long years, even, when I've been obsessed with this screen. Even away visiting friends and family, I'd yearn for the anonymity of placing words here to wrap up all the stupid pivotal crushing moments caught in my head like a faulty lock on the door of an old house. I could come up with theories. Explain the ways we all move in and out of these lives like body maps of the places and experiences we occupy trying in our own desperate measures to pull the edges tighter and to stitch closed the sometimes empty invisible spaces that remain. Checking for email messages from ghosts. Clicking myself into send and receive numbgloriousness. But it's the trick that most people who study any kind of theory can do. Find a proof and write it down. To render yourself and your places and your own invisible threats--attempting to take you down and out--all justified and evidential. Then, the world changed. And I started sitting in front of this screen less often. I started asking for more from this life. And got it. I'm not quitting this space. I'm not changing all that much. I'm just full up tired of tuning in and turning off. I'm going to a place where there is skin and ocean. Laughter. I'm going home. Washed in the realization that as people we rarely do alter ourselves in great measure, but that sometimes when we're really lucky and when we're least expecting it the world suddenly shifts and positions us in an entirely new concept. So that all the powers of our previously held definitions no longer apply. And we must learn to eat and breathe and speak again with new tongues and new names. I've never felt so changed and so the same ever before in my life. And for the next week I'll likely be unplugged. Wrapped up in the blankets of the desire for life and love and the sweet smell of a wood-burning stove.
Peace and love to you all.