Pieces of Sacramento

(Not My Photo)
After the stunt in Tijuana, my travel bug wasn't satisfied. It's hunger gnawed at me. I wasn't even home an hour before I was looking at other places to go. I'd wanted to go to Sacramento for ages because one of my favourite serial killers is the Vampire of Sacramento, Richard Chase committed his crimes there. What a title. Anyway, I was going to go for a few days. From there I was planning on going to Tokyo. Flying out from there. I don't remember how or why I just wanted to go. I was all over the place. I was just wanting to live a thousand lives, tame the wildness inside of me.

I had my friend who drives Uber drop me off at the coach station with my suitcase. It was a long journey that greatly annoyed me. It stopped too often. For the majority of the journey north, I listen to music and bounce around in the seat. I don't talk to anyone. I remember so many stops on the way. The memory of the journey is so hazy. Most of that time is. It's hard to recall the details of it. For some reason when I think back about it, images from the films Mrs Doubtfire and Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey come to mind. I don't know, maybe because they take place in Northern California. I loved those films so much and I still do. Underneath all the sarcasm, assholeness and jadedness, there's a little kid. A little kid who wants milkshakes and films and a happy ending. I've not seen him in the longest time. 2 decades or so. 

We arrive at the coach station in Sacramento and I jump off the bus. I'm going to need a taxi to where I'm staying. It was a good distance away from the city. I wasn't thinking when I booked it. I remember leaving, watching the scenery pass for a good 20-30 minutes before we pull into the carpark of the motel. I just remember it being overcast. And it was the entire week. Most of the time I spent in the room, racing around binging and purging. I was afraid to leave the room almost. I didn't have any direction. I didn't have any plans, though I knew I did want to get a tattoo here. I'd just moved to California, why not get it while I'm on a trip? I've gotten tattooed on almost all my trips! 


I googled tattoo shops in the area. I wanted to get something memorable from my trip and also celebrate moving to California. I was out here all on my own. I was going to start a new life. I was in love and thought things were moving toward something great. I wanted to get a palm tree it's so symbolic of California and I'd fallen in love with Malibu. I knew I couldn't afford to live there but I wanted to take a piece of it with me. I'd loved watching the coastline as I drove along it. It was something special. I've always loved the ocean. Then I remembered the Phantom Planet song that I was obsessed with for years, California. So I sketched up a rough draft of a palm tree with the lettering "California, Here We Come!"

I wanted to get it done at a good shop close to where I was staying. Thanks to a deep Google search, I found The Exotic Body. It had good prices, a great reputation and great portfolio work. I made an appointment I think through Facebook (at least I think it was, I can't be sure, I've made so many tattoo appointments via Facebook) and headed off to the shop. I remember it was overcast and grey. I brought my rough sketch to the shop and talked to one of the artists about what I wanted to get done. He was a young guy, a few years older than me who did the tattoo. He sketched up a quick design and I fell in love with it almost immediately. He asked me about placement.I've always been shy and self-conscious of my stomach. It's the worst part of my body I think and I wanted to push my limits with it. I was feeling jittery and on edge, so I told him I wanted to go with my stomach and cover up a scar on it. After taking a look at the deep scar, he said that it wouldn't really be a problem, we could use a funky lettering so the letters didn't have to be 100% perfect and pristine and we could hide the other one in the body of the palm tree. I was elated. This was the first step in starting to deal with my insecurities. 

I wasn't comfortable with laying on the table with my shirt off so so long, my hideous stomach exposed but I did it. I laid there and he took his time. We got the stencil on in one go and it wasn't that painful until the needle hit the scar tissue. I've heard people say that it doesn't hurt as much, but fucking hell it was the worst pain ever. Always for me, going around or over scars has always been the most painful for me. It felt like he'd cut me open with a razor blade, yet I still held still. I didn't want to be a pussy or risk having the tattoo get wrecked. It took for what seemed like forever, but when he took his gloves off and proclaimed that it was done, I was over the moon. I loved it. 

It was at this time that I had my septum pierced (in addition to both nostrils, but we can get back to that on a retired piercing blog- dunno when I'll get to that, but it's an idea that I've been floating for some time now.) and I was pressed up against the glass cases that housed some of the most gorgeous body jewellery that I'd ever seen. I bought a new septum clicker and felt like something special. (I still have it, that motherfucker is real gold and opal.) I decided to explore the concrete jungle that is Sacramento. Swilling coffee and playing chicken with the rain clouds, I ran through the streets. 

Pieces from this time are in dull light. I can only recall the smell of the rain, the unrest that flowed through me as I laid in the hotel room binging, purging and watching things on YouTube. I can only see little bursts of monochrome and have no real clear memories after this. It was from here, I remember I was planning on running again, that wanderlust unrest was egging me on. I didn't want to return to my new and empty flat. I wanted to just go somewhere else. I needed to or I swore I'd explode. I wish I could remember more of my time there. I know I must have met a person or two, I remember the taxi driver that took me to the airport was funny and nice; I remember chatting away, watching the metre run and being miffed at staying so far away from the airport. I don't know why I stayed there, honestly. I guess it sounded good. I can't even remember the name of the place or where it exactly was outside the city. That's never good.

I knew a girl from Hunting Beach that I'd hung out with a few times so I asked her if she wanted to hang out. She mentioned that one day she wanted to go to Vegas, so I'm like fuck, let's go to Vegas! And in there lies the next chapter of this wild adventure. Stay tuned for that blog, "Danny Goes To Vegas" sometime this week. Some of you may wonder why I'm blogging these when so many parts of the memories are missing or broken; its a way for me to try and remember these things. It's a way for me to confront this manic energy and try to contain it. I struggle with it, Sometimes its too much for me and I'm left a mess, swirling painting the walls with blood from fresh wrist cuts or running naked screaming that I own the world. 

...

I was jealous and admiring of the lives of the musicians I looked up to. They were touring the world, living an amazing life, yet I never once stopped to see the amazing opportunities I was bine afforded. I took so much for granted. I've seen so much of the world on my own and I'm not even 30 years old yet. I was blind to the inner strength I possessed; I was 18 years old and jumped on a plane and went to another country all on my own. I proceeded to then add 23 counties two the two I'd already been to on school trips. It takes a lot of inner strength and courage to go to new countries and cities all on your own, walk the streets, jump trains, planes and boats.  Looking back at all that I've done makes me want to more than I've done. It pushes me to want to explore more, push my limits and take in all that I can.