Ok. Something in me just broke. I don’t know what it was or how it happened…but The Times They Are a-Changin came on my ipod and I just started WEEPING. And I just kept weeping for the earth and for humanity and for how lost we all are. I stood in the middle of the road unblinking…unable to move…listening to it on repeat honestly 18 times. Adam drove past me and didn’t stop…and at that point I just sat down in the middle of the road. Lost. Broken. I didn’t have any impulse to move or blink or even breathe. I was just frozen and weeping and so helpless. There is nothing I can do and we are DYING. I am living in a broken and dying country. We are so fucking COMPLACENT. What the fuck. I mean what. the fuck. This is how it ends. We are all too BLIND to even see our country is dying. North Korea just attacked South Korea and we’re still fucking COMPLACENT. We’re still just worried about black friday sales. I mean no America isn’t going to be sent up into flames tomorrow…but it’s just too late. Things are this bad and still NO ONE is waking up. I feel so alone in the fight here. I feel useless. What the FUCK are we supposed to do? I didn’t make this mess but now I have to clean it up and I don’t know how and above all…I CANNOT. I cannot save this country. I have to live within this dying country and continuously watch it self-destruct and no matter how much I fight…EVERYONE around me only cares about their fucking facebook status. AND I DO TOO. And I hate myself for that. I hate getting caught up in it and loving my life and not wanting it to change but knowing it has to change and wanting the change but wanting the same and not knowing what to do or how to do it or how to be patient or why no one else cares. I am lost.

And FUCK I forgot that it hurt to be around you. It hasn’t hurt in so long and I really thought it never would but that fucking HURT.

What the FUCK.  


Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin’
Then you better start swimmin’
Or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’.

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon
For the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no tellin’ who
That it’s namin’.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin’.

Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There’s a battle outside ragin’.
It’ll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin’.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin’.
Please get out of the new one
If you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’.

The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin’.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin’.




Standing in the ocean with the sun burning low in the west
Like a fire in the cavernous darkness at the heart of the beast
With my beliefs and possessions, stopped at the frontier in my chest
At the edge of my country, my back to the sea, looking east

Where the search for the truth is conducted with a wink and a nod
And where power and position are equated with the grace of God
These times are famine for the soul while for the senses it’s a feast
From the edge of my country, as far as you see, looking east

Hunger in the midnight, hunger at the stroke of noon
Hunger in the mansion, hunger in the rented room
Hunger on the TV, hunger on the printed page
And there’s a God-sized hunger underneath the laughter and the rage
In the absence of light
And the deepening night
Where I wait for the sun
Looking east

How long have I left my mind to the powers that be?
How long will it take to find the higher power moving in me?

Power in the insect
Power in the sea
Power in the snow falling silently
Power in the blossom
Power in the stone
Power in the song being sung alone
Power in the wheatfield 
Power in the rain
Power in the sunlight and the hurricane
Power in the silence
Power in the flame
Power in the sound of the lover’s name
The power of the sunrise and the power of a prayer released
At the edge of my country, I pray for the ones with the least



And at the end of the day…when all the tears have been shed…the only thing I can do is use my pain as fuel and give myself over to hope. The smallest and the strongest light in the darkness. Hope. I believe.

The sweet swirling of the saffron sky keeps holding me in cinnamon releases and gentle pink and purples…You keep me spinning in this solemn dance between the sapphire squares of my reassurance and the dancing fire of this divine illusion. The sunsets keep me plastered in this momentary acknowledgment…that we are spinning…that nothing is real…and that I am fading fast into the splendor of my own illumating colors. I am steadfast in nothingness and the more I reach for the sky the more profoundly rooted in the earth I find myself. I find myself just rehashing the same poetic nonsense that gets me nowhere but gives my life such brief and dripping richness.

And in this final stroke of beauty the clouds ache with crimson fire and blissful abandon. The colors themselves are God right there in the palm of my presence. My eyes that keep opening and my wheels that never touch anything solid. I know of no greater painter than the magician who casts this light upwards into my lullaby eyes. I am really in deep now. My senses are churning. Over and over they squeal towards a greater awakening and it feels like it isn’t even mine to have or give. It’s just constantly there.

Will we all be angry at ourselves when we finally wake up and see how much we’ve been missing?

Can you all really not see the MIRACLE of a sunset?


I talked to Kyle and you were there. Our life seemed to conjure itself up between the spaces in our eyes and I was looking at him and looking at myself and feeling this rush of wild secret memories. A me I can hardly remember. Don’t want to remember? I’m not sure why. But I remembered for a moment that we really loved each other. We were two kids in love.

There’s something fascinating and beautiful in being able to see our love splashed across facebook in colors and places and moments…in the way you look at me and the way you hold my hand…I can remember things viscerally in this tender way…it literally comes through the pictures at me and touches the corners of my heart that desperatly miss being loved. I miss our love. In the height of it…when it was real and palpable and snuck under every sheet and tucked me into bed and woke me up in the morning to sweet golden light streaming through the castle windows. I remember the molding and the wood and the things we never got quite right. I miss the way you made the bed and the moments when I felt welcome in it. We really had a life together. It wasn’t sustainable and it wasn’t perfect…but it was so beautiful in its briefly glowing embers. If I try…I can open the swollen parts of my heart back up to the best of you and me and then in some way love myself again.

I’m never going to love anyone the way I loved you. And that’s ok. I will love them in different ways. The parts of my heart that I gave to you are yours forever.

I wish you could have loved me right. I wish anyone could love me the way I love them. I really thought Adam could…but I’m back to believing in myself and my own big heart. Someone, someday is going to be able to hold my heart.


And I remembered what Adam told me once…and I really do need to tell someone what I’m experiencing. At the very least to get some reassurance that I’m not toally losing my head.

And yes I see you. I see you walking past me in this funny familiar way. I feel you seeing me and I can feel your muscles tighten, and your pulse thin and your skin groping at itself. Your presence turns to mud and your gaze turns ashy and unreachable. Are you afraid of me? Of what I might represent to you? These walls are artificial and they send me into sacrificial nonsense. Your residue and you don’t match. So was I the one blind or have you just dissolved before my very eyes? Will you still be missing in the morning?


I am raping and pillaging my own mind to find the sinewy desires of my every synapse.

The right combination of words can change your life.


I believe in the power of pictures. I remember your laugh Kristey…when I see your smiling face looking up at me from the screen. And I remember what it felt like to stand on that stage. So much of it is lost…fuzzy and curled over…but it allows me to see so much more of myself when I look at these pictures. They are like stolen secrets that we’re not supposed to be able to have. Precious. I am conjuring great and powerful memories to see myself clearly with. I am washing myself clean with my own bloody fervor.


My heart is always open to you.


And this is love: two souls that freely meet, and have no need of proving anything. 
– Paula Reingold 

“Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. 
Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. 
Just walk beside me and be my friend.”
 – Albert Camus 

Oh I am so happy to be home. To have arrived. Back. In my skin. In my apartment. With these visceral smells wafting back and these friends that hold me up on tiny strings. My life is back and it is my own and it all sinks back into my pores. De and Casey smoking hookah…and the distinct smell of things gone bad in the fridge. Kara’s eyes looking deep into mine. And the ability to dance. Oh thank god I can dance. I wish I could do it for the rest of my life. It is literally unlike any other high in the entire world. I felt silly tonight dancing by myself and it wasn’t very good…it was quite terrible, hah…it was mostly nonsense…but it was such pure joy. Performing is such a deep passion…I really hope I never forget that. There is always a jolting when I return any place…but we move from home to home to find the little pieces of ourselves we hid there waiting to be called back. 


And I always find myself so wrong about everything. It isn’t about finding or taking anything…its about giving everything. And in the morning…love will be there. And hope will be one tiny, shrinking light drifting off into the deepening abyss…and that is what I am…and that is all I am…but it is THE most powerful thing in the universe and that is the only thing I can find resolve in. It is silly and fruitless but there can be NO scale in a universe this large. All I ever am is a fading distant light among the stars and that is SO beautiful. So here I will stand in hope. Forever and always I will be love and I will be hope in the deepening darkness. And hope is ALL we have. Faith and hope is ALL this objective universe is based on. I am hope floating in the darkness. A light over the mountains painted black in the deepening night. I am not flying…but floating up…the stars are calling me back. I am the part of the puzzle floating upwards. Backwards. I am the piece of humanity that dwells in magic. Illusions. And hope. Above all, there will be love in the night. The dark will call back the light and we will float upwards. Back. Forward. To the stars…whichever direction that is…it will be into the light. 

Let your hope go and it will carry you. 

Humanity has tried to create their own stars. Someday the stars will rain down on us and we will remember. 

And nothing will ever be this beautiful again. My family drove off with my heart and left me on the porch to take on the world. But it’s still cyclical…and someday soon they’ll drive up again…and I’ll be a different person. Let it flow. This wheel.


And what can you trust in me? In what I say? I have no idea. We are all hypocrites and contradictions a thousand times over because it in inherent in being round. In being a transitory being full of recycled air.  

How could we ever commit to living our whole lives with someone else and not being a radically different person than when we meet them? Or not have our own weights we may experience through our lives weigh each other down. We could only acknowledge to respect a bond between the deepest, most sacred and secret parts of our selves…the ones that somehow will fight through the darkness…and then change with each other…evolve together and somehow find each other holding hands after every jolting transformation. Love is love no matter what. It’s deep and abstract and cannot be lost through the simple changes that ebb and flow. It is the water within the stream.  

Is there any part of me that will not change no matter what? An essence of the essence?

It all comes back, cycle over cycle to these questions of objectivity and subjectivity and some sense of ultimate truth which all revolves…in many ways…in God and soul…something unchangeable. Or are we all just intersubjective pieces of everything we experience…is there any inherent me-ness to me. 

In photography…a subjective observer takes something objective…makes it subjective…and then ultimately releases it as objective once again. I think we ourselves might lie within this interplay as well. Somewhere between God and free will and essence all touching each other at the same time…playing games with each other and ultimately finding each other not only friends…but one in the same. The whole truth must be so far beyond the grasps of our comprehension. And yet we never stop trying. We like puzzles. Especially ones that keep us awake and puzzling for entire lifetimes. Some like to live in solidarity because the world becomes familiar and the games easy to win…I want to dwell in the questions and the realms just beyond my reach and watch the world change under my perception pinned feet every morning. And in the nights I will be released back into the truth of darkness and the mystery will envelop me in its wise embrace. And in the light I will see and see again with a thousand sets of rotating eyes. Give me new eyes so that I can see the folly of my every sight. 

The more I see…the more light I can see and the more darkness I encounter. More is more of all. Nothing remains easy about this transformation I am embarked upon. 

We’re all just playing games. Don’t forget to laugh. 

This constant expression of our individuality seems at some times to be more an expression of our deep seated fear that we are NOT actually individuals. That there might be nothing DEEPLY essential to me…no sense of a wholly unique soul and the only true self I might have is the colors of my clothing and the way that I wear them. The things I need to show because I am afraid that deep down I might just be a recycled bit of everything I’ve been taught. If we all looked identical…would there be anything inherently true about a me or a you? This is the objective truth of self that I’m trying to find. The essence. The soul. 

The essence cannot be separate…it cannot be within…it must be all encompassing. It doesn’t seem logical to be that a God could ever be one thing…but the mere existence of existence itself. My soul is my presence, my existence…and all things that squeeze out of my transient experience.

It is in drawing these lines of quantification and qualification that we begin to confuse ourselves. And yet we ourselves have already experienced this innate separation.

And I have to keep trusting myself and my patience that I will be where I need to be when I am there. I will be the wind when it is time for me to be the wind. But for now I am here. It’s this acceptance of presence. It’s this sense of being here. Being aware. And being wholly present that is the baffling part. When you quiet everything and become only aware of your own existence…how can this world not be innately and eternally fascinating? I exist. I believe this. That is all I need. Isn’t that enough?

Always and always. 


This past week was absolutely blissful present memories. Now it’s time to take off my jeweled crown…return to the real world…and keep my light alive amidst the gorgeous mess that these three weeks hold. The home stretch and the best gift. 


“I wanted to go on sitting there, not talking, not listening, 
keeping the moment precious for all time, 
because we were peaceful, content and drowsy. 
In a little while it would be different, there would come tomorrow,
and the next day and another year. 
And we would be changed perhaps, 
never sitting quite like this again. 
We would go away or die, the future stretched away in front of us, 
unknown, unseen, not perhaps what we wanted, 
not what we planned. 
This moment was safe, this could not be touched.” 
– Daphne du Maurier 

We live our moments in poetry and prose. You take me down my stubbled memories and let them slide like paper…like fuzzy photographs…wide angle shots of a life I once lived…a person who once held my body within places. My presence is in the places…the moments and the walls where we all resided for brief eternities. 

These days are velvety and drifting like old smells conjured up in the back of my memory. You feel like home and you feel like dreams. You move through me with grace and perfumes I’ve never smelled but once before. Such longing in the fire gently burning on our feet. We slide down banisters of coffee and cream…languid liquors that make my eyes droop with dazzled dazes. Our socks glide over the polished hard wood and the clangs of plates on marble welcome every new sight and smell into this swiftly unfolding new memory. Life is only all but new memories and old ones. You all know some parts of my heart that even I have forgotten in my scaly fresh days. Our attempts to separate our lives that never quite fit.  

Good morning beautiful day…it is snowing and my whole family is here. White magic. 

My relationship with Bryan might be one of my most important ones. To postulate with him the way we do…to have someone be able to challenge my deepest thoughts at 2 in the morning…in a real way…to express great philosophical ideas with whom I have no one else to venture to those places with…that is a very special thing.  


There is a house on a hill…shrouded in grey fog…that speaks and whispers to the wind great tragedies of the human spirit. I can almost feel the fire still. This snow feels like a silent prayer. There is this mystical magic to snow. The whole world gets quiet and peaceful and the snow reaches out to you from something other than sky. An ethos far beyond our knowing senselessness. This is not death but wonder. This is a season of barren mystery and perfect longing. The entire landscape of the world has changed and under its blissful burden, I walk like a spirit caught between the air and the space between me and my essence. I’m somewhere in the flurries. They know me and I know nothing.

There is a secret in my soul that not even I will ever know. And if I sit out in the snow patiently for long enough…I can finally feel myself become wholly aware of the snow and its own mysterious presence.

Nothing heals the heart better than family, food and mother earth.  

The great tragedy is that I ever have to come inside. 

These days feel like perfect old memories with the corners folded over and the edges burned in…old sepia-toned smiles and clouded eyes that stick out in a sea of something that smells of faded glory days. 

Perfect love and whispered sighs. I have been given the most incredible gift and that is to exist in this world of beauty, lichens, and breathing trees. Woven art through dried up grasses and mosses that clinb to me and cling to fallen branches of ancient warriors.

I can feel my ancestors and I am sure I am not of this world. This human world. I am more wind than matter.

It is not that the Gods have left us…or perhaps even that they are asleep…they are here. They are right here…in every stream and each tree…we have just lost our senses. We have forgotten how to see and hear…we have closed our minds and left our hearts behind.

There are times when everything seems like an illusion- like some projections of my mind. And when I walk through a city I feel this constructed truths and when I walk through the organic membrane of a forest it is as if I have finally stepped into my own truth. The constructions and plays are beautiful in their own art, but nothing could ever replace a forest. Nothing will ever be higher or greater than mother earth herself and her perfect place in this universe. And I am just a part of this living organism.

The piece that I can’t figure out is why we would ever be given such a gift. What do we give back to the earth? And it seems to me as if the earth can take care of itself…so why were we given this gift?

The earth itself shows all the perfect qualities of every God described. No matter how much we destroy it or somehow “sin” against it…it still holds us…it still grows nourishment for us…it still provides us water and nutrients…it still brings rain and sun and beauty. It shows us perfect love and perfect forgiveness. And it is infinite and all knowing it its wisdom. It is full of energy and never depletes. The parallels between nature and our concept of “God” seem so apparent to me. 

And yet I must claim nothing. I own nothing. I am small and I am infinite and I am more grateful than I have ever been in my life to be alive. 

I give thanks. Wholly and fully. I give thanks for my family. For the infinite love that showers from all directions. I am thankful for my wisdom and for my nievities. I am thankful for my feeble voice and for my outstretched heart. I am thankful for my desperate whims and my peaceful resignation. I am thankful for the bountiful food that graces my firey mouth. I am thankful to look into the eyes of my mother and see her perfect love and to have the eyes of my father but the strength to live without him. I am thankful to hear the voices of my brothers like some distant dream from someone else’s childhood. I am thankful for my blessed health that somehow lets me dance and sing and hike and bike and run. I am thankful for my whole dirty existence. 

I just want to sit and watch you all move and speak. You all hold pieces of myself. We are all malleable.

I missed my father for the first time in a long time last night. I do miss my father. His green eyes- my eyes. Some nights we played backgammon and fell asleep in the same blanket. He fell asleep on the couch once when I was 5 or 6 and I covered him in a blanket and tucked him in. I miss that man. 

I suppose maybe it all comes from this concept that I can’t accept that my dad changed. Did he change or was he always evil? I can’t rationalize in my head…the father I knew and the dad that abandoned me. I can’t piece it together…I can’t find the moments of change…or maybe I can’t accept that my whole childhood was a lie. It doesn’t make sense it just sits on me like a fuzzy mystery with no way out or in.

Are we always just rehashing our deepest pains in everyone we touch and please? Am I always just looking for my father? I’d like to believe that the courses of our human psyche is more profound than that…that Freud is just desperate for a simple answer…but maybe its quite profound in itself. I really want to reject the idea that my father’s abandonment has ruined something in my heart forevermore. But there really are wounds that never heal…there are things we cannot take back…there is harm done to this land that can never be reversed and there are wounds left on my heart that can never quite be made peace with.  


We have utter choice to accept the beauty of our life or not. To create the beauty. We are truly free to see whatever we wish to see. That is the part of the puzzle that I find most beautiful. Maybe its not true…maybe some of us truly are locked into pieces of our brain that won’t let us free…maybe there’s no free will at all. But if there is, then this creator is a TRULY generous being.

Everything is waiting, at all times…just to burst.

But maybe…just maybe…the spirits are just hiding in the trees waiting until we are ready to meet them again. Maybe love does heal and my heart, once broken, always scarred…can be lifted into new light and the empty spaces can be filled with new eyes and new smiles. Healing can never truly heal, perhaps…but transform. Rebirth. I do believe in that. I believe in transformation, rebirth and love with all my heart.

I am so ashamed at what we have done to this land. On this holiday in particular, of course I turn to the earth. To our natives and to my ancestors…and I feel shame. I am not to blame, of course…but there is such great confusion in the truth of it. My heart ACHES for how far we’ve gone wrong in this country.   

What is the concept of the one and what does it even mean? What scares me more than anything else…is not the change…but at how SURE I was of everything at any point that I now cannot find a single foot hold within. How can I be sure of anything…it is such a trap of a silly egoist.  

Is it all unsalvageable? Is it all lost for good? I suppose that’s what I struggle with. You I mean. Is is really that far gone?

Change seems to kneel next to you and beckon you forwards. It makes sense…this need to evolve. It’s what we were born out of. The opposable thumb. And we all have this incessant need to spin forward. Of course it makes sense…but it is always rolling at such a pace I don’t know if we can even see the ground.

Did I evolve from my own need to exist? Did I apply for this life or did I force myself out the ground and into the sun out of some deep desire to feel the wind? 

Could I have ever lived a normal life? I highly doubt it.

Did you know that I am magic?

There’s such a bit of pretention in my own solidification in my faith that I almost resent.

Let me play the game, it’s fun and its all I have.

We see each other in our states of mind and being. We see our souls and they are made of nothing solid. I see you in where you are and where I am in abstract places of being and seeing. 

We come at the world from so many angles and diversions. Spiderwebs within spiderwebs. 

What matters, perhaps…is only our actions…they might be our only show of truth. Our mind is a messy bit of matter. 

Let me check my reality and find it wrong always. 

I am a writer of nonsense only and the occasional drop of nothingness. The essence surrounds me but never quote penetrates my mindflow. 

Writing almost disrupts the true flow. And nature is the only thing that holds reality.  

And in the end…blind faith can only take you so far. It holds you close in comfort and in winged fantasies that fill the world up in color and flashing lights…but it still holds you captive in its powerful hands. The darkness holds such illumination. Or if not direct light…rest for your eyes to see clearer in morning. I look at the sunset today and see a great illusion. A perfect illusion. Life is caught in the beautiful reality of true illusion.

Shake out your skin with doubt. Cleanse it in the soft melodies of questions and let them expand your world past the presence of your own presence. 

And maybe love and faith is not enough. Not on an ultimate scale…but not everything is ultimatum. Sometimes the small details come in just to breathe and then to leave you with more confusion. I can see clearly within the depths of my questions now.  

The earth cannot breathe through all this concrete. It bandages it up and ties it down. America has lost its magic. It is not so much that we are hurting the earth…but we are hurting ourselves. We have lost the ability to see and we have covered up our mother and filled in our pools of knowledge and torn down our truths to replace them with strip malls. We have traded our magic for gold and the gold has run out. The whole world is in a recession and we are STILL too blind to realize that we’ve gone too far and it’s time to turn back. Actually, I think we really have gone TOO far and there’s no possible way to turn back…the grass has grown back over the path that we took and we cannot see anything more than the same path we’ve trodden in front of us. How do we get out of the jungle I have no idea. Maybe we learn, not to cut them down, but to climb the trees, grow our wings and take flight off of them. It is not so much a matter of saving the earth…the earth is strong enough to save itself…it’s a matter of saving ourselves. Maybe that’s the only way it will get through to anyone…once it is about saving our own humanity and not about the other…for we really can’t seem to wrap our heads around caring for the other. I’m seeing now…looking at the mountains…they will ALWAYS be strong enough to survive…it is we who much learn to heal. And it is THROUGH healing the earth that we heal ourselves. Even if we pushed all the red buttons and detonated all the nuclear weapons and we were all wiped out…I have this hungry feeling that the earth would survive. The earth would laugh at us, shrug its sad shoulders and give itself rebirth.

Maybe this is already the thousandth try. Maybe lots of others have come and gone on this planet and all failed a thousand times over. We should all be forced to learn about the history of the earth itself because it is MIND BLOWING. It once rained for a million years. The earth is SO mind blowingly powerful and it is only a small piece of this ENTIRE universe. We are so silly to ever think that we could actually destroy this place. The only thing we can destroy is ourselves. I believe in this earth and I am so so sorry to everything we’ve done to it. I am weary with grief. I pray that the earth wakes us all up and we remember how to live. Let’s make magic again. We are just pieces of pieces of pieces lost.

I don’t really believe any of these things. I’m just living in wonder.

Let’s be whole again. I ache to be reunited with my mother. 

That’s where I am- in the reflection on the glass. 

Maybe this is the last of my lives, and that’s why I feel so close to the edge. I don’t really believe in reincarnation in such a way…but I get so baffled by my own bliss and I cannot account it to anything else. Maybe it would make sense that I’ve already paid my dues in other lives and was finally reborn in Princeton. It’s a funny thought. Maybe we’re all just evolving together.

But we are so intricately connected. We are one in the same. I wonder if the mountains would miss us if we were gone. Do they hear our calls? Does the rain dance to our music? Have we really lost all ability to listen to one another?

I close my eyes and listen as hard as I can to the call of the wild. All I can hear these days is the hum of the electric currents sending fire to my brain. Let us silence ourselves for a moment to listen to the whisper on the wind.


You just winked at me like my father used to. Don’t do that. It makes my heart heavy. 

Where is my truth hiding? In some tiny fragmented piece of my mind…just waiting to be released…or is the narrow side streets that open when all else closes…or is this pounding beat that permeates through everything…surrounds every material substance and still, regardless how long I can paint around its edges…cannot be seen. Air or gravity or something in between. The truth must be in the everywhere for I am not a simple God. I believe in everything but its so hard to force my heart into that cage. And how does my brain get so fuzzy so quickly and my judgment so tied up in weeds and dirt. I know not what to pluck out. 

Home helps though. Reminds me of what will always be here…whatever I fall into I will always return here. And there will be people to bandage my wounds. Always. That helps to clear away some of the cobwebs. 

I’m ready to grow up. I am edited. I have no truth but every truth. How can I weigh anything such as a human heart. They are perfect musicians in their sounding beats. We all need to learn how to hear the music. 

You can convince yourself of anything. How am I supposed to trust anything? How am I supposed to know which of my feelings are true or what truth is worthy or a higher truth than other? All things are open…and if free will exists…where does that leave me? And where do these bouncing thoughts that I DON’T want come from? Do they come from the ethos? The collective consciousness? Where does free won’t come into play? Am I only ever convincing myself of whatever I think I want? What do I need? Does it even matter?

I’m not here. I’m not even close to being ready to be here with my family. Everything they’re saying is bouncing off me like a dream.

I’m so tired of being conflicted. I’m so sick of forcing myself to feel a certain way. I want to break down and let myself break fully. I want pain and I want to let all my strength go and see what can be discovered when I stop trying to fill in the empty spaces. I want to make the wrong choice. I want to stay here. 


It is the highest form of self-respect to admit our errors and mistakes and make amends for them. To make a mistake is only an error in judgment, but to adhere to it when it is discovered shows infirmity of character. ~Dale E. Turner


We change our perceptions. Our realities. The things that preoccupy our minds. The way we move. We move away from ourselves to see from another angle and maybe we move back to ourselves to gather the light back. We include and we exclude…we force ourselves into circles and squares that we think are the places we belong and we blend into our backgrounds. We become the people we are surrounded by. We are all transitory and invisible. We are malleable and we roll around gathering the pieces of the places we are tied to…from history, from choice and from some force that brings us to where we are. 

And as much as we are nothing…we are still always everything. The parts of me that changed were less than loss and more of an awakening to what I have always been. The things that stick are the pieces of myself I hold closest and the parts of my heart that I have given to others are the sticky parts. There is an essence of an essence within me that cannot be changed and will not be lost…and that part remains no matter what transitory states flow through me, rip up my seams and drown my ugly edges. You are always yourself in everything you change into and change back to. I am more myself now than I ever was when I got off that plane. There are states and there are beings. When I got home I was in a state…but who I am will always lie in the love that I give. 

Love is sticky and bonding. You have to free yourself.