WHO KILLED BOOBOO

An exposé of Santa Barbara’s poisoned paradise and spiritual decay.

A world poisoned into a coma and all forgot they ever had a dream.

It’s been a wild and strange ride, over two decades, that brought me here, to this point in time, to tell a story I never wanted to tell. A story horribly gone wrong. A story that can’t die in the shadows of lies and corruption, brushed underneath a rug like it never happened. A story that won’t uphold the delusion that we live in an “oh so perfect” world. It is a story to be told, because we all forgot how fragile the complexity of life is , not just the fabric of our community, but also how delicate the myth of our true nature truly is.

It started with a Craigslist ad, which transplanted me to Santa Barbara. I replied to a post from Wylde Works, a once art-filled community place and a brewery for their Sunwater, a hard Kombucha-Jun beverage, and other honey-related brews. From day one I was promised ownership, or at least co-ownership, of the café I was hired to reboot and run. “Why not?” Dylan said. And that I could operate my own café under the Wylde Works roof. Of course, I told myself, let’s go for it. I planned on making it happen and gave 200%, often worked for four people, made it look normal to work up to 80 hours a week. I believed: if you want it done right, do it yourself.

BooBoo comes with me wherever I go, there’s no compromise. “Thomas ‘Le Grand BooBoo’ Road” is my ride-or-die adventure buddy cat. During the opening hours, BooBoo chilled on his chair and shared his presence like a beam of sunshine through the dark and cold atmosphere of the café, brightening and warming the day. Everyone who came in wanted to say hello to the little feline friend. BooBoo even drew people from the streets inside, just to say hello.

For some unexplainable and questionable alignments, looking back at the story, there’s nothing I regret more than the decision to join forces with Dylan at Wylde Works. He has been known for not paying his employees, which of course nobody told me, until it was already too late. He sold molded kombucha, because he wanted to cut corners and not follow common-sense sanitation of his equipment. There were rumors about his honey being relabeled and resold under false pretenses. Whether it’s true or not, the honey always looked different. People should know. In two months, Dylan pulled $110k from the business, yet we couldn’t pay bills or staff. He got the cash by liquidating assets, a POS loan, and the sale of a canning machine. We brought in over $50k in revenue, and it all vanished into the abyss, while two people worked 160 hours a week non stop to keep the business going.

BooBoo and I ended up living in my car. I was unpaid. Exhausted. Desperate. BooBoo started getting sick and stopped eating. I didn’t have the money to take him to a vet, and kept praying nonstop and wanting to find a way out of this mess. I kept hoping Dylan would follow through with the promises he made: I pay you. It can be your cafe. We can rename the business and repeated names I came up with, like they have been his ideas. I must have been delusional and started to wake up and realized none of it was real.

Why did our journey lead us down the path to tell yet another tale of global destruction, a fallen civilization drawn to wipe itself out?

Or is it just a weird and strange coincidence that corruption, lies, and greed seeped into our reality like poison? Poison that didn’t just kill BooBoo, but points out a synchronized slow death of our world we call now a simulation. We drifted apart from our true nature, trapped inside a system built on lies. A system that it kills the spirit and light of our world.

Or is it possible that someone poisoned BooBoo? At this point, looking back at the story, I could believe anyone could have done it at Wylde Works. I ask because there had been a clear push back against me, for calling out the nonsense. I didn’t have time to play games in the filth. I was there to clean the house, bring the business up and running again. Instead, I got told, “Don’t you start with me.” One person came to me out of nowhere and apologized, but wouldn’t say for what. Just that I’d been ‘messed with.’ No context, no answers, only that chilling line, hanging in the air.
And I was dragged along with lies over and over again. Several times I was reminded like I shall never forget: We are all psychopaths and sociopaths here, at Wylde Works.

I can’t say for sure that someone poisoned my beloved fur baby on purpose, but the question is loud and clear out there , and not far-fetched. Maybe it was poison that had been set out for cockroaches or rats. Who knows?

Long story short, I believe my ‘BooBoo Love’ could have been saved in time, if I had been paid what I was owed, what I had worked for more then anyone else there.

With a little help from my friends

After a little arrangement down the line, the light shined through to help us. The amazing and super talented musicians from the 805 Blues Collective offered to have a benefit concert at their Wednesday Jam at the Figueroa Mountain Brewing Co. A GoFundMe added to the pile, and Care4Paws did the rest so BooBoo could go to the vet, get help from a healer, and eat the best possible food. And did he start eating again, like he couldn’t wait to go on more adventures. We could enjoy our last little joy ride through Santa Barbara. BooBoo has been Meowing out of the window and enjoyed the fresh breeze blowing through his whiskers, while we’ve been cruising along Shoreline Drive, the beach and Cabrillo Boulevard.

Though one day, BooBoo slipped out into the yard where I stayed, which didn’t make me happy at all. I’ve never seen in my whole life the evidence of used pesticides like there. The amount of dead bees, insects and a couple of suffering butterflies has been a daily nerve racking horror, going back and forth from the little parking lot. While the owner of the little Santa Barbara cottage assured me that the gardeners did not use any kind of roundups or other herbicide, insecticide or rodenticide, the evidence shows a different reality.

Even for the strongest and most resilient little warrior I had the honor to travel alongside, there was no way out. Le Grand BooBoo’s days had been numbered by the toxins, the poison, the ignorance we all contribute to. We all surrendered to a diabolical, unethical elite and traded a sustainable world for the poison we stand in line for, because we can’t get enough of consuming more of it.

In the end, I am the only one to be blamed, for believing I could change the cursed course of an already rotten establishment. Because I was not able to provide a safe house for my cat to rest and heal. Because I have been enabling the same situations with my work, presence, patience & delusion that it would all change and work out in the end, like the same people who deny the facts and play along their ignorant daily little games. I didn’t pack my bags and leave the sinking ship, nor did I walk away from the poisoned garden. I couldn’t move freely, and I became numb, like the rest, slipping into the collective coma, believing we could fix a cursed world, until it was too late.

Le Grand BooBoo’s domino effect.

As you can already imagine, the story is part of a much bigger picture than I could have imagined. Facts are, that the literal madness we contribute to with our hard and enabling labor, got out of control with all the possible lies we are told. Lies that are fabricated with care and effort to make us all believe, that all is a-okay. It looks like we contribute to the insanity, so we can consume our way through this vicious cycle, to polish our egos. “Look at me! I made it! I made myself look so fancy and glamorous in this Necroscape©.” [A landscape of death; not in horror, but in spiritual and ecological collapse. The world becomes a mirror of our disconnection. Beautiful, but dead inside.]

We became friends with the enemy and the only way out, to unite the people again is to close the gap between the political divided minds and save the planet. We can decide to help on and each other to heal the trauma in this world and our mother earth. Nobody can take that from anyone. We can create and lead with compassion to heal the fabric of our communities and create a sustainable world for future generations to come.

Let’s make an effort to ban all the Roundups, weedkillers, pesticides, cockroach and rat poison in the whole Santa Barbara County , to inspire the world, like it did with the beginning of Earth Day. A new sign the world needs to see more than ever.

At the Seahorse Racing foundation we will start being proactive with a petition to stop all poisons county wide and beyond. You will also find a link for donations, to help us make this dream and vision real. So our beloved pets, wild life, bees, insects and the effects on our human bodies young and old will have an end. There’s more to be done!

https://seahorseracing.org

Sign the Petition to Ban the Poison in Santa Barbara » (click the link)

With love and compassion to my beloved ‘Le Grand BooBoo’ and all who suffer the silent deaths caused by the poison in our world.

Jack Road, July 2025