Shackleton School, Ashby, Massachusetts, U.S.A

Stream of consciousness, A unedited journey into my head after fifteen minutes of free writing. I start with a thought and follow it into the next and so on, spiraling in every direction.


The end of Lord of The Flies is like a dream, nothing adds up but no one cares. Got me thinking, “What if we are all living a dream, none of this means anything, its all for nothing.

But I don’t want to think this, I have worked too hard now, gone too far. I wish I could say what I mean and what I feel, but I cant. Things move too fast, like a river, a stream, brown, the color of mediocrity, karaoke in France, tea in Austria, brains blown out in Scotland? Why? No time to think, just do, hope that changes. I pray not to head that call and do or die for a stupid cause! We are all actors in a big play, a desire to go to the next act without rehearsing!

A dog outside, dead in the sun, Next to the tree that is living! “No sir, that dog is far from dead, it is the dog in your memory that is long gone! How can you define love, death, happiness, what does it all mean? Am I happy, do I know what that feels like! Decay and life so close together, I finally appreciate art, lifting me away from the rotting stench of the destruction of culture set by AMERICA!

My Hand hurts but that assures me that I am not in a dream! My writing grows more erratic, the stars slide overhead and the telescope is broken.
WHAT THE HELL DO I WANT?
Does Love EXIST? DO I FEEL IT? OR IS IT JUST COMPASSION?

I want to be all I can be, but what is that?

POP
BANG
WIFFLE
As meaningless as most things I hear. But why do they have no real importance?

I want chains, freedom scares me as much as love does. Force thoughts out like a factory, I feel no rage, I am happy, today will be weird!

More ~more~ like some insane Mozart I write into oblivion! Onwards Friends!
More paper, I feed the economy, flies on the window, flies on the pig! Big difference, no one cares cus no one sees! Open your eyes and see what I see, beauty is there and love is close. Throw down the concrete and plant the trees. Dust specks like golden thoughts, similar to the curtain in front of Ralph’s Eyes.

Pallos Verdes, California, U.S.A

First the steam, rising from bowls of peas mixed with butter, a sign that dinner shall be served hot, the heat warming my spirit as well as my self. The feast is laid out and I feel like a Charlie in his chocolate factory, free to sample the culinary delights of another world.
The sound of laughter heralds the monarch of the feast, the 25-pound turkey, as he is laid amongst his edible court. Peas and onions, mashed potato, thick gravies oozing delightfully from the jug stand ready beside him. With a roar a electric knife is activated and cleaves through the beast like a chain saw through a forest. With the monarch defeated we fall on him with sharpened tools, stabbing and cutting to retrieve the meat below. I advance along the line of food, scooping cranberries and potato with great abandon, my plate like some miniature Pollock painting with its dark splatters of food.
It is indeed a great meal full of contradictions, morals and comparisons. I am a solitary pilgrim, alone and unsure how to handle this new and hostile country. This family have welcomed me into their midst and plied me with food and hospitality. I shall not linger too long thinking about historical similarities before I find myself evicting my family from their house and wiping out the neighborhood.
I am grateful for the food and the hospitality. This house on the other side of the country has become a oasis for me, an island in a sea of chaos. In a day or two I will awake to harsh airport lights, my spine a tangled mess from sleeping on hard government issue chairs. When this happens I shall nod my head with disgust and know there is no chance of a nice breakfast and a comfy bed that day.