Home | Fort-De-France, Martinique

February 20, 2026 by Mike Vitale in Blog, Brain Droppings, Life, Love, Music, Photos, Stories, Travel

Out of all the places in the Caribbean that I have had the opportunity to visit this Fall and Winter—Fort-de-France has garnered a special place in my heart.

I made a friend here: Stephanie.

Many years ago, I wrote a song called “Home.” The general idea of the lyrics, is that home is not a location or a place on the map: it’s people—the friends we make along the way, on our unique journey, living.

I try my best to make friends everywhere I go. For one reason or another, I am never able to reach this ridiculous goal I used to set for myself: to be friends with everyone I meet. It’s a high bar—and as hard as I may try—or given oversteps, mistakes, personal-growth or lack thereof, and whatever else I can’t conjure in the current moment… I come up too short on the amusement park ride that is ‘being friends with everyone.’

My older brother once told me, years before social media ever existed, that we don’t make tremendous amounts of close friends in life. More often than not, we make acquaintances. He felt that it’s closer to the truth, that we can count the amount of close friends we have, on our hands.

He may be right. He could be wrong. I don’t know.

I do know that I very much enjoy being well-liked by people, but inevitably: I will find someone who loathes me, or who is ambivalent of me, or just has no interest in me in any capacity whatsoever: and that is okay!

I used to find sadness in this observation, but I don’t think I do anymore. I am trying to focus this notion in an opposite light—to focus on the people that I meet and love and like and cherish and learn from and can confide in and who have no ill-will towards myself or anyone else for that matter.

I find home in these people. I find home in the warm smile of a shop owner, who offers me coffee and a hug whenever I am in town, and who has the most wonderful conversations with me about life and science and spirituality and travels and stories and ancient civilizations and whatever else.

She has lived in France and in India, and considers herself Hindu, yet is not concerned with the how and why of the spirituality another may regard for themselves. She instead tries to find common ground with everyone she meets through her own personal experience. I admire this quality in people.

She could just be an acquaintance, but I am happy to consider her a friend. I’m happy to consider you a friend too. Perhaps my brother is correct: a close friend takes time and experience—but we have a lifetime to earn that with each other, so long as we stay opine to the idea of finding home in each other here on Earth. Please forgive me if I take liberties in doing so. Forgive me also if I have wronged you in some way. I don’t go out of my way to hurt anyone, I can assure you of that.

I’m not a fortress. I’m not an island.

I am human though, and I have found regret, and felt like a defending agent along a minaret, when in fact it should have been a place to call for prayer, as they were originally intended. I have also fought over a piece of something, or just simply peace, at some point, like the English and the French did here—defending or attacking, and whatever inbetween.

Regardless, I’m exhausted of the idea of fighting. I’d rather be like water, and I try to learn from such a fluid substance of life—as much as I can manage to glean.

Be like water. Be a friend. Be honest. Be humble. Be kind. Be grateful. Be home to me and be home to you.

WHO IS MIKE VITALE?

I am a storyteller, songwriter, singer, music producer, traveling musician, Jungian dream analyst, all-around curious fellow (Spiritual, Mathematical Historical, Scientific), Taoist, and much much more, based out of Los Angeles, California. I’m constantly releasing new music, in all sorts of different genres. You can listen to me below, on Spotify:

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A Left or a Right in San Juan, Puerto Rico

February 17, 2026 by Mike Vitale in Blog, Brain Droppings, Life, Love, Photos, Stories, Travel

The last time I was in San Juan, Puerto Rico, I was quickly faced with a decision once I departed the dock where the cruise vessel resided.

It was the most fundamental of decision: left or right.

Binary: Male and Female, Masculine and Feminine, Open and Close, One and Zero, Day and Night, Good and Evil, Life and Death, Rich and Poor, Black and White, Light and Darkness, True or False, Yes or No, Liberal or Conservative, Success or Failure, Literal or Figurative, Silence or Noise, Nature or Nurture—Right or Wrong.

As happenstance would have it, I chose right, but it was the wrong way (in so far as for what I was looking for)—or perhaps that isn’t one hundred percent accurate either. It is a matter of perspective.

You see, I chose to head right, but that decision took me far away from the popular tourist attractions of old San Juan, with its 16th-century Spanish colonial, Baroque, Neoclassical, and Art Deco styles.

I walked for miles and miles, reaching for the previous mentioned—but instead, I found another portion of San Juan that is beautiful in its own way, and authentic. The less traveled path with old dilapidated grand parks outlined by rusted black metallic gates.

Gas stations advertising gas for 77 cents. Why? Because gas is sold by the liter and not the gallon, in Puerto Rico. Happenstance: I chose to walk in the direction that taught me this fact.

I walked by Government buildings witnessing the largest Iguanas I have ever seen in my life, languidly sun bathing on the grass of the Capitolio de Puerto Rico.

Sometimes the wrong way is the right way, and sometimes heading that direction only leaves left, to be left and remaining, on a narrow stretch of island made available by foot.

I eventually became bored of what the right had to offer me, and doubled back, down this narrow stretch of island, on the opposite ocean side. In hindsight, I was thankful I did all of this, as it is hard to say if I ever would have headed right, down that stretch of road, had I known what I would find to the left, back at my initial crossroads.

The year is now 2026. Our world is on the verge of growing outside our binary view points. What do I mean?

Although we may appear to be binary creatures, we are not. We are quantum. We exist within a quantum realm.

We are creating computational devices that work on the identical notion of reality: quantum computers. They are the most powerful device known to man, and occupy a large room, just as did their forbearers before them: binary computers utilizing vacuum tubes, lining the walls of a room in 1946, taking up 1,800 square feet, with 18,000 vacuum tubes. It was called ENIAC. The smartphone in your hand is 1 Million to 100 Million Times more powerful than this Turing computer.

That was 1946. Binary.

We are 2026. Quantum Computers now take up a room.

They do not function on Bites: ones and zeros, or open and close. A quantum computers functions on Qubits (Quantum Bit), and a Qubit functions as a particle, a constituent part and building block of the Universe.

You may be asking, why do I bring up Qubits? Because there are parallels to society and technology. Don’t believe me? let me point one out to you.

Transgender Non-Binary Identification and a Qubit, for example.

A Qubit functions as a particle. It is an electron or photon or atom that is being repurposed for the construct of data, by being manipulated into a superposition, like a particle. A superposition means that this manipulated quantum state does not have a definitive state. It is a one or a zero or both or a fraction of one and a fraction of zero, utilizing properties like spin or polarization to exist in a superposition of states.

We are no longer making calculations in binary.

Some folks no longer identify as being purely male or female, which already, is a superposition of chemical reactions in the body.

To be brief: more testosterone than estrogen makes one male, by extension of the chromosome (Genotype) of the child during fetal development: (XY) further subcategorized by the SRY region of the Y chromosome, leading to the development of testicles, which are one of several endocrine glands, that secrete testosterone.

More estrogen than testosterone makes one female, by extension of chromosome (Genotype) of the child during fetal development: (XX) further subcategorized by the absence of the SRY region in Y chromosome.

A lot of science jargon, but essentially, we are creatures driven by chemical reactions: whether this be our mood or are pension for war. These chemicals are constantly in flux within our bodies.

There are people who identify as neither male nor female. There are people who possess both genitalia and live a very confused life of self-discovery, few of us shall ever truly experience, who were given just one genitalia.

Reality is not created within the realm of binary. It is created within the realm of quantum. There are all types, not just two.

And so, when I was faced with that decision of heading left or heading right, that wasn’t where my story ended. That was just the first choice of many, and that’s what life is.

Life is choices, not one choice, from one or another.

For example, we can choose to head right at a crossroads, and then decide it was the wrong direction, and then choose to be grumpy or happy with that decision, and then choose to see the details (or ignore the details) that show us that the initial impression of our initial decision made, was incorrect to begin with (or correct), and that perhaps, we might have made the correct or incorrect decision all along.

Regardless, we are the observer, as much as we are the writer of our own lives, and that leaves us all with the most powerful of computation: free will.

We can also choose to feel that life is deterministic, and that you were meant to go a certain direction, however, isn’t it ironic that this deterministic viewpoint, still exists in a realm where you make the decision to head left or heading right, or do both. I did both, eventually, that day—and I’m happy that I did.

Perhaps, as the comedian Bill Hicks put it: “Life is a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves,” and imagination is the crucial cognitive gateway to choices:

Like a cat, mid-dream, resting on a chain-link fence, in the sun of San Juan, Puerto Rico.

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The Elevator | Roseau, Dominica

February 13, 2026 by Mike Vitale in Blog, Brain Droppings, Life, Love, Photos, Stories, Travel

The Elevator by Michael Patrick Vitale

I was on the elevator a few days ago, which just occurred to me, makes this little anecdote of mine even more ironic: a beautiful young lady said to me how big of a shit hole port our previous location was. I audibly gasped.

I have garnered that reaction from people before—not from saying the identical thing as my elevator companion. It was from something else that I shared that was honest. Something I did to someone else, which my historically removed audience felt was socially faux pas. I imagine my audible gasp was coming from that same place.

She was being honest about how she felt. It reminded me of an old Twilight Zone episode I watched as a kid called “Eye of the Beholder” (Season 2 Episode 6).

Perhaps we filter our own outlook of beauty on what we see every day. However, I come from the same place as her and I personally felt it was gorgeous. Or perhaps, what was to be found there in shopping was not to her expectation.

Whatever the case: it was certainly not a financially prosperous locale, but it was rich in so many other ways.

She got off on deck 4 and acknowledged my gasp in a very nonchalant manner as she continued on her journey, after elevating with me on our mechanical contraption, yet, her dour outlook sunk my heart a bit, while we physically moved upwards, hence the irony I was talking about earlier.

So, I kept going up, to Deck 9, as high as I could go, and tried to get back to the frame of mind I was in, before we shared that elevator ride together.

The next morning and day and evening were amazing. We visited Roseau, Dominica. I pushed myself to go for a run, as I have been walking for several years. The run only elevated my mood further, and I appreciated how beautiful of a space I had, to earn my endorphins.

I occasionally stoped and marveled at what these folks get to call home. Me? I’m sort of a tourist. Sort of not. I’m here working. Doing my work. Trying to spread positivity and levity and honesty and stories—even when I don’t outright feel that way.

I want so badly to be an elevator. Sure, in the purely mechanical sense of contraption: it goes both ways. However, I can choose what direction I prefer, and that is to elevate.

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Belize City, Belize

January 21, 2026 by Mike Vitale in Blog, Brain Droppings, Life, Love, Photos, Stories, Travel

Yesterday I had the privilege of visiting Belize City, Belize.

I chose the word privilege as a measured coinage of value and learning—as it came with tears. However, the experience also makes me think and ruminate, which is without doubt, the highest of privilege. Always.

Belize City is not a wealthy city. Belize is not a wealthy country. Like Jamaica, it was under British rule and control for a long time, before gaining its independence in 1981.

Tourism is an enormous driving factor of its economy. It was known at British Honduras until 1973. There are Mayan Ruins that I wish to see if I have the additional privilege of being here again.

There were children beating on whatever plastic container they had handy, trying to make some tips.

I passed an adult maybe forty paces later, who jokingly asked for me to give him two million dollars. What he doesn’t know is that I was nearly evicted out of my apartment last year around this time and almost lost my car, and everything I own. However, who can blame him? What he saw with his eyes, was a tourist.

… and I am. I know. Painfully, I know.

What do I know of life or how hard it is around the world? Not much. I am trying to learn though.

Regardless of wherever we are born on Earth, it is nearly impossible to be born in a place that does not have a government with borders or a currency—or some sort of military. We inherit this from those who came before us.

We inherit invisible lines and exchange rates on rectangular pieces of paper and tiny flats of metals and minerals, collectively taught to believe that they have value. Ultimately, they must, as it helps these human tourists of Earth, no matter where they are born, to put food and water in one’s mouth or to pay rent to the individual who laid claim to a piece of land, long ago.

And from all of this, we get social hierarchy and classes and wealth gaps. And while the last two are unique and not ubiquitous to other animals, the first very much can be found in all animals, which tells me that we have a long way to go, yet still, as a species, if there is any chance of survival, living in harmony as equals.

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Montego Bay, Jamaica & Sam Sharpe

January 18, 2026 by Mike Vitale in Blog, Brain Droppings, Life, Love, Photos, Stories, Travel

Yesterday found me in Jamaica for the first time. We ported in Falmouth.

I started my morning off practicing guitar and drafting an email and letter to our Senators and House of Representatives, in regard to events following the current administration of our Executive Branch. It was penned rather angry, so I am revising it this morning and maintaining any warranted sharp corners to my words. I would hope that if you are upset as I am, you would do the same. Speak your mind to your representatives. Not everyone in history has had that luxury. Allow me the privilege of sharing one such person with you:

Sam Sharpe.

Sam Sharpe was a slave in Montego Bay, Jamaica. He was enslaved on both the Croydon Plantation as well as in St. James. He was owned by Samuel Sharpe, Esquire a local attorney.

Sam Sharpe was a man of exceptional intelligence and was a baptist lay preacher. He believed all men were created equal in the image of God, and therefore, slavery was wrong. He preached about the injustices of slavery and read the works of abolitionists.

In 1831, Sharpe organized a passive resistance movement against slavery in St. James, Trelawny, and Westmoreland by demanding pay for work done. Set to begin during Christmas 1831, the strike turned into an armed rebellion. The uprising was savagely suppressed by the English. Hundreds of enslaved people were caught, tried, and executed in Montego Bay Market Place on May 23rd 1832, where I stood yesterday.

However, the widespread nature and seriousness of the rebellion convinced the British Government that the time had come to end the enslavement of African People. This took place on August 1st 1834. Sam Sharpe did not die in vain. He was hung where I stood.

This was the beginning of a long and continuing fight for freedom by Jamaicans. They received their independence from the British in 1962, at the cost of massive inflation to their new national currency: what was once 40 to 1 US Dollar, is now 250 to 1 approximately. This was the cost of their emancipation.

May we all truly cherish that which rights we have to speak our mind without the cost of our own life.

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San Juan, Puerto Rico

January 01, 2026 by Mike Vitale in Blog, Brain Droppings, Life, Love, Music, Photos, Travel

San Juan, Puerto Rico was the last place I thought I would be ending 2025 at—if you were to have asked me at the beginning of this year. I probably would have declined to answer, had I been asked.

Life is full of surprises—and adventures. Paul Simon has this song called “So Beautiful, or So What.” He has this line in the tune where he says “life is what we make of it…” and he’s right.

I will do everything in my power to make it as beautiful as possible for both myself, and others around me.

Forgive me if and when I fall short of this from time to time. I’m human, and sometimes I get in my own way. I’m learning how to forgive myself. Maybe you can find that grace as well should it ever become necessary (fingers crossed).

I am grateful to have you in my life, and feel privileged to have the opportunity to be in yours, should you feel inclined.

I can’t picture myself doing anything other than playing music and seeing the world with my own eyes. Thank you 2025, for providing this to me. You have my undying gratitude strung down my cheeks, and a melody dancing in my head:

Who knows how long I've loved you? You know I love you still. Will I wait a lonely lifetime? If you want me to I will. For if I ever saw you. I didn't catch your name. But it never really mattered. I will always feel the same. Love you forever and forever. Love you with all my heart. Love you whenever we're together. Love you when we're apart. And when at last I find you. Your song will fill the air. Sing it loud so I can hear you. Make it easy to be near you. For the things you do endear you to me. You know I will. I will

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Philipsburg, Sint Maartin

December 29, 2025 by Mike Vitale in Blog, Brain Droppings, Life, Photos, Stories, Travel

At this time last year, I was worried that I would be evicted from my apartment, have my car repossessed, lose all my belongings, amongst many ebbs and flows of dwellings in the confines of my own head—speaking of which, and most importantly: I was worried that I didn’t belong—that I don’t have community, and perhaps, truly, I don’t. I can only try to connect with others, and it is extremely difficult to support others, when just barely getting by financially, oneself—despite managing having done so for years and years, especially when so many people around me seem to function on a quid-pro-quo-type-of relationship (whether that be truth or a fiction of abstraction).

Feelings are very hard at times, like being between a rock and a hard place—or an immovable object against an unstoppable force.

Just because you have them, doesn’t make them true. We don’t have to believe everything we think. They’re feelings: by their very nature, they are irrational. They come and go, and even in the most basic sense, come from the oldest portion of wherever our consciousness comes from in the first place.

Regardless: I am very thankful to be so far removed from how I felt last year. I am thankful that a booking agent is not holding ransom, thousands of dollars that I had already earned with hard work and effort and years of experience.

I am happy to be playing my music for people and to be telling stories about my life, and other people’s lives, through song— and even between the songs, to people I just met, on a cruise ship, voyaging to places I’ve never been.

Today we were back in Antigua and yesterday we were in Philipsburg, Sint Maarten. I bought a Celia Cruz shirt today, because she makes me very happy, and I can think of no better way to say thank you to her and her friends in the band and their collective creative efforts from the magic that is music, by wearing her face on my chest, next to my heart.

Cheers to this year ending, so much better than how it began. May 2026 be a wealth of experiences and opportunities. Thank you for reading this, and for being in my life.

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Willemstad, Curaçao

December 24, 2025 by Mike Vitale in Travel, Photos, Music, Life, Blog, Brain Droppings

Curaçao is beautiful. Sometimes people call this the C in the ABC islands, above South America.

It’s inhabitants are transplants from all over the world, including Europe, South America, and Asia—but most predominantly West Africa and the Bight of Benin due to Transatlantic Slave Trading. These good folks created a language based off of their many and numerous captures, Papiamentu, a creole based on Portuguese and Spanish.

The indigenous inhabitants were primarily Arawakan-speaking Caquetio people from what is now Venezuela.

Truth be told, I hear Dutch, English, Papiamentu, and Spanish reverberating from the narrow alleys of rainbow colored dwellings built by the Dutch, hundreds of years ago. Built by the Dutch—but painted by Curaçaoënaars.

I see T-Shirts all over the place that say Curaçao: Est. 1499. It probably involved a flag (a Spanish flag). I’m sure the Caquetio had little use for flags, unfortunately.

Sammuel, one of the friends I made aboard the Koningsdam, is from Curaçao and was kind enough to take us around the island this morning for a bit, before I lost myself, searching for treasure, whether it photos or clothing or food or whatever else I could sponge up with my senses.

I think Aly went to an Ostrich farm. That would have been rad; I’ve never been to one. Maybe next time.

My favorite shot from today, involved this man feeding a big hunk of bread to pigeons. Let me know which one you like best.

The people are lovely here. I’m coming back, if not soon—then maybe a bit later.

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Dominica and Saint Kitts

December 20, 2025 by Mike Vitale in Blog, Brain Droppings, Life, Photos

There is an island where tour guides named Sugar, tell you about a spot where the Caribbean Ocean and the Atlantic Ocean converge on one another. It’s a beautiful spot (I took photos). However, it’s even more gorgeous when one is not worried about being left behind by the cruise vessel one is working on, because two over stimulated musicians are running late and stayed a bit too long.

My friend Paulie and I took a cab out to a remote beach on the edge of Saint Kitts. It was beautiful. I was full of gin—and bathed like a Sun God, surrounded by scantly clad women throwing tiny pickles at me. All of this is true, aside from the pickles (that’s a line from the movie Real Genius in which Chris Knight is recounting a dream).

The fact of the matter is that in terms of posting photos and recounting traveling stories to anyone who is even remotely interested, I feel a bit behind, just like I did that day, trying not to rush a good time.

We got back to the ship with one of the navigators, wagging their head in deep disappointment and disapproval. She told us she would leave without us it ever happened again—and that we were lucky because one of the passengers had been injured, and they stayed behind to retrieve the injured passenger (not for us).

She looked like she meant it. She probably did. Not planning on testing her resolve.

The passengers have been so lovely to me. You can drop a pin (and hear it) at a lot of these shows I’m playing. What an honor, to be heard—to be given the opportunity to express myself and play my songs and entertain folks and make some new acquaintances that will hopefully develop into friendship.

Celia Cruz’s voice dances around in my head, daily. I stayed in and practiced today, and got to where I can sing the lyrics and play the montuno on “Toro Mata.”

Toro mata y, toro Mata. Toro mata, rumbambero y toro mata, toro, torito…

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Castries, Saint Lucia

December 14, 2025 by Mike Vitale in Blog, Brain Droppings, Life, Love, Music, Photos

Weed brings people together—even if you’re not smoking it.

Let me explain.

My entire exchange with these gentlemen started with an effort to sell me a joint. I’m not smoking at the moment—because I can’t (I’m fine with that). What I can do is drink though. So, I hung out in Castries today, at a hole in the wall bar, and sewed some yarns.

I told these guys about running away from home when I was eight years old, or the time my friend Josh flipped a Bronco II while I was in high school, and survived the accident.

Truth be told: we all told some stories. It was a good time. They referred to the area as the ghetto. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it’s the richest place on Earth—a beautiful local, full of beautiful people, and it is definitely a matter of approaching with love and respect, an open heart, and a open mind—and maybe an appetite to drink a few gin and sodas and tell a few jokes.

Whatever the opinion: I never felt out of place, and that says something, even if it’s just to my heart of hearts. I’ll be back—and I’ll bring friends. That’s what one does when the vibe is good.

I just finished writing this, and it’s 4:20. Ha!

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Puerto Quetzal, Guatemala

November 08, 2025 by Mike Vitale in Blog, Brain Droppings, Life, Music, Photos

Today found me in Puerto Quetzal, Guatemala. Some new musician friends of mine served me up with a belly full of laughter, while we took a quick cab ride into San Jose. We ate some Pupusas at a spot that Evelyn, our guide recommended, before heading to an oceanside of dark black sand from all the active volcanoes that reside in the country.

We’d spent the past several days traveling ever closer to the equator, down the coastline of Mexico. Specifically within the states of Jalisco, Oaxaca, and Chiapas. Mangos and Bananas. Beautiful dark indigenous native skin, like coffee beans, grown, either side of a kinetic freeway full or chaotic motorcycles and buses, towards Tapachula, in a congested passenger van full of tourists—like me.

My pale flesh slowly merges into the more tan portions of my skin, like erratic traffic, as I travel deeper into perpetual Summer—within lands than bring me to tears if I give myself enough time to reflect.

I’m so very wealthy with every new day that I get to learn more about a world spinning on its own axis, shared with 8.2 billion people just like me.

Each of these places are beautiful and full of kind folk who show so much beauty and care for those who come to visit in curiosity, by simply living and being themselves.

Aw—there I go mucking up my phone with tears. It just confuses the touch screen.

Back to being in the present moment. I know these photos aren’t much, but it’s a gift. Please accept it.