Flash Fiction Exercise

My feet were so cold. That’s what woke me up. My head pounded. I could comprehend nothing else than sipping on a cup of Sumatra dark with a squeeze of honey. It was a crippling addiction, but I loved her so.

I felt strange that morning. Besides the oncoming migraine, which was most likely the result of a night of heavy drinking, I had this overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Attempting to loosen my aching back, I swung my feet out of bed and started towards the kitchen. My cerebral cortex bickered, right against left. Visions of last night fought their way into my thoughts but the legs ignored any neural impulses other than navigating their usual morning routine.

Suddenly aware of my surroundings, I was not in the kitchen at all, but a living room. “Oh God, did I go home with someone?”

Still groggy and heavy-lidded, I turned the corner again. Only, I found myself standing on the other side of the room. Stepping back over the threshold, it was my laundry room. Relieved but apparently disoriented, I whispered angrily. “Damn girl. Get a hold of yourself!”

 I closed my eyes so tight that I started to see dizzying kaleidoscope bursts of purple and green. Opening them again, I was staring at a clean coffee pot sitting on the counter top by the stove. “But, um… I didn’t - maybe I should start with a glass water”.

Standing by the tap, I sipped slowly, drank enthusiastically, and then gulped desperately. At this point, I was convinced that I could drink the entire volume of Lake Michigan and still feel thirsty. It was almost as if I couldn’t even feel the water on my throat. With my head tilted back to catch the last drop of a fourth glass, I noticed a book of matches on the kitchen table. I had quit smoking over 2 years ago and kept the habit of hoarding lighters, but never matches. The advertisement on the front was illegible, but the back held a message written in thick sharpie scrawl. “WATER” I didn’t feel thirsty anymore.

The floorboards shuddered. Across the room, my glass fell from the counter. Sharp Shards splintered across the floor, but the sound of breaking glass came from another room.

Grabbing a bread knife on the way, I rushed upstairs. Someone was in my house. Suddenly terrified, but also annoyed, I turned the lock on the bedroom door. “Of course. The headlines will read ‘Unsuspecting woman killed because she was too hung-over to fend off attacker’ What. The. Hell.”.

Dialing over and over, my cell phone refused to connect. The sound of footsteps grew louder and closer. I jumped back. Gripping the handle of the breadknife, crumbs sprinkled onto the rug. If someone were to see me at that moment, I looked like the only knowledge I had of fighting was from a ‘so bad it’s not even funny’ kung-fu movie. Rocking my hips back and forth and crouched down like my name was hidden dragon, I tried to quell the heartbeat that filled my ears. “Float like a butterfly baby”, I joked.

     I waited for the inevitable, but nothing happened. I mean nothing. I was so wrapped up in adrenaline and nausea. It took five minutes before I realized the house was silent again. Slowly, I walked back towards the door. Closer. A little closer. I pressed my ear against the door. BANG! The sound of a fist on metal. Its noise reverberated like a ripple on the water.

Stumbling backwards, I dropped the knife. My foot tripped over a shoe rack and I fell. A storm of leather, laces, and soles tumbled over the floor. It made no sense. I didn’t know what could make that sound. I practically lived in a log cabin. One of the boots rolled between outstretched legs. The pattern of its grip caught my eye. Small imprinted letters read, “SAFE”. It was stamped right into the rubber. I heard the lock click and as I feared, the door began to open.

Sitting in breadcrumbs and surrounded by piles of mismatched shoes, I began throwing whatever my terror-frozen mind could make my fingers hold onto. After tossing a couple of particularly pointy stilettos and my useless cell phone, I realized no one was coming for me. I was alone. The heat of embarrassment flushed across my cheeks.

Ignoring the mess I had just created, I stepped back into the kitchen only to be confronted by the last thing I wished to see at that moment. The magnets on the fridge were recently rearranged. Most of them had been pushed to the side, except for several brightly colored plastic letters. I thoroughly regretted doubting myself and became filled with dread.

“REALIZE”

It was then I heard muffled voices. I was sure that they were contained inside the house, yet completely bewildered as to exactly where from. The tears came unannounced.

I skulked about from room to room and back through again, listening for any clues. It was only when I had completely lent my mind to exasperation that I noticed the stereo speakers. I sat down next to them and it was then I was able to discern the words behind those muffled voices.

---

“Did you or did you not check her paperwork?”

A man’s voice demanded. He slammed his hand down on something metallic. The sound of it reverberated like a ripple on the water. 

A moment of silence passed.

Next, came a woman’s voice. She was calm and possessed a note of authority in her tone.

“All persons in her class are able to decide. It is a mandatory step in applying for an identification card. Donate the organs or donate the body.”

The statement was met with a baritone growl.

“You must understand Dr. Bale. In eight cases out of ten, people of her…um, financial situation… will choose to have their health expenses paid in full rather than passing the debt onto a family member in which nine out of ten cases indicate they are of the same income bracket.”

The woman paused, then added.

“The brain stem must be no older than 12 hours in order for the software to take. She was in the water for so long. The cold was the only reason the brain’s temperature was held in the safe zone. You must realize. If perfected, this technology could help rehabilitate patients from a catatonic or even comatose state. You must realize the good we can do.”

This time, her plea was met with a sigh.

“Every stimuli the body experiences causes a chain of free association in the brain. It could be years before I discover a way to control the perceived environment. She is spiraling into chaotic mania. Did you or did you not check her paperwork?” 

the value of spinning clocks, warms coats and a bar of soap

When I say tomato, you begin listing favored cereals (in reverse order)

and this

is the reason

I want to know your sleeping patterns

Sometimes my soul tends to be a bit a too sticky for yours

But I like the way you push me back and stub your toes

Concussions sourced from a spring welled deep beneath

All that is felt or known or seen

Where bones ache with a terrible weight

Bathing in soot for the sake of an unmatched faith

Turpentine breath with saccharine taste

These are the reasons 

- I count in time

slow and steady 

inhalations; the slow activation

An Ode to Soil Science

Finals week...goodie. Subsequent products of listening to old warbly dylemma recordings, touch of insomnia and pushing myself to learn more on guitar than just enough to get by. flavor of the week...bar chords! woot. this is old stuff, new stuff, more stuff.

1. regular = G, Gsus, Em, A // italicized = G, D, C, A // Bold = G, A (D), Bm
I drew you a figure of quiet temptation
nurturing the light, muting the warnings
you offered a heart dark with burden
I knew this, I saved this, I waited, I waited (end on Am7)

and this offered salvation of which I created
your character a detail openly debated
disarmed by a fleeting light
it stood a station of nostalgic temptation

you need another fix tonight; crushed and diluted
just another one of your dirty secrets
you place them upon me like heavy stones
under which I was meant to sink (Am7)

I read that dreams were reflections of reality
and so I stopped to look at the fight
the struggle between the tired inseam
who tells me what's wrong & what's right?

awakened by the philosophy, I stated my miseries
- and stuffed them in a jar
sealed tight with a notion of it's passing
I walked off, wildly laughing 
the color of night was in my mind


illuminated by the distance, shadowed by a lonely doubt
homeless in a sense that I've never known
the ringing in my ears, an echo of all my fears
jackals watching, counting the years
my fabled crutch, I can't live without. (ends on G but then C)


outro (G,C/Csus, Em, Dsus2, G)

2. partial credit to Dylan for Pleo inspired lyrics
(5Em, 2Em, Am slide 7Em) --> G,F,Em --> C, Am, Em --> 5Em, 2, 4, 2 --> finish Am, C, Am

Lay me down at the heart of it all
I want to feel the wind in my bones
cracked and marrow leaking
wild daisies beneath me
I won't dream

Clouds hang on strings
strung along by the shifting winds
each day a worn, familiar wake
all arrivals are pre-determined
supplicated by a waking state
this cannot be

I saw your ghost in a hole in the wall
the shadows play tricks but don't we all
strangers bound by memory
such a beautiful place
you'd think I'd want to stay
---
hang high for your hollow ways
the white queen bluffs fakes
the way only your brother holds holy
prayers to gods you never believed in
and deities wavering on lines of existenz
but man builds towers, crumbling towers
so hesitate to exalt his celebrity
---
lay me down in the heart of it all
turbines in states are beginning to wake
when we were born, we too shook hands with robots
kissed their tiny jointed fingers
that responded when I held it
when I say sit, you sit (repeat)

3. general = C, A with G,D, (C,A)
I draw you wild things of sultan rings and crazy queens
you lay in brilliant suns of lives begun and love
she weaves tapestries of crumpled kneed stability
we sit in brutal trinity

pacing in bathrobes, smoking cigarettes
menthols were tolerable then
January howled through that shelter tree
fumbling to say what was really on your mind

thought we'd live in a place by the lake
I write you letters with where I'm at
it was a long flight, a fortnight and a train
your letters from the other side stay tucked away

I drank the blood so you'd think I was strong
bet you'd wanna know it cried out before the cut
the drink was warm, it was salted
I didn't feel a thing

Now it's broken bricks and the giving tree
we're tangled through with rites
she lay her sheath down gracefully
he bulks his armor for the fight

they're two worlds, a parallel (B up one fret, B, D, A)
the lines they almost touch, but... (same plus ending)

4. spanish strum = Am, Em --> F, Am (repeat) then Am, Em with different quickened rhythm
I stubbed my cigarette against the back wall
you fumbled through the contents of your pockets
I guess this will remain
in the typewriter and in the grave

you ask for anger, so I'll give you peace
I guess you don't ask for much

I wanted to be the marrow in your bones
or at least a chapter in the book
greedily I devoured all of your secrets
each story a feather on my wing

you ask for anger, so I'll give you peace
I guess you don't ask for much

I'm crossing borders binding memory and time
you were here yesterday but it's just another stitch in the line
because your ties are determined by allied divisions
constant calls for ceremonious presentations

I guess this will remain
in the typewriter and in the grave

5. G, D (steady rhythm) C, Am, Em (last three lines)
Everytime you let me down
your heart kicks in the beat that leaves me breathless
drum march leads me to a place
of unknown name and space
but you, you know my state
you see right through me
I am finding myself in delicate display

so it's tight twisted, iron grip
split reality, loose lipped
speaking freely, babbling tongues
a child's memory lost and won
rotten gut became my virtue (C)

nursing the mental rage
laying stake to my claims
a hangover I just can't quit
took just one, the bullet bit
sip, sip, gulp, gulp
sweet venom in my veins (C)

brings you home again (Em, Am)
mutes the news prompts
numbs the madness for a little while
sourcing rationality through a diatribe (G,D)
there's rampant addiction as a new religion
and we still can't talk about these days (C)

6. Am/Am7, Em/ Em(lift)
Scars mark skin like tiny external signs of life
and I think your's are pretty great
and really sometimes I'm not sure why
because it just happened (Am)
because I feel like I don't have to try (C, Em)

is greatness marked by a kiss?
is affection enclosed by rules and regulations?
your hand through my hair, a greater testament (Am, Dsus1)
a tiny red stone, a more audible shout (Am, Dsus1)

small infinite worlds, paralled by sadness it brings (C, E, E7)
a reality shadowed by yet liberated from past (C, E, E7)
speak your greviences and I will receive them (Am, Am7, C, D, B)
because the sun sparks every morning (Am, Am7, C, emma chord, E, E7

7. (old - needs melody)
By now I've traced 1,000 steps
avoiding grimy forgotton prints in the muck
and now I'm here, but where am I?

You think it's one way, but you're wrong
I've been finding myself by seeing who I am not
faces and names pass through my life
like a muted TV screen
and I love them all. 

but remember your routes
because Karma's a bitch
and no one wants to be an unfounded willow

floating in the space between 
time and all you know
even the sweetest tea turns sour
under moons so - 
heavy, low and bursting
with unreachable love

her beauty's brimming with boiling gas
overwhelmed by caustic fire and ash
but she brings you light, you can't forget that
well, doesn't she?

8. (way old)

I think it was a Monday...
I gave entrance to my haven
that old tent in the bedroom
empty beer cans and paper clippings

You lay me down on sheets and blankets
what a perfect place we made
the stereo played the mandolin
sunshine burst through nylon stretch

Bristled brushes all around
colored sheets and goose down
I laid your head on my chest 
and let my heart do the rest.


9.  (old, old. maybe reword/ maybe delete... needs melody)


I once read this book in a funny language
It promised to show me universal truth
I read the lines and in between them too
but still couldn't decide what to believe

Now I may quote its pages
I may even take his word
but these lenses keep changing on me
I barely recognize the earth

then I saw this trippy movie
all their characters cartoon
it told me "look inside your dreamworld"
but another dream I've yet to have

I keep forgetting why I'm here today
taking lovers, wasting time
they keep giving me these silly glasses
so now my world's a shade of pink

I wear those lenses like a rosary
make love in darkness and in light
and when they fall onto the pavement
the tiny mirrors nick my soles
but with every idol comes idle hands
clasped in frozen prayer to their shape
shrieking grievances to blissful starry skies
be still in your being, lay low in the lawn
we will come to your call
tending place where you fall 


10. (oldd.. maybe reword. needs melody) 
Words fly like paper doves
crispy creatures they be 
and animals are we
silent, shaded silhouettes

Perceptions, apprehensions, wounded pride
blinding freckled flesh
can say more as we speak less
like constellation love letters

But flesh sweats
exposing its stench
when constellations turn to - 
nights too bright to forget.

Pressed against, swallowed whole
Jonas would be proud
I took it like a man
I didn't say a word

In the belly of the whale
Molars and salted water
Stinging my eyes - red, red, red
I didn't have a name.

Now paper slices fingertips
Once meant to fit with others (of its own kind)
I hope you didn't mind
I stood up for myself this time.

"Earnesty and clarity, those wonderful mentalities of decent positivity are all that we can scribe"

It's been 9 months since I last wrote in my blog...I wish I hadn't done that. It's funny and almost alien to look back and see that my last entry was in Zanzibar where I had so little faith in people. I was so worn down at that point that every negative interaction was a chip away of a thinning beam. There is so much that has happened that I will never be able to fully remember. The ridiculous nature of it all caused memories to fold in on themselves and feel like distant dreams - but they said that this would happen. It took the first 2 months in India for my dreams to realize I was in another world and only subtle reminders of home to reverse the mental shift. 

I thought coming back to the states would be like ripping off a band-aid, but instead it was just the bandage itself. The anxiety, the stress, the constant state of being overwhelmed, the unsteady nature of my thoughts and movements, the sense of disassociation - wrapped me tightly into solitary thought. What's the point of living in that state of paralysis? I've come so far from that place in so many ways. 

I want to start writing again and make a space to write fragments of thoughts again. 

I. 

In the end, I paid one hundred dollars to get myself arrested. The sum wasn't directly related to the consequence but I should have known. She said everything would be fine. When it started, I kept my mouth shut. I said my prayers before bed, kept the pills in their bottles on the counter and she praised me. 

Sundays lectured on the civil disobedience of our people. We were more about the group itself and less about the rituals that orchestrated them.. Jesus' body and blood was a symbol nourished our souls and Luther spoke 'truth'. Hey, we weren't popular like the Catholics but I was a part of something bigger than myself.

But our ministers had affairs and stole money and lied to the father. And I was taken away from my people and became mutated, episcopal. Then, I was schooled with a cross, a uniform and a mother's grace to make a good life. 

I fell from the universe to become the root of a tree, built to support but not meant to break free and Yaweh became a function of a cultural relativity. The great architect for the morally civilized... 

II.

Take two steps.
back to the space
where you placed your palm
in the center of my chest
and slowed my wild spinning.

So you can sew my sinew
to mend the folds of a cerebral
hell that never meant to harm 
but never promised to liberate
I'm telling you to do this.

Yet, there's a hole in God's ether
where all the ringing goes
the shadows of the swallows
and the songs of a willow

swallowed by a heart I used to know.

Zanzibar: the aftermath

Oh Zanzibar... honestly, you were beautiful. You were warm and surrounded by cerulean blue ocean. I never knew that color crayon existed in real life. But, you were ugly and filled with people who just wanted to sell me shitty "massai" paintings of chubby antelope things swimming in greenish concentric circles. Honestly, if you ask me again if I want to buy a spice boat I'm going to lose it. Staying there as a mwanafunzi (student) was a completely different perspective. Kind of made me never want to "vacation" ever again. I'm torn because life happens and work happens and we can't all be doctors and lawyers and get that perfect job and this is far from true in so many places outside the US. I get that. Tourism is still an industry, you gotta live somehow - but honestly, Zanzibar made me lose faith in humanity a little bit. I fucking love people. I rarely trust them but I love meeting random people and having random conversations and feeling like that was a fun little moment in life. But there it was like every person I talked to tried to guilt-trip me into buying them something! Okay, like the first day I talk to a dhow fisherman about his sick daughter. Fuck it! Regardless, I buy him the malaria medication..like the actual medication from the pharmacy. Okay, great. Maybe he sold it for cash, maybe he has a daughter. Then ...everywhere I go people are asking me to buy them dinner, support their shop, buy them a beer. I slowly begin to realize that all the guys working downtown have a similar shpiel. Their needs are different. Some of them are drugged out, some actually have families, some just need to get a meal in before they go out fishing again. But seriously man, it was a serious bastardization of the virtues of human interaction in order to support their economy. Again, I get it. I get it. I get it. I never thought the world was sunshine and roses but three weeks of creeping disdain can suck you in. Regardless of the harassment and repeated "Sir, I don't need a taxi. I'm walking probably another 50 feet and no I won't want a taxi later...haven't you seen me walk this way every day?" - expect the worst from people and you get the worst. Therefore, on Christmas my friend Stormie and I wrote a fun little christmas note to santa. (You can never be too old to just be a little goofy) I said professor kringle... I just want a little faith humanity and maybe a nice hat. So there's that. I'm recovering from paradise. Go figure.

So Christmas eve we took a ferry from Zanzibar to Mainland Tanzania into the city of Dar es Salaam. Dar was interesting. Kinda crowded and shady. Now we're in Moshi in the north almost on the border of Kenya (relatively). We visited a sisal farm and today is coffee? Except I kinda got myself a parasite and am out of commission for a little bit. Tomorrow we head to Ngorongoro National Park where we're camping in a crater of sorts and then going on safari. So yea...that's life in a nutshell.

I want to destroy something beautiful.

So i wrote out this rant on dam projects and then my computer froze. Screw it for now because I'm hungry so lo siento. Here's a thing I wrote about the Ukai Dam. Rant to give it context will come later lest I forget.


Spoiled children playing God
Blacking out the mountainside
Glory be! A sight to behold
A concrete mass 2/3 it's size
we grasp at hope and social change
But, who's to say?

Blindly they spin dials and knobs
The gears: they crank and click and churn
Build until we crack the sky!
Nothing better, let them have water!
Drowning the people in saving grace
Well, who's to say?

Link the rivers! Change their course!
We call the shots around these parts
Sweep the banks for signs of life!
Discretely dispose of dire displaced
Don't worry! It's all for you dear!
but really... who's to say?

The women gape with matted silt
In their hair and clothes and flesh
Homes felled like skeleton teeth
bony ribs exposed as He wills it so
But no cries were heard through gurgling lungs
So who's to say what's right and wrong?

I'm a woman! I'm a mother! I'm a victim of sin!
I speak a language dead outside these walls.
I am rooted. I am whole. I am washed away.

Hey, remember that time I fell asleep on a plane and ended up in East Africa?

So Friday was possibly the longest day ever. We had an "end of India, going away" party in which there was wine and charades. So much fun but also I always wake up so early when I drink so the day started at approximately 5:45 am. Then, (to make a long story short) a good friend of mine (Meaghan) on the trip had to leave us (again) in order to go back to the states. A bunch of other things and then we didn't even leave Dahanu for the airport until 8:30 at night. Our flight wasn't til 5am. I say this more to give you an idea of the crazy day...so is life about the timing.

The flights were kind of awful though. I was sick and didn't really get much sleep in and was motion sick too which sucked and one of the strings on the instrument I bought in India broke. Oh yea, so I bought a Dilrubaa in Ahmedabad. Appearance wise, it may be comprable to a sitar but you play it with a bow...and it doesn't sound anything like a sitar. I don't have a case for it so I've just been carrying it around in the bag for my yoga mat which is completely insufficient. It really is a beautiful instrument and I guess not many people are learning to play it anymore. Therefore I have made the executive decision to send it home. I'm sure it will get destroyed if I try to carry it for the rest of the year and what's the point of destroying a beautiful instrument? We'll see if it makes it in the mail in one piece though.


Yea so flight kinda sucked, I was buggin' out. But Zanzibar is fucking GORGEOUS. We got in around 4:30 pm.. Although, time is a completely foreign concept to me now. I guess we're about 2-5 hours behind India time (which could be completely false) and we are now under swahili time.

A: I never remembered the time difference between India and the US.
B:  Swahili time starts at 6am so 6am is 0:00 and it goes from there. Like 7am would be 1:00 and so on and so forth.
C: The collective confusion from A and B is the sole source for my complete lack of interest in changing the time on my watch. Which, by the way, I have no idea how to do and it's been 7 minutes ahead for the past 2 months which is just a little too ahead and makes telling the time an annoying chore.
D: My watch tan line is out and about.

Of course, the first thing we did upon arrival was head straight to the bar for a sunset drink. We all went to this place called Livingstone and sat at wooden tables in the sand while watching wooden boats and giant cargo ships anchor near the shore. A group of  locals were practicing capoiera (an afro-brazilian form of  martial arts) like 10 feet from our table. We were surrounded by a lot of rich european tourists and in the distance you could see smaller islands off the coast and twinkling lights from the other ships.

Later on in the night, my friend Mike and I wandered over to the market to get some dinner. We started talking to a local and he hooked us up! We were walking and talking and he was getting us plates of food from all the "good" vendors. Moral of the story, we sat with this man by a fountain and shared octopus tentacle. The people here are fantastically friendly and seemingly genuine enough (you can't be too trusting though) and everyone says "jambo! welcome sister/ friend!" as you walk by. After I got fool, Mike and I fed a stray cat the rest of my octopus. Such a good night and Mike is my dude! I've got good friends here.

that's all for now bc i'm about to run out of internet time.

So you think you've figured out everything? But we know that our minds are just made out of strings to be pulled.

My one issue with social activism is how do you create a personal definition for effective action and then enact that ideal? I know that there are too many issues to take on yourself - you'd spiral straight into the ground. Do you close your eyes and choose at random? Do you give a small vague piece of your efforts to every movement in your general vicinity?

I know that at some point every person must come across a moment of passionate illumination. I also know that apathy is as slow seeping as it is addictive and toxic. So, do you wait for illumination or do you search for it and if you search for it does that compromise the organic revelation of the moment?

I guess that the act of the search will inadvertently guide you to clarity. Your action is only a ripple in the pool and each ripple carries numerous reverberations. Also, what do you do with the indefinite wait? Okay, so you're desperately hoping for inspiration but that doesn't mean you should lay comfortably swaddled in the cradle of inaction. I tend to look for (read into... synonymous) the bigger picture in many scenarios. At least, I notice a trend of that variety. Therefore, with every situation I try to break it down into smaller manageable pieces, steps, whatever. So when dealing with the effects of globalization (i.e. displacement slums), I can't see what I can do for those specific people (maybe I'm just desensitized). My mind focuses on how to make larger shifts which is then met with a swell of insignificance. When did the displacements begin? Why is there displacement? What is India's role in the global economy? How do you work towards a more functional nation? What do I mean by functional?

Yet, you can't help make large change without helping the individual and visa versa. That also is the most frustrating conclusion ever! Hell, everything is a balance so can you really sit down and formulate some sort of golden ratio?

And then, what about the persons who dedicate their lives to a very specific cause? Are some born to speculate and others act? I've always secretly wanted both. The actor gives their time to the concrete and the philosopher struggles with the infinitely abstract. They can be the same person but how do you strive for one without sacrifice and can that sacrifice also be a contradiction?

I think that, at my core, I favor the philosopher. I see the world as too complex to comprehend most of the time. We need to reach a certain understanding. What are the pieces?

It's hard to remember we're alive for the last time

Hey so sorry for the lack of updates. Been to Ahmadabad, netrang, waghai and now dahanu since vacation. Am currently on retreat on this awesome farm which also embodies what I want in life. Okay and the following is this thing I wrote after visiting a displacement slum in Ahmedabad where the community there was complete uncertainty as to how long they would be able to live there and as to where they would go if their homes were in fact demolished. A random rant will follow this post.

You know the story already. The poor are poor. The rich are rich. The rich shit on the poor. The world spins madly on.

I on't want to write about the facts exactly. You may not know the current events of Modern India or where Ahmedabad is on a map, but you know there's injustice. You may have never visited a slum or more specifically a displaced community but you know the people. They are mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and friends. These people, these victims, these "others" are not others at all.
A mother fighting to keep her home from being bulldozed by the Indian Government is the same woman living in Detroit. Her home has been foreclosed, the invisible fist of the American economy strikes again. The american woman may be able to pull herself up by her bootstraps. She may have the money or the know how to finance a new locale.

The Indian mother doesn't even have that option. She looks to the doorway to find 40 policemen coming to enforce the name of misguided social justice. Pleading to salvage tin scraps from the roof, she is denied. She is denied like the other families within her community. Her country is scrambling to mask their poverty in front of the other children of the global playground. And this is only one example in a sea of homogenous horrors.

Yet, the government is doing their part. They're funding to build affordable housing! Sometimes you have to give a little to get a little, right? All you have to do is prove your need. Do you have a ration card? Well, in 2008 - the Indian government cut the number of available cards by 1.7 million. The country's population is about 1.14 billion and 50% of those people are below the poverty line (BPL). You starting to get the picture? The Indian mother is struck by the swift guillotine of chance; if only she was born on God's golden shore. Better yet, the government funded affordable housing, this possible symbol of hope and security serves as scenery, a backyard, a slap in the face for every forcibly mute neighbor of binding plight.

I want to put this out there as a call to live intentionally. I don't want to tell you to move to India and devote your life to abolishing poverty. I don't want to tell you that America is evil or corporations are bad or inequality is so wrong! Ask yourself what those words even mean and form your own opinions. If you are in any way affected by reading this, then do something now. India is brimming with communities of displaced poor being constantly shuffled and bludgeoned through the system. Again, I know you already know that it's a   sick, sad world but hearing something is completely alien to the act of witness. I met that Indian mother, shit's real. If you don't know what to do...read. Yet beyond that, if there is something that keeps you up at night, something that inspires you or makes you happy - run towards it with everything you've got. Your inspiration will inspire others and collective inspiration is what will save the Indian mother at the end of the day

India.. week 3

Soo yea..I'm not really sure what to write about. I spent last week on an farm like 2 hours outside of Betul. We stayed with this family and lived in this mud hut type deal. It was pretty rustic and cool but kinda musty and so I ended up sleeping outside in my hammock by the peanuts. Oh yea, this place grew peanuts which was kinda pretty cool so we harvested peanuts and ate peanuts and yea..that kinda stuff. So other than that we dug trenches and ate awesome food and tried to begin to understand Gandhian philosophy. It was pretty cool. They did interesting things too. For example, we used ashes from the fire to wash all of our dishes. That was really interesting and it worked too. I mean I didn't get sick...it pretty much did the trick. Wow, I'm having a hard time thinking of things to write about. I mean like so much has gone on - it's hard to fit it into words. Another mentionable thing was the we ate a lot of roti (round flat bread), Dal (lentils), some type of jam made with an un-translatable fruit which grows in India, custard apples and various types of grain concoctions.

Now we're in Sewgram staying in/on/at? an ashram. The wikipedia description is as follows...

Traditionally, an ashram (Sanskrit/Hindi: आश्रम) is a religious hermitage. Additionally, today the term ashram often denotes a locus of Indian cultural activity such as yoga, music study or religious instruction.

Actually, if you wikipedia the term ashram ... it kind of maybe shows a picture of one of the buildings within the complex we're located in. That's kind of awesomely ridiculous. I guess I just can't really take it all in because I'm getting used to leaving a place every week and everything is mentally overwhelming. But I mean whatever, so is life. I'm just realizing that it's getting easier and easier to adjust to everything. I'm entering the homesick stage or whatever though. Sometimes I'm just like what the fuck..I have 7 more months of constant travel and change and mental overload.Which is indescribable and tiring at the same time.  It comes in waves. Also, it's strange because it's halloween today and I'm thinking about what I would be doing if I was home and I want to just like be in pj's all day and make strange food concoctions and listen to music and smoke cigarettes and watch re-runs of sunny or alyssa's bootleg costa rican planet earth and sleep.

So yea right now we're staying in the ashram and in like 3 days I'll be taking a series of planes to Manali, which is like basically an israeli slash hindi hippie commune in the Himalayas. I'm going to read and apparently be in snow and sit and meet like a ton of random israeli backpackers and meditate or whatever you do when you're in the mountains.

I'm having a hard time putting thoughts together so I'm done with this for now but I want to end with the list of books that I'm going to read slash am reading because it might be interesting to share and also if anybody wants to comment with book recommendations that would be awesome too!

The People's History of the United Sates by Howard Zinn (currently reading and totally reccommend)
A history of cuban agriculture (recommend just reading about cuba in general)
My Experiments with Truth by Mohandas Gandhi
Madness and Civilization by Michel Foucault
Tagore (great bengali poet) - we're bringing a couple of his collections on vacation

so yea that's my list of hopeful reading adventures for the next month. We'll see what happens I'm like 30 pages into people's history. I know that I'll definitely read my experiments with truth though because we have to for class.

yea and hopefully next time I'll think of fun stories to share. That's all for now though.

Delhi in a nutshell?

So I haven't updated this thing in a while and that makes me feel bad because there are people that I care about that I feel I just have so little energy to communicate with. That sounds awful - let me try to clarify. Things are amazing and wonderful and I feel like my life is the plot of a movie right now. At the same time, I'm stressed and dealing with completely foreign (literally and figuratively) situations. The way I look at it, you swim or you sink and I don't want to fucking drown so I'm swimming as hard and as fast as I can.

With that being said...what have I done during my time here? We went to the Taj Mahal the first day. That was amazing and touristy but still necessary..because how can you NOT go to the Taj if given the opportunity. We've been so old Delhi which is SUPER Muslim so that was interesting. No matter how conservative you dress...you stick out like a dumb American. That was fun though, I felt like my life was kind of like that video game tomb raider, except without the zombies. Except I've been dreaming about zombies so I don't know maybe the compilation of the two complete my fantasy. Then there have been the regular trips that don't really have names - like going to various markets and eating in cafes in back alleys and meeting lovely Indian men on metros that compliment you for reading Tagore and then put their hand to your cheek and tell you you're a good person. An assortment of things really.

One thing to note - I visited a resettlement colony on the outskirts of the city. This was two days ago? It was a 40 minute metro ride, 15 minute bike rickshaw and then another 20-30 minute auto rickshaw. For mental visualization, a rickshaw is like a little funny car that is structurally like a moped with two back wheels that rests inside a green and yellow open-air cab. AND you can smoke a bogue while riding in said rickshaw...ahhh the beauty of it all. Sidenote, cigarettes are like 100 rupees here which is like $2 - just for cultural context I guess.

So anyways, the resettlement colony. These people are dirt poor. They came to Delhi post-independence as contract laborers and once the city began beautification projects in an attempt to boost India as a nation - they were forcibly told to vacate and their homes (the slums) were demolished. Then, once they left they were given no source of employment nor homestead. Instead, they were forced to PAY the government 7,000 rupees for the land and building in which they currently reside. And let me clarify, when you enter the resettlement area...the first thing you see is a mountain, a mountain that almost seems to reach the smog-filled sky. Then, you realize that it's not a mountain at all. It's trash. Once you pass the range, you are welcomed by a foul swamp with cows and goats grazing on the algae drenched flora that lies on the outskirts of the pool. This is not land, this is a hazardous wasteland.

The people were great though. It's entirely re-assuring that people are universal. A smile is universal. A handshake is universal. It was so funny. Imagine 35 tiny children in saris and elaborately embellished bell-bottoms and "western" cowboy tops and rags following us in parade down a narrow walk-way. They were all smiling and waving and shaking our hands like we were fucking celebrities. It was so happy and at the same time sickening. One of the kids turned to one of us and said "can you take my brother and make him like you?". I don't really have words.

We're leaving Delhi tomorrow and taking an overnight train to stay on a farm in Nagpur? I'm pretty sure we're going to Nagpur. Either way, I'll be on a farm for the next two weeks eating oranges. This is what I know.

P.S. I'm just really sorry if I haven't contacted you or have not talked to you a lot. I feel like it's an excuse but I'm so mentally full that free time is like napping and doing homework. I just want to say this to clear my conscious at least because I think about it a lot. Even letter writing is not what I thought it was. I hope people are doing really well and yea. I'll try to update this more. It's a pretty awesome outlet.

"What you run away from runs after you" - Romanian Proverb

So I'm in India. It wasn't even real to me until I woke up one morning and realized that I didn't recognize any of the birds flying outside my window. There are so many green parrots and this funny little birds with grey stripes and yellow beaks. We're staying at the Indian Social Institute which is part hostel, part academic center in South Delhi. The food is fantastic. We break for tea everyday at 10:30. With tea they give us little fried snacks like samosas and these little rolls with potato and peas and spices covered in something like semolina. They are going to have to roll me onto that plane and that is completely fine with me.


So...what have I done so far? I've been horrible at recording things and I know that I'm going to regret it if I don't.

The first night (oct. 8 - I'm not even sure what day it is anymore)


Okay nevermind...this is done for now. I have to be on the bus in like 10 min

Mbira Dvavadzimu (Voice of the Ancestors)

Today I went to the Eastern Station Market with a few friends. Partially for my study and mostly because I fucking love flea markets. I wandered around looking at the traditional "cultured" items like saris and scarves infused with tiny little mirrors. All tourist-y though. You know, they had the usual myriad of tents selling jewelry, witty graphic tees, overpriced photography and home goods.

Then, out of the corner of my eye...I saw a small board with tin keys fastened to hardwood. "Alyssa!" Alyssa found one of these in a free bin a couple months ago. It was love at first sight. I was like "oh dear god, it's a sign!". I had to have one, so I asked him the price - 200 dollars. Oh HELL no.

Then, we fell into conversation. The small wooden instrument is called mbira dvavadzimu, or voice of the ancestors. They originate in Zimbabwe and the music of the mbira is considered to bridge the divide between this world and the next. Holy shit, that's awesome. Then he showed me his personal mbira. It was over 100 years old and the small metal keys were worn and smooth as butter. He started to play the most beautiful song, it was soft and low and who am I kidding? I almost cried right there in front of that random vendor man.

Keeping my shit together, we talked a little more about how when the British colonized Zimbabwe they basically prohibited mbira music and gave the locals guitars instead. This only made the musicians retreat to the hills where they continued to play. It was all so beautiful, I asked him again where I could find one. Oh, I forgot part of the story. So, there are different tunings to the mbira. The ones he was selling were masaba (I think I'm completely wrong on that term) tunings - but those were kind of high pitched and not my thing. BUT the mbira that he had was a gandanga tuning - which he repeatedly affirmed was the best. He also informed me that there was virtually no way that I would be able to find one. I laughed at myself. That's such an American mindset to immediately want one of everything just because we can.

He had gotten his mbira from a good friend. In Zimbabwe, she was appointed the musician of the family and therefore was given the family mbira. At one point, she had to lend him her instrument for three years so that she could go on some trip. After three years, she came back SPECIFICALLY for its return. Yet, once she had seen that he had learned to play it so well - she couldn't help but let him keep it. It's stories like that that get you a mbira. Dammit. My heart literally melted when I heard him play that thing. A hundred fucking years. Oh man.

So moral of the story, we kept talking for a while. He showed us pictures of his trips to Zimbabwe and told us that he was heading back at the end of December. We got into talking about IHP and the places we were going. This guy was awesome - so friendly and offering us lessons and a place to stay in Zimbabwe hah! At the end of it all, we exchanged e-mails. He really wanted to hear all our stories and was going to let Mike and me know if he ended up finding any gandanga mbiras. (This is the point of the story where I pee my pants). I don't know if we'll ever hear from him but as we walked away I made a point to briefly turn back and remind him how serious I really was.

Hi life, I said bring it and you brought it. Thanks though.

Soo...the world bank is awe inspiring. It's huge and beautiful and there's people rushing around in suits and beautiful flags from 186 various countries hang in collection next to the information desk. High speed elevators whisk you up to high-tech conference rooms with cushy leather chairs and microphones are anchored in the place of each seat. We sat attentively with a group of high school students from Denmark and then followed by completely obliterating the speaker with core-crushing inquiries about the role of NGO's in the development arena. Politely of course yet I'm proud - we kicked intellectual ass. And at the end of it all, it all seems like bullshit and yet completely real.

Criticism is good, criticism is great - it reminds us that we're alive. Critical analysis invokes change and change is growth and growth is life and life will never be perfect. Happiness is deciding which contradictions and flaws you are willing to accept. We are here to use what we are given. In my opinion, it's unrealistic to expect perfection (but I'm not saying don't run towards it with all your might). Life is the beautiful struggle towards enlightenment and harmony. So anyways, NGO's are flawed. The World Bank and other similar institutions will always be evolving and realizing past mistakes because that's what we do! I guess my question is then, is it best to work inside or outside the system to create effective change?

After the presentation, a few member of my group (including myself) stuck around to ask some more questions. The speaker was great in the fact that she admitted the flaws and praised the good of the system. In my opinion, that is the way everything is. However, the flaw within the development ideology seems almost subconscious. It's not that the representatives of these organizations are actively maniacal. I believe that the flaw stems from the current collective opinion about what to do with all our knowledge of the world's injustice.
- - - - - - - -
I need to find someway to unload. Writing it out is a start, but it's like I can't even process everything fully enough to fully articulate what I'm feeling/thinking. It's frustrating. After the world bank visit, we walked back to the hostel to have a de-briefing session. I was literally so frustrated that I was holding back tears. The little fuckers just sneak up on ya. I'm glad that I have people to relate to on this trip. I mean I think everyone is great but there are a few people that I just really connect to. So this is re-assuring. I guess I'm also just missing Burlington. I mean, I'm not saying that I'm unhappy. Emotion is fine. Frustration is a warranted emotion. Basically, everything is a warranted emotion it's just how you deal with it. But anyways, yea it's nice to just retreat inside my head sometimes. I'm definitely not sending home my ipod. Oh, I don't think I mentioned that. This whole trip is like "getting away from technology" - which is awesome! down with the cell phone or whatever -  I'm not saying that I'll totally reject the past 100 years of science when I get back but it'll be nice to have less to worry about. I can't even say this enough. This year is going to be so fucking intense. It's like big, real, scary discussions all the time and sometimes you just want to cry and take a nap or just need a hug but no you have to sit in a room for two hours and de-brief about everything you've just heard and you want to just have a little time to process. But seriously though, no complaints! This is just my way to vent. I still feel so lucky and happy to be living and all that good jazz.

Your lips are moving words, I cannot breach the noise.

At the intersection of 21st and K street in Washington D.C. is a little known place, affectionately named the FAO or food and agriculture organization. Daniel Gustafson, director of the liaison office of North America greeted us in the conference room. He was pleasant enough - at least to say he seemed good at what he does. He made an effort to ask us our names, scripted or not. I don't know, I tend to be cynical. What kind of conversation can really take place in a 2 hour block between the director of an enormous NGO and a group of students? We hadn't built any repertoire with him, we're no group of  Michael Moore's storming the IMF claiming citizen's arrest. We were a group of 10 students accepting invitation into their glass box world of policy and analysis. We would like to think that we can at least make an attempt to get to the bottom of things, but in the end we were left with many lingering questions and a series of vague explanations. I'm not making a direct criticism. I personally can't. I'm a 20 year old child attempting to understand the in's and out's of the world. I'm sitting in a conference room grasping to understand our current system.

Anyways, we asked the questions, we heard some "answers". In the end, it was all very textbook. Moral of the story is that development policy is shifting towards "cultural understanding" and integration of "local initiatives".  FAO is essentially a credibility stamp (from my understanding). They receive analytical models from think global tanks and work with the principles of vision of the UN  to foster equality and development. They understand that agriculture is an essential and often overlooked aspect of a nation's security. Who are we if we can't feed ourselves? Who are we if we can't responsibly utilize our natural resources? We are in a lot of trouble, that's what. This is a truth. Yet, how do you bridge the founded and under-represented ingenuity of the local community with the need of the nation-state?

Mr. Gustafon also introduced us to his colleague, Florence. She continued the Q&A when he was obligated to leave for another meeting. This is where our questions really began to form. It's not that I think that she didn't know the answers, I just think it's difficult to filter what she is able and not able to discuss with a group of strangers. During the discussion, one of us put it on the table - U.S. policy, good or bad? Her response, a vague five minute response of jargon. I guess it's a pretty general question, an opinion would have been nice though. Like, we were at the source! We just wanted a little insight into the current system. On paper though, I got the chance to visit the FAO - no complaints about that.

I don't know what else to say. I would be a master if I could fit a two hour conversation into a few paragraphs. We discussed how the organization operated, learned that each member country of the FAO is also a part of the United Nations and that they have to tools (and use them) to implement socially just development. Yet, nothing is ever perfect and development-policy keeps changing with the acceptance of new social theories. I guess it's just important to keep seeing, keep learning, keep challenging what you "know". I did walk away with an important piece of advice though. There is no "best practice", every change must be created and implemented within the context of the system/community. Grey is the new black and white.

I'm all over the place right now.

Wow. So, I don't even know where to begin. There is so much going on in my head. I haven't even gone anywhere yet and I'm already feeling the intensity of the whole thing. All good things though, I have no complaints - the good and the bad is all good. I feel like I'm actually living. So yea, the program is amazing, the people are great, the classes are great, the professors are great. I have this one teacher, Gustavo Esteva - beautiful, beautiful man. It just blows my mind that I get to talk to him. I think it shows too. I do that whole wide-eyed smiley thing and probably look like a dumb ass. whatever. So yea, this guy was born into an indigenous Mexican family, kicked ass in school, was the first manager of the IBM of Mexico, realized that our education system was fucked and so completely turned his life around and then was a major player in the Zapatista revolution of Mexico in 1994. Like I said, this man deserves a proper wide-eyed awe. It's not even just that he's written half the articles for his class or that he's a revolutionary person in general ..but I get to eat dinner and have a conversation with him?! My brain is literally melting out of my ears. So yea, this is like the 6th time I've talked about this, I just can't get over how incredibly lucky and amazed I'm feeling. What else? I don't know. I've been on retreat in West Virginia for the past week. We stayed in cabins and had class outside - it was beautiful. Made friends with some ducks, a frog or five. Also, we've been doing yoga/ pilates every other day, which has been amazing. I love a good stretch. AND I'm starting to get over my fear of singing slash playing in front of people. I sang my version of America (Simon & Garfunkel) for our group community time - big deal for me, hah. Also makes me want to buy a travel guitar.

Moving on, one of the things I'm most excited for right now is my autonomous study. As a part of the year's curriculum we have to create a topic to study for the duration of the trip. Soo...I'm studying...marketplaces. I'm going to observe and research various cultural "marketplaces", observe the dialogue and influences of the space and try to learn how the marketplace serves as a societal internet. When I say internet, I mean like how people exchange ideas and create..organically. Just raw human interaction. AHH! I'm literallly peeing my pants...well not literally but I'm really fucking excited. I don't know if I'm exactly explaining exactly how I'm going to approach the topic but I haven't exactly defined any limits yet. Generally, I'm trying to make a comparison as to how the marketplace is the town hall of the "community" and how we can use this notion to ground the abstractions of our modern supermarket and just to simply study how people interact and exchange ideas and how various social mediums influence this exchange. I'm having a hard time making this idea concise, but also this is making me realize that I need to start journal-ing more so that I can organize my thoughts before I write here. But yea, so I'm studying marketplaces.

Also, everyone on this trip is so amazing. I feel fully submersed into a beautiful and infinite intellectual bubble, hah. Not that living in a bubble is good - but I can already see how this year is going to help me grow so much. Not in a bad way though! I'm worried about losing the people that I care about but I also know that recognizing this means I have a choice in the matter. I feel accomplished in the notion that I'm staying grounded. Yea..so that's it for now. My brain is fully stimulated ha ha I just mean that like that I get to debate with people all the time (my anti-drug) and there is so much information going on that I don't think I'll be able to process everything until about 3 months after I get back. But seriously, I couldn't be happier. I think doing this program is one of the best decisions I've ever made...ever...ever. Did I say ever?

Weird mood - I don't know. (First night in DC)

She steps off the train. Standing silently while dismantling her burden, the others filter through a scene of box cars and train conductors. A tiny crocheted pouch dangles from the edge of the pack - a collection of natural life to ward off negative energy and evil spirits. Next to it, a worn chinese coin for luck. She believes in it all and dismisses the fact. She has the necessary tools. They are manifested within these symbols of empowerment. They are pumping through her veins. Each red blood cell a lesson. Each nerve impulse a teaching. 

The hotel is reminiscent of a boarding house 70 years past. A beer saloon occupies the ground floor. Of course, she can't even get a beer. Nice clothes and a cool demeanor can't fix time, she wishes they could though. The alternate - a satisfying venture. She had never seen mango and mint with fish before. Yet, eating alone is still strange. The city seems simultaneously bursting and hollow.


A locked room is safe. A window ledge is safe. A night-covered city street is not. No matter how much she tries, she will always be a woman. At times, this is too much to bear. She knows she has the tools, but what are her limits?

Oh, it's on.

Respect. Give me that and you give me the world. I don't care what happens to me in the next n years of my life from now but respect is officially on my list of good things and life is an experiment. Life is an experiment to see if the laws I have created for myself are true. Life will be an experiment to test and explore the bounds of the framework that I continue to build. I'm starting to think that I might not swear as much but whatever for right now hey life, bring it the fuck on.

Sometimes, I am wholly confident about my view on a situation. But lately, doubt drips over me like that almost rain that mists instead of falls and you end up just kind of damp, but if you were wet it would be okay - beautiful even. Not to the extent that I have become unfounded in myself, but to the extent where the memories that I've held onto for so long are starting to unravel and disintegrate.  

You can't have what you don't hold.

A. I'm sure that's a line from a song
B. It bothers me that I can't remember what song that is and I'm sure it's a common song theme
C. whatever that song was, it stuck with me.

I have three days until D day and in addition to that whole thing, I'm packing and moving all my shit. By the end of today, my room will be a space with four white walls and a few bed posts. I've accepted the change, it's just that I didn't expect a few of the side effects. Mainly, I don't feasibly have enough time to do that whole thing where you find an old, discolored plastic bracelet that your best friend gave you in third grade, look it over for 20-65 minutes and then pack it neatly into large, marked boxes. I did my best to get rid of as many things as I could and at least organize clothes, books and CD's into easily retrievable locations. If I could have it my way, I'd throw everything away except for my books, a pair of pants and a sturdy shirt. I realize this is completely unrealistic.

In the midst of organizing, I did find all those old memories though. They were literally hid in the backs of drawers and on hooks in closets. Oh, the irony. What is memory? Can a memory be linked to an item? Or are we so afraid of losing memory that we manifest it into an object? I think the item is our way of ensuring that one day we will be reminded and I always want to be reminded. Eh, maybe that's my downfall. Either way, there are some items I can't let go of. They are things that I would keep solely to pack away. It's strange. 

But memories change and people change and life changes and the item can be a representation of all or none of those changes. Sometimes, I think about things that have happened and I get so angry but I can't help but to think about it. Sometimes, I think about the same thing and feel okay. It's like my mind can't even make up it's mind. Sometimes, time folds in on itself and I feel as if something that happened so long ago (oh, hey high school) took place but only a month ago. Yet, regardless of how I feel from day to day - I can't decide whether my memories are even how I thought they were now. Memories that you hold so highly aren't even half as important if they aren't shared. Lingering doubt holds it's place as the worst feeling. This is because memories also remind you of decisions. I've said this before that everybody has regrets and that regrets are irrevocable if already in the past but damn, it's hard to hold yourself to your own beliefs.

At the end of the day, yea okay, there are some things I still can't let go of. It doesn't mean that they effect my day to day (I can stand on my own two feet) but I can't promise anything when I'm feeling real existential. That's just the way it is. I'm loyal, even if my loyalty is unfounded. I think it has something to do with being a dog person. I don't think cat people are like that. Cats are like all independent and moody and shit, right? I have a feeling there's something to that whole I'm a cat person vs. I'm a dog person thing - I also think it's bullshit and people are just animal people or not but hey, whatever floats your boat. I have been becoming more of a cat person lately too though, I wonder if I'm starting to change as well.

Life, youz a funny ho.

This morning's coffee marked the start of a slow, cascading death. At this moment I have 9 days and when I get back - confirmed suspicions tell me that my life as I know it will be gone. Dwight and I have reached a point where the phrase "to each his own" rings more than true.

When you're a kid, you think your parents are nearly immortal. They're superheros, saviors and they do no wrong. As we get older, this theory is quickly dismantled. Not many people realize this but high school was the most figuratively violent time in my life. I was depressed, deprived, hormonally imbalanced. Whatever you want to call it - everyone goes through that in their own way. We realize our parents have flaws and sometimes we feel like we're living with strangers. 

Then, when we begin to find ourselves - we realize that our parents still have some finding to do too.  Parents are there to take what they never had (literal or emotionally) and try their damned best to give you that. They teach you the lessons which they've stored from childhood like rusty keys and they do what they can to fit the definition of a "good parent". Except, no one's perfect. They're going to make mistakes - they're going to make the wrong decision and no matter what. You are going to be fine. I mean, I believe in tabula rasa to some extent but once you reach a certain point in your life...the baby bird's got to learn to fly somehow.

Everyone carries resentment and regret, if you don't I'm confused as to how you've been living your life. Except, you learn the most important lessons through the shitty stuff that happens to you. Take away from this what you will, but adversity always rewards with a bigger piece of the pie. Change helps you grow. Complacency stifles and kills. To quote the film Waking Life (this has really stuck with me): 


The worst mistake that you can make is to think you're alive when really you're asleep in life's waiting room. 

So to hell with complacency! I want to be poor. I want to be dirty. I want to live with a backpack and a good pair of shoes. I don't want a house. I don't want a regular job. I don't want a home. What's a home anyways? Security? To hell with security! The only currency I want is what I can fit in my mind. I know that whatever happens I will be able to fulfill my five basic needs with hard work and a little faith. It's funny how you will always be okay as long as you never give up and give in to the uncertainty of life. Someday I will be tired and these wants will change but for right now, it's all okay.

By the time I get back, 316 Lake Street will probably no longer be home to the gang, my house or Dwight's workplace. By the time I get back, I might not have a singular home. By the time I get back, I have no idea where the hell I'm going to be or what I'm going to do. I for sure teared up when I heard this. Although, I occasionally resent being in Vernon - I love my friends and things have been looking up lately. I feel like this change may be before it's time. But I know that it's not. What ever happens will happen or fail to and whoever is supposed to be in my life will find their way there or not.

I love my father despite his perpetual enigma of being. He needs a fresh start. Selling the house might be the best thing to happen to the both of us. I don't want to speak too confidently about this all actually happening, but selling the house will give us both freedom. Freedom from memories and financial obligation. Honestly, that is the only thing I want. If I am able to pay off my student loans in one fell swoop... everybody watch out.

I got a heavy metal mouth that hurls obscenity and I get my check from the trash treasury because I took my own insides out.

07.
By now I've traced 1,000 steps
avoiding grimy forgotton prints in the muck
and now I'm here, but where am I?

You think it's one way, but you're wrong
I've been finding myself by seeing who I am not
faces and names pass through my life
like a muted TV screen
and I love them all.

but remember your routes
because Karma's a bitch
and no one wants to be an unfounded willow

floating in the space between
time and all you know
even the sweetest tea turns sour
under moons so -
heavy, low and bursting
with unreachable love

her beauty's brimming with boiling gas
overwhelmed by caustic fire and ash
but she brings you light, you can't forget that
well, doesn't she?