Forget-Me-Not

When I doubt, as I often do, the sense of my crooked stumbles through this life, it helps to be reminded. To hear Cajsa of 2008, 2006, 1989 and realize that this is no rash jump into unknown waters, this is no insanity. This was the only way I could have gone. I look back, at my lapsed degree, my attempts at stability, my progress in merging the blacks and the whites of my heart, and I may miss them. But somewhere I must trust the only person that's been with me always, that something good will come of this, too. I follow her blindly, happy.

Myspace, Febuary 3, 2008:
...And then they tell you to grow up. Day in day out. Get a job. Get in line. Be quiet and content, smile in all the right spots and channel your discontent appropriately. And I did, because once you're rafting down the rapids there isn't much else to do but go along with the set rules...I must run away from here, far and fast. Not today, not tomorrow, not until there's a natural break, a slowing down in the river, where I can step off. But not to rest on the sandy banks. I merely head for other waters. A place where I choose the direction. A life where I mustn't repress all this energy, but I may channel it into something worth something. Where I may be worth anything.

It's as though I tried on stability for size, and realized I was in the wrong store completely. I sacrifice my every Monday, my steady pay, my feng shui homes, for just a morsel of madness. For living the Word. And I won't regret a thing.

New York.
Honey.
I miss the rapids of your dirty, noisy, fabulous streets.