In another (self-imposed?) exile, I find myself immersed in love. I drove to Wilmington to see an old friend who has since been given a new name- Mira. I like the idea that you can earn a new name, sort of an Ursula LeGuin concept- Mira is named for a sixteenth-century princess who wrote devotional songs to Krishna
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I just got back from NYC less than 15 minutes ago. I visited J.O.L (i'll tell you about that later) and i didn't feel alive for a second while I was there with him until we got into the parks. Until we sat by the fountian in the garden with our feet in the water. When we were walking back to GCT this bus passed by and knocked unbelieveable amounts of grit, dirt and sand into our faces. Regardless of his glasses he still got some in his eye and i can still feel it on my cheeks.
I can't see feeling alive there where im forced to put on make-up made of grime instead of makeup made of flower pollen and fresh air. My lungs feel cleaner now that im home, but they aren't as clean as when im happy and in the country.
I dont know how he's going to school there. I grew up and out of there like a dandelion from the cracks in the pavement. Fed with broken glass and cigarette buts ( ... )
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i'm new, and so far my journal doesn't give a very complete picture of who i am, and i'm not sure what direction it's going to take in the long run. point is...i won't be hurt if you don't add me back.
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