Today is one of those days where there is an unquenchable compulsion to write. These are generally good days, but it can be frustrating. For instance, I'm trying to read through 250-300 pages about Islam and politics in post-Soviet Central Asia this weekend. While I am excited to depart Phoenix, I am very sad to leave behind my Arizona State ( Read more... )

What I remember most are your stories ( Read more... )

There is a picture of us. It visits me unexpectedly, while I'm driving to school or walking the dog. It dances through my head with an eerie disregard for fluidity or rhythm. It stridently states its case as I lay in my sleeping bag beneath the watermarked ceiling. It fades into uneasy absence, whispering its promise to return ( Read more... )

that my six month absence means that I jumped ship in the blogosphere. Feel free to look me up at any of the following embarrassingly übertrendy sites if you feel so inclined:

www.xanga.com/negrito7
www.myspace.com/negrito7

Salaam,

Ramón

For those of you who are interested or just gluttons for punishment ( Read more... )

It has been more than two months since I wrote last. To try and express what has happened in those two months in one or fifty xanga entries would be futile, so I'm just going to cut straight to the aftermath ( Read more... )

This is inspired by my friend Amy, whose descriptions of SE Asia often inhabited my computer screen as living, breathing beings...There's a rhythm to life here that was once strange and now is woven into my subconscious ( Read more... )

You probably figured this out by now, but I am out of the country in China and internet access is spotty. So, this journal will be on hold for a couple months. See ya on the flip side.

Things you most likely do not know about me ( Read more... )

It is late April and the sunset lingers in early anticipation of languorous summer evenings. I sit in silence for the first time in weeks, letting the frantic particles of life expand into the cooling sapphire sky. Beyond the enflamed horizon waits the coming tomorrow, shrouded in mystery between sleeping and waking. Behind dust-speckled glasses, ( Read more... )