I am the proverbial tourist. What I see are only glimpses and idealizations. What I use - the bowl for my cereal, the long black dress, and the car that takes me to the store - only last for the duration I am here. And there. I breathe in the unique blend of cultural emissions and political scents of the moment, alerting me of what is there. And here. Even the ideas and thoughts that appear do not belong to me; like the placid exchanges with a polite cashier; an early morning greeting from a passing runner; and the birthday candles that stand erect long enough for wishes of another year in paradise. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you" becomes my next morning's coffee and croissant. It all whizzes by, and I accumulate these forms within my photo album.
top of page
Search
Recent Posts
See AllWe keep going. Even when the numbers add up too perfectly to leave mystery out. Even when there’s no space between all the chores for us...
110
The finger points to the moon and says, "it is like this." Another finger points and says, "no, it is like that." While these two fingers...
170
Let me elaborate from the previous post and its injunction to "do what feels good," which may seem daunting, too abstract or straight-up...
150
bottom of page
Comments