GOT to find a league to play on here in Brussels! Hahahahaha! Yes.
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Can you guess what is happening?
Why I bring canned apricots with me camping.
Really one of my all time favorite short stories, Hemingway’s Big, Two-Hearted River. Just reread it. It has been maybe five or so years since I read it last and it still gives me the same calming intrigue it did the first time I read it in 2003 on a grassy hill in the late spring. I’ve been really craving camping lately and I may get to go next week or the week after for a few days.
Dig it.
AIDS vs Cancer!
Lookout! More to come around the bend!
Just flew back from Taipei today. I will get some photos and thoughts up here, but in the meantimes…
Disorder
A person with an ADHD nervous system has never been able to use the idea of importance or rewards to start and do a task. They know what’s important, they like rewards, and they don’t like punishment. But for them, the things that motivate the rest of the world are merely nags.
This is pulled from a great article that has reminded me of many of the problems much of the world has with me and that, in turn, I sometimes have with myself.
Anybody who knows me well has heard me talk about “getting in the zone.” It is such great feeling and when I find it it is hard to stop me, in fact I sometimes get pissed when someone tries. I have also learned how to play by the rules of the rest of the world, but I eventually feel like I will explode and I have felt like I have to do something extreme to balance things for me. I have also learned some ways to deal with it(without medication), but a busy life doesn’t always allow for it. Although, I think that is part of the reason I need to dance. Especially the more risky kind. Also why I love parkour and survival situations and multi-layered conversations. But my writing and music making also help. The focus I find in those activities soothes my brain and definitely give me a sense of worth.
Anyway, read the article. There is a really beautiful thing it tells: don’t make us into neurotypicals, our rules are different that we have to discover. We are not sick and there is nothing wrong with us because we can’t get motivated the same way or don’t think like most of the world.
Also, I always thought it was the Asian in me, but maybe my sleep patterns come from this, too.
Rome
So you don’t want to make history?
Could use concrete to call it ruin.
But weren’t we both impressed by Rome,
and the columns rolled and strewn?
We liked to imagine it at its peak
when streets were new and baths were whole.
Somewhere there’s a postcard hologram
I bought, corners bent and rolled,
that if you tilted gently you’d see
it change from crumbled to alive.
This land was once ripe and fires lit!
You think it’s late this claim to revive?
You think this bed better built over?
Maybe this lover is rousing Pluto,
this lyre and song too dissonant
and his gait and stain too Butoh.
Don’t turn too soon, see the riptide steal!
Leave the antihero to roam the desert
of this purgatorial freedomland
where hope and promise invert
while the next ones come in to loot
the rubble to build down the road.
Yet in their hands they’ll find it crumble
and dust, fooled to believe it’s gold.
Prague
Now in Prague, or Praha rather. I am 1/4 Czech. I probably have relatives here. I do really like this city. It is very green and the architecture feels different than most other European cities I’ve been to so far, especially with most of the buildings painted in pastels. Here are a few photos coming in and on my way to eat some goulash…
The clouds, the sun, the clouds, the moon, the clouds, the clouds.
My insides these days are not as consistent as the Brussels weather, which has consistently been overcast and lightly drizzling all week. We had a storm last night and for the first time since I’ve been back from Dublin last Sunday the clouds parted, this afternoon. A peekaboo (above) just in time before leaving for Ljubljana and Prague. But I am going through a divorce and my guts and everything under my ribcage feels like they are changing places: “Oop, this is my stop. Oh, no wait, not this one. Yours? Excuse me. Can you hand me my bag. Thank you. Sorry, wrong bag… Tha… Sir? Sir, that one. No, the red, pulsing one! Wait, stop! Come back with that!!!”
Where are you? Will I find you behind the scarves or the hanging meat? Will I find you for sale when I find you? A knife in you, barely beating or high, about to crash? Cleaned, drying on a rack, waiting for the midnight bustle to calm? You will be playing with children, maybe, hopefully not as the ball, but as one of them again. You are also rolling by the curb, mixed with the wastewater and lost money(which you should pocket because we could use it). Oh, sacred thing, like Jesus among the prostitutes, collectors, and dealers. And when I find you will you forgive me? Even if I can promise you nothing… Alle, alle! Go for your walks in the woods. Go for your cries in the woods. Pass the teenagers drunk and the police sober. Pass the ruins of gamblers and tents of clowns. Go find the dirt and the trees that eat signs. Sit there. For me, us. I will will try to remember to drop my shoulders, relax my ribs for when you are ready. When this house is empty of legions and ready again for you. It will happen. Trust me, don’t trust me. It will happen.
I somehow feel like all my history is coming to my door but not in the nostalgic way which I’m used to. In ways that are more like the T-1000! Rejoining after you’ve cut it in half, now a spike for a hand! It’s not evil like that, but my history is also me. The crumb trail I am leaving behind, the link to who I am, is more like seeds than roots, it seems. I see people I love root-forming. Children, husbands, wives, dogs, houses, yards, philosophies, chickens, retirement plans, children, traditions, children, doctorates, children, timeshares, children, children, children, children, children, children. I guess they are seeds, too, but children need parent-roots to grow in between. Unlike the seed I leave behind. My poetry, my dance, my music, my stories and thoughts. I was trying to cultivate a garden. One that had seen a storm. One that had roots. I go out with friends for drinks now. I travel the world. I hold no schedule. I perform. I rest. I start over. None of these things bad, I just feel tired sometimes. But there is also singing and the sun did peek out today. Speaking of drinking, time for some! Don’t worry, mom.