seventeen dayz of phrase
january eleven, two thousand and ten - portland, oregon
Mothers cafe is closed on Mondays. We ended up at morning star cafe with a specialty breakfast bowl consisting of everything - hash browns, egg whites, cheddar cheese, gravy and salsa verde. I continue to find life interesting. I travel with musicians who actually live off of their songs and bump shoulders with published authors. I read incredibly enriching thoughts and stories - and yet struggle to finish my own sentences. I'm lamenting nothin'. It's just good irony. My life is serene and I enjoy the crippling fight of creating.
I passed a woman at a bus stop today listening to head phones and seriously shakin'. When she saw me, she shook harder. I didn't know if I was supposed to look or not and I wasn't sure if she was hoping that I reciprocate the rhythm. Funny how powerfully that image correlates with kerouac's sentiment, "make love to your life." (Which sought me out in powells). Jack talks about enjoying the lowest lows and the skyline highs of our existence. That resonates with me. I'd like to linger on it. Drag it in and exhale.
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