here I am, rock me like a hurricane

California Big Tour is over; I'm back at "the job" and have a swollen foot and a couple more freckles. While I was driving through the redwoods -- before I got out and stepped on that fateful nail -- I was listening to New Order, with Kevin, and we were talking about patching up weirdness with people we've loved or liked in the past. I had my sunglasses on and confidence flowers in my hair and the road was wind-y and breezy and everything was going to be okay, in fact better than okay because I was going to make amends with the weirdness. But now I'm at my desk and I have an infection on my foot and I am losing my freckles by the moment, the confidence flowers that chartered my course lay dying on Kevin's dusty dashboard. When do you leave somewhere, see how it's done and have scattered moments of clarity, how do you expand on that when you get back to where you came started? And it seems more and more that something yes actually did start in Olympia, but I'm not entirely sure what it was. I wrote in a postcard to a friend, while at a Ghost House in San Diego, "I am staring into an endless meeting of nostalgic punk and true human fanch, using the lens of the sad, beachy brand of ex-junkie alcoholism. How strange to tour a city with a group of people that either 'left' and presently 'hate' or those that hate themselves for never leaving. What do palm trees and sandy beaches signify, anyway?"

to begin with, i never had the address to send