This is a new animation done by the amazingly awesome stupendous talented Inga Markstrom of the I know you know my heart story “My only regret”
Category Archives: travel
When I was 15 I ran off to Hawaii. It was the farthest away I could get without a passport, which there was no way of attaining without parental consent. I had forged paper work saying I was emancipated after working extremely odd jobs (the kind reserved for people who were not legal members of the work force) until I had money for a ticket. No one can get emancipated in Washington at 15 but by the time anyone noticed I was no longer on the continent.
I came back sooner then I expected. Read the rest of this entry
I wrote this on the evening of March 20th four years ago when I got off work at Quality Burrito in downtown Olympia. It’s rare because a line in it tells me what day it was written and almost none of my writing is dated. When I find the few notebooks that have survived, they could be from anytime and often they were from many. I would write a few pages in a book then leave it in an attic or basement or tent, travel around several states and then, if I happened to come across it again, pick it up and repeat. Read the rest of this entry
I have lived inside for more than five years. In rooms that are four walls or at least some kind of four wall concept, most with doors that shut. These rooms are in houses with bathrooms that have big ole water wasting flush toilets where I do the vast majority of my business. There are ceilings on these houses that keep out rain for the most part. There are mattresses in my rooms, now there is even a bedframe, a head and a footboard. There are rooms with stoves and working refrigerators and when we say we are out of food we are not counting the pantry full of the food bank cans we prefer the least. Read the rest of this entry
Two cars up from me on a train headed to California there are two teenage girls travelling alone. I saw them in Portland chain smoking down to the last millisecond of the stop. When the train started again I was in the throws of Rhiannon Argo’s “Girls I’ve Run Away With.”
In Salem I looked up from the last paragraph with tears in my eyes. Salem, which funny enough, Read the rest of this entry
Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.
I spent plenty of time in parking lots, frustrated like the seeds pushing from underneath them.
I didn’t know that we were all struggling together, our foreheads pressed against the backside of the asphalt.
Standing in the heat in the middle of the casino strip of Las Vegas, I stood hungry and sweating profusely. In addition to being there in the middle of a desert in the late summer, I was also surrounded by reflective surfaces that magnified the heat and my discomfort. Me and my crew had been dropped of by a ride that needed to visit his parents. They lived in the suburbs and did not want him to bring three of his closest dirtiest friends.
I asked several people if they knew where a grocery store was. Each one stood dazed by the question, hypnotized by bright lights they all answered the same, “I am not sure I know what you mean.”
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I was riding my bike from Portland to Eugene.
It’s not the longest ride but it’s not the shortest either.
In Oregon anyone can walk or bike on any road even the main several lane freeway that cuts down through the off center of the state. We weren’t taking that route though. We were taking two lane highways;
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I was 13 or 14 and just barely out of the house. I was visiting my grandparents on my Dad’s side. I was taking my niece, who was my brothers’ baby, to meet them for the first time.
I was on the floor in the front room with her while my Dad and his wife sat looking on in the company of my Grandma and Grandpa.
That floor was lovely; I grew up on it sometimes. And those laps, the laps of my Grandma and Grandpa, I grew up on them too. Read the rest of this entry