I am at a certain hostel (oxford backpacker's) in a certain town (oxford) trying to make amends for certain stupid actions (my behaviour for the past 19 years). Who says there is no mystery left in the world?
I would like to claim all is connected (I still think it is, despite Elvis' copy of Nietschze on the couch in that hawt Nowhere scene… these details are more apparent on the big screen, you see) and that I have come full circle, but I believe I am in a back bed of New Zealand instead of a bottom left bunk in Canada. Regardless, it is close.
I have not found myself (it was silly to think so), but I do have some great questions (“how am I not myself?” ok, I really stole that from I Heart Huckabees). I think a self psychological assesment is in order. Why do I get so anxious waiting for trains/buses/whatever? Why do I get so moody? Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Today when I hit the pavement (Caffine high and in Oxford and Oxford… that title is not at all catchy, crap) I started composing a photo project devoted to tessa in my head. This was spurred by some restaurant called ~~~TESs (I forget the first letters, but it ended with an s and a smaller s), so I started wondering if it was possessive or really an abbreviation for Tessa. My theory was confirmed a restaurant called Zizzi next door, which is an obvious (obvious) allusion to “Waltz for Zizi,” which if memory serves (really the service here is terrible) is a Cowboy Bebop song, which is OBVIOUSLY a Tessa allusion!
No, I would not say that my recent decision to spend all my time in Starbucks, Caffe Neros, the Cafes, Costa Coffees… consuming coffee has adversely affected my mental health state…
I guess what I am trying to say here is, Maren, I love you, and I am sorry. I don't know if I ever made that clear. I was probably too busy not talking to you and making Mike feel awkward (sometimes I think it is odd you and Mike have met. twice. once in Europe. Then I think him and Steph need to meet… but they have. So what I am trying to say is, Greg and Steph need to run through a field holding hands. I almost bought a book called Emma the other day, but it was about some crazy teenage sex queen/heroin addict and… it was just too odd, so I bought some graphic novels and a collection of gay short stories instead. I woke up this morning with thoughts of everyone I've ever slept with (beside) and not. That's a pretty big population sample. Curse our need to think in binary.
So, in the now immortal words of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, I shall “give it away now.”