A year passes.
Triteness and cliché hover nearby despite a hearty swath of experiences. Perhaps cliché descends because of the uniting themes of humanity. The overwrought gives comfort in its familiarity. I am you are we are.
The eight months preceding we talk and we do. Hello, holy shit, we're here after all. Thank God for all that. I'm really not being flippant.
Two months rigging scenery and mounting $60,000 projectors with no livestock as far as the subway goes. Unless you count sewer rats and plump pigeons. Broken feet and uneaten canteloupe. A dying Prudence and a vanished house. Pack pack pack and perhaps Macchu Picchu rises up and falls away in the rearview mirror. We grill on concrete and blaspheme stairs. Trains and chairs and buses, and I care so much, I care so much I cry surprised. New Jersey, who knew. Baked brie, popcorn, maple syrup, we measure our moments in sustenance. Physically and emotionally satiated. Sustainability is really about ourselves, because we are always we. A rock. A book. A pickle and a beer. A cafe in Connecticut. The check engine light. Pack pack throw away pack. Mattresses and Spanish and Fly By Night cry. I'm an idiot who's going to Alaska. Manhattan's gravity gives way to the gravel of Costa Rica.
Two months in three bedrooms and a lighterless stove save sparks. The cloud rolls in around 2:30 in the afternoon. The wifi barely pierces the thinly built building across the street. Coffee chocolate cinnamon rolls cilantro - I told you we memorize our lives in food. A sidewalk snakes along the vista. The milk goes bad too quickly. Talk and talk and talk. How do you marshal intention and how are people people? The question of what it's all worth obscures like the rain blinds me when I wear my glasses. How does the ballerina tiptoe so beautifully? Lights burn through mist, and tamales sell out. Butterflies like owls and cheese. Superman's a child, and fires burn even in a cloud forest. Meeting silence meeting bridges meeting on rooftops over San Jose's fireflies. Texas, a daytrip, New York for the $1 pizza. Not now, not then, not not why not. I'll leave before the ham smell does. A $0.46 taxi to Alaska. Goodbye. Fuck. I don't say that.
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