I want to live in a country with multicolored houses and cobblestone streets. I want to learn a new language and immerse myself in a new culture. I want there to be shipping ports and tiny passage ways, a place to watch the boats as they dock. I want green grass and trees nearby. I want to find a home.
I tell this to an ex. He says that as artists we’re getting priced out of New York but he still considers this home. “I don’t think I have a home.” I tell him. “I’ve never quite belonged anywhere.”
Or maybe it’s because I’ve never had the ideal circumstances. Would I love New York if I had an apartment on the Upper East Side? Would I adore it if I lived across the street from a cafe on the Lower East Side? I don’t know.
I remember talking to Jon about it. And when he died everything shifted into perspective. I have to find a home, whether it’s here or in some land I’ve never stepped foot in. And I close my eyes and listen to the wind.
I remember telling Taylor about it. I told him all about my wardrobe trunk and my need to condense. “I wish I had a wardrobe trunk.” He said. “I’d do it all again.” And so the match was struck, the tiny light etched into my head. I walk down to the crossroads three pennies in hand.
1.) Confession - I’m having horrible horrible body issues.
2.) Oracle - I cannot for the life of me remember
3.) Body - Walking. I like to walk.
4.) Sacrifice - I tried to sacrifice sugar. I ate chocolate instead.
5.) Relinquish - Guilt for eating that chocolate
6.) Inspiration - Foreign lands and languages
7.) Structure - I worked.