Big Pharma created this blog.

As far back as I can possibly create memory; I remember seeing my mind as a playground. My younger years held place to many isolated hours. Embracing every moment I had for inward contemplation, I would quickly retreat to the inner realm of my being to frolic amid the endless bounty, local only to my imagination.

I’d think, ponder that thought, and then question my motives for pondering. All the while, watching these nuro-intaglements as my awakened observational being. I’d passively snicker at the self-centered thoughts of my unconscious mind as my observational being would wonder deeper into the multiverse of my consciousness. Now naturally, I was unable to articulate this in my youth, so my parents and teachers mostly knew me as A.D.D.

 A problem easily countered with the guiding embrace of the Big Pharma. 

In the 3^rd Grade, that embrace was explained to me only as, “Pills that will make you a better student.” And I’d be receiving this embrace twice a day; a full in the morning, half after lunch.

 They didn’t work for me though. Well I mean, I became a quite, well-greased (if you will) cog in the machine of institutionalized education… But they didn’t work for me.

I felt they worked against me. The only reality my being could arrange was that I had nothing in my head, aside from the annually practiced class lesson for the day. These pills ejected all inner thought, and collected only the words that leaked before me, from the mouth with an un-admitted creationist bias.

This reality, I also could not properly articulate at the time... If asked, however I probably could have said something like “Well, since taking the good student pills I have been feeling like I’m not my head.”

But why ask me?

 As a child, given my credentials: how could my answer even find room atop the corporate pedestal, what proclamations by Big Brother Pharma called home?

Home field advantage indeed.

 Big Brother Pharma sang a tune prescribed just for my clinically depressed and unfortunate head.  Zoloft, the new penicillin for dark thoughts, described to me only, as “happy pills.” Every morning, The thin “happy pill” looked like the stem of the blossoming circular “good student pill.”

In the afternoon with the stem shortened and the circle halved, I thought it took on the shape of a mushroom. Flower in the morning…Mushroom after lunch…the occasional green liquorish tasting liquid for sleep…And repeat.

This was a confusing routine for me.

So in the 8^th grade, after 5 years, I came to an unusual conclusion wherein, I could have control of the muscle and bone that flexed beneath my skin. It was from this series of flexing and manipulating my destiny will fall. It was time for me to relieve the pharmaceutical pilot and take my spot at the captain’s chair.

 I just stopped taking my medication one day.

My journy has not been without turbulence and close calls in the proceeding years as I attempted to navigate the minefield of being a teenager.

I have experienced drastically diverse states of mind and trends of thought and behavior, experimenting across all boundaries in search for more valid truths in the world and in myself.

This, complex series of physical and emotional tuning is indeed what lead me to my profession as a writer and filmmaker: my obsession with the attempt to translate thoughts and images of my consciousness in to word and picture.

I would be a liar if I said this blog was anything more than a database dedicated to the ramblings of my inner monologue. To be used as a personal reference to more accurately develop and grow my thoughts and beliefs. Thus logging reason and existential growth as my mind churns, in constant contemplation of finding truth in our world, and making sense of the eternal flow of our inner consciousness.

My thoughts are public, because it’s good to think, ask questions, and sometimes read from a point of view conflicting with your own. If any of my words can do either for you, I will truly value that between us connection.

Age of Equality

It’s bittersweet, the age of acceptance and the movement for same-sex marriage. Sweet because we are seeing growth in acceptance and unity in our world. We are also seeing a growth in people willing to stand up for what they believe in and question their leaders. However, bitter because we still feel that sexual orientation is a legitimate form of labeling.

Straight, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered, these labels separate us. Every label we attach to ourselves or other people is a blatant “They are this, I am that, and therefore, we are to be seen differently.”
These labels do nothing but build walls between us, and keep true peace and unity out.

True victory as a society will be when same-sex marriage is known simply as marriage. When understand a person isn’t to be defined by their sexual identity, orientation or gender; because that has not enough weight on a person’s character for a judgment or classification to be formed.

Marriage is the bonding of and declaration of eternal love between two people. Whether they are male, female, or self-identified as any of the aforementioned, if the have true mutual love and desire to express that love through marriage, who are we to deny them that right? More specifically, who gives our leaders the right to decide whether or not it is legal?

In the near future we will see how this is something we should have never had to disagree on or cause friction over.

But in the meantime, keep peacefully fighting the good fight. Not by telling people they are wrong, but by peacefully showing them this is nothing that deserves resistance. Challenging ones beliefs with words and radical confrontation will almost always cause resistance and deepen the views of the opposition.
We must succeed through showing them that WE ARE ONE and only want to right to express our love, a right we should all be able to share.

This is Bob...

by: Matthew Tuppen

This desolate Nebraska highway was no stranger to these days of blistering heat, dancing well within the realm of triple digit temperatures. If in its decades of existence it were stranger to anything, it would be the likes of us. This much I could say with confidence. 

The four of us trekked; lethargic and dehydrated on a self-diagnosed level. Our feet where tracing a boot-printed path nearly 11 miles long, running back to the corn field we camped next to the night before. It was that campsite on the forefront of my mind as we trudged along.

It was a comfortably cold night. Our clothes lay out on a bench neighboring our campfire. They dripped water from the lake at the bottom of the hill. My mind projected me to my tent, which rested gently atop the grass. That grass along with our tents tarpaulin bottom acted as a mattress superior to the gravel I was growing accustom to.
At this moment, this is where I wanted to be. But alas I opened my eyes, and as my internal iris adjusted to the rush of sunlight, I found myself several paces off track walking through a ditch that I can only assume had water in it at some point in the inconceivable past.

I adjusted my backpack, and my trajectory to reunite me with the herd. It was at that time they stopped in their tracks and awed at the 2-door Honda, which idled, hazards flashing, several feet in front of us. Our overwhelming feeling of salvation was quickly transformed into the equally powerful feeling of “how the hell are we going to fit in this vehicle?”

The driver, an early 20’s resident of the small town of Grafton, Nebraska exited his vehicle and addressed us.
“It’s too hot for y’all to be walking today.” He said.

We couldn’t possibly disagree. The combination of sun and salt cooked us mercilessly.
“It’s going to be a tight squeeze, but I can drive you to the next town” He added.

At this point, if improbable was all we could get; we were going to make it work…
I squeezed in the back first. Chase handed me my backpack, then piled in next to me, followed by Noah. The passenger chair clicked back, then Niko adjusted himself in the front seat. It was at this moment I knew…exactly… what it felt like to be a canned sardine. If that can was placed in a fire. Nonetheless, we were grateful for this seemingly divinely inspired turn of events.

15 intimate, high-speed minutes later he dropped us at the only convenient store in his town. Welcome to Grafton, population 125. And what a beautiful place it was.

We entered the convenient store which, besides the two rows of convenient snack food and drink, had one elderly woman behind what looked like a public school teachers desk, and one large table off to the side. Most importantly, it had air conditioning. At this moment, this was the place for us.

Niko, Noah, and Chase dropped-bag, and headed for the table to rest and refrigerate. I approached the desk to speak to the clerk. I informed her of our situation, stated we had no money, but would much appreciate a quiet and cool place to rejuvenate and get some work done before finding a place to set up camp.
We chatted briefly as I noticed the Ipad and keyboard she was typing away on. She informed me that she was currently working on her latest romance novel to follow up her two that had already been published. She then offered us the large table to rest and work as long as we needed, adding that the company was a nice reprieve from the usual seclusion.

I joined the guys at the table and loosened my bootstraps, I let out a sigh of relief and remembered how beautiful and rewarding our challenges where. Something one can easily lose sight of in the face of distress.

Enter Bob: a high-spirited 73-year-old navy veteran, dusty from the days motorcycle ride. He greeted the clerk then sat next to me at the table.

Living in a town of 125 people, silence can only last so long before a local felt the need to ask question about our presence. This of course, was always welcomed.

Bob and I sat and talked for a good half-hour. Our banter traveled aimlessly through topics of mutual interest, and stories of adventure he had experienced with his wife before her passing.
He had this way of speaking and recollecting as if the memory was as vivid as if it happened immediately before entering the convenience store. However, he maintained this demeanor of full presence as if his very being held no emotional weight of the past.
Just listening to him speak was a course in spirituality in itself, and he was totally unaware of this. He was just living. I could feel it.

Before I knew it, he was on his feet, bidding farewell. I said goodbye and thanked him for the conversation. He slowly drifted out the door, waving goodbye to the clerk as he exited.
We then went about our business with new-found energy.

15 minutes pass…

Enter Bob again: this time sporting a cowboy hat and sandals.

“You know I was just taking a shower and I couldn’t help but remember it looked like you guys hadn’t showered since I was a child.” He joked.

“ I just put a cake in the oven, why don’t you guys come over. You can set up camp in my yard and have a shower, I’ll put on a pot of coffee too.” He added.

My eyes lit up at the possibility of feeling the warm embrace of a cup of coffee. A much more desirable caffeine kick than the dandelion root I’d been chewing on the past couple days. We accepted with immeasurable thanks, we said we’d finish up our work then meet him at his place shortly. He smiled and left without giving his home address. For some reason, I felt we wouldn’t have much trouble finding it.

After finishing our work, Chase and I donned our backpacks and headed out the door. Noah and Niko stayed back to finish transferring footage. I thanked the clerk as we headed out the door and down one of the two residential streets in the town.
We were about 50 paces away from the first house on the right when we herd the bellowing vocals of Johnny Cash coming through speakers crudely attached to a small wooden covered parking area, outside a small green wooden house. Under which, sat a green conversion van and a motorcycle. It was becoming obvious we found the house we were looking for.

We approached the house and knocked on his door, moments later he appeared and greeted us. He pointed where we could set up our tents and said after, to let ourselves in.

The daily set-up and breakdown of tents had become so engrained in our behavior, that our muscle memory could quickly erect one before we ever had the chance to dread the task. Something about Mr. Cash acting as the soundtrack of this event made it all the more enjoyable.

After setting up camp, we dug out a change of clothes from our bags and headed inside. Bob sat at his kitchen table where three coffee cups rested. 2 were full, 1 was empty. He motioned down the hallway.

“Shower is the first door on the left.” He then pointed to the coffee cups and added, “I thought I’d just pour a cup for the guy who had to wait so the other didn’t get cold.”

This man is a genius, I thought quietly. Chase sat down at the table then I walked down the hall to shower.
Afterwards, I returned to the kitchen, poured myself a cup of coffee, and joined them at the table. I listened on as he told stories of his time in the Navy. Each story ripe with wisdom and delivered charismatically. I retreated for a moment into my cup of coffee, then let the positive energy of the room radiate through me. This moment, I believed was unable of reaching a more amazing level.
It was then the oven located right behind him chimed, and shortly thereafter we were presented with an angle food cake accompanied by glazed strawberries and whipped cream.
A couple of hours and slices of cake later it was time for us to retire to our tents and sleep. Before we walked out he informed us that eggs, bacon, and pancakes will be on the table at 8am.
It was then, I removed any cap on how amazing this experience could get, because my expectations were constantly and pleasantly exceeded. What a well-needed oasis this man had created for us.

It quickly became clear that our beloved Bob, wanted nothing in return but our company. Something he mentioned was a rare occurrence since he lost his wife. This worked for us, because it was not only all we could possibly offer, but we’d connected with Bob on such a personal level, that our time together generated a very mutual joy.

With that in mind, I awoke early the next morning. I let myself inside, and walked in the kitchen where he was already making breakfast. I assisted by setting the table. While we prepared breakfast we talked some more. He expressed his love for adventure and told stories of the conversion van parked out front, and how it carried him and his wife thousands of miles around America. He added if he were any more able-bodied he would throw on a backpack and join us on our adventure.

After breakfast I did some writing as Niko and Bob played a game of pool. The time raced by until it was time for us to get back on the road. He offered to drive us 8 miles to the next town over, Sutton. An offer we were extremely grateful for.
We piled in to his conversion van and hit the road. What seemed like seconds later, he pulled up to a park on the edge of the next town that he correctly suggested would make a good campsite.

With heavy heart we said goodbye to our new friend and watched as he drove away. He had such an impact on us; I could feel the low energy in the group as we set up our camp.

That night we sat on park benches near our tents, Niko and chase played guitar, and I continued to update my journal. Suddenly we heard the noise of an approaching motorcycle.
Looking behind us we were pleased to once again see Bob, who came to hang out one more time. He approached us and handed me a letter. I read it over and let out a chuckle as it had been awhile since I read a letter clearly typed up on an old typewriter.

In this letter labeled “to whom it may concern.” Bob briefly outlined our time together as a letter of recommendation to anyone we may seek help from on our journey. (I will be sure to post the letter with this story.)

We visited for about an hour, and Chase and Niko played him a few original songs. He then announced it was time for him to get going.
Before he left, he stated our time together inspired him to take his motorcycle and travel the country. Something he hadn’t done in what he described to us as “too darn long.”…

With the Mako Projects second trip being planned. I hand-to-heart vow to return to the town of Grafton, Nebraska to visit and catch-up with our fellow brother in adventure, Bob.

This story can expose the kindness of this person only so much, but never could it fully express the amount of gratitude and respect we have for this man. Bob has been such a major source of inspiration for our project and for us as a group. 

It is because of this. Our first trajectory and landmark of Project: We Are one. Is to make it back to Grafton, NE to reunite with Bob.