And when it's time for leaving, I hope you'll understand, I was born a rambling man

I'm out, for at least two months.
It's time to abandon the internet.
Write me letters.

The world stretches out ahead, vaguely insecure and menacing, and all I want is to go to sleep.

Evasion

This book I've read intermittently when I had the time. Someday I will get to finishing it.
Download it for free, and read about an angry trainhopping vegan.

I'm headed back up the east coast tonight.
Another adventure with the grey hound yapping at my heels, spiriting me off into the distance for the low price of $78.89, tx included.
I guess sometimes everyone needs a little evasion?

Cats and a blackandwhite suicide

I like this picture of Kurt Cobain.

I sometimes wish I liked grunge. I don't, though, and to pretend I do would be silly.
I like Seattle, though.
And my father's flannel shirts.
And rain.

Almost?

On the plains of Morocco

There is a tree called the argan tree.

It bears a fruit that looks like an olive.

Goats like olive-argan fruit.

So they climb the tree.




I refuse to give up on a world in which goats climb trees.

J.R.R. Tolkien's Ents, That Girl In My Biology Class, and the nature of labels

When Spring unfolds the beechen leaf, and sap is in the bough;
When light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow;
When stride is long, and breath is deep, and keen the mountain-air,
Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair!

I always liked the Ents. I remember fourth grade, not paying attention to the simple multiplication we were doing for the umpteenth time and reading about Pippin and Merry and Treebeard, wandering through ancient forests and talking to the trees. I like land fighting back against the furnace of industry. I like Tolkien's unattainable ideal and the image of a soft, golden light falling through the cracks in the canopy. I liked the poetry of those books, the trandscendentalism. And besides, I've always liked trees. I like the roaring sequoias and the pines of my mountain home. I like the willow trees by the river in West Virginia and the green leafy canyon walls.

Which kind of brings me to my next point, which is not about trees.

Sometimes, during the course of my general activities, I get labeled a hippie. Perhaps this is because I like trees and bikes and guitars and long, flowy skirts, because I have a lesbian haircut and drink green tea instead of soda. I don't like brands and am pro-queer, pro-choice, and anti-bigotry. But here's the thing - I am not a hippie, whatever that term may entail. I'm fine with acquaintances labeling me as such, because maybe what they think of me represents a point I'm trying to make, but I am not a hippie. I like setting deadlines and meeting my own goals and competing. I drink far less beer and smoke far less weed than is the university average. I'm flamingly straight and don't recognize gay as a political party. The term "anarcho-syndicalist radical organizing" really makes me cringe. I suppose what I am trying to say is that labels are inherently misleading. I can see why they are used - I too am wont, sometimes, to scoff at a person in an Abercrombie sweatshirt or lululemon tights-are-not-pants, because labeling them as ditzy and clueless and consumerist makes things easier; I no longer have to be challenged by them as people and it gives me a nice little superiority thrill. Inherently, though, the indulgent label of "punk", "hippie", "bro", "GTA girl", or "prep" doesn't mean much and kind of obfuscates the whole point of one humanity. I quite like some people who went to prepschool, although their stories of seated dinner and chapel and little green courtyards make me simultaneously scornful and angry. It's been said before, I know, but the artificial boundaries that people create are harmful. How do we expect to reconcile Israel and Palestine, end Darfur, make peace with Russia, if we can't even get on with each other and our own little social groups?

That said, there was a girl in my biology class this year. Her name was Caytee Lush. I quite liked her, and she plays acoustic guitar music. I quite like her music, too. You should check her out:
HERE

Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair

The changing light
at San Francisco
is none of your East Coast light
none of your
pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
is a sea light
an island light
And the light of fog
blanketing the hills
drifting in at night
through the Golden Gate
to lie on the city at dawn
And then the halcyon late mornings
after the fog burns off
and the sun paints white houses
with the sea light of Greece
with sharp clean shadows
making the town look like
it had just been painted

But the wind comes up at four o'clock
sweeping the hills

And then the veil of light of early evening

And then another scrim
when the new night fog
floats in
And in that vale of light
the city drifts
anchorless upon the ocean

— Lawrence Ferlinghetti






(a San Francisco morning, by the internets)