I've put on The Orb's Adventures Beyond the Ultraworld, Disc 2 (a damned seminal album). Ambient gooves radiate from a secret mushroomed lair on the back side of the moon, where mixing with the airborne dust at the edge of the sunrise to sparkle. Tipsy vibrations and stoned aliens watch on with lazy eyelids, moving in smooth rhythms that inspire writers to write about undulation.
In gainesville, Josh has updated his site. I am reminded of how much of an enigma he is, and how little I know him. A few minutes later and I wander into thinking about how very well I don't know any of the people I live with, and how instantaneously twelve months has sneaked past. I catalog all of the friends I have made and left behind. Why do I commit to leaving florida just when I am ready to call it home, and why do I react to the leaving with the missing?
There are people to love everywhere, I suppose to myself. Or by moving away right when everyone else settles down, am I passing on the one opportunity to grow old with old friends who I will eventually discuss our medical problems and dead acquaintances.
I feel some kinship with pioneers, runaways, immigrants, and the men and women who have populated the various American metropoli. I share in their heroic spirit, participate in that primordial normadic calling. I feel good; I'm ready for a good cry or a cigarette or a run through some warm florida downpour--it's like I've been drinking.
Posted by Tom at February 16, 2004 11:53 PM