i was meditating today and found myself attempting to draw in comfort and stillness through my breathing, alarmed at the flashes of dull light that were happening beneath my eyes. they were startling and seemed to increase in speed the more i focused on them. so i stopped trying to focus and just took in deeper breaths.

i was then in the passenger seat of a car. the window was down and there were green hills and mountains everywhere.

somewhere i’d already been.

my brain went back to the flashes of deep light — jagged and sharp / pummeling the process. so naturally, i was back in the car. inhaling the wind passing and embracing the breeze with my arms and shoulders.

and of course, since i was attempting to meditate, i allowed the thought to happen. trying to give it a name or a time or a place — some label to secure this obvious memory. something i didn’t want to let go of or try to erase.

the flashes eventually subsided as my lungs filled with me remembering the warmth of American air. the knowing of my childhood outside; camping and fishing and unaware of the disgruntled cold or constant rain, garbage-lined streets or double-decker buses. people, everywhere. all the time.

i found, in my head, the stillness i was searching for. not even trying to find it. just realizing the wind in my hands. the honesty of the trees. the west texas smile on your face.

“i was a television version of a person with a broken heart…”



my path was hijacked…

we all have our visions — guided dreams of our forever lives. with the weight of our love. declaring us still. into a known place.
and i had mine.
i dreamt of knowing. having certainty. pointing my finger. towards a direction. having a stance. of where i was sure.

but then someone stole it. right at the moment. when the lines in the road. started to appear. new, passing stripes. with calculated corners. fresh from earlier paint. sinking into the asphalt. heat-rising waves. being pulled up into the sun. having a place. of knowing where to go.
someone then came. and he blended the lines raw. now dirty with prints. smeared with intention. forceful swipes. and he made a home. inside my head. and wore my skin. to hide his shit.

and i just never understood. exactly what he did. until it became too late. a forced rear-view. sucking the breath out of my lungs. like seeing the car crash. right as you pass. a machine in your hands. trying to steer. towards and away. wondering about the carnage. that then shows up in your new dreams. forcing you to see. the other dreams. you left behind. some years later. while away from home.

so you see. it’s not just about believing. when someone cries out. making sure their story. fits right into place. it’s also about knowing. that they’re just lost. trying to find. the path back to themselves. struggling to see. their confident lines. in the dreams where they were traveling. before someone. wiped it away.

51.5074° N, 0.1278° W

Finally made it over.


Drastic changes are better without any expectations — which is why I overreach.

I’ve been lost in a city before, traveling and site-seeing alone, so the newness isn’t something intimidating to me.

But being lost and site-seeing in one of the largest cities in the world is definitely a change. I feel parts of Chicago and New York for sure, but add those together and throw in a large, bustling and alley-only Chinatown, the most amount of languages spoken you’d ever hear in one day, 2-leveled busses with three stops every mile (or every 1.609344km), the classic/modern/gothic/renaissance/art deco architecture and the robust history behind the country and I think it’s London.

But what do I know…I’ve only been here for 6 days.