well, the road beckons me.
another summer come and gone.

the weather is turning up here, and all my summer skin has pealed away.
Snow is beginning to fall on the mountains, I do love the snow and mountains, though my nomadic tendencies precede that.

So, I bought a van and I leave in a week.

goodbye alaska, hello _____?

woke up this morning to sunshine and trees.

birds were chirping, the air was fresh, and a smile was on my face after my dirt bike fired right up.

i missed the forest, and i think it missed me.

it is time.

so the end is near.

fiction only lasts so long.

at least now there is the knowledge.

the time has come my little friends..

time to follow in mr columbus' footsteps and take back woodmeria and return it to its rightful owners.

time to climb mt. woodmere and visit the oracle.

time to run through the unfathomable forests of the last frontier.

time to return to fight the tyranny of the american life.

and last of all time to give my young body a rest from living the gaditano life.

Coconut Records - West Coast

Port O'Brien - Fisherman's Son

Looking through some files on my computer, I came across an essay my brother had written for school. Here is a little excerpt from it that i enjoyed and feel relevant at the moment...

"I return to my birthplace in Santa Cruz, CA for several days, before flying north to Alaska to try to find a fishing boat to work on.  Sometimes, we need to find oceans of solace for our minds to be free from the usual mental constraints of everyday busy urban lifestyle.  The ocean is a place for the mind to wander, and for words and thoughts to germinate into poetry and prose.  Unfortunately the altered state of mind known as cabin fever does sweep through the bays and inlets from time to time.  From there, unknown countries and roads beckon me onward.  For some the ability to recreate oneself in a fresh environment, exiled from certain unfavorable memories contained within the habitats of the past, is accomplished through the addictive remedy of wandering from place to place.

But these movements cycle and the travels and conversations with strangers and friends strengthen the ability to connect to the world.  Events and people circulate and the swirling ocean of time twists and turns and tosses those who choose to ride its treacherous currents.  As friends and lovers ebb and flow in and out of your life, your love for them accumulates within that singularity of time, that eternal moment, forever entwined within the tremendous mystery of the moibus strip of time.   The people you meet and the lives you affect are changed forever.   And even though you might just have more goodbyes when you leave, you will have just as much people to smile and hug you upon your return. How would we know how or what or who to love without loss or heartache?  With every pain we learn the extent of pure love.  Most times, loss is the only means to truly know how much the people we love mean to us. "

Pomegranates - This Land Used To Be My Land