i guess i expected the unexpected somehow

what is it grabbing me now in the twilight? these long spiny fingers upon my throat. whose rope is tied around my neck beneath the waning sun and twinkling premature stars?

i sat for a moment. brief as a breath. or was it longer? upon the steps of a korean church and listened to soft voices, muffled behind mortar and stained glass, rise angelic to the heavens. a sound that i grew up hearing from the back pew in an empty sanctuary. parents choir practice whilst i made epic wars in the hymnal racks with my GI Joes. i dared not enter. the lights were bright inside. too bright. and i did not wish to disturb. so i sat outside as the serene waeving of voices took my mind from its worrying, its questioning, its doubting.

i return tomorrow. pockets full of trinkets and photographs and postcards. pockets full of ghosts. and i will spread them out upon your floor and describe in details i remember best the way it was or the way i remember it. and ill pin them to my walls to remind myself or remind someone else that i was there and there and there. and they will reach out to you and prick you with desire. or envy. and they will reach out and stab me with regret. for they remind me that i am not everywhere, i am not everything. and will i be humbled? or will i grow bitter?

such a childish instict to want what one cannot have. thought i was a bit older than that. perhaps i was for a few days.

i do not understand the way i feel tonight. the way i felt walking towards the tube station. at last uncertain of my uncertainty. shall i go home? shall i go to the thames and walk beneath the moonlight? should i meet some friends in some pub and party all night (goodbye EUROPE!!)? guess that what you're supposed to do, but it didnt sound like much. i must pack. home was calling. it knows my name. suddenly i was so close. so close that home could smell my fear. and each step was a step closer to surrender. each step brought me closer to the chained prize fighter blood teeth, clenched fists, horse eyes. i hear my name. bellowed across the yard. he tugs the chain till it snaps tight and he barks and gnaws at me like a beast. each inevitable step brings me inevitably closer to his lashing claws. my head is bowed as i trudge beneath the black london street lamps. my will is broken to the fate of my return. and no longer is choice an option. i am bound to this beast and my leash is growing short.

futile thoughts rush through my mind. thoughts of return to london or an escape in the mountains or to new york or to san antonio. of postponing my flight, or having the date wrong. futile demoralizing thoughts. like a match struck in the bitter winter night huddled in a corner to defend against the brutal wind. scarcely has the match been lit but sfftttt its gone. dwindling hope and no less cold.

it would be better not to light the match at all. to keep it in your pocket till the wind died down. hope offers more warmth than reality.

better yet to build a fire with some twigs and wadded up newspaper.

dont waste your matches in the wind.


but i have said nothing about london. the first four days i was here have done little but disappoint. until i was certain i would return with no remorse, but that my ideals had been too high. today i discovered east london. and at last discovered a district that i could live in. a dirtier artier back side. i spotted two banksies sprayed on the walls.
and i kicked myself. for placing castles in the sky and failing to build any ladders to reach them. for i have not my portfolio or the slacks or the time to find the job i had (secretly?) hoped would fall from the sky. i am foolish.

and sad.

i have always said i would go to chicago if i didnt stay in london. i guess because i like the way my tongue feels when i say chicago. i guess because its not new york. because i will have to wear winter coats. because it will snow. because i fell in love (a childish schoolyard love, peck on the cheek, teased by your friends, kind of love).

but maybe mostly because i dont know. and its secret. and i want to walk on streets without names. see people without faces. and make them my own.

that's when i heard the muffled weaving of disembodied choir voices. and i sat on the steps of the korean church. and the fingers grew looser around my neck. and i was comforted.

sometimes i fear that i will never be always happy.
i think once i realize that that's ok. i'll be happy.