Beatniks Bumtrips Bullshit: Berlin ↔ Santa Cruz field transmission. Two poets trade live poems and cosmology in real time — breathwork in an alley waving two machetes, asteroid convergence, why bad art is just blocked life force, sleep as micro-death, barycenters, dream yoga, licking the hologram, and teaching your kid to eat hobo food off a trash can because love means helping someone move beyond their nature. This is tenderness at the end of the world, recorded between a Berlin paint studio full of grotesque flowers and a redwood creek in the Santa Cruz Mountains.
Main threads in this episode:
• Walking through Berlin “waving two machetes,” meaning breath, meaning aliveness, meaning you don’t get a future — “there is not any later, only now.”
• Art and shame: bad art isn’t failure, it’s where the life force can’t get through yet. Good art is when the work goes someplace you haven’t even lived.
• The barycenter, Jupiter pulling the Sun off-center, solar system dancing like a pirouette, and the prophecy-feeling of everything snapping back into alignment in 2027.
• Sleep as micro-death and relief: “We actually need unconsciousness to stay sane.”
• Dream yoga / higher self work: falling asleep as direct contact with the star that is you fulfilled.
• Death as comfort, not horror: “Someday we’re all gonna be dead,” said not like doom but like, finally, exhale.
• Phones melted for gold in an alley. Cell towers, purple smoke, extraction, alchemy, reincarnation of trash.
• Teaching your kid to eat scavenged food off a trash can as initiation into freedom.
• Rhythm as a survival structure. Rhythm as a cosmology. “The rhythm is five shooting stars and five secrets that shan’t be spoken of…”
“Walking down an alley waving two machetes… which is just my way of saying breathing.”
“There is not any later, only now. I can’t be intimate with life without being vulnerable.”
“Bad art is just where my life force is blocked. Good art is when the piece goes somewhere I haven’t been yet.”
“Someday we’re all gonna be dead — and that’s not despair, that’s relief.”
“Sleep is the little death we’re required to touch every night to stay sane.”
“The Sun’s center of gravity is outside of itself right now. Jupiter pulls it off-balance. In 2027 it comes back in. The whole solar system is literally dancing.”
“Understanding has no meaning.”
“You know God loves you when your experience shapes itself around your consciousness — and that is also terrifying.”
“We are surrounded by lies, but we have nothing to be upset about.”
A poem for Spiritual disconnect
A sonic journal from the neural spa of berlin - recorded in Victoria Park
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✨ Choice Quotes:
“This city becomes conscious through me. I am an interface, as I move through the city, the city moves through me.”
“Counting becomes prayer when I lose track.”
“I am scared of connection because I don’t think I’ll be able to stop it.”
“The rock is swirling very slowly, holding its granite stillness.”
“The fingers extend like surfers in Malibu, each one an attitude toward the future.”
A Beatnik Poem read by a powerful woman in bed
“Gentlemen Don’t Fish “
By Sean https://open.spotify.com/show/5wLSeBa5k0ykpBMVWI0h5Q?si=em9UGJuXSV2bKBiz3l8ofw
Gentleman don't fish
What you consume
Is what you're connected too
I would like to say my karma is getting smaller
But I don't know
Sitting in the forest doesn't help
The unravelling of the web
Survive seven days
I was caught using a stump
Being a builder
That's bad
Tossing craw-dads onto shore
They get stressed out
Lose hope
The shape of desire
Is like a blockade
To the truth
The poor cricket jumped into the water
We have pears and apples but no cherries
No tea for me this morning
Decaf Chillhop
When will I find the bass I'm looking for?
Too lazy to build it
Stuck like a branch half under the riverbottom
Bury a earth boring dung beetle
Wild animal Crossing references
This poem just lost its cool
Even though its apostrophes are all lined up
A whack with a net gets worry out of your mind
Even when your wife might be leaving the island
A money-tree will get you up off the ground
Tooth licking gum decay
Adventures at a podium
Get your party outfit together
Die your hair
Soil music on the outdoor DJ setup
Samples blathering on and on
Causes me to spam B
Left bumper works too
Zip line through restlessness
Waiting to talk to my favorite psychiatrist
Catch a flea off your bird-friend
High Andean Condor
Covered her song back in highschool
Fruityloop carrot logo
The hype place right now
Government plaza
What's your damage?
Beefcake tank
Sips a smoothie
Crazy fire
Cephalopods don't need friends to be intelligent
Old tires are useful
Beyond swinging
Radial band grow a garden
Show your mange to the receptionist
Redeem my miles
Hose reel
Dixie texhnique
Cool is your boot bigger than life
Just give me my screens
Play it low-key
Love always demands this
Lips sealed
Demand nothing
Never forget the goal to disappear
Goes way beyond the body
Hafiz knew things
No one can know
A star can catch you and reel you in
Buckets of effulgence
The best time of your life
Should be right now
Patience to the patients needing a cure
Bright kids playing by themselves
Polishing touches
Four thousand bell butterfly
Queen Alexandria
Generating for no reason
Long enough to be ignored
Meaningless red stripe across your nose
Renounce me
To the heart of the house
More Irish or Scottish?
He prefers one over the other
Bilingual record collection
Push pull cadence
Lost in a mirage
Hypnotized by a belief
By a mood
Tota-Bolero
Mastery would mean the ability to feel anything
Regardless of a wanted poster
Island trailer jams, mind-speed media, animal tempo, Meher Baba translation, and a Venetian exorcist—poetry, truth, and friendship.
🐅💎😇🤯👻🤌
On a Danish island, Jed pairs a thrift-store drum-pad with a punk-moaning flute while watching wind, crows, and rabbits fold into his nervous system—“it feels as if I’ve become the island and the island has become me.” He calls Sean at sunrise by the San Lorenzo; they trade fresh poems (turkeys!), swap craft notes, and map mind-rate vs. heart-rate attention (TV’s fast cuts vs. the body’s slow boil). They unpack Sean’s transliteration of Meher Baba—how to honor Bow’s words and keep lyric rhyme alive—then dive into AI as collaborator (use it, but “get in there and mess it up” so it stays human). Jed reads a hot slice from his Father Pellegrino Ernetti/Chronovisor novel—exorcism, chant, tuning-fork acoustics, Venice humming like an instrument. Through it all: process over perfection, animals as metronomes, and a pledge to publish instead of over-editing.
Choice quotes:
• “The process of the art should have something to do with the product.”
• “The mind is the boil’s bubbles; the heart knows the moment it’s boiling.”
• “We’re tuned to a human essence we don’t yet have words for.”
Cool concepts:
Island→self permeability: living in a Danish trailer, flute + thrift-keyboard jams; wind, waves, birds, and rabbits become extensions of attention and body.
• Sound pairing & friction: punk-off-key Native American flute vs. lo-fi game-pad beats; the “moan”/yell of punk against grid-accurate rhythm.
• Animals as cognition cues: rabbits as “thoughts,” crows, sea hawks, salmon, turkeys, a bald eagle—nonhuman tempo calibrates perception.
• Mind-rate vs. heart/body-rate: TV/news cut frequency equals “mind speed”; heart/body intelligence moves in slower, wave-scale shifts (boiling-pot metaphor).
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• Poetics method (Sean’s “working practice”): state what is, then circle the indescribable from multiple angles so fragments cohere into one felt object.
• Process purity vs. over-editing: the labor of reconciling multiple drafts can strip life; product should carry the energy of its making (Rooibos/tractor treads).
• Transliteration dilemma (Meher Baba project): fidelity to Bow’s words vs. English rhyme & lyric flow; two versions vs. a harmonized single text; do it “in love and harmony.”
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• Chronovisor fiction thread: Pellegrino Ernetti, chant, exorcism, tuning-fork acoustics; Venice as resonant instrument; vibration/sex/chant fields; “publish, don’t dither.”
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• Ethos of truth: truth is felt at heart-rate, not forced; “the red button” problem (performing for publication) vs. writing like a letter.
It feels as if I’ve become the island and the island has become me.”
• “The rate of media… is mind rate. We need a balance of head and heart.”
• “Trying to make it truthful and you’re already fucked.”
• “Those are the anchors to the depths… one line of truth inside crystal-clear prose.”
• “The process of the art should have something to do with the product.”
• “Now when I drink rooibos, I just taste like micro-rubber.”
• “We’re getting surged with the non-human… we’ll realize we’re tuned to a human essence we don’t yet have words for.”
• “A poem circles the thing—none of it pokes it too hard, all of it points at it.”
• “The mind is the boil’s bubbles; the heart knows the moment it’s boiling.”
• “You have to not do that—three screens open is a way to be mind-fed.”
• “It doesn’t sound pleasing… two worlds not quite fitting yet, though you can hear they want to.”
• “Best artists forget they’re on stage—or they feel the whole audience as one body.”
• “Publish it. You don’t need other people there to make it good and real.”
• “My poems are always about the same things… records of what has moved me.”
• “Animals know. The slow soar of a bald eagle might be the better pace.”
A roving Berlin dispatch: cappuccino steam, Qi Gong by a rippling pond, and Jedidiah reading Sean’s fresh, feral poem before wandering into a centuries-old Crusader church. Between neon streets and stone sanctuaries, he wrestles with depression, alignment, imagination, and the unruly engine of the creative life. A poetic excursion of breath, nerve, ancient walls, and lived mysticism—where Beat poetics, Berlin grit, and rakish wonder collide.
“Awareness beyond myself, awareness behind you.”
“The flow stops only to force a deeper current.”
“Pregnancy is not lateness—it is arrival precisely on time.”
“In Berlin, even sorrow has its own baroque architecture.”
“To align the body, mind, and spirit is to re-enter the present as if resurrected.”
A crackling, stream-of-consciousness field recording from Berlin: hot yoga and long painting vigils, collage-streets, turmeric smog, strudel laments, techno pulse, loneliness, and the half-mad ardor of the artistic life. From the Gospel of Thomas to pulp-sidewalk reveries, Jedidiah wrestles with desire, discipline, and the dream of California across an empire of yellow-red signage and storm-ridden skies. A poetic dispatch of breath, bodies, neon, women, and the inner riot of becoming. Beat poetry meets urban mysticism. Berlin, yoga, painting, travel, art life.
Jedidiah wanders the Berlin streets and meets the man who embodies his imagined “perfect German”—a swaggering techno-muscled figure with fanny pack and charisma. A quick hit of street poetry, Berlin style.
Hotel keys,: Berlin, podcast, street recording, beat poetry, techno culture, German identity, masculinity, queer energy, counterculture, fanny pack fashion, canals, observational storytelling, spoken word, urban philosophy, BBB podcast, Beatniks Bumtrips & Bullshit
What follows is a field-recorded stream-of-consciousness poem: erotic, comic, lonely, alive. It drifts between jazz, ambient sound, and philosophical reflection, capturing the strange pulse of Berlin at midday — a library full of wanderers, dreamers, and sonic archaeologists.
This is part essay, part hallucination, part documentary of perception itself — a Beatnik sound collage for the modern flâneur.
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Hotel keys for discoverability:
Berlin podcast, field recording, beat poetry, spoken word, ambient city sounds, existential reflection, experimental music, avant-garde vinyl, coffeehouse philosophy, Berlin sound art, consciousness stream, street realism, Beat Generation revival, sonic diary, underground Berlin, poetic narration, mindfulness audio, Jedidiah Jackson, Beatniks Bumtrips Bullshit.
Sean Twohig reads a 🛸inspired passage from Jack Kerouac’s On the Road—the New York attic scene where Carlo Marx becomes the ecstatic prophet of “the Rock,” hearing the holy drums of Harlem and calling Dean Moriarty to sit still for once.
Hotel keys ;-) 🎹 Jack Kerouac, Beat Generation, Allen Ginsberg, Dean Moriarty, Carlo Marx, Beat poetry, American counterculture, spoken word, literary podcast, poetry reading, jazz prose, spontaneous bop, psychedelic culture, art conversation, Jedidiah Jackson.
Vincent van Gogh, Freemasons, Gauguin’s swords, fencing turned into brushstrokes, Persian light philosophy, Tesla in Egypt, the origin of zero. A Berlin field recording where art history, conspiracy, and myth collide.
We stumble from Berlin street noise into an artist’s studio and fall headlong into a sweeping, conspiratorial art history.
At ~12:00, step inside with us to skip the wind and sip tea with a painter who recounts the secret life of Vincent van Gogh—including the idea of four different Vincents, fencing as the origin of the paintbrush, and Gauguin carrying swords into the studio. The story spirals into Persian and Zoroastrian light philosophy, the Bauhaus, Herodotus, pyramids as Tesla batteries, and how Freemasons controlled which artists lived and which died young.
It’s part myth, part oral history, part hustler’s lecture on art, light, and survival.
Recorded raw. Just Beatniks Bumtrips Bullshit
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Choice Quotes
Note: The studio guest shares personal interpretations and disputed claims—offered here as viewpoint, not verified fact ;-)
Dishes done, coffee poured, and suddenly the conversation hits a drop: “There is no free will.” From there, Jedidiah and Sean spiral into fresh street-born poetry, hobo scat philosophy, and the secret mechanics of the universe.
This episode weaves together:
Choice lines include:
“Hobo shit and self-help braid together and kind of cancel each other out.”
“Maybe I feel rich because the baby’s head was the third tit—so plump.”
“We are multi-dimensional beings. Even putting on water shoes is another dimension.”
For seekers of nodes of power, astrology as real physics, or just the raw beauty of improvised poetry, this episode of Beatniks, Bumtrips, Bullshit drifts between street grit and cosmic alignment.
Check out Sean’s Cast : https://open.spotify.com/show/5wLSeBa5k0ykpBMVWI0h5Q?si=YWLygCPoQUSqtZaGh2ISyg
Sean is reading Jack Kerouac’s On the Road for the very first time,
and we catch a minute of pure Beat Generation energy. Dean Moriarty buzzing off strangers, knowledge in his fist instead of math and shapes. Some people don’t even know who Kerouac is, others have carried On the Road forever — either way, here’s a quick hit of American literature, Beatnik poetry, jazz-style prose, counterculture fire, the road trip that lit up Ginsberg, Burroughs, and a whole era. One minute, one passage, straight raw.
Check out Sean’s cast : https://open.spotify.com/show/5wLSeBa5k0ykpBMVWI0h5Q?si=Rq8p_VfZSeikM7AfDpgeRA
Walking the Santa Cruz Mountains at sunrise and Berlin art studios , Beatniks, Bumtrips, Bullshit wanders from mystical “nodes of power” to hot springs in Italy, stray dogs from Nevada reservations, Botticelli sketches, and Tesla’s secret pyramids.
Jedidiah and Sean riff on the Holy Ghost, mania, Kerouac’s On the Road, sadness as depth, foot-worship as an energy circuit, and the promise of free electricity.
It’s part travelogue, part late-night philosophy session, part street-corner soundscape.
If you like beat poetry, mysticism, conspiracies, and raw field recordings, this is your stop.
episode highlights ;-)
1 “ I tried meditating in my node of power and the Holy Ghost arrived on the back of a teenage girl’s bicycle.”
2. “To be empty is to be full — you’re not a moron, you’re enlightened.”
3. “Feet are where we receive energy; the head is where we release it — worship begins at the sole.”
4. “Kerouac was a seeker with burnt-out adrenal glands; sadness gave his words depth but he was looking in the wrong places.”
5. “Maybe Tesla built the pyramids from the top down to cycle energy from the earth into the sky.”
A field recording with a man living in beatitude .
Beatniks in Roma !
Beatnik poem! Italian Highways! Super volcano crater lake!
I am Drinking a cappuccino along a highway in 🇮🇹 Italy. Reading a new poem Sean has just texted. My hair is still wet from swimming in a super volcano crater lake. This highway bar Café has many decaying statues, including half torso of women surrounded by serpents and large turtles.
“Apocalypse means”
Apocalypse means when the whole world changes forever
Like when an American's righteous act
becomes to walk over to his neighbor
And turn off their generator
When the power never comes back on
And they stop mining for more lithium
Quiet night
Latent in the din
When the middle of the night
Is when the full moon is high
And not when your phone says 5am
Crickets still going strong
It's when the young people take over banks
To throw a rager
And then give their lives more willingly to this
Than the cops do to their sense of law
When the dynamite has all been used
To remove speed bumps
And pot holes grow apples
Take a stroll down memory lane
How our freedom of thought was taken away
By songs about tacos raining from the sky
Flood stupidity down all major channels
And the elites shoot themselves in the foot
When the result is the annihilation of mind
Removing all obstacles to the insane choice
To return to God's will
Bending to the machine takes on new meaning
When you switch off the light to see by darkness
When you unplug the fridge
To cool food in a thick Northern wall
Because the sound of hot motors for cooling purposes has become more painful than rotten milk or soggy celery
Honesty isn't easy
But in the end
It's easier than all the lies
And unnecessary lines painted on the roads
Year after year after year
Yellow strip after yellow stripe after yellow stripe
Mosquito buzzing in my ear
Teaches me a lesson I haven't learned
About compassion and acceptance and surrender
To the trigger
Which button did Ron push to cause all of this?
Confusion breeds understanding
By exhausting all extreme options
No wonder God has allowed evil to win
To this extent
Dot exe
Executable file
Is the one they have on me
About my mental illness
And my wrong doings
And a deer playing jazz on wind chimes
Murmurs of a coyote behind closed doors
Runaway train
Like an addiction that lasts more than 24 hours
The quieter the suggestion the more powerful
Be careful what you believe
Erasure of logic
Defacement of ego
My smile is blank
Ecstatic stomping
On the back of the earth to wake her up
So she can breath again
Rise of the dead
Like mushrooms or zombies
Emptiness remembering
Categorizing settlements
Like a wine press
Turn and turn
Rotate tires to balance them
Even intonation has been tuned
By man
This dog who won't go too deeply into the darkness
To take a shit
Act in fear
Or act out of fear?
Either way I am lost
I have given in to the pit of my stomach
And can only argue
Against the preppers who buy
In plastic bulk
Oceans of islands heaving
This Moana moment in history
When the change
Dignifies a muzzle into my palm
And recoil of a gun
Damages only my shoulder
Stump removal
Becomes unspeakable
Because we are rooted in the past
While blistering forward
Into this painfully awfully wild adventure
~Sean Twohig
https://open.spotify.com/show/5wLSeBa5k0ykpBMVWI0h5Q?si=unNgrKNUT3irn97Qu4-fCg
Jimi Hendrix , Cecil Brown ,The most active color is purple . Morocco red is the color of this sweatshirt… A chat with snow leopard about colors and his new LP. The podcast starts with a recurring musical theme sampled from the LP.
Misty morning in Berlin looking at male porn magazine
Carpenter John Recently learned about the deep state💨
An introduction to the work of Michele Newman. Podcast ends with a description of how to contact a unicorn.
You can contact her : michele@reply.highvibelife.us
A poem by London while hanging out with Jedidiah and Sean