Adventure!

BREATH IN

Everyday I feel more and more confused about my next move. Certain and Uncertain. Clear vision. Blindness. The worst is misplacing the only outline you have out of this place. I have no idea where my phone went. I've been in three places. One. Two. Three. Where could it go? It's in NONE of those.

My mind is falling apart.

I flash back to the last time I lost this lover that I cradle oh so close to my ear and remember finding it in that part of Boston I'd never even been to. What?

The improbability drive has stolen my phone. Again. Hopefully some depressed robot isn't using it as a spare part resource box. Hopefully it is so improbable that I'll ever find it again that the improbability drive will spring once more into action. Can't use what you don't have.

Life life life.

And then some days you run into the people you want to see and don't want to see all at once. Temptation is such a dangerous word. Balloons falling through the sky. Impossibly possible. Wanting and not wanting. Living and not-living.

Sick is a temporary hiatus in all of your normal proceedings. Sick is that momentary lapse from life. Sick is not fun. Sick is not social. Sick sick sick of it and sick and being sick and feeling sick and looking sick and coughing and sneezing sick ill awful gross. DISGUSTING. Breath in. Hack up a lung. Breath out. Tired tired tired and sick and sick sometimes the sky looks the way you feel all gray and numb and tired.

Sometimes everything you're feeling manifests itself as the weather and the world just says "me too" sometimes you can't stop bitching and moaning about not feeling well because, well, you don't and everyone else never gets sick and here you are. SICK. The ins and outs of my white blood cell count, the amount of sodium or potassium in my blood, the number of platelets and the amount of calcium.


The ins and outs of not knowing when to give or when to take or even just when to let up, give up, and let things roll the way they will. When to help, when not to help. The constant nagging thought of wondering how much of this life really belongs to me. How much of it belongs to you, and him, and her, and that guy over there...

how do I know whether to keep it or to just...give it away.
And would it really be that?

To help, to live forsaking myself.
To live, forsaking others.

Is there a balance, or is it black and white?

FREAK OUT.

- Fade in -

In the moonlight, I would swear you were an angel with a halo made of stars. Still, you don't even know who you are. [ And that's what makes you beautiful.] Sweet sweet sweet love of mine. You've got that magic spark. Oh sweet love of mine, so divine.


There are a million names I"ve been calling myself these days and all of them start with beautiful. Last night I felt like a stegasourous in the ice age. So out of place you could see me growing extinct. You could see what's left of me sixty-five million years into the future. I froze so competely. Just bones. Bones and bones and bones. I wonder what the archeologists will say when they excavate me carefully dusting around my bones. Trying to presevere my remains. Even that's an awkward process...


I feel like a sunset exploding. Yes, I know that doesn't make sense but still that's how I feel. Calm beauty exploding into gorgeousness. I dance the dance I need to dance but add my own moves. [the waltz has never looked so jazzy, so new-age, so sauve.]

They say you can't go home. But I'm not so sure what the hell that even means anymore. You can have a million homes. Home is where you're heart is, and mine has never been so decidedly pinned down. Every day is a new game of pin your wings down. Every night is another chance to take off and fly. Someday I'll wake up and realize I have best friends everywhere. All the world is a friend you just haven't met yet.

When you stray out far from your roots like that windy vines wrapping itself upward and away from its origin, you learn that all the people at home, even the ones you didn't know are family, and you learn that all the people here, the ones that you just met and take you in are family too.

lovely lovely lovely
little life of mine.

- Fade out -

Cold streak.

The crazy lights of merry go rounds and ferris wheels. Unrivetingly not chaotic. No carnies, no fried dough or cotton candy, just people, music and good times. The music floats through your brain the way the clouds merrily toss themselves just above the ocean water, skimming the surface.

Rain rain.

Been trying to think less. Ease the pressure on my brain and all those other needy organs. Just don't worry. Hakuna Mattata. Ins and outs of whatever comes your way.

Tonight we dance in the rain. Tomorrow, stars and boulevards.

It feels like the leaves should be falling back into the earth to start that whole decomposition process. Lovely Lovely Lovely...

Climb mountains. Cross Oceans.
Move.

Stop the tape. Don't record here. Sometimes you have memories playing in your head and all you want to do is hit rerecord. Fast forward. Stop.

In and out and in between.

Hear the music. Hear something...

The sun's chased the moon away. Today I'm swimming in my own skin and I've never felt this close to drowning and blowing it all up big. It's strange how the things you miss are so simple. The welcome home. The goodbye, have a nice day. The call to see where you are.

You're supposed to leave the nest but who knew it would be so hard? I guess it takes a lot of falling before you fly. Last night I sat on a picnic bench to stare at the gray gray sky.

Somedays your the man holding the knife, other days your the man with his hands up. I walk around rhyming in my head. No steel attached to my belt, no lead. Just hands in the air crying "peace! peace! peace!" I want people to stop hurting and feel the love that blankets them like sunbeams after a rainy day out in the wind.

I walked with the sun last night and saw her til she came around and showed her lovely morning reds. Behind the sea she lurks when no ones watching. She saw the scared look that came across my face and the way I shook in the night off the ocean's afternoon reflection.

Walk up the hill. Cool Off. Walk down the hill. Cool Down. When you get all shaken up it takes a good friend and a good dog to get you back in your senses. It's strange to think there are people in this world with only vilence on their mind. Conflict resolution should be ranked higher on the "to teach" list apparently.

Words are swords in their own right and you can swing them as fast as your tongue can spit. Hiss. Hurl. Words hurt, but steel hurts too.

This morning as dawn gently crawled through the window trying not to wake me, I realized how much I care about what people think and how it shouldn't matter. Lately, I've been wondering where the urge to want people to like you comes from. I'm not a weak person, yet I'm terribly sensitive.

Toughen up.

Colors float across the sky like a spilled water color. The other night I found myself awake in one of Walker's paintings trying to escape. Strangley headed creatures would not let me escape their grasp.

Last night lessons were learned and lines were drawn. It was clear who the real family was and who it wasn't. In the end we boiled the ocean and burnt the field and ate everything we could get our hands on: halibut, dungeoness, asparagus, corn, baked beans, baked potatoes, onions, grilled bananas, sheeshaw. Our moods were red helium balloons let go on a bright summer day in the city. Our stomachs were anchors nailed to the ocean floor. We swayed.

Slept inbetween worlds last night. Not at home, but not-not at home. The hotel is a strange place to find yourself wandering at night. Be wary of spooks.

XO

It's a strange phenomenon that happens. Why do we have to justify sadness. Totally lost it last night and just wanted to be home, in my bed, under my sheets with my hand running across the top of that wooden windowsill.

But I wasn't at home.

Four cloth walls only protect you from the elements. They don't keep secrets safe. Walls of wood and stone are so much more suitable for those nights you feel alone and just want to cry yourself to sleep. Plus, cloth doesn't slam. There's no loud comforting noise to show your pissed off.

The way you just want to scream and do and don't because you want to be loud and don't want to be loud all at once. For some reason, sadness is shameful. Tears are stains not stars so you don't want anyone seeing them fall down your face. No one makes wishes on those...

I just want to live and love and breathe.

Painful realizations are always the ones that come when you're already feeling down. The fact my family can afford to come but won't. The fact that no one fom home ever calls except my mom and sister. The way you call people and leave messages but no one ever calls you back. And the fact that everyone else has a million people calling from home. What's up with that?

And slowly I'm learning the worst torture is to get a message and not call back, leaving someone waiting for the other end of a conversation to start.

Radio in.
Static.
Static.
Static.

Cut the line.

Strangely, I'm learning that even if you think of someone as family, they may not feel the same. I've got you're back broski, but do you really have mine? And I'd give you this skin off my back if you needed it - you probably woulnd't do a damned thing.

Fire burned.

It's strange to watch the progression of days measured in wildfowers. From small little stalks with roots and shoots to budding purples and pinks across the field. Everything is a glow with color. Flowers are fireworks in the grass. They linger and then slowly explode, decompose. Their sparks not burning, but still oh so bright.

Camera eyes always capture the worst moments. Looking back you always remember the oh no's and oh why's. Smiles fade. You remember that time you cried. The time you lied. The time you did everything you didn't want to.

Sometimes I think I try to rationalize my sadness. Try and make it logical. When I can't, I make up a new past where everything seems reasonable and I'm not responsible for why I'm down. It's someone else's life and I'm just empathizing. Patting them on the back and saying I wish I could take this on for you.

I enjoy a good cry when I'm down.
I just hate to admit that I like crying for the sake of crying.
No reason needed, just that I feel down...

Words are explosions you can control. I do not speak projectiles. I do not vomit rockets as if I were trying to hail you. I speak butterflies on warm summer days gently floating across the air. I speak mountains into existence. I speak the dreams in my head they come out like a needle and thread and weave their way into reality. I speak visions. I speak so you can see the unseeable, the unknowable, the unthinkable.

Music is nothing but movement. Wind. The skies are blue. The hills are green. In love and so far out of it. The same old shennanigans never work the same way twice. Shake it up a bit. This morning I could breath into my reflection and make the girl starring back at me shimmer and shine.

Ripples are the only way anything ever starts. One. Four. Twelve. You always start alone (or do you?). It always ends in multitudes.

The way I have been thinking is anything but train-like. I have tree root thoughts these days. Everything is growing up and outwards. I'm growing jungles with all the things I think. Pirhannas are living in my waters. Best not fall in.

blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
Haines Base, Haines Base,
Returning in 3. 2. 1.
Over and out.