i was in love with the place, in my mind, in my mind
riding the orange line to midway in chicago, Casimir Pulaski Day plays in my ears, and i can't help but quietly weep. its been a long time since i've cried. it feels good somehow to cry for reasons you can't remember. the people around me don't seem to mind. is it normal to feel as though the last two years of your life never happened? tokyo. santa barbara. my car. the loves. all of it feels like it couldn't be any more distant than now. you'd think that moving from place to place to place, seeing friends for unjustifiably brief moments, not really saying goodbye (or even 'hello,' for that matter). its like driving half-way across the country, california to boston, in a car you've had for three weeks, only to wind up stuck in des moines, iowa with a dead engine. so after several broken-down days, you bus it to chicago, staying with a friend you haven't seen in years, while you pathetically call everyone else you'd planned on seeing to tell them the news. roadtrip is over. katrina is pounding the south, but for some reason you've booked a flight from chicago to atlanta to boston. oh thats right, money was a factor. as usual. don't get busted for possession in iowa. make sure it happens in nebraska first, they're nicer about it over there. i love not using uppercase letters. makes me feel better about myself. it would be so wonderful if you could write your papers in lowercase. oh dear god, papers. i can't go back. the institution that i left last year for reasons of conscience and stimulation has sucked me in with an offer i can't refuse. a free ride? do you think i can't see your motives? fuckin crystal. i need those warm tokyo nights back. i need the drunken cartoon whizpopbang neon zing back. at pulaski, one more stop to midway. "i can't explain, the state that i'm in. the state of my heart, he was my best friend." sing it sufjan.