Sitting on the Dock of the

I wish it was summer outside.  I do.
My strong self knows I can pull this through,
but the truth is,
who wants to live like this?

I miss the sun.
So bad.
The green grass, even the rain.
(forgetting how brutally freezing a San Francisco summer can be)
This grass that's always greener,
on the other side.

I'm listening to Bjork, sitting on a wooden chair in front of this wooden table.  Pedestrians are bundled up outside, the sun is very bright.  My astrological planner to my right, an empty glass of orange juice, the English language, three juggling balls, a cell phone, two bandanas (two?)... and a pile of papers: my ''résumé'', flyers, a map, pamphlets and notes...
What's my summary? My résumé?
How to resume?
I would rather live in the present, with you
Wouldn't you?

It's hilarious, to be staring the process in the face like this.


A New beat generation, traveling through dubstep beats, gathering in festivals.
I must not give up.  I must.  Relax.

The truth is, I love not to work!!
Are you kidding me?  I'm sitting here LISTENING TO MUSIC AND WRITING, and learning and dreaming and watching the sun go around, on a different time wave, that's all.
Like the fool on a hill.
Pierrot la lune.

Et tous les souvenirs.
Ce romantisme chronique,
ces désirs.

Au-delà du romantisme et du nihilisme, je pense toujours à Nietzsche.  ''What would Nietzsche do?''
He would ask if this moment is worth living, over and over again.  He would ask if your heart is open so wide you could explode - or implode, as his did - of this passion for all things alive...
No, he wouldn't do that.  I would.

The truth is that I love to write.  I find the highest pleasure in feeling those waves of thoughts pulsate through my wrist onto the page, or to the very tips of my fingers, when it's a computer.
Otherwise, still.
''You may say I'm a dreamer.''

(Who are your heroes?)

In truth, right now I terribly miss San Francisco.  It crawled up on me last night, as I finally went to rest.  I had a heavy feeling in my stomach, the sudden pull of nostalgia, and my heart filling up with tears.  I didnt quite cry, but I let myself tear up and feel the pain.  I hadn't been feeling it.  I keep myself busy and/so I don't think about everything I left behind.
My life!  A clan of spiritual warriors, those streets and those parks I knew so well, all the stuff I tried so hard not to acquire but did, in the span of five years.  My things, my things I couldn't throw away.
They're in a bunch of boxes in the garage of my former ''boss'', who is also my friend...for we played in the snow and ''crazy carpet'-ed together.

I know that missing San Francisco doesn't take anything away from this new place.  Just as missing the culture of my former home doesn't take anything away from the hearts and mind of the people here.  I love you very much too, med ami(e)s, it's true.  Please forgive my absence then and understand that I am in a whirlwind, and simply trying to keep myself in the middle of the storm until it gradually winds down.

I know the value of time and timing.  I still have no regrets.  (Though in that wave of emotion last night, I did.)
And besides, I've already had a few of those moments since I've moved here... you know, those moments...  of pure grace, of great beauty!?  It's not the place, it's the state of mind.  That's a huge part of my experiment.
Spending my days thinking about the future of financial security, mine as well as the macro-scale's.  Spending my days thinking about what I want to be doing all day.  Turns out, that's what works ends up being: the thing you do all day.  What kind of days do I want to have?  What can we create?
Spending my days with flashbacks, flash cards of all the sublime encounters I have been blessed with.  Wondering if tomorrow can be as bright and light as what I had on the Left Coast.  Wondering about cold and industrial societies, industrious and creative societies.  Wondering about multiculturalism in formation, for ever and increasingly, the planet getting so small and the power of the few, so big.

Do you think that my degree in ''Philosophy, Cosmology, and Consciousness'' might freak out or turn off potential employers?  Could that be it?  What do they think?  What do they know about what it means?  I can barely articulate it myself!!  I wouldn't know where to start.

''Once upon 14 billion years ago...'''

C.I.I.S. meant that we were in graduate school trying to face and cope with the Greatness of the Universe.  We had our own language, our own micro-culture, our shared experiences so that we could talk about what lays underneath it all... And we would smile and say: Namaste.  (Not without an awareness of the cultural appropriation issue it represented- though the school was indeed founded by Indian scholars.  It was 1968.)

Where have I been?  I've been beyond the pre-Socratics to indigenous populations through the earth and the thirteen skies... to the Big Bang that resounded in the Heart of Brahma, Shiva, and Vishnu... beyond the first Sound to the eternal OM, and back.  I've been from the Middle Ages to the Far West, between lands and sea, running on a treadmill waiting in a traffic jam.  I've been.

Walking the ancient streets of Istanbul, Byzantine, Constantinople... taking strolls on snaky hilly streets after dark, breathing the air of history, getting lost, feeling the beautiful complexity and the tension reigning and breathing with its people.  Prague, Marseilles, Carcassonne, Granada.

Here.