3rd march. latenight/4th early morn
i remember auschwitz. i remember that long dream of a train ride. that cave in that forest. i will remember the walls in berlin and china. i will remember dani. i will certainly remember the big things.
but, somehow it is the small things. and where would i ever begin?
with the radio. or the time petr was dancing on that speaker in moscow. the rutabaga. laura playing the harmonica; playing, reading in that german voice, the laugh on the metrow when we left the center just to leave the center. the green stone. the purple one. the green scarf. the bonk from the monk. walking and talking about the wondrously lovely and simple things a person from the united states and a person from mongolia really should talk about- but i imagine rarely do. the stream where i think i came closer to falling in than my czech friend. and she came pretty close. ahhhh, that spinning crazy shaped foam sitting locked in another stream. falling down alone on the ice. dear helena's dear mothers homemade struedel. finding jades bandanna in a trashcan at his house, kipeing it, dropping it in krakow, realizing i had made a wrong turn, turning around, and finding it again. that bay, made of rancid clay, that made me into rancid clay. the walk before. the walk after. and that shower. every shower. every single shower.
that forum. that art exhibition. that art instillation, that other art installation, and that laugh. trying to make that laugh later - being broken and fixed seamlessly. the russian vodka in cologne; the russian vodka in russia; the russian vodka with that buryat (that buryat, whom i am indebted to.) and the vodka i wonder if my friend will ever get. that woman on that train. that salami on that bus; i bumped the arm and the hand slipped and every ear on the full bus heard the sound the meat made when it hit the floor. and then the gasps. and then the silence. and then my own laughter.
new years. i made 50 euros to sell bootleg wine with a best friend.christmas. dumpstered chocolate makes delicious chocolate fondue; and the oranges to dip.
the memory of not remembering valentines day. and almost forgetting how to spell it.
going to dresden and not munich. never paying for public transportation. tran.
tartu. the club. the saunas. oh god the saunas. the bust wreck. flying in my dreams.
flying in my life. the waterfall in the moscow metro. the waterfall in beijings streets. the waterfall i am falling down right now.
the pondering of stevens boredon and his attachment to it and then leaving the internet cafe and finding myself in mongolia. not bored. never bored. the simultaneous awareness of meeting a person and the certainty of seeing them again.
seeing a face once, and never seeing it again. seeing a thousand faces. once. only once.
the pangs of regret and of relief. dersu. capitan. being neither. being both. the truly countless hours of walking and thinking and breathing. knowing i am alive in estonial. in brno; the gifts friends can give. and to them i am also indebted.
in fact, when you read this, consider it an invitation. i invite you to visit me. i have plenty to give. and if i have it, i will give it.
the honey. those nuts. dipping the banana in the honey and then in the nuts, sitting on a caste on a hill, in the sun. the sun. the clouds. the wind that strokes my cheek and pats my back and the wind that eats my nose.
the capitalism that eats my soul.
our mouths that eat the world and our shit we cover it with.
not being able to sleep at night. for whatever reason. and the sleep that only babies have. buddhas smile. those eyes. they squint at me.
being so hungry i could almost puke. being so full i did.
enjoying both.
fresh carrot juice.
all the flats, doorways, places and beds.
still having seven weeks to go.
losing one glove and finding another. watching the reaction everytime someone sees me putting two different gloves on.
gifts. giving and receiving. those bracelets.
santa the hitchhiker.
listening to other peoples stories and imagining what it would be like to experience them. imagining what it would be like ot be them. creating a story about the problems of our times. staring at the problems as i walk through the city and as i look inside myself.
pushkin's immortalized face and words. kurt cobain's immortalization.
almost peeing my pants. learning the word pee in mongolian and teaching its english equivalent. falling asleep waking up. closing this book. opening this book a thousand times.
but, somehow it is the small things. and where would i ever begin?
with the radio. or the time petr was dancing on that speaker in moscow. the rutabaga. laura playing the harmonica; playing, reading in that german voice, the laugh on the metrow when we left the center just to leave the center. the green stone. the purple one. the green scarf. the bonk from the monk. walking and talking about the wondrously lovely and simple things a person from the united states and a person from mongolia really should talk about- but i imagine rarely do. the stream where i think i came closer to falling in than my czech friend. and she came pretty close. ahhhh, that spinning crazy shaped foam sitting locked in another stream. falling down alone on the ice. dear helena's dear mothers homemade struedel. finding jades bandanna in a trashcan at his house, kipeing it, dropping it in krakow, realizing i had made a wrong turn, turning around, and finding it again. that bay, made of rancid clay, that made me into rancid clay. the walk before. the walk after. and that shower. every shower. every single shower.
that forum. that art exhibition. that art instillation, that other art installation, and that laugh. trying to make that laugh later - being broken and fixed seamlessly. the russian vodka in cologne; the russian vodka in russia; the russian vodka with that buryat (that buryat, whom i am indebted to.) and the vodka i wonder if my friend will ever get. that woman on that train. that salami on that bus; i bumped the arm and the hand slipped and every ear on the full bus heard the sound the meat made when it hit the floor. and then the gasps. and then the silence. and then my own laughter.
new years. i made 50 euros to sell bootleg wine with a best friend.christmas. dumpstered chocolate makes delicious chocolate fondue; and the oranges to dip.
the memory of not remembering valentines day. and almost forgetting how to spell it.
going to dresden and not munich. never paying for public transportation. tran.
tartu. the club. the saunas. oh god the saunas. the bust wreck. flying in my dreams.
flying in my life. the waterfall in the moscow metro. the waterfall in beijings streets. the waterfall i am falling down right now.
the pondering of stevens boredon and his attachment to it and then leaving the internet cafe and finding myself in mongolia. not bored. never bored. the simultaneous awareness of meeting a person and the certainty of seeing them again.
seeing a face once, and never seeing it again. seeing a thousand faces. once. only once.
the pangs of regret and of relief. dersu. capitan. being neither. being both. the truly countless hours of walking and thinking and breathing. knowing i am alive in estonial. in brno; the gifts friends can give. and to them i am also indebted.
in fact, when you read this, consider it an invitation. i invite you to visit me. i have plenty to give. and if i have it, i will give it.
the honey. those nuts. dipping the banana in the honey and then in the nuts, sitting on a caste on a hill, in the sun. the sun. the clouds. the wind that strokes my cheek and pats my back and the wind that eats my nose.
the capitalism that eats my soul.
our mouths that eat the world and our shit we cover it with.
not being able to sleep at night. for whatever reason. and the sleep that only babies have. buddhas smile. those eyes. they squint at me.
being so hungry i could almost puke. being so full i did.
enjoying both.
fresh carrot juice.
all the flats, doorways, places and beds.
still having seven weeks to go.
losing one glove and finding another. watching the reaction everytime someone sees me putting two different gloves on.
gifts. giving and receiving. those bracelets.
santa the hitchhiker.
listening to other peoples stories and imagining what it would be like to experience them. imagining what it would be like ot be them. creating a story about the problems of our times. staring at the problems as i walk through the city and as i look inside myself.
pushkin's immortalized face and words. kurt cobain's immortalization.
almost peeing my pants. learning the word pee in mongolian and teaching its english equivalent. falling asleep waking up. closing this book. opening this book a thousand times.
estonia and other things
estonias flag was created by a group of college students who thought it would be a good idea. the flag was outlawed by das soviets and many hid them under floorboards and dismantled them, stashing das pieces away for later reassemblage. for to be found having, meant a trip to the gulag. look it up.
the originators journeyed with the flag as a statement and many saw that flag.
the flag is blue, black, and white stripes vertically.
very attractive flag. i think the first actual attractive flag i have ever seen.
also, music, art, all that, yea, lifestyles, were outlawed. except for the prescribed and regurgitated. but there were rebel styles of all. very neat place.
my friend owns a club in the second biggest city -tartu- which is actually a small small place. the club has a sauna and that sauna gets hot. then, there is a tub with cold water and you get in. that is real. oh yea, thats real. in many places the snow makes a good alternative. some thrash themselves with branches -including juniper which is said to have special toxin-busting powers within. havent done that, but i want to. finland does a good deal of thrashing from what i hear. i asked a fin once too. she wouldnt lie.
but. we are going to explore the countryside and i think that means going to a sky observatory, the mountians and forests, and some neat places that i cannot imagine yet. and to tallinn, which i am sure is neat.
and negative 10 degrees celsius is not that cold. sure, its cold. but not that cold.
wind. that is the thing. that is cold.
i think i will stay here until saturday the 4th. is that right? is saturday the fourth? well, if its not, it doesnt matter much does it?
when i leave here, i will leave to st. petersburg. that is in russia.
russia is the biggest country in the world.
and its cold there. can get to negative 40 degrees celsius.
and you dont know what celsius means do you?
its not the only conversion i have to make. inches - centemetres. feet - metres. miles - kilometres. am and pm - 24 hour clock. not to mention currency changes. but thats different. our measurements are nearly alone in the world. we are the exception. generally.
so st. petersburg. 5 days or something. whatever.
and then moscow. 5 days or so again. something.
then i will embark the country by train.
a combo of time lacking and money manage will probably prompt me to get off the train only once or twice. i am thinking of doing this in krasnoyarsk -north of tuva- and irkutsk -on lake baikal, which is the cleanest lake in the world. and the clearest. and lots of other ests. you can drink it. and tuva.
since russia is so big, it comprises many groups of people and their places. to be lumped is a thing. many are shouting for independence because, indeed, they are unique and special places. i want to learn about these places. but the world does not listen. it took the world a long time to listen to estonia too. quite.
another choice i am faced with is where to exit russia and where to receive china. i have 3. i could bust mongolia. but mongolia might bust me with its cold cold. not sure the worth is worth it. harbin would be nice. tis a big city and i dont want that much especially considering twill be going through beijing.... but there is an ice lantern festival there that i can catch. mad artsy sculptures are turned and lights are snuck in. fantasy land i have heard. so that might be neat. i could also go alllllllll the way across russia to vladivostok on the pacific coast -managing the entirety of the trans siberian railroad. then hop ova to harbin to beijing.
then china.... ha. a topic for another time.
last night i dreampt a lot.
i dreampt i fell in love. and the girl i fell in love with went to this place where she could jump and flip and acrobat jaw droppingly. off the walls and combos. real impressive. i liked her for that. and when i stuck my arm into the place, it was strong. cold and hot. intense. i liked it.
and i had a dream that surprised me. think about it. honest surprise from a situation i created. make sense? i went to high school and someone told me that i could find old friends there. and i thought it was impossible. totally. but i did. my own mind tricked me. is that right? is that okay? weird. i found justin bingly there. i wonder where he is today.
i had a dream that my two friends jade and tim were going to visit this old mastermind and i was going to, but for a reason i was going to come later. but i changed my mind and i followed just behind them. they wanted me to come later. why i do not know. i think perhaps they wanted the specialness to themselves. and when i got there -just after them- they were upset. i thought this was dumb. and that old genius of a man.... he liked me. i needed to go and he took me to the side. jade and time were a bit sad about that. we talked for a bit and he thought i was special and he said he wanted to see me again. i thought that was great. he was like a god.
and this morning i sat in thought for a while....
i have been out of high school for five years now. i have kind of forgotten about that place and life and world. and in five years, i think i have done right.
i think i have.
actually.
pretty happy about that.
i wonder how many of us feel that way.
actually.
there was this other dream i had....
a lot happened and i cannot remember it all proper. but i was to die. i was creating and making a lifes work. a creation to justify being alive. to make my time here worthwile. actually. success. do you understand what i am saying?
because you will die too. that will happen.
so these layers were coming off of me as i created and as i grew. but i could not do it in time.... i slipped.... and kept on slipping.... right into my coffin.... waiting for me.... the whole time.... and everyone was watching me.... the faces above.... as i died.... the coffin. i was inside. and the lid was closing. and i was saying goodbye. goodbye to all this. to everything i know.
its not just some kid rambling. its not juvenile. its not a joke.
its the realest thing in the world.
its the only thing i know that is real.
i am going to die.
its the most powerful thing in the world.
and it proves the world to be as amazing as it really is.
i watched borat today. pretty funny.
pretty clever.
there are some weird people alive.
strange. strange how people are.
but borat. hes funny.
i have a romanian friend and he can say some borat things better than borat can.
i love that. he laughs a lot about it.
special dude. yea you.
how are you?
did you get your present yet? sorry i did not have enough time to personalize that action with a handwritten note.... but the bonus gift says way more, no?
i will put up some more pictures soon.
i spent a couple hours typing out the latest version to my story. i was editing and manipulating the creature as i typed, making the handwritten vveerrssioonn (something like that) obsolete.
and then, a funny thing happened, i did not send it right and i lost it.
that was that.
a few times days have been hard.
but always good.
you know.
i wonder how phil elverum lives.
what is his life like? what does he do?
when the small thoughts come -the ones that are instantly disregarded because they are small and many- does he find pleasure in them? i do.
does he care what he will become? or does it not matter?
i like his music. you should listen to some....
look up mount eerie and the microphones.
some of my favorite.
i dont want to be on the computer anymore.
the originators journeyed with the flag as a statement and many saw that flag.
the flag is blue, black, and white stripes vertically.
very attractive flag. i think the first actual attractive flag i have ever seen.
also, music, art, all that, yea, lifestyles, were outlawed. except for the prescribed and regurgitated. but there were rebel styles of all. very neat place.
my friend owns a club in the second biggest city -tartu- which is actually a small small place. the club has a sauna and that sauna gets hot. then, there is a tub with cold water and you get in. that is real. oh yea, thats real. in many places the snow makes a good alternative. some thrash themselves with branches -including juniper which is said to have special toxin-busting powers within. havent done that, but i want to. finland does a good deal of thrashing from what i hear. i asked a fin once too. she wouldnt lie.
but. we are going to explore the countryside and i think that means going to a sky observatory, the mountians and forests, and some neat places that i cannot imagine yet. and to tallinn, which i am sure is neat.
and negative 10 degrees celsius is not that cold. sure, its cold. but not that cold.
wind. that is the thing. that is cold.
i think i will stay here until saturday the 4th. is that right? is saturday the fourth? well, if its not, it doesnt matter much does it?
when i leave here, i will leave to st. petersburg. that is in russia.
russia is the biggest country in the world.
and its cold there. can get to negative 40 degrees celsius.
and you dont know what celsius means do you?
its not the only conversion i have to make. inches - centemetres. feet - metres. miles - kilometres. am and pm - 24 hour clock. not to mention currency changes. but thats different. our measurements are nearly alone in the world. we are the exception. generally.
so st. petersburg. 5 days or something. whatever.
and then moscow. 5 days or so again. something.
then i will embark the country by train.
a combo of time lacking and money manage will probably prompt me to get off the train only once or twice. i am thinking of doing this in krasnoyarsk -north of tuva- and irkutsk -on lake baikal, which is the cleanest lake in the world. and the clearest. and lots of other ests. you can drink it. and tuva.
since russia is so big, it comprises many groups of people and their places. to be lumped is a thing. many are shouting for independence because, indeed, they are unique and special places. i want to learn about these places. but the world does not listen. it took the world a long time to listen to estonia too. quite.
another choice i am faced with is where to exit russia and where to receive china. i have 3. i could bust mongolia. but mongolia might bust me with its cold cold. not sure the worth is worth it. harbin would be nice. tis a big city and i dont want that much especially considering twill be going through beijing.... but there is an ice lantern festival there that i can catch. mad artsy sculptures are turned and lights are snuck in. fantasy land i have heard. so that might be neat. i could also go alllllllll the way across russia to vladivostok on the pacific coast -managing the entirety of the trans siberian railroad. then hop ova to harbin to beijing.
then china.... ha. a topic for another time.
last night i dreampt a lot.
i dreampt i fell in love. and the girl i fell in love with went to this place where she could jump and flip and acrobat jaw droppingly. off the walls and combos. real impressive. i liked her for that. and when i stuck my arm into the place, it was strong. cold and hot. intense. i liked it.
and i had a dream that surprised me. think about it. honest surprise from a situation i created. make sense? i went to high school and someone told me that i could find old friends there. and i thought it was impossible. totally. but i did. my own mind tricked me. is that right? is that okay? weird. i found justin bingly there. i wonder where he is today.
i had a dream that my two friends jade and tim were going to visit this old mastermind and i was going to, but for a reason i was going to come later. but i changed my mind and i followed just behind them. they wanted me to come later. why i do not know. i think perhaps they wanted the specialness to themselves. and when i got there -just after them- they were upset. i thought this was dumb. and that old genius of a man.... he liked me. i needed to go and he took me to the side. jade and time were a bit sad about that. we talked for a bit and he thought i was special and he said he wanted to see me again. i thought that was great. he was like a god.
and this morning i sat in thought for a while....
i have been out of high school for five years now. i have kind of forgotten about that place and life and world. and in five years, i think i have done right.
i think i have.
actually.
pretty happy about that.
i wonder how many of us feel that way.
actually.
there was this other dream i had....
a lot happened and i cannot remember it all proper. but i was to die. i was creating and making a lifes work. a creation to justify being alive. to make my time here worthwile. actually. success. do you understand what i am saying?
because you will die too. that will happen.
so these layers were coming off of me as i created and as i grew. but i could not do it in time.... i slipped.... and kept on slipping.... right into my coffin.... waiting for me.... the whole time.... and everyone was watching me.... the faces above.... as i died.... the coffin. i was inside. and the lid was closing. and i was saying goodbye. goodbye to all this. to everything i know.
its not just some kid rambling. its not juvenile. its not a joke.
its the realest thing in the world.
its the only thing i know that is real.
i am going to die.
its the most powerful thing in the world.
and it proves the world to be as amazing as it really is.
i watched borat today. pretty funny.
pretty clever.
there are some weird people alive.
strange. strange how people are.
but borat. hes funny.
i have a romanian friend and he can say some borat things better than borat can.
i love that. he laughs a lot about it.
special dude. yea you.
how are you?
did you get your present yet? sorry i did not have enough time to personalize that action with a handwritten note.... but the bonus gift says way more, no?
i will put up some more pictures soon.
i spent a couple hours typing out the latest version to my story. i was editing and manipulating the creature as i typed, making the handwritten vveerrssioonn (something like that) obsolete.
and then, a funny thing happened, i did not send it right and i lost it.
that was that.
a few times days have been hard.
but always good.
you know.
i wonder how phil elverum lives.
what is his life like? what does he do?
when the small thoughts come -the ones that are instantly disregarded because they are small and many- does he find pleasure in them? i do.
does he care what he will become? or does it not matter?
i like his music. you should listen to some....
look up mount eerie and the microphones.
some of my favorite.
i dont want to be on the computer anymore.
wierd and true
1) you are not permitted to speak to anyone.
2) you must avoid eye contact with others at all times.
3) you are to maintain a poker face -no emotion is permitted to be desplayed.
4) in elevators you are compelled to watch the floor numbers above your head.
if you doubt this, notice how you behave next time you go to a crowded cinema. as the usher directs you to your seat which is surrounded by a sea of unknown faces, notice how you will, like a preprogrammed robot, begin to obey the unwritten rules of behavior in corwded public spaces.
wheather we are in a crowded elevator, cinema, or bus, people around su ebcome non-persons -that is they do not exist as far as we are concerned.
also.
for new years, i helped a friends friend sell hot wine in downtown hamburg. i made 50 euros too. and i got to drink all the hot wine i could. which actually wasnt a whole lot.
i saw a battlezone firework showdown on a walkway overlooking the river where boats were anchored. garbage everwhere -from the fireworks you know. so many fireworks too. a lot. i also got to see rain. and dancing drunken germans singing some pretty strange songs. maybe a russian one too.
i am leaving this neat house -which is actually a converted barn to house. very very cool. incredible space in the top. very cool. and i visited another dudes neat house. it was made using the concrete ring which large animal farms would use to house the animals waste. it is pretty large. so this dude buys this ring and builds a house out of it. there is a rooftop garden, triangular and proper patio, three levels in the interior of the house, a stone oven with an attached stone sofa. the stone is heated up because it houses the fire and stays heated for a long time the way this is done is by using pipes. pipes carrying the smoke and the heat are placed inside of the stone sofa, winding down and back, along side the stove itself and exists through the ceiling. very very nice. an advanced technique would be to run these pipes through natural clay walls, floors, beds, small spaces to keep warm at night -such as a small room, the only room to be warmed at night- and perhaps the ceiling if the tactician were clever enough.
and so i am leaving to berlin.
some dude lives in a wagon. i do now know what that means yet, but i will meet him and see his wagon. another dude that i may get to run into is this guy that took the same journey as i -german to thailand- except that he went under russia, following the line that is made above the mediterranean sea. that is pretty respectable.
i also have a friend from olympia in berlin. she is taking a round the world trip and is also going to paris, bangkok, australia, new zealand, and -1 other perhaps.
i will reach russia relatively soon now. i need to be at the russian border the day my visa takes effect -the first of february. and, i have an estonian friend whom i want to see again and want to stay with him for 5 days or so. which leaves me about 3 weeks to explore a touch of poland, the adrspach teplice rocks in the czech republic, the moravian karst, also in the czech republic, and a few places in slovakia. heading up into poland again, then continuing through lithuania, latvia, and to tartu, estonia.
then russia.
**********
so my book keeps changing. it is difficult to write a book. i find myself realizing how much time i can spend on it, and indeed how long i have already spent on it. in a way, some concepts are found in writings that are several years old. and i wonder how much more it will continue to evolve and radicalize itself.
the general principles -thus far- include:
1. main character is completely dependent on another system. one that has been forced upon him, denying him the alternative tools to support oneself and become independent. he must trade his mind and his heart for this lifestyle. this makes him sad and agitated. he breaks the window which turns out to be a television screen and realizes he is in an immense building, with rows and rows and rows of rooms just like his.
2. he explores the building and discovers how he and everyone else is formed into what we are now. the character also breaks out of this massive prison.
3. seaches and searches and searches the world for something to get his mind and heart back because he has realized how incredibly essential it is. the character eventually finds it.
4. character returns to the giant prison building with the answer and seeks out the vault containing his insies.
5. finds it and must battle the giant mega demon that is resonsible for making such a disaster of things.
(the character either destroys his own personal sick eviled undoer or the character may take on the epic monster responsible for our all atrocities)
6. once achieved, character goes somewhere special on the earth and builds a natural house and plants food and starts living. and the character dies that way.
so that is it.
kind of.
i would love to hear what you think about this.
hope your new year was good.
2) you must avoid eye contact with others at all times.
3) you are to maintain a poker face -no emotion is permitted to be desplayed.
4) in elevators you are compelled to watch the floor numbers above your head.
if you doubt this, notice how you behave next time you go to a crowded cinema. as the usher directs you to your seat which is surrounded by a sea of unknown faces, notice how you will, like a preprogrammed robot, begin to obey the unwritten rules of behavior in corwded public spaces.
wheather we are in a crowded elevator, cinema, or bus, people around su ebcome non-persons -that is they do not exist as far as we are concerned.
also.
for new years, i helped a friends friend sell hot wine in downtown hamburg. i made 50 euros too. and i got to drink all the hot wine i could. which actually wasnt a whole lot.
i saw a battlezone firework showdown on a walkway overlooking the river where boats were anchored. garbage everwhere -from the fireworks you know. so many fireworks too. a lot. i also got to see rain. and dancing drunken germans singing some pretty strange songs. maybe a russian one too.
i am leaving this neat house -which is actually a converted barn to house. very very cool. incredible space in the top. very cool. and i visited another dudes neat house. it was made using the concrete ring which large animal farms would use to house the animals waste. it is pretty large. so this dude buys this ring and builds a house out of it. there is a rooftop garden, triangular and proper patio, three levels in the interior of the house, a stone oven with an attached stone sofa. the stone is heated up because it houses the fire and stays heated for a long time the way this is done is by using pipes. pipes carrying the smoke and the heat are placed inside of the stone sofa, winding down and back, along side the stove itself and exists through the ceiling. very very nice. an advanced technique would be to run these pipes through natural clay walls, floors, beds, small spaces to keep warm at night -such as a small room, the only room to be warmed at night- and perhaps the ceiling if the tactician were clever enough.
and so i am leaving to berlin.
some dude lives in a wagon. i do now know what that means yet, but i will meet him and see his wagon. another dude that i may get to run into is this guy that took the same journey as i -german to thailand- except that he went under russia, following the line that is made above the mediterranean sea. that is pretty respectable.
i also have a friend from olympia in berlin. she is taking a round the world trip and is also going to paris, bangkok, australia, new zealand, and -1 other perhaps.
i will reach russia relatively soon now. i need to be at the russian border the day my visa takes effect -the first of february. and, i have an estonian friend whom i want to see again and want to stay with him for 5 days or so. which leaves me about 3 weeks to explore a touch of poland, the adrspach teplice rocks in the czech republic, the moravian karst, also in the czech republic, and a few places in slovakia. heading up into poland again, then continuing through lithuania, latvia, and to tartu, estonia.
then russia.
**********
so my book keeps changing. it is difficult to write a book. i find myself realizing how much time i can spend on it, and indeed how long i have already spent on it. in a way, some concepts are found in writings that are several years old. and i wonder how much more it will continue to evolve and radicalize itself.
the general principles -thus far- include:
1. main character is completely dependent on another system. one that has been forced upon him, denying him the alternative tools to support oneself and become independent. he must trade his mind and his heart for this lifestyle. this makes him sad and agitated. he breaks the window which turns out to be a television screen and realizes he is in an immense building, with rows and rows and rows of rooms just like his.
2. he explores the building and discovers how he and everyone else is formed into what we are now. the character also breaks out of this massive prison.
3. seaches and searches and searches the world for something to get his mind and heart back because he has realized how incredibly essential it is. the character eventually finds it.
4. character returns to the giant prison building with the answer and seeks out the vault containing his insies.
5. finds it and must battle the giant mega demon that is resonsible for making such a disaster of things.
(the character either destroys his own personal sick eviled undoer or the character may take on the epic monster responsible for our all atrocities)
6. once achieved, character goes somewhere special on the earth and builds a natural house and plants food and starts living. and the character dies that way.
so that is it.
kind of.
i would love to hear what you think about this.
hope your new year was good.
an actual factual thing
for christmas, i went to a grocery store (dumpster) and retrieved loads upon loads of chocolate. lots of chocolate. enough to make chocolate fondue for christmas dessert.
apples and cake and figs and especially oranges are good dippuhz in chocolate fondue.
went to dachau today. the first concentration camp. what else is there to say....
going to cologne tomorrow. and tomorrow is my one-month-away-from-those-united states-anniversary.
hope everyone had some chocolate for christmas. goodness its good.
apples and cake and figs and especially oranges are good dippuhz in chocolate fondue.
went to dachau today. the first concentration camp. what else is there to say....
going to cologne tomorrow. and tomorrow is my one-month-away-from-those-united states-anniversary.
hope everyone had some chocolate for christmas. goodness its good.
STORIES
PART II
(this story is only partially for you. i would like it typed out so that i can change it in time.... but i still want you to read it, if you want. for those of you who have not read the first part, perhaps it is too difficult a chore.... and please excuse the grammatical errors -certainly this is a work in progress.... your opinions are warmly received.)
Yes, i remember that home i left undone, until the next summer comes. and i remember my old home, that oppressive once, that dreadful one, that concrete one. and i remember my confusion, the taste is fresh upon my tongue. i remember that building where i learned- those creatures, those those gross, gradational stairs, my friend, and our escape. and i remember all the rest, everything that was real.
and so the time is now the time before next summer. since i will, in time, return, that tells you indirectly that i have left. and the next to ponder -where is it that i have gone....There is a continent on this planet called europe. and it borders another called Asia. I have left and gone to these places. and again.... to flesh myself out.... i am wandering in europe and asia. i have come to see. to see what is hereto see what other people are chosing to do with, all of this. this place. us. yea. all that.
Recycling real, edible, really edible food through my body. When daylight turns to starlight, finding a place to sleep. A cave. An abandoned hay shed. Mandarin oranges in ms chocolate fondue. walking through what lies ahead, strolling through my heady head. picking up. tidying. filing. emptying, filling. what will become of me? what will i find?
not to say that i have not found a lot already. oh no, even now, as i sit here, i am definitely seeing something. yes, indeed it is a thing. i am in a city. a big city. full of people that look just like me. two legs, two arms, skin, a head. ahhh but yes, i smell something quite a bit different cooking in there. a tangle of people, bustling people full of hurry. using those legs. but perchance not suing those heads. do i smell something burning?
its not the fire that grips the trees in this green and brown, foggy forest, no. no, the smell has vanished along with those untended burners. Fresh now. A very real thing fresh. and so it is in the forest where i breathe my clean and lovely breaths. Now a table, a billiard table. and people are the balls, denying absorption as they connect, a clang and all a scatter. always into a beautiful and new arrangement with each other and with their own orientation on that incredible table, that awesome beast with legs.
i turned from the table to have a seat and give mine a rest. the guy i happened to sit xnext to had a bottle on his finger. another quirky character, like myself. we had a chat and i decided very quickly that i was fond of him. we were both on an adventure. him in his skin and me in mine. many words we traded. at the toilet (do you find the word toilet to be dirty? would you rather say bathroom, or even restroom? here, they call it a toilet. exactly what it is) i didnt flush. absolutely no need. i left that urine in that water in that toilet and that room with that table and that guy.
when people communicate they often use their mouths to make particular, collectively understood sounds. i know you already knew about this, and so did i. but it still doesn't kill the wonder. and i could go on and on.... but i wont. i trust that you too, can muster the stuff it takes to wonder.
ounce outside again, wandering through, to the next place, a good friend runs up to my side. thrilled to see him, he puts his arm upon my shoulder. with a factual face, he declares that someday, i will die. that it is a fact. i know this also, and so do you. but i hadn't thought about it in a while. So i did. and i felt alive inside. a bend in the trail and he followed it, but i walked right off that path, walked right into the wild forest with mountain peaks visible through the lush canopy. now much undergrowth so fairly easy walking for me. i walked until i got tired and then i nustled into a nice nest i had rustled. sleep came quick and i t came hearily.
daylight. i am sitting., i am looking at everything but nothing in particular. i feel good and the smik on my face confirms it. in the starry morning light and mist, there are two owls on a fat limb dripping loads of green moss. the tree is a big o maple. and then, out of the wild a panther, black, swollen with muscles and power, raw untamed power, happens past me and to the owls it goes. and they begin to talk and i am either too far away or too dumb to understand their conversation. and so i saw so....
"I am either too far away or too dumb to understand your conversation. or both," i add.
"Come nearer," says a voice from the tree.
rocked with anticipation, i reach their counsel. the panther begins, "what is it that grips, that grabs, the priceless attention of a human being? what do they care about?"
But those owls, they convulse with laughter at the panther and harder at the ridiculous look of confused searching in my eyebrows and forehead, my squinting eyes, my bitten lip. but a glance back at the panther shows hard bamboozlement too. then i see henry darger in that tree, with his back to us, painting and writing away, in his own world. the owls say that they like him. henry died in that tree and him and his stories fell to the ground, and the ground was bulldozed, cleared, and leveled. His body was lost under the concrete that ensued, the concrete that always ensues. but his creations were carried off with the wind. i wonder again, what will become of me?
The beach. i am lying on the sand, under the clear blue sky with the sun all up in it. the tide comes in , the tide goes out. the tide comes in and licks my ankles and the tide goes back out. the tide come sin and slaps me on the back like a 7 year old chummy neighbor friend, and the tide goes back out. the tide comes in and lifts me up, carresses, wraps me in sweet, tangy, salty oblivion and takes me back out. weightless. for days. forever. i fel myself being tucked in, a kiss on the cheeks, and out goes the light.
i awake to find myelf on another sandy beach, the sea saying goodbye to my toes and i feel awake. i lie in the sun in thought. always left with those. i felt urged, compelled, yes, to leave my new home, to explore. i had to. i had to see what is out there. what is out here. i feel i must find something.... i sit up. i stand up. i turn from the sea and walk.
a rocky shore. rocks, rocks, rocks. so many rocks to look underneath for what i need to, must, find. under one, a worm and its soil. another rock, another animal. a frog. yellow eyes, green sleek skin, and those impressive legs -something to write home about, i think. another rock. more rocks underneath and more underneath. i excavate the day away. with the light of day comes a tunnel showing the way. i fashion a stairway for a descent deep down. deep, deep down i go. i always seem to go deep. i like tunnels. i like them deep. where will it take me?
PART I
(again, this is a work in progess. please disregard the grammar. i typed it out in a flury. tell me what you think.... oh. and there is a part missing too. between the first and the second. that part will not surface on this blog until the month of May. not that it really matters.)
Ok. so i dont live in an apartment building. as you can see with your own eyes, my walls are made of mud and adobe bricks. and, i live alone -friends occasionally visit. Actually, now that you mention it, i dont know any people. i dont even know myself; i feel as if i were just created.
THEN ALL THE SUDDEN, from a crack in my east wall, i see a giant paintbrush -gropingly, splatteringly- painting my world; it is an unlikely attempt to make even a decent painting. so blurry, so thin.
The paintbrush breaks down that wall, barges in unexpectedly, and pounces on top of me. After the duel, i am left with sockless, shoeless, somewhat diry feet. I am wearing very used, very worn-in pants, rolled up into shorts. My skin is white and a bit pale. No, a bit sunburnt. I am thirsty. And it can all change in an instant.
For the time being, i feel precarious. Dependent. And slightly annoyed.... I also feel highly judged.
I
am beginning to feel vulnerable, afriad. And still annoyed. As I run through the broken wall, i wonder if I decided to flee, or if I were painted to do so. I pick up the speed. It appears to be helping. I feel great by running.
To where, I haven’t a clue. I run faster, trying to outrun my bewilderment.
Dripping with sweat, i appropah a crooked, dillapidated, cookie-cutter building, standing solitary and shabby. It speaks. I get the feeling that very odd and unpredictable things can happen. Even so, it is a rather bland, generic scene.
All except the peculiar, vocal building.
“What am I?” I am asked by sound emanating through the walls.
“It appears that you are a rectangular, typical, and old building of fired clay,” i respond.
“What!?!” it booms. It spits out the words. “NO,” it hisses. “Of all the things.... a product of supposed intelligence and power.... I fell such potential creativity and ingenuity coursing through every ounce of me....” It trails off into what seems like thought.
A few minutes a pass, ad it quietly, introspectively asks, “How can i free myself of this concrete foundatoin?”
I do not know. And i tell it as much.
As we each look inside us- searching for what is there- i begin to feel overwhelmingly confused, yet anxious, driven for answers. I consider sitting, and pondering my mysterious disposition -of truly going inside.... I don’t wait. I smash the door free of it’s lock and kick it in.
I flip the switch, no lights; i flip i twice more.... nothing. Then the ring of the telephone. Without answering it, the speaker sais -rather electronically i think- “I heard that the first lightbult ever invented burns to this very day; and has been since it was created. Why do they die and burnout now?”
Before I can respond, the telephone begins a long list of products and the accompanying cost to each. It speaks of purchase-orders and individual or company debts. Growth and dental plans; important business....
I look at my feet, and there squirms the most amazingly and beautifully constucted insect i had ever seen. Such large and colorful wings. As striking as a rainbow. But there it squirms; in pain; perhaps it was attacked. It looks blind with inability. Now spinning in retarded circles; back and forth; back and forth. Absolutely humiliating and an utter disgrace. A broken leg and a broken wing. It stops completely. Now it will slowly, but surely die. Painfully and tragically, with tears forming in my eyes, I sternly and firmly place my foot upon its misery.
The phone shuts up its lame and irritating list of babbling bullshit. But then i remember, it was we who condemned it to speak such nonsense.
I pull a candle out of my pocket and breathe fire onto it. I turn left and walk down a corridor, with a sad and snotty nose.
I stop dead. Dead in my tracks, midstep; my left foot still dangling, seemingly paralyzed in the dead air. I feel powerless, overcome, in hysteria. In a flat, long, rectangular window -gazing over a conveyer belt, speeding along a mountain-train of molded, bruised, and bloodied creatures- i see a dozen rows of computer screens, paired with its fatefully allocated animal. The machines’ gaze are glued to the thin and glassy faces. The staredown is an obvious stalemate, as each side is equally balanced. Some of them are in fact breathing computers, others are cold and dead. Yet, i see very little difference in the two. Hideous.
I see in double and acute dizziness forces me to look away. So i look down trom the window and see again the molded creatures upon the conveyer belt.
Behind, on the far wall, the clock knocks me flat on my ass- the hour hand is spinning mercelessly around , and the staredown continues above.
I stand back up. I see some of the prepared creatues walk purposefully, yet mechanically to a staircase leading to the room above. The one filled with the machines.I immediately get in line.
I reach the end of the line and the bottom of the staircase. The line is single file and orderly. The line moves a single stair, so i step up. And agonizingly slow, the steps continue. Instantly boring; meltingly so. I consider deescending the way i came, but quickly see that i cannot; the line continues to grow with new bodies. I am growing upset with this system. Ah, we finally move another step upwards. I now stand on the 3rd grade of 12 in this sick and sad gradation, and i must escape. I cannot move much to any-one-side already and i see that staircase narrowing above me, and the moving molds shrink in order to fit for the next step. They are so tiny at the top, and i begin to sweat. I jam my elbow through what space remains into the wall beside me.... not a thing but a lot of pain. I smash it again, harder. Nothig but more pain. I become afraid of the size i may shrink to, and the loss of my pricelessness at the next step. To my horror, as the molds reach the top, each plunges a fist into its so shrunken and inadequate chest, removing the still beating heart and another object -faintly glowing but still glowing nonetheless. Then thoughtlessly, each tosses their insides into waste baskets labled for each. The sound the impacts make in the disposal are the sounds of a cash register, and with the sounds, the door swing open to admit another. And with everything i have -plus a foot from behind- the wall caves. I rush through into clean air and open space to run. The one behind me does just that and dissapears quickly. I hear laughter bouncing off the walls, then nothing but my own victorious panting.
As i catch my breath and stretch a bit, I hear beautiful singing -truly beautifull- hidden around a corner to my left. So obviously, i follow it down the hall.
It truly is beautiful. I stop early, just out of view of the artist, and sit down. I squint intently upon the singing figure and see clearly the one who had helped break the wall of those stifling stairs. I recognize the fellow in spite of the drastic changes; the once shrunken, generic, and cracked clay creature is now obviously nothing of the sort since our rebellion; a massive frame thriving with health, and shining power sits ahead of me now. I breathe deeply the sounds made by this human being.
As the singing ends, my curiousity blooms full. I am anxious, yet solid, as i advance towards this still growing, able body. Nearing, sun light throught the first real window i have ever seen shines upon competent arms and accurate hands, draped over capable legs. Now sitting, now rising to meet me, we come face to face. My eyes, i can certainly feel, appear inquisitive, and his are inquisitive too, but his are also beaming. Then, “Where are you going,” i am asked.
I hadn’t thought about it yet, i thought, as i was fresh out of escaping those dreadful stairs. and they had been my sole intention -to live or die. So i tell him exactly that.
“I must leave this bulding,” he says next. Although i am utterly lost, i hadn’t thought about leaving yet. Quite to the contrary, I feel strong in continuing to wander. I want this place to make sense. i wonder if the possibility exists.
“I am needfully curious to explore this building,” i tell him.
He chuckles hard enough to shake a bit, then sits back down. His face becomes honest and serious. he motions for me to sit as well and then he begins:
“I was born of the ground. Quiet, happy, excited because i knew i was pure clay. Pure open and potential clay. i was a child then. Then, abruptly and secretly, i was taken. Stolen, kidnapped. I awoke here; in this cell of a building. The change so crazy and dramatic, i very nearly forgot what i had been and who i was. But this life i have been given is limited, artificial, unnatural, oppressive, frustrating, and above all dissapointing. I awoke to torture, and the inability to cry out. I was forced to contort into a particular, controlled and intentionally flawed creature just like the rest of them. Rude and lame. I would dream of the possibilities i knew i still barely had; but in this place of walls how could i have grown?”
he stops a moment and gazes at the still rising sun out that one window. Then he turns back to me.
“After a short time buried helplessly immoile under a pile of molds the size of the pyramids of giza and the twin towers of new york, i was -with the rest of them- thrown into the furnace. Many burned forever and many burned to death. Yet from the fire, to my utter disbelief, we walked as one. I as well. We walked as one to lay ourselves placidly upon the converyer bellts. we arrived at the end where
you had been just a short time ago, and where we began the brutality of those stairs. I knew we sould be lost for once and for all by that climb to that hell in that room above. I could fell my consciousness become slippery and wane, and along with it, any physcal ability I had left.” He glows at me for a solid minute. “My hope was shrinking along with my whole world, and now i must escape this wretched place.”
I wonder whether he is aware that i have been outside this prison of his and decide to tell him. "you know..."
but he cuts me off, "we are no different." i realize the truth immediately because i am lost and therefore just as unable to leave.
"there are many walls and many rooms," he adds rather absentmindedly, which is something i hadent considered. but now i feel quite clearly -by the various and diverse forms of life in this building from the rhetoric, jargon-loaded telephone to a bloodied, molded clay creature and indeed the building itself- the immensity and heavy truth of his words. His gaze turns back upon that window, so very unreachably high upon the wall.
and when i look back into that handsome face of his, radiating drive and passion right at and through that window, i catch the fever too. I am unable to reason why nor how i have contracted his majestic force, but nonetheless i am elated and brimming with life. I throw myself at him, embracing him dearly with real, honest-to-god tears tumbling down my face. I grab both of his hands in mine and carefully and thoughtfully kiss his forhead. I tell him, "I must share this passion to those creatures who have been brutally wronged by enslavement. The invisible hand that has pounded them into their ugly shape must be made to release its gready grip. I must free them."
I run back the way i came, yelling over my shoulder that i will be back so very soon and with every prisoner in this forsaken hole. what i did not expect was to be so very, very wrong.
I burst back into that glorious hole i had escaped into and back onto that sad scene on the other side. My voice booms, "Follow me! Save yourself! You can grow without restraint and bloom into your wildest dreams!!!"
then............. to my utter amazement, and despite my enthusiasm. not only is there no word in reponse, but not even a single creature even looks at me. I am dumbfounded; my jaw drops to the ground and it stays there, agape. It is so plain to see, so obviously and painfully clear -to me- what should be done. Why dont they understand? if they do not want to, how could i ever make them?
I walk dejectedly back. My friend still sits intent bent on the window and says, "of course they wont listen and why is the riddle of the ages."
Deflated and sore, i finally coerce my mouth into closing back up. I just nod sadly.
I do not know how to free them yet, but i will find out.
and i did find out.
ALTERNATE
(a shorter story for those who do not wish for the rigors of the longers...)
and so they will ask me.... "well, how was it? (they are referring to my trip, of course. you see, this story takes place in the future, when it is assumed i will return)
and time will freeze and i will be able to swim in those memories -that somahaus, that cave, that morning, and those dreams i had at night. that will feel good....
but all i will be able to do is shrug, smile, and make dinner with them. and in the morning we will walk outside just to be outside, because we should.
7 months is and is not a long time. indeed, this being we call time lives buried away deeply in tunnels. tunnels, which i know, stretch across the whole earth. they say you can never sneak up on time -never sleeps, has wings of speed. but i , i saw time.
lost as i was, hadnt eaten in days, my pursuit so doggedly. but i memorized that labyrinth well enough to locate shortcuts. i stepped oh so lightly rounding a corner i heard that creature, laughing as if something were funny.
then he heard me and gone in a flash! fast enough to make the most legitimate person in the world quiver. go weak in das knees, fall down, and die. which is almost exactly what happened to me. breaking my heads breaking fall, was my broken right elbow.
yes, the fall was like flicking a worm against a wall. gush. hitting the floor. splat.
mmm.... hmmm....
(this story is only partially for you. i would like it typed out so that i can change it in time.... but i still want you to read it, if you want. for those of you who have not read the first part, perhaps it is too difficult a chore.... and please excuse the grammatical errors -certainly this is a work in progress.... your opinions are warmly received.)
Yes, i remember that home i left undone, until the next summer comes. and i remember my old home, that oppressive once, that dreadful one, that concrete one. and i remember my confusion, the taste is fresh upon my tongue. i remember that building where i learned- those creatures, those those gross, gradational stairs, my friend, and our escape. and i remember all the rest, everything that was real.
and so the time is now the time before next summer. since i will, in time, return, that tells you indirectly that i have left. and the next to ponder -where is it that i have gone....There is a continent on this planet called europe. and it borders another called Asia. I have left and gone to these places. and again.... to flesh myself out.... i am wandering in europe and asia. i have come to see. to see what is hereto see what other people are chosing to do with, all of this. this place. us. yea. all that.
Recycling real, edible, really edible food through my body. When daylight turns to starlight, finding a place to sleep. A cave. An abandoned hay shed. Mandarin oranges in ms chocolate fondue. walking through what lies ahead, strolling through my heady head. picking up. tidying. filing. emptying, filling. what will become of me? what will i find?
not to say that i have not found a lot already. oh no, even now, as i sit here, i am definitely seeing something. yes, indeed it is a thing. i am in a city. a big city. full of people that look just like me. two legs, two arms, skin, a head. ahhh but yes, i smell something quite a bit different cooking in there. a tangle of people, bustling people full of hurry. using those legs. but perchance not suing those heads. do i smell something burning?
its not the fire that grips the trees in this green and brown, foggy forest, no. no, the smell has vanished along with those untended burners. Fresh now. A very real thing fresh. and so it is in the forest where i breathe my clean and lovely breaths. Now a table, a billiard table. and people are the balls, denying absorption as they connect, a clang and all a scatter. always into a beautiful and new arrangement with each other and with their own orientation on that incredible table, that awesome beast with legs.
i turned from the table to have a seat and give mine a rest. the guy i happened to sit xnext to had a bottle on his finger. another quirky character, like myself. we had a chat and i decided very quickly that i was fond of him. we were both on an adventure. him in his skin and me in mine. many words we traded. at the toilet (do you find the word toilet to be dirty? would you rather say bathroom, or even restroom? here, they call it a toilet. exactly what it is) i didnt flush. absolutely no need. i left that urine in that water in that toilet and that room with that table and that guy.
when people communicate they often use their mouths to make particular, collectively understood sounds. i know you already knew about this, and so did i. but it still doesn't kill the wonder. and i could go on and on.... but i wont. i trust that you too, can muster the stuff it takes to wonder.
ounce outside again, wandering through, to the next place, a good friend runs up to my side. thrilled to see him, he puts his arm upon my shoulder. with a factual face, he declares that someday, i will die. that it is a fact. i know this also, and so do you. but i hadn't thought about it in a while. So i did. and i felt alive inside. a bend in the trail and he followed it, but i walked right off that path, walked right into the wild forest with mountain peaks visible through the lush canopy. now much undergrowth so fairly easy walking for me. i walked until i got tired and then i nustled into a nice nest i had rustled. sleep came quick and i t came hearily.
daylight. i am sitting., i am looking at everything but nothing in particular. i feel good and the smik on my face confirms it. in the starry morning light and mist, there are two owls on a fat limb dripping loads of green moss. the tree is a big o maple. and then, out of the wild a panther, black, swollen with muscles and power, raw untamed power, happens past me and to the owls it goes. and they begin to talk and i am either too far away or too dumb to understand their conversation. and so i saw so....
"I am either too far away or too dumb to understand your conversation. or both," i add.
"Come nearer," says a voice from the tree.
rocked with anticipation, i reach their counsel. the panther begins, "what is it that grips, that grabs, the priceless attention of a human being? what do they care about?"
But those owls, they convulse with laughter at the panther and harder at the ridiculous look of confused searching in my eyebrows and forehead, my squinting eyes, my bitten lip. but a glance back at the panther shows hard bamboozlement too. then i see henry darger in that tree, with his back to us, painting and writing away, in his own world. the owls say that they like him. henry died in that tree and him and his stories fell to the ground, and the ground was bulldozed, cleared, and leveled. His body was lost under the concrete that ensued, the concrete that always ensues. but his creations were carried off with the wind. i wonder again, what will become of me?
The beach. i am lying on the sand, under the clear blue sky with the sun all up in it. the tide comes in , the tide goes out. the tide comes in and licks my ankles and the tide goes back out. the tide come sin and slaps me on the back like a 7 year old chummy neighbor friend, and the tide goes back out. the tide comes in and lifts me up, carresses, wraps me in sweet, tangy, salty oblivion and takes me back out. weightless. for days. forever. i fel myself being tucked in, a kiss on the cheeks, and out goes the light.
i awake to find myelf on another sandy beach, the sea saying goodbye to my toes and i feel awake. i lie in the sun in thought. always left with those. i felt urged, compelled, yes, to leave my new home, to explore. i had to. i had to see what is out there. what is out here. i feel i must find something.... i sit up. i stand up. i turn from the sea and walk.
a rocky shore. rocks, rocks, rocks. so many rocks to look underneath for what i need to, must, find. under one, a worm and its soil. another rock, another animal. a frog. yellow eyes, green sleek skin, and those impressive legs -something to write home about, i think. another rock. more rocks underneath and more underneath. i excavate the day away. with the light of day comes a tunnel showing the way. i fashion a stairway for a descent deep down. deep, deep down i go. i always seem to go deep. i like tunnels. i like them deep. where will it take me?
PART I
(again, this is a work in progess. please disregard the grammar. i typed it out in a flury. tell me what you think.... oh. and there is a part missing too. between the first and the second. that part will not surface on this blog until the month of May. not that it really matters.)
Ok. so i dont live in an apartment building. as you can see with your own eyes, my walls are made of mud and adobe bricks. and, i live alone -friends occasionally visit. Actually, now that you mention it, i dont know any people. i dont even know myself; i feel as if i were just created.
THEN ALL THE SUDDEN, from a crack in my east wall, i see a giant paintbrush -gropingly, splatteringly- painting my world; it is an unlikely attempt to make even a decent painting. so blurry, so thin.
The paintbrush breaks down that wall, barges in unexpectedly, and pounces on top of me. After the duel, i am left with sockless, shoeless, somewhat diry feet. I am wearing very used, very worn-in pants, rolled up into shorts. My skin is white and a bit pale. No, a bit sunburnt. I am thirsty. And it can all change in an instant.
For the time being, i feel precarious. Dependent. And slightly annoyed.... I also feel highly judged.
I
am beginning to feel vulnerable, afriad. And still annoyed. As I run through the broken wall, i wonder if I decided to flee, or if I were painted to do so. I pick up the speed. It appears to be helping. I feel great by running.
To where, I haven’t a clue. I run faster, trying to outrun my bewilderment.
Dripping with sweat, i appropah a crooked, dillapidated, cookie-cutter building, standing solitary and shabby. It speaks. I get the feeling that very odd and unpredictable things can happen. Even so, it is a rather bland, generic scene.
All except the peculiar, vocal building.
“What am I?” I am asked by sound emanating through the walls.
“It appears that you are a rectangular, typical, and old building of fired clay,” i respond.
“What!?!” it booms. It spits out the words. “NO,” it hisses. “Of all the things.... a product of supposed intelligence and power.... I fell such potential creativity and ingenuity coursing through every ounce of me....” It trails off into what seems like thought.
A few minutes a pass, ad it quietly, introspectively asks, “How can i free myself of this concrete foundatoin?”
I do not know. And i tell it as much.
As we each look inside us- searching for what is there- i begin to feel overwhelmingly confused, yet anxious, driven for answers. I consider sitting, and pondering my mysterious disposition -of truly going inside.... I don’t wait. I smash the door free of it’s lock and kick it in.
I flip the switch, no lights; i flip i twice more.... nothing. Then the ring of the telephone. Without answering it, the speaker sais -rather electronically i think- “I heard that the first lightbult ever invented burns to this very day; and has been since it was created. Why do they die and burnout now?”
Before I can respond, the telephone begins a long list of products and the accompanying cost to each. It speaks of purchase-orders and individual or company debts. Growth and dental plans; important business....
I look at my feet, and there squirms the most amazingly and beautifully constucted insect i had ever seen. Such large and colorful wings. As striking as a rainbow. But there it squirms; in pain; perhaps it was attacked. It looks blind with inability. Now spinning in retarded circles; back and forth; back and forth. Absolutely humiliating and an utter disgrace. A broken leg and a broken wing. It stops completely. Now it will slowly, but surely die. Painfully and tragically, with tears forming in my eyes, I sternly and firmly place my foot upon its misery.
The phone shuts up its lame and irritating list of babbling bullshit. But then i remember, it was we who condemned it to speak such nonsense.
I pull a candle out of my pocket and breathe fire onto it. I turn left and walk down a corridor, with a sad and snotty nose.
I stop dead. Dead in my tracks, midstep; my left foot still dangling, seemingly paralyzed in the dead air. I feel powerless, overcome, in hysteria. In a flat, long, rectangular window -gazing over a conveyer belt, speeding along a mountain-train of molded, bruised, and bloodied creatures- i see a dozen rows of computer screens, paired with its fatefully allocated animal. The machines’ gaze are glued to the thin and glassy faces. The staredown is an obvious stalemate, as each side is equally balanced. Some of them are in fact breathing computers, others are cold and dead. Yet, i see very little difference in the two. Hideous.
I see in double and acute dizziness forces me to look away. So i look down trom the window and see again the molded creatures upon the conveyer belt.
Behind, on the far wall, the clock knocks me flat on my ass- the hour hand is spinning mercelessly around , and the staredown continues above.
I stand back up. I see some of the prepared creatues walk purposefully, yet mechanically to a staircase leading to the room above. The one filled with the machines.I immediately get in line.
I reach the end of the line and the bottom of the staircase. The line is single file and orderly. The line moves a single stair, so i step up. And agonizingly slow, the steps continue. Instantly boring; meltingly so. I consider deescending the way i came, but quickly see that i cannot; the line continues to grow with new bodies. I am growing upset with this system. Ah, we finally move another step upwards. I now stand on the 3rd grade of 12 in this sick and sad gradation, and i must escape. I cannot move much to any-one-side already and i see that staircase narrowing above me, and the moving molds shrink in order to fit for the next step. They are so tiny at the top, and i begin to sweat. I jam my elbow through what space remains into the wall beside me.... not a thing but a lot of pain. I smash it again, harder. Nothig but more pain. I become afraid of the size i may shrink to, and the loss of my pricelessness at the next step. To my horror, as the molds reach the top, each plunges a fist into its so shrunken and inadequate chest, removing the still beating heart and another object -faintly glowing but still glowing nonetheless. Then thoughtlessly, each tosses their insides into waste baskets labled for each. The sound the impacts make in the disposal are the sounds of a cash register, and with the sounds, the door swing open to admit another. And with everything i have -plus a foot from behind- the wall caves. I rush through into clean air and open space to run. The one behind me does just that and dissapears quickly. I hear laughter bouncing off the walls, then nothing but my own victorious panting.
As i catch my breath and stretch a bit, I hear beautiful singing -truly beautifull- hidden around a corner to my left. So obviously, i follow it down the hall.
It truly is beautiful. I stop early, just out of view of the artist, and sit down. I squint intently upon the singing figure and see clearly the one who had helped break the wall of those stifling stairs. I recognize the fellow in spite of the drastic changes; the once shrunken, generic, and cracked clay creature is now obviously nothing of the sort since our rebellion; a massive frame thriving with health, and shining power sits ahead of me now. I breathe deeply the sounds made by this human being.
As the singing ends, my curiousity blooms full. I am anxious, yet solid, as i advance towards this still growing, able body. Nearing, sun light throught the first real window i have ever seen shines upon competent arms and accurate hands, draped over capable legs. Now sitting, now rising to meet me, we come face to face. My eyes, i can certainly feel, appear inquisitive, and his are inquisitive too, but his are also beaming. Then, “Where are you going,” i am asked.
I hadn’t thought about it yet, i thought, as i was fresh out of escaping those dreadful stairs. and they had been my sole intention -to live or die. So i tell him exactly that.
“I must leave this bulding,” he says next. Although i am utterly lost, i hadn’t thought about leaving yet. Quite to the contrary, I feel strong in continuing to wander. I want this place to make sense. i wonder if the possibility exists.
“I am needfully curious to explore this building,” i tell him.
He chuckles hard enough to shake a bit, then sits back down. His face becomes honest and serious. he motions for me to sit as well and then he begins:
“I was born of the ground. Quiet, happy, excited because i knew i was pure clay. Pure open and potential clay. i was a child then. Then, abruptly and secretly, i was taken. Stolen, kidnapped. I awoke here; in this cell of a building. The change so crazy and dramatic, i very nearly forgot what i had been and who i was. But this life i have been given is limited, artificial, unnatural, oppressive, frustrating, and above all dissapointing. I awoke to torture, and the inability to cry out. I was forced to contort into a particular, controlled and intentionally flawed creature just like the rest of them. Rude and lame. I would dream of the possibilities i knew i still barely had; but in this place of walls how could i have grown?”
he stops a moment and gazes at the still rising sun out that one window. Then he turns back to me.
“After a short time buried helplessly immoile under a pile of molds the size of the pyramids of giza and the twin towers of new york, i was -with the rest of them- thrown into the furnace. Many burned forever and many burned to death. Yet from the fire, to my utter disbelief, we walked as one. I as well. We walked as one to lay ourselves placidly upon the converyer bellts. we arrived at the end where
you had been just a short time ago, and where we began the brutality of those stairs. I knew we sould be lost for once and for all by that climb to that hell in that room above. I could fell my consciousness become slippery and wane, and along with it, any physcal ability I had left.” He glows at me for a solid minute. “My hope was shrinking along with my whole world, and now i must escape this wretched place.”
I wonder whether he is aware that i have been outside this prison of his and decide to tell him. "you know..."
but he cuts me off, "we are no different." i realize the truth immediately because i am lost and therefore just as unable to leave.
"there are many walls and many rooms," he adds rather absentmindedly, which is something i hadent considered. but now i feel quite clearly -by the various and diverse forms of life in this building from the rhetoric, jargon-loaded telephone to a bloodied, molded clay creature and indeed the building itself- the immensity and heavy truth of his words. His gaze turns back upon that window, so very unreachably high upon the wall.
and when i look back into that handsome face of his, radiating drive and passion right at and through that window, i catch the fever too. I am unable to reason why nor how i have contracted his majestic force, but nonetheless i am elated and brimming with life. I throw myself at him, embracing him dearly with real, honest-to-god tears tumbling down my face. I grab both of his hands in mine and carefully and thoughtfully kiss his forhead. I tell him, "I must share this passion to those creatures who have been brutally wronged by enslavement. The invisible hand that has pounded them into their ugly shape must be made to release its gready grip. I must free them."
I run back the way i came, yelling over my shoulder that i will be back so very soon and with every prisoner in this forsaken hole. what i did not expect was to be so very, very wrong.
I burst back into that glorious hole i had escaped into and back onto that sad scene on the other side. My voice booms, "Follow me! Save yourself! You can grow without restraint and bloom into your wildest dreams!!!"
then............. to my utter amazement, and despite my enthusiasm. not only is there no word in reponse, but not even a single creature even looks at me. I am dumbfounded; my jaw drops to the ground and it stays there, agape. It is so plain to see, so obviously and painfully clear -to me- what should be done. Why dont they understand? if they do not want to, how could i ever make them?
I walk dejectedly back. My friend still sits intent bent on the window and says, "of course they wont listen and why is the riddle of the ages."
Deflated and sore, i finally coerce my mouth into closing back up. I just nod sadly.
I do not know how to free them yet, but i will find out.
and i did find out.
ALTERNATE
(a shorter story for those who do not wish for the rigors of the longers...)
and so they will ask me.... "well, how was it? (they are referring to my trip, of course. you see, this story takes place in the future, when it is assumed i will return)
and time will freeze and i will be able to swim in those memories -that somahaus, that cave, that morning, and those dreams i had at night. that will feel good....
but all i will be able to do is shrug, smile, and make dinner with them. and in the morning we will walk outside just to be outside, because we should.
7 months is and is not a long time. indeed, this being we call time lives buried away deeply in tunnels. tunnels, which i know, stretch across the whole earth. they say you can never sneak up on time -never sleeps, has wings of speed. but i , i saw time.
lost as i was, hadnt eaten in days, my pursuit so doggedly. but i memorized that labyrinth well enough to locate shortcuts. i stepped oh so lightly rounding a corner i heard that creature, laughing as if something were funny.
then he heard me and gone in a flash! fast enough to make the most legitimate person in the world quiver. go weak in das knees, fall down, and die. which is almost exactly what happened to me. breaking my heads breaking fall, was my broken right elbow.
yes, the fall was like flicking a worm against a wall. gush. hitting the floor. splat.
mmm.... hmmm....
the forest, the mountain, the cave, the village, and prague.
the forest, the mountain, and the cave....
i left dresden and went to the saxon-switzerland national park in germany, just off the czech. border (so close, i accidentally crossed and had to cloak myself, as to elude the passport thing).
sometimes when a friend tells you about a bridge, that friend means to say a ferry. and sometimes you have to walk a few miles before you realize this. sometimes, you are climbing, climbing, climbing up a forested hillside finding what this same friend has called a cave. and, sometimes, this 'cave' is on an unmarked trail, off the marked trail you are on. sometimes -a lot of the time- you have to put down that heavy bag and run around to explore to see if the cave is a thing, in that place. sometimes it gets late and you are still looking for that cave. sometimes you find it and sometimes you dont.
my sleeping bag worked well. my feet were real cold and they continued to be cold the next day, until a 15 minute walk out the blood back in them. i may need to wear my boots to bed next time....
that park was beautiful. stone pillars, towering giant views, freedom from the city, solice from people. everything a sane man needs.
while cutting an avovado for bread balanced on my leg, looking real odd i am sure, a polizei approached. they checked my bags and looked through some stuff. i thought this all comical and it gave me the chance to ask some question in english. i bet i did look like quite the thing; big o bag, metal pot containing bread and a tomato, scruffed out from the cave. maybe a wild look in my eyes. but how could i tell?
the village was varnsdorf. the mother of a friend made me apple struedel and it was as good as you think it should have been. i have the recipe, but to no avail, none of us can make an apple struedel like a czech. mom in the middle of nowhere.
i went on a very very long walk and got in touch with my brains and talked it all out.
and this is what i have done: left everything i know. put myself at the mercy of those who house me, at the mercy of their lifestyle choices -which grows the longer you think about it. forced myself into incredible patience in an incredible array of styles.
what was it that i wanted to see. what was it that i wanted to do. why did i leave. why did i come here? it was not to see the dom in cologne (big o dom it was. very impressive). it was not do see charles bridge (the bridge is lined with artists selling incredible paintings and drawings and photographs. all good. very very good. talent run amuck). i came here to be here. to make dinner with a dude from romania and chat about the world. to walk through a forest i never would have seen with a girl i never would have known. we talked about stuff too. and that was important. that conversation is what matters. those steps are why i came.
prague is incredible. it is without any competition, the most dynamic, most ornate, most creative, most artistic, most elaborate city that i have ever seen. every alleway is actually ineresting; not just a little bit, like oh, thats cool, but actually. almost every single building i saw today was incredible and unique. almost everyone.
i am glad to be out of germany. i am going back however. and that will be good.
i am anticipating the second half (after new years) of my central/eastern europe tour.
hmmmm.... and then russia. and china. and thailand. those are real places.
and.... i am reading the odyssey right now. and i highly recommend it. 2700 years old. author may or may not be real, may or may not be blind assuming he/she was real. intitially the modern 'book' was completely oral. where have all the mothergoose rhymes and fairy tales gone anyway? i havent heard sight nor sound of them for years. do parents still recite/read them? do parents still know them? its a sad day when oral tradition falls.
read the book the last child in the forest, richard louv. think about that. it is a thing. a big thing.
a big o J to get on.
i left dresden and went to the saxon-switzerland national park in germany, just off the czech. border (so close, i accidentally crossed and had to cloak myself, as to elude the passport thing).
sometimes when a friend tells you about a bridge, that friend means to say a ferry. and sometimes you have to walk a few miles before you realize this. sometimes, you are climbing, climbing, climbing up a forested hillside finding what this same friend has called a cave. and, sometimes, this 'cave' is on an unmarked trail, off the marked trail you are on. sometimes -a lot of the time- you have to put down that heavy bag and run around to explore to see if the cave is a thing, in that place. sometimes it gets late and you are still looking for that cave. sometimes you find it and sometimes you dont.
my sleeping bag worked well. my feet were real cold and they continued to be cold the next day, until a 15 minute walk out the blood back in them. i may need to wear my boots to bed next time....
that park was beautiful. stone pillars, towering giant views, freedom from the city, solice from people. everything a sane man needs.
while cutting an avovado for bread balanced on my leg, looking real odd i am sure, a polizei approached. they checked my bags and looked through some stuff. i thought this all comical and it gave me the chance to ask some question in english. i bet i did look like quite the thing; big o bag, metal pot containing bread and a tomato, scruffed out from the cave. maybe a wild look in my eyes. but how could i tell?
the village was varnsdorf. the mother of a friend made me apple struedel and it was as good as you think it should have been. i have the recipe, but to no avail, none of us can make an apple struedel like a czech. mom in the middle of nowhere.
i went on a very very long walk and got in touch with my brains and talked it all out.
and this is what i have done: left everything i know. put myself at the mercy of those who house me, at the mercy of their lifestyle choices -which grows the longer you think about it. forced myself into incredible patience in an incredible array of styles.
what was it that i wanted to see. what was it that i wanted to do. why did i leave. why did i come here? it was not to see the dom in cologne (big o dom it was. very impressive). it was not do see charles bridge (the bridge is lined with artists selling incredible paintings and drawings and photographs. all good. very very good. talent run amuck). i came here to be here. to make dinner with a dude from romania and chat about the world. to walk through a forest i never would have seen with a girl i never would have known. we talked about stuff too. and that was important. that conversation is what matters. those steps are why i came.
prague is incredible. it is without any competition, the most dynamic, most ornate, most creative, most artistic, most elaborate city that i have ever seen. every alleway is actually ineresting; not just a little bit, like oh, thats cool, but actually. almost every single building i saw today was incredible and unique. almost everyone.
i am glad to be out of germany. i am going back however. and that will be good.
i am anticipating the second half (after new years) of my central/eastern europe tour.
hmmmm.... and then russia. and china. and thailand. those are real places.
and.... i am reading the odyssey right now. and i highly recommend it. 2700 years old. author may or may not be real, may or may not be blind assuming he/she was real. intitially the modern 'book' was completely oral. where have all the mothergoose rhymes and fairy tales gone anyway? i havent heard sight nor sound of them for years. do parents still recite/read them? do parents still know them? its a sad day when oral tradition falls.
read the book the last child in the forest, richard louv. think about that. it is a thing. a big thing.
a big o J to get on.
dresden
i am in dresden, germany now. in just an hour or so, i will walk through this historical city and see what i can. there are so many museums and so many buildings with significance and worth here. i am panning on watching a play at the theatre the day after tomorrow and leaving the day after that. the play will be all in german, and this is okay. i went to a spoken poetry thing the other day in köln, and because it was all in german, i noticed so many things that i would not have if i were a native german speaker; speech inflections, eye contact, meaning within the body, within the voice, within silence between words. so many things. many i cannot even explain properly. another neat thing is this experience is extremely rare, i believe. not very many people get the opportunity to sit through an hour of emotional speech that equals sounds and conveyances. very neat. so i assume the theatre will present a similar experience.
after this city, i need to get away from cities. i am going to a national park on the german-czech. repubic border called saxon-switzerland national park. i have heard of a cave that i can stay in. i do not know how long i will be there, but i hope at least 3 or 4 days. i am planning on making a stove today as well. from this national park on the germany side, i hope to go to the czech. contingent- the bohemian-switzerland national park. i do now know what to expect here at all.
nor do i know how long i will be there. but from this area, i will go to either prague, cyech. republic or the adrspach-teplice rocks just outside trutnov, czech. republic. there are rock formations here that are a highlight in all of europe. if i do not go there now, i will go after new years. and for new years, i will meet a fellow-olympian (colleen) in berlin. there are a lot of things i can do in that city and a lot of people to stay with, so i might be there for a bit. then i really dont know.....
but i do know that i want to go to a few places in poland, and a few places in slovakia. vienna might happen too. but, i really dont know.
and by the time new years rolls around, i will be half through with my europe portion of this trip. and that is exciting. i am ready to get to and through russia.
because of the cost of the train and the breakdown of legs, i might zip through that massive frozen land, getting off the train only once or twice. perhaps i will only be in russia for a couple weeks.http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.spell.gif
Check Spelling
and then to china....
so everything is good.
i am having many interesting experiences. mostly in my own head; concerning preconceived ideas of place, notions of time, the distance i feel in loved ones (smuh), and what traveling means. what are the goals, what do i want to do, what do people want to do? all this and a whole lot more.
in this weird way, i just want to get on.... i want to be through europe and russia and through china and look back on all this. its weird, i know. and i find myself fantisizing about that. and i stop myself and look around. i have realized that this kind of trip is excellent in many ways, but it also misses far too many essential points for what a travel experience should be and what the experience should mean.
romanticism and tokenization are killers.
so is fear.
so is lethargy and boredom.
every day is different, that is real. i have always wanted this to happen. and now that it has, i realize that every day of my life has been different. i let a routine rob that from me, without knowing. everyday is so so so different, one cannot help but see it now. it is dizzying.
thats it.
thats all for now.
goodbye.
greg
after this city, i need to get away from cities. i am going to a national park on the german-czech. repubic border called saxon-switzerland national park. i have heard of a cave that i can stay in. i do not know how long i will be there, but i hope at least 3 or 4 days. i am planning on making a stove today as well. from this national park on the germany side, i hope to go to the czech. contingent- the bohemian-switzerland national park. i do now know what to expect here at all.
nor do i know how long i will be there. but from this area, i will go to either prague, cyech. republic or the adrspach-teplice rocks just outside trutnov, czech. republic. there are rock formations here that are a highlight in all of europe. if i do not go there now, i will go after new years. and for new years, i will meet a fellow-olympian (colleen) in berlin. there are a lot of things i can do in that city and a lot of people to stay with, so i might be there for a bit. then i really dont know.....
but i do know that i want to go to a few places in poland, and a few places in slovakia. vienna might happen too. but, i really dont know.
and by the time new years rolls around, i will be half through with my europe portion of this trip. and that is exciting. i am ready to get to and through russia.
because of the cost of the train and the breakdown of legs, i might zip through that massive frozen land, getting off the train only once or twice. perhaps i will only be in russia for a couple weeks.http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.spell.gif
Check Spelling
and then to china....
so everything is good.
i am having many interesting experiences. mostly in my own head; concerning preconceived ideas of place, notions of time, the distance i feel in loved ones (smuh), and what traveling means. what are the goals, what do i want to do, what do people want to do? all this and a whole lot more.
in this weird way, i just want to get on.... i want to be through europe and russia and through china and look back on all this. its weird, i know. and i find myself fantisizing about that. and i stop myself and look around. i have realized that this kind of trip is excellent in many ways, but it also misses far too many essential points for what a travel experience should be and what the experience should mean.
romanticism and tokenization are killers.
so is fear.
so is lethargy and boredom.
every day is different, that is real. i have always wanted this to happen. and now that it has, i realize that every day of my life has been different. i let a routine rob that from me, without knowing. everyday is so so so different, one cannot help but see it now. it is dizzying.
thats it.
thats all for now.
goodbye.
greg
Some things in the world
listen to this....
final fantasy - album "he poos clouds"
read this....
bury my heart at wounded knee. by dee brown.
look at this....
http://www.bolo-bolo.org/english.htm
ahhhh.... and this....
www.paris-auckland.blogspot.com
and then drink this....
Spicy Hot Chocolate with Chili; just like the aztecs used to make:
1 2/3 cup milk
1/2 vanilla bean, split with seeds removed
1 cinnamon stick, about 3/4 inch
1 1/2 oz. chocolate (bittersweet)
PREPARATION:
simmer milk in a saucepan with vanilla bean, cinnamon, and chili.
heat through for about 1 minute.
whisk in grated chocolate and continue to simmer until melted.
remove from heat and steep for 10 minutes.
strain spices and serve.
serves 2.
****it is better to know one mountain than to climb many****
final fantasy - album "he poos clouds"
read this....
bury my heart at wounded knee. by dee brown.
look at this....
http://www.bolo-bolo.org/english.htm
ahhhh.... and this....
www.paris-auckland.blogspot.com
and then drink this....
Spicy Hot Chocolate with Chili; just like the aztecs used to make:
1 2/3 cup milk
1/2 vanilla bean, split with seeds removed
1 cinnamon stick, about 3/4 inch
1 1/2 oz. chocolate (bittersweet)
PREPARATION:
simmer milk in a saucepan with vanilla bean, cinnamon, and chili.
heat through for about 1 minute.
whisk in grated chocolate and continue to simmer until melted.
remove from heat and steep for 10 minutes.
strain spices and serve.
serves 2.
****it is better to know one mountain than to climb many****
and now its december.
i am sitting in a fine fellows flat in cologne germany.
1. it is increasingly incredible to wander about with this style of freedom.
2. i am staying under my budget.
3. i read a neat story by dylan thomas called adventures in the skin trade. recommended.
4. i am also reading a book called last child in the woods. read it.
5. the cathedral (dom) in cologne is massive. gothic. impressive and dizzying.
6. i am constantly altering my mode of travel in my head. i feel as if i should be more flexible with my itinerary and schedule. i think if i want to stay in a city longer, that i will do that. and that seems very likely at this point. and i think this may become a bit of a trend. which means, if i am to make it to estonia on time, i must skip other cities and i think that this may be worth it.
7. people do not like to pick people (drivers and hitchhikers) up whom are in a puddle.
8. what is travel? what does it do? what does it mean to travel and be a traveler? what effects are there for the different (oh so many different different) stylez of travel?
9. in order, the people i have talked to went like this:
large airplane combustible engine tech for boeing who works in sci-fi labs. a youth ordered to germany by the united states army. an older lady who lives alone and made a short film about crayed ducks that attack, zombie-style?. many many nintendo game testers, weird. they hated it. it was weird. a bike messenger who speaks 7 languages and is hyper intelligent and real.
10. i have been getting up at 7 in the morning. except today, i awoke at 3 and stayed awake until 5 reading\thinking. then went back to sleep and awoke again at 7.
11. i dreamt the other night that i was playing the guitar and it was truly the most beautiful thing that i have ever heard in my entire life. i cried. i did not tell anyone why. it was too special.
1. it is increasingly incredible to wander about with this style of freedom.
2. i am staying under my budget.
3. i read a neat story by dylan thomas called adventures in the skin trade. recommended.
4. i am also reading a book called last child in the woods. read it.
"superficially the world has become small and known. poor little globe of earth, the tourists trot around you as easily as they trot round the Bois or round Central Park. There is no mystery left, we've been there, we've seen it, we know all about it. We've done the globe and the globe is done. This is quite true, superfically. On the superficies, horizontally, we've been everywhere and done everything, we know all about it. Yes, the more we know, superficially, the less we penetrate, vertically. It's all very well skimming across the surface of the ocean and saying you know all about the sea.... We are mistaken. The know-it-all state of mind is just the result of being outside the mucous-paper of wrapping of civilization. Underneath is everything we don't know and are afraid of knowing."
5. the cathedral (dom) in cologne is massive. gothic. impressive and dizzying.
6. i am constantly altering my mode of travel in my head. i feel as if i should be more flexible with my itinerary and schedule. i think if i want to stay in a city longer, that i will do that. and that seems very likely at this point. and i think this may become a bit of a trend. which means, if i am to make it to estonia on time, i must skip other cities and i think that this may be worth it.
7. people do not like to pick people (drivers and hitchhikers) up whom are in a puddle.
8. what is travel? what does it do? what does it mean to travel and be a traveler? what effects are there for the different (oh so many different different) stylez of travel?
9. in order, the people i have talked to went like this:
large airplane combustible engine tech for boeing who works in sci-fi labs. a youth ordered to germany by the united states army. an older lady who lives alone and made a short film about crayed ducks that attack, zombie-style?. many many nintendo game testers, weird. they hated it. it was weird. a bike messenger who speaks 7 languages and is hyper intelligent and real.
10. i have been getting up at 7 in the morning. except today, i awoke at 3 and stayed awake until 5 reading\thinking. then went back to sleep and awoke again at 7.
11. i dreamt the other night that i was playing the guitar and it was truly the most beautiful thing that i have ever heard in my entire life. i cried. i did not tell anyone why. it was too special.
"Building a legacy is like building a fort.
Building a cob-house when you are 23 is like building a treehouse when you are 12.
Do not fear failure, and creating yourself will be just like that fuzzy memory you have of that speical place. do you remember?
You were young. and interested. and excitable and excited. you were passionate and enlivened.
The whole world was in that backyard....
and now, the whole world is your backyard.
and you were born an explorer."