I have almost just stole this morning for myself. In retrospect I kind of enjoy this wise little routine I seem to have fallen into...Wake at first light, use the bathroom after finding my way out of the sleeping bag Harry Houdini style, gather kindling, revive last nights fire, start some water for tea, and write. Somewhere in there is a pause for sunrise, and a couple to admire first light skyrocketing across the canyons. The other staff usually wake way earlier than I'd like them to, but at least I'm guaranteed some small part of the day is mine alone.
I need to be better and more compassionate today. I want like a keyword or some kind of mantra to knowck me back into my mind and kick start that empathy overdrive that I so love and loath. A safeword that reminds me of insularity and universal respect for those girls and what they are here attempting to do.
"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz..."
About Me
- Me, I'm holding out hope for a zombie attack
- “What are you, life? A silent theater of Chinese shadows, a chain of dreams, a charlatan’s store? Or a gift of unrequited love---that’s all that is intended for me? What about happiness? Ingrate, you’re alive, you weep love strive fall and that’s not enough? What?...Not enough? Oh, is that so? There isn’t anything else.”--Tatyana Tolstaya
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