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[greybird]

Twice a year, 2000 Russians gather in the woods of PA.  They sing, they drink, they play the guitar and cook pelmeni.  My mother wanted to go -- it was her birthday -- but she is terrified of sleeping on the ground, of sticking those long thin springy poles into a nylon sac to make a tent.  So I pulled out my gear reserves, called in an air

Comments

[moments_away]

I came home exhausted and ready to put the self-destruction in a small box in a duck in a bear in a chest up a tree.

I was going to just not say anything (grown good at that, cha), but that's tickling the edge of things I think I used to know. That and saw-blade guitar must be motivation, because I'm saying:

You sound like you've been doing a thing you're not sure you like, for reasons you're not sure you accept. But it's just another jank in that path that's only a path when you're gone.

And you got away from it for a time. Putting that away is impressive.

[greybird]

putting it away is easy if you tie his hands for him. that boy deserves more than a tricky handshake. i feel like i pulled a dirty trick.
(i think: the good, strong people would let him call and would be able to say no.)