recycled lives
i find myself constantly wondering how many dimensions i need to step back/out of in order to observe myself and write about my life. that goes without saying i should stay inside myself....
i made a journal today to bring with me on my trek (compiled of old paper bags i saved from the summer, some fabric from the borrow room, dental floss, cardboard, and fallon's wonderful mod podge) in hopes that i'll actually start writing like i used to. i'm thinking of all the words i would spit onto this journal and seeing what bores i'm currently recounting...though none of the minutes are ever a bore, i just may have lost touch with my live journal. this is my digital life, me in words without a soft body to nuzzle against, without a pair of childlike eyes to shoot silent beams into. when do i ever think in words any more?
i have just received word that one of these boys i love, the dancing bread man in goat skin leggings, isnt as young as we thought he was. i just realized the same when i was told that he asked that i not have to choose between them. that's all i asked for anyway; i can't divide love anymore. i can't do anything but love anymore and i'm wondering if its not just a high im on, if this is what my life will consist of, consistently. but when i get back to school what sort of already strange attachment will have morphed in our month apart, in our dancing with another between us
being home, being able to call williamsburg my home right now, is a strange phenomenon. as many scarring associations as i have with this place, and there are many, i am always bombarded with welcome from people who i never felt close enough to to consider friends.
new zealand. avian flu? 6 AM flights, new years eve in the sun of changing time zones it will never be night. 10 hours of layover in Papeete (my mom warns me not to explore too far from the airport)
Jonah's waiting in Auckland but now he is kisMachi, the Bearded One
and i remember that he's white. will we buy sunblock?
though fucking around in cities at night
is nearly as comforting as hiking 15 mile days and thumbing rides
under that hole in the ozone layer
my filipino skin will bronze
and my ancient name Ligaya (my mother has given it her blessing) will penetrate my being with its meaning
and that is Joy
.have wonderful changes
and wonderful loves
and maybe i wont come back but i'll be everywhere at once
and thats really all ive ever wanted
i made a journal today to bring with me on my trek (compiled of old paper bags i saved from the summer, some fabric from the borrow room, dental floss, cardboard, and fallon's wonderful mod podge) in hopes that i'll actually start writing like i used to. i'm thinking of all the words i would spit onto this journal and seeing what bores i'm currently recounting...though none of the minutes are ever a bore, i just may have lost touch with my live journal. this is my digital life, me in words without a soft body to nuzzle against, without a pair of childlike eyes to shoot silent beams into. when do i ever think in words any more?
i have just received word that one of these boys i love, the dancing bread man in goat skin leggings, isnt as young as we thought he was. i just realized the same when i was told that he asked that i not have to choose between them. that's all i asked for anyway; i can't divide love anymore. i can't do anything but love anymore and i'm wondering if its not just a high im on, if this is what my life will consist of, consistently. but when i get back to school what sort of already strange attachment will have morphed in our month apart, in our dancing with another between us
being home, being able to call williamsburg my home right now, is a strange phenomenon. as many scarring associations as i have with this place, and there are many, i am always bombarded with welcome from people who i never felt close enough to to consider friends.
new zealand. avian flu? 6 AM flights, new years eve in the sun of changing time zones it will never be night. 10 hours of layover in Papeete (my mom warns me not to explore too far from the airport)
Jonah's waiting in Auckland but now he is kisMachi, the Bearded One
and i remember that he's white. will we buy sunblock?
though fucking around in cities at night
is nearly as comforting as hiking 15 mile days and thumbing rides
under that hole in the ozone layer
my filipino skin will bronze
and my ancient name Ligaya (my mother has given it her blessing) will penetrate my being with its meaning
and that is Joy
.have wonderful changes
and wonderful loves
and maybe i wont come back but i'll be everywhere at once
and thats really all ive ever wanted