression is like that old commercial for depression medication; you know the one with the little dark cloud with the frowny face following the nice looking white lady around? Well my depression is the same but its like that little frowny cloud is a darkness made of prehistoric tar that suffocates you as it seeps into your bone marrow snapping the calcium casings and jabbing them into your eyes repeatedly as you stay conscious feeling every splinter enter through your eyes and into your brain. Although, I assume that everyone with depression probably feels the same. Daily since I was young enough to understand so little about life, I’ve woken from my bed, and considered suicide. Wondering if today would be the day I would just get on with it and leave this ridiculous planet. It has been like a thread on your favorite shirt that you so desperately would love to pull. On average since then I probably think about how much relief I would get from the troubles in my head three to four times a day. I’ve tried a few times, a couple for attention, a few to truly meet my end. I have gone to therapy, I’ve turned to meditation, and although those things help, they have been a temporary fix, a band-aid for the bigger problem. Whatever I have, it seems to be a permanent condition. At first I knew that my loss would kill my grandmother earlier in my life something I refused to put her through, after her passing it became my parents, keeping me alive. Once they’ve gone I imagine that horrible burden will pass on to someone else. I assume they’ll eventually and unknowingly carry my life on their shoulders in the future. Which saddens me, for no human should have to carry that weight.

Depression is a bitch and I don’t really do all that much about it. Sometimes I’m on medication, sometimes medication is for fucking slaves. Mostly it’s for slaves. The depression and manic undiagnosed egg beaters whirling in my head inside that bag full of drowning cats is really just the constant of who I am, whether the depression came before the drugs or the drugs came before the depression. I battle those demons everyday while I try to make my existence mean something. I do know one thing for certain; the drugs they call illegal are the ones that cure my madness the best and on my stronger days I just accept that this depression is who I am and deal with it and turn to beating the fuck out of myself through exercise.


I’ve done many things in my life, I have worked as a cowboy on a ranch in Montana, tended bar, been a musician, managed multi-million dollar companies, been a criminal, I have sold and hustled just about anything you could dream up. The many jobs I have held could fill a dozen pages and from that experience I have grown to be one of the most capable people I know.

Film has been the greatest passion of my life, and since I was old enough to hold a video camera, I was filming everything; in fact, most of my life has been documented on camera. My life’s ambition up until 2008 after I had finished my short degree in college was to head to Film School. Life had different plans for me, the day I had planned to spend the afternoon with my Father to complete my essays for my scholarships for school in California everything changed. Secretly I had planned that after I had finished my first degree, I would take a gap year and somehow hustle $10,000 and travel until I would go broke, just to see if I could survive in a foreign world on my own, earning a real education before heading back to the books and study of my final years at university.

It was a Friday when I planned to meet my Father in order to finish those essays, I had spent the morning getting tattooed, while getting tattooed, my long time friend and owner of the shop offered me a job as his apprentice, a full-time, unpaid job that would certainly cause complications. My immediate thought was it was better than going to film school and being a waiter, drug dealer or hustler while trying to succeed. At the time I had owned my first home for 4 years, and would have to work full time at the tattoo shop while taking on a night job to pay the mortgage. So, after a talk with my Father we agreed and I started my studies into Tattooing, choosing to put schooling on hold while I gained a trade in order to afford to complete my degree. I spent nearly two years working 6, 10-hour days at the tattoo shop and 5-hour nights working at a design firm every night. That choice revealed a racetrack of a life I never in my wildest, opium-induced dreams could have ever imagined.

It may seem strange, but tattooing is far from the common opinion of most people, although the perception is drastically changing during its current renaissance. The former attitude toward those involved with tattooing was that of criminals and people of the underworld and in some societies the majority still is. Don’t get me wrong; its still full of murderers, assholes and general cunts that deserve a proper cricket bat beat down; on the surface its lowbrow art and bad life choices. Being part of this business is actually so much more. Being a Tattooer I find myself constantly striving for perfection in my art form but what I didn’t know when it all began surprised me. Cultural understanding is at the heart of western tattooing. The Tattoo industry has to be on the cutting edge of design. It’s like having an electrical connection to the collective firing neurons of the people of the world. A Tattooer must understand symbols of culture from all around the planet and why people choose to get marked to claim their place in society. It is truly a wonderful form of sociology. Daily I have to apply awareness, compassion and understanding to complex ideas from every aspect of existence, mythology, theology, science, literature, etc. Then apply communication and convert them into images on skin that can be easily understood, permanently, often within minutes of accepting the job while hustling the client into spending more money, and becoming a lifelong loyal customer. It’s nothing short of magical. It is also taken way too fucking seriously. I have to remind colleagues and myself at times that we are just a small group of egotistical assholes drawing cartoons on people. I intend to concentrate as little time as necessary on the subject of tattooing during my travels, although they are almost entirely funded by it.


In 2011 I left home with two bags, $4000 and two tattoo machines with intent to circumnavigate the planet. I left everything. I walked away from the home I worked so hard to own, I sold a lifetime worth of material wealth for pennies on the dollar, all I loved turned into a handful of paper. I cut stacks of my near max credit cards to bits and with two bags walked away from that life to satisfy my wanderlust and thirst for knowledge. This was my first real lesson in letting go, of not letting the fear of loss control me. It was my escape from the prison I had fallen into that society had convinced me was the correct path. The first leg of the journey took me 4 years, traveling over 101,000 miles between 29 countries all while traveling (mostly and ultimately) west. I partied and fucked my way all the way around the earth. During that time I studied people and culture, I understood how fragile life is on this planet. I learned that the happiest people in the world have nothing and the saddest people have everything and take from the people who are happy. I learned that in our darkest moments; when all seems lost, strangers will pick us up from the ground to feed you, clothe you and extend you love. I learned that in Corsica you can be adopted and loved by someone you can’t traditionally communicate with. I learned that the most common trait of mankind is kindness. I learned that hunger means progress, I have found myself without the means to eat more than once, found myself desperately looking for work in strange places while the last of my money would evaporate. When you’re hungry, your perspective changes, life takes different meaning, and when your body starts to grow cold and the calories drain from you, when you face the inevitability of ending up with no means to leave or care for yourself, enlightenment gleams upon you. I have starved, I have begged for work; I have been alone for years and have persevered when most would have turned back. I cried, I bled, I learned. Most importantly I changed forever. In the end I earned my laurels. I traveled west until I could return to the place where I started my journey. Placing my feet in the exact spot where I once said a loud “a journey of a thousand miles…” It was the first time in my life I had accomplished something truly unique, something no human had done or could replicate. It was a proud and incredible accomplishment that lasted for that one precious and delicate moment, as I was immediately aware it wasn’t enough. After a small homecoming I traveled another 2 years within the United States, I just couldn’t readjust to America or sit still, 2 to 3 month stops at a time between Hawaii and varied places on the mainland, west coast to the east coast with a quick hop to Havana, Cuba while Obama’s Air Force One was still on the tarmac, to celebrate the opening of US-Cuba relations being revived and to see the Rolling Stones play there for the first time. Immediately upon my return to America, still soaked with the glaze of Afro-Caribbean women, the film of cigar smoke, and Havana Club rum still sparkling from my pores, it was enough to rudely awaken me from the money and comfort I had taken advantage of during my stay in the USA. I was too close to falling victim to the very thing I set out to inspire people to avoid. It was time to go, on my return to the states I crossed the Atlantic by container ship and loved the sea and the escape from technology. So from there, I set a plan in place, starting with crossing the Pacific Ocean by freighter, then I started this new blog, trashing years of work, millions of words and the overwhelming success of my former blog. Officially, Edmond had taken over completely. Call him my pen name, call it my split personality but having Edmond, I was finally free. Edmond is everything I aim to be. He started as the name I would pick up ladies with, just so they could never find me again, and then he evolved. Soon he had a mission statement, to do good, to spread love and compassion, to fucking dance and live without consequence. To not be haunted by the dogma of society. To aim to end racism and the hate that plagues our species over perceived differences. And finally, to expose the world to culture and locations that they otherwise would never have been exposed to.

After two years traveling through the States it was time to go abroad again and that’s when it happened, as much as I didn’t want to say it out loud, as battered, tired, homesick and lonely as I was being homeless for 6 years, I spoke 8 simple words that locked me into this life. I believe that staying true to your word, no matter how painful it can be, no matter the personal or emotional toll it takes, is the honorable thing to do. The romance of this rambling life is a misconception, one very few could understand. I feel like I’m dying most of the time, my aging has accelerated from the constant crisis I find myself in. My body is usually broken as is my heart; depression cripples me, which leads me back to drugs. The times I feel most alive is when I’m on some fast paced adventure that makes my heart race. Still, I spoke aloud to people I respect: to travel for a decade or die trying, a commitment to double Jack Kerouac's time on the road, to match poor Odysseus lost at sea, and finally become the greatest traveler alive, not by numbers or places visited but measured in understanding. I sit in frustration knowing people that know less sit with assistants doing all the work while million dollar budgets fund Instragram influencer advertisement and a million travel television programs that soullessly sell you falsehoods.

Being alone for so long during the first leg of this decade awakened something in me. The freedom and the risk revived me. It made me recognize the value of people; it made me deeply appreciative of family, of culture, the written word, and the history of man. Today nothing is more important to me than learning. I constantly reach for things to satisfy my curiosity and lust for education. Throughout my travels I read through many of the classics and history books. Greek, Hindu and Roman History lit a flame inside me, something I have yet to be able to completely satisfy. I find myself drilling people with questions to help me understand culture as a whole, and how each tiny change relates to the whole of mankind. I understand how important it is to study our history, the myths as they repeat themselves throughout time, the hubris and the triumphs. Understanding these things is the key to surviving our future.

In my life I have lost very few, but important people in my life. My grandparents left us first, their struggle was over and I didn’t need to feel sorry for anyone but myself, which was a lesson I learned earlier than anyone I have met. In my early teens the guitarist in my second band to hung himself, he had a rare talent and I think he would have done pretty incredible things with his life. Most recently, I lost two of my very best friends while I was away on my adventures, one to drugs, one to a car accident, both leaving children behind, kids I called nieces and nephews. That was a crushing blow to lose them far before their time. Once I found myself back home, it just never felt the same; it had become just the place where I was from. Their loss still weighs heavy on me. I realized that in the years I was gone, most of my friends had forgotten me and my readjustment to that old life would not be possible. Before my first departure, my father quoted some great author saying something along the lines of “once you leave, you can never truly come home my son.” His hand on my cheek and his eyes a little sad, but he was proud. I couldn’t understand then what I fully understand that now, once you truly experience the world, even just pieces of it, once you absorb the delicate and fine details and exclude yourself from what is comfortable, once you escape ordinary, how could you find that comfort or find that you again, or want to for that matter? You can always go back to where you come from, but you can never truly go home.

The Risk:

Not many people realize how difficult it is to obtain anything other than a tourist visa in a foreign country, which prohibits you from working. Your average tourist visa is 3 months, with the exception of the UK which is 6, so for extended trips you have to realize that you have to completely start over every 90 days with a new job, new friends, in a new country and so much more. If you’re caught working, and I have been: cuffed and thrown in a jail cell in South Africa for working illegally only miles away from the most notorious prison in the world. The major concern is that they can and sometimes will, deport you, and deportation costs are taken on by the country you are from, and in the USA you must repay those costs, like a student loan it never goes away and it can cost you up to $30,000 USD plus whatever interest the bankers want out of it. Since that day in a jail cell I have always looked over my shoulder and been quick to with some fucked up back-story to get me out of a jam. Recently during my 8th year, I was snitched on by a person I had never met and the shop I was working at had immigration burst through the doors, which lost my ability to work and threw my entire world into chaos. That is why I try and stay anonymous, at least for the time being. The modern entry visa was a product of the cold war. After WWII every one was spying on each other, in response governments started requiring everyone to register and a time limit to explore each country. Now, with the universal distrust we are finding today and with conservative values becoming more and more outrageous and the finger pointing always to the people of alternate culture or skin color, it gets more intense to travel with every bell strike and adds to the urgency to continue now as the world plunges deeper into chaos. Before the war you could Indiana Jones your way just about anywhere by just walking into any old country you’d like and things were cool, live there, stay there whatever it wasn't that big of a deal. Those days have long since passed. The other risk is being turned away at immigration, I have had friends who have been sent back to Los Angeles from Sydney (on their dime within 24 hours) for carrying tattoo machines and refused entry under the “suspicion of employment” so its always nerve wracking to think that not only are you gambling with large amounts of money, you’re also potentially going to be banned from entering that country ever again, or for 5 years until they review it and see if you’re worthy. Either way, it’s a dangerous game to play with a passport, because one black mark on it and at every checkpoint they will pull out the magnifying glass.

The Saintly view of love:

I grew up a poet, I wrote and read until nothing inside would remain until the next morning it would be filled up with words and images that I felt compelled to express on paper. I grew up reading Nick Cave, Jim Morrison, TS Elliot, Sylvia Plath and many others. True love has always escaped me; I have been lucky to experience something similar a few fleeting times, but never the real thing. I blame that mostly on the fact that poetry and poets have an ultra romanticized view of love that can never be truly realized. In all women admittedly I do look for “the one,” as I suppose all humans do. But my ideals are just too incredibly high. The girl of my dreams is just too complicated to exist. My idea of her is nothing but a poem and therefore has turned me into a bit of a womanizer, finding pieces of her randomly in ladies around the world. I suppose it makes me a sociopath, the fact that I actually forge headlong into a falling in love in order to actually get hurt in order to create chaos, to create beauty while simultaneously hoping that somehow it will always work.

My seduction techniques are generally categorized as the “Rake Technique” but I adopt many forms of seduction, I am a talented seducer of women. In this wicked little game we all play I am a great shape-shifting Demi-God and can become the object of a woman’s desire shortly after meeting her and sensing her needs, and charming her with my silver tongue. Not to say I don’t fail often, but always with purpose, every time you play you get that much better. I wear my emotions on my sleeve and I do my very best to treat all women with the utmost respect and always lead with the truth. I don’t need to be a caveman and procreate without purpose, but I do understand the system, and understanding the system is where I veer to the road less traveled.

With every woman I have ever slept with, I fall in love, even if for just a second. All women have that something in them; it is the ability to find it that gets exciting. I travel the world and am lucky enough to have had women of all creeds; races and nations visit my bed in more countries than most people visit in their lives. All due to some indescribable algorithm of how to charm the fairer sex that can only exist in my head, I’ve tried to get it out more than once, but charm sometimes is born and earned, never learned contrary to what others may be selling.

That love I’m able to find in each lover, that’s where my Sainthood comes from, he treats women incredibly well, and always with respect. In every encounter, I put the woman first, as a gentleman always should, open each door, pull out each chair, walk on the outside of the sidewalk, and most importantly in bed. I’d hate for my braggadocios bullshit above this to misconstrue, that I believe that the women of earth, the wives, girlfriends, mothers, sisters and daughters should be treated as equals, the treasures of mankind that should be worshipped and adored, respected and treated fairly. When Edmond became a Saint it was in the arms of this beautiful creature in a small hot apartment in the Barcelona, I was on holiday and we spent the weekend near the beach, barely communicating between my broken Spanish and her broken English with a cool breeze blowing the white curtains through open windows towards the sea. With the wine filling up the gaps in our communication there was a sparkle in our eyes. I stared into hers and I realized, it was actually love, born in a matter of days. It seemed impossible in the moment, but as the hours ticked by I had my epiphany; this lust for women didn’t have to be so ugly as most would make it. Most greet my lifestyle with disgust, some with envy, but all with misunderstanding. I realized I could make this conquest something entirely beautiful, if I could find that sparkle again, that little piece of me that was missing that could only be filled when I found what I loved about the woman across from me I could, for that moment, be whole. That realization was just another chain broken from society that let me rise a bit higher to see the grander picture. The brutality of it is when I find that love, often there is something more to be learned and right as I could begin to find something entirely beautiful with some gorgeous creature from some foreign place I am forced to leave. That of course creates the perpetual heartache that I have endured for all this time traveling, leaving incredible women in my wake, scattered across this planet with little splinters of my heart.

In Conclusion:

To recap, I’m a drug addicted, love addled, undiagnosed bi-polar, Demi-God with a perfect family, who takes wild risks and appreciates the one life I have been blessed with. I am the son of the Greek God Apollo. I try to understand mankind, ultimately to see if we can be fixed. Under all that, in my travels I am desperately searching for strange and impossible things, the last of the magic, future seers and the worlds between worlds…the unexplainable. I am at the earth’s mercy, an instrument of the universe, searching for what we've been convinced couldn't be real. Following a path that cannot be seen, believing fully that everything is somehow connected by the invisible threads of fate. Its that search that is worth going down dark alleys and exploring into territories unknown or avoided by the average traveler, something to risk my life over, something to fuck it all up for. I’m constantly greeted with the all too common look that I have endured my entire life: like I’m an insane person. Just for saying out loud the impossible dreams that float around in my head. How after my decade is complete, my ultimate goal in life is to go to space and leave this planet. To raise the money to fund the million-dollar plus price tag, I will pitch it as wanting to be the first human to tattoo while orbiting the earth. (Watch for my non-profit donation link coming soon) You couldn’t imagine the looks I get when I try to explain that seriously to people, how they laugh and ridicule me, how they just roll their eyes and assume that I’m nothing but a howl in the wind. What they don’t understand is that is precisely the magic of the universe, if you put it out there, it always comes back, never how you expect, but it always returns, no matter how bitter one might become, the slightest shred of belief, belief in anything, can realign the cosmos, creating magic and confidence that everything is connected. The simplest thoughts can turn a dire position into a favorable one.

It’s a wild story, a story that I have written to try and explain this mad, painful, lonely yet wonderful existence I have found myself in. This writing has taken me longer than 15 months, it’s incredibly difficult to capture all the motivations and just sit here and boast about myself. I give thanks for all that is gifted to me, the opportunities, my family, and the people that support me, my readers, my luck and everything to come. I give thanks to the earth and my ability to explore it and its people. I do my best to repay those blessings every day by doing good. Because be it real magic or not, all things, all beings, are impossible combinations of matter that shouldn’t exist at all, and when one can remember that, the magic of existence, all things that trouble us, all the tangled mess of politics or world conflict should just fall away and the moment in which we occupy should only remain, because life is just too short and Death is already peering around the nearest corner.

Saint Edmond Lovecraft