The Hallucinogenic Interview Series—The Dude
Venice Beach, California August, 2025
The Dude: Wanda—this chick I know—says I gotta meet this guy, Perry. Said he’s got stories that might mean something and a vibe that is like gummies. I wasn’t doing anything, so I downloaded a copy, and after I read most of it, I called Wanda, and she set up a meet.
We grabbed a couple of drinks, kicked back, and had ourselves a little conversation…
The Dude: “Alright, Perry—so word is, you’ve got this thing called The Palm Tree Express. Sounds like sunshine, cocktails, and maybe a little mind expansion… or maybe it’s just a slow-moving cult with good marketing. I don’t know, man. I read most of it, and I’m just here to ask the weird questions and see if I can figure this whole trip out. Like, is it the real thing or just more sand waiting to be washed away?”
Perry: I appreciate your interest and taking the time to talk, but let’s see—how can I put this? It is what it is. It isn’t supposed to be anything. I mean, you are the fucking Dude. I am not going to tell you what to think. Nor any of my readers—dudes? dudettes? They can all decide for themselves.
The Dude: So… what is the Palm Tree Express, man? Like, is it a trip, a book, a movement… or just a fancy name for skipping town?
Perry: In my mind, Mr. Dude—is it OK if I call you Dude?
The Dude: Sure, man, no one even knows my name.
Perry: In my mind, it is all those things and a thousand more, but primarily I like to think of it as entertainment, adventure, inspiration, and the truth in a tall-tale kind of way.
The Dude: I read some of your stuff, and I gotta ask—are you pitching a lifestyle here or just trying to sell paperbacks with coconut trees on the cover?
Perry: With all due respect, were you off your face when you read it? Because you seem to be missing the plot. I am not pitching anything. I am a storyteller. I am telling a bunch of stories, but I think people will be quick to interpret them in a way that suggests to them that there may very well be a better way to live.
I mean, look at it—you live in California, which is quite arguably a paradise—but can you imagine reading what you read last night while living in, say, Minnesota, and not wanting to fly to the Caribbean or the South Pacific?
The Dude: Okay, I get that, and I don’t wanna accuse you of anything heavy, but some folks are whispering “cult.” And not the groovy kind with incense. What do you say to that?
Perry: This is a perfect example of why the Palm Tree Express exists—because all the fucking noise. You read the book—every fucking word, every fucking quote—and find me one sentence that promotes a cult. I will buy your White Russians for a year if you can show me one fucking sentence.
Cults tell you what to think, but the Palm Tree Express prompts you to think. Your brain, your heart, your thoughts—not mine.
The Dude: Chill, dude—ha-ha—just picking your brain a little. You’ve got all these ideas about Fusion and paradise and ditching the system… sounds like a manifesto with better snacks. How is this not the recruiting brochure for a spiritual pyramid scheme?
Perry: I guess once someone pisses on your rug, you become a bit jaded, so I will accept your question without animosity.
Fusion is something you would enjoy.
Spirituality? I like to respect any spiritual universe, even though people often use religion as a justification for doing very bad things. Is there a God, or are there Gods?
I don’t know, man. But what I do know is that the odds of the Earth being created and supporting somewhat complex life are so astronomical, I find it hard to believe that we just got lucky.
I think we don’t know anything near what we think we know. We could be some alien’s ant farm, or there may be some sort of consciousness floating around the cosmos that puts a few things together—but for this, it doesn’t matter.
I am not advocating changing the world, dropping out, or any hippie-dippie shit. I am telling sometimes crazy, sometimes sexy, sometimes funny stories—and guess what? They make people think. I see no scheme.
The Dude: Is there a leader of this thing? I mean… is it you? And if it is, do you wear a robe? Please tell me there’s no robe.
Perry: There would have to be a movement to have a leader—and Dude, you are the one walking around in a bathrobe, filling your face with oats and milk. But I will say this: every person who has the conviction and courage to start over, or continue their life 10,000 miles from their status quo, is their own leader. So we are all leaders.
The Dude: OK, putting the Kool-Aid jokes aside, let me ask: what’s the real thing you want people to get out of reading Palm Tree Express?
Perry: I want them to enjoy it, and I think if they don’t, they’d better keep rereading it until they do—otherwise they might be lost to the noise.
If I am sitting seaside in Bora Bora, and someone sends me over a beer and explains they are there because Palm Tree motivated them to be—that will be a victory for me.
The Dude: You talk about paradise being a “decision,” not a destination. That’s kind of beautiful, man. But does that work if your rent’s late and your boss is a bastard?
Perry: It is all perspective. Most newlyweds would figure they are living in paradise, no matter where they are. It’s what happens to them that wears them down.
Not being able to pay your rent is a nightmare, and probably doesn’t constitute paradise. What I mean by “paradise is a decision” is that once you commit to finding or making your own paradise, it is almost a self-fulfilling prophecy—because now you are committed.
Not everyone ends up on a tropical beach; they make their own paradise. And it is more than palm trees—it is love, it is purpose, it is fusion. It’s like everything important that you cherish being in your life.
The Dude: The vibe here is tropical, sure, but there’s a little outlaw sparkle in there too. Are you telling people to drop out—or just drop in differently?
Perry: I don’t advise anyone to do criminal things; jail or prison is the antithesis of any and all paradises.
But, you know, you need to walk the edge sometimes. You need to be defiant. You need to think for yourself.
What is important to you? I am unjabbed. Was that illegal? No. Was it defiant? Absolutely.
The Dude: If someone reads your book and says, “This changed my life,” what does that usually mean in real terms? New zip code? New soul?
Perry: It will mean they stopped marching to collective thoughts and mandates. That they started enjoying life on their terms. Simple—they put the priorities of themselves and those they love first.
I could probably name 20 countries that invite you to go live there tax-free, and the cost of living is usually about 25% of what it is in the US.
You are taking monumental shackles off yourself making that move.
Not to mention, you don’t need a furnace, mukluks, parkas, snow tires—or, most the time, even a fucking car.
It is a beautiful life.
Dude, just imagine: “It is Tuesday morning. You grab your snorkel mask, flippers, and spear gun and head down to the beach, three blocks away. After an hour, you spear a giant dorado. You take it home and clean it. One of your neighbors shows up with firewood, another with beer, and a couple of señoritas bring mangos, coconuts, and pineapples.
Another guy starts playing a guitar. Everyone eats a feast, enjoys the company of others, and by the time the sun sets, they go home—or one sticks around to fuck.
That is one man’s paradise. It could be yours.
The Dude: Is this more like a self-help journey—or more like a cosmic bowling league with no dress code and cold drinks at the end?
Perry: It is exactly what the reader makes it to be. If they stop at a few laughs and a bit of thought processing—cool. If they move to the other side of the world, I have to admit—that is even cooler.
But I am no Jimmy Buffett; I am not selling them $400 margarita makers or condos in Belize. The most I can hope for is to be invited to a community barbecue. And for me, that is more than enough.
