flashflood

everyone goes away. as soon as i step into my room in my new portland home (not yet a tangible space) i will put up a map with name-flags so that i know where all of my loved ones are, so far apart so far.

getting rid of so many things. saying goodbye to stuff is challenging, but once you rid yourself of this & that, you begin to consider ridding yourself of everything.

the only thing i'm melancholy about is leaving before the monsoon season, before the cicadas buzz & the sky turns orange & wild & the smell of wet hot pavement & creosote permeate the once dry everything. i will miss squealing & fretting over bold flashes of lightening that continue late into the summer night. with the swamp-cooler on high, we'd roll back the rug & push the couch against the wall & dance to fela kuti & afrobeat & sweat & sweat & run outside to wash our perspiration in that monsoon. & in the morning, the wood floor was more mud than floor but we'd leave it & start over when the sun would set late in the evening.