December 9, 2010

Productive Bummery

Peace on Earth Christmas Cards
Burnt Granola (grateful birds)
Tie Dye (purple fingers, green fingers)
Yoga on the hardwood floor
Keeping the fire burning.
That journal she threw up on
Becoming something without doing anything.

Remember how music knows you. Remember that you can run for hours before growing weary. Remember there are warmer places, higher places, emptier places.
Remember that both fire and ice can be made.
Remember how beautiful you are covered in mud.

The trees are orange in winter as the sun goes down.

What you've done isn't who you are. You're going to have to go a bit deeper for that.

December 7, 2010

fresh batteries in my mag

I daresay I've become a bit ragged.
Sometimes I walk into Java's in the ROC and see ragged people, but I'm not really sure how ragged they are because see, I think some people want to be ragged, and that's not really very ragged at all. After three months of living out of a car followed by ten months of living out of a "red bag", I am ragged. I just am; a product of the last eleven months. It's natural and right, and even now that I have a closet bursting with clothes, most of which are too big, I wear the same ones until I'm laying in bed thinking "what's that smell" night after night until finally (perhaps today) I decide it's time to wash some things. (note: I'm not very proud of this, I'm just not re-adapting very easily to the world of so much stuff.) The kitchen cabinets, basement cabinets, and two refridgerator/freezers in my parents house are bursting with food but all I seem to go for is the homemade grainy bread, the rice, the beans, the bananas, and the granola. I don't desire anything else which is strange, even to me. (although there was this white chocolatey pretzel stuff on the counter this morning of which I admit to thoroughly enjoying, knowing that my digestive system will rebuke me later.)
I bought a car, something that makes most people super excited. I'm not very excited. Except that now I can go anywhere at anytime, which I'm not convinced is actually good for me right now as I need to learn how to be still and quiet again. It's coming back to me rather quickly, but after ten months of having to fight for quiet, not having my own space, working sometimes upwards of 55 hour weeks and always having something new to explore, it's strangely different being in a familiar place with familiar people and all the space and time I could want. I have this car, but it doesn't excite me. When I look at it I see two thing: a potential home and a hunk of metal that will in the long-run eat up my bank account and make my brain hurt.
I drink my coffee black.
One week we didn't have sugar. Then we ran out of milk.
The show must go on.

December 3, 2010

mushrooms in the forest.

I walked to my piano shack tonight. It was dark and cold and wonderful.
I can't believe how easy it is to sing my soul, scratchy throat and all; when something's part of you, it's part of you. (I wondered what it would be like after so many months without.)

I needed to wander tonight. By foot. So I followed the river through the woods until I reached the creek, which I followed to the railroad tracks, which I followed to my driveway, which I followed home. I needed the air, the open space. I put my flashlight in my pocket. I needed the darkness.

I ate granola out of the plastic tub and drank tea out of my mug.

I decided that to be home is to run roads I've never run, because I can.
I decided that to be home is to make a shining, smooth table out of a slab of a log with dad, dozens of biscotti with mom.
I decided that to be home is to stop dead in my tracks and listen to the wind, the trees, the silence.

To be home is to connect.

And freedom has nothing to do with disconnect.

December 2, 2010


After exactly one year of roaming the United States, staying in no one place for more than six weeks, I have an announcement:

The adventurer within me is not going anywhere. It is still there. I don't want to settle down. I don't want to live a "normal" life. I'm not tired of traveling. I'm not tired of new things. I'm antsy and anxious and restless as ever.

I think I was made to roam.
I think I was made to experience.
I think I was made to be free.

And I think that's okay.

(coming soon: an overview of who the heck I am right now!)

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