I get paranoid about flying, okay? — It’s not about crashing. I couldn’t give two shites about head butting the ground at sixteen million centimetres per second. I’ve studied the plane crash scenes in Castaway and The Grey. I’ve even considered the possibility of survival. Suppose I had to choose between a homosexual relationship with a netball on a tropical island…

Karma works in very mysterious ways — My Grandfather told me that opportunities for charity could come in strange forms. He became a big believer in karma after meeting a Korean Monk in 1957. That same Monk taught him Tonglen, which helped him turn his life around after killing several people during the war. He also told me that karma was a two-way street and that people can get karma…

My friends and I took a trip to the home of golf — It’s ten am at Golf Mecca. I meet up with Gary and Tim. We take selfies to start the day — I look like a drug dealer in golf clothes. Unbelievable. It’s as windy as Lucifer’s anus, and I’m at some racetrack without horses. Do they send the horses out when the race starts? I see…

When I say a little bit, I mean maybe a week or two or three —maybe a lot longer — I don’t know. I’m in the middle of this thirty-day write every day wet fish in a bag, scrotum thief of a challenge. How Am I Gonna Pull This Off? Is it possible to write every day in August?franktbird.medium.com But, if I’m honest, Your Honour, I’ve come to some darn conclusions. New shit has come to light, Man. My plan has always been to produce books AND write on Medium

Synthetic THC is no joke — We first heard sniffs of it around 2010 — a synthetic type of THC stronger than actual weed. It was in a transition phase — too early for any law banning it. The street name, if there is such a thing except in tongue-in-cheek cop shows, was: SPICE. The first brand I discovered was called PUFF. It was the real deal. I believe it may have been why…

War is hell — Locked down in this fucking fox-hole. Ten ratscrotum faces look upon me. My filthy corpse, still living. Back home, it’s easy to sip coffee and talk. About dying with honour. When there are ten nutters with rifles. Honour doesn’t exist, Mate. Never has. It’s fucking nowhere. Dying for honour is…

I just fed the cats. — Sure, it’s 4 am, and those furry bastards looked at me as if to say: ‘What the fuck is your problem?’ I also made myself tea to be clear that I wasn’t just awake feeding the cats. But, they’ve seen this kind of odd behaviour before. I can hear their…

It was a hot summer In ‘02 — “Is that crane driver naked?” Phil asked, pointing up. I looked up at a distant crane on top of a skyscraper and a crane driver barely visible to the naked eye. When I looked back down, half of my curried egg sandwich on wholemeal bread was gone, and Phil was happily munching it down as if nothing had happened. …

I got the key. I got the secret. I got the key to the world's best tea. — Now look, this isn’t gonna begin with the origins of fucking tea n all that, okay? I must, however, point out that there is an old tale about when Bodhidharma kept falling asleep during his meditation. At that point, he tore off his eyelids and threw them away. …