Like everyone, I knew Chunk at birth. Before, actually. And, like most folks, forgot it rather quickly. I learned it again at age 21 while living in Santa Cruz, California. Ah, the summer of ’93. My motto in those lazy sun drenched days was "hit the bong and hit the beach". So I did, every day. I had a lot of free time then, working only on the weekends, doing homecare for a quadriplegic man. My weeks were free and marijuana clouded. It was the summer of love, the perfect environment to soak up chunk. It just sort of oozed into my pores, passed from my pillow into my brain while I slept. I chunked. I flunked the punky monkey chunk dunk.
Infused with my new language/culture, I cruised through my days with new senses. Seeing, feeling and hearing the world with renewed vigor and a heightened sense of drama, my life bounced along with a near-hysterical buzz. It was good…and bad. Chunking is life. We all chunk, how can we not? But alas, much of the world is too overloaded with the boring details of livelihood to be funky, to exercise their free monk. I think most of us realize this in adolescence but to be armed with a language that points this out even more grotesquely is overwhelming. So after a year, and quite near a psychotic break, I left Santa Cruz and moved to Seattle where I have remained until coming down to San Francisco to shoot this movie. I’m not 28, have been chunking it up for a number of years, and am wholeheartedly ready to share my love with the world. Style the file. Love –Aystie.