Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Post-Partum

Travelers experience a type of post-partum depression when returning from a trip-this new life, these new landscapes, the vagabond have just soaked up, are in danger of scampering away if not fully nourished by storytelling. By remembering. By teaching. They may very well return home or hide away in a dark organ of the body to avoid the strong Arizona sun. I have come to digest that I am the one who will listen to my stories, and invite me to remember, and contrast all the suble details of the past six years of traveling. If I've noticed anything, it's that we tend to reflect our surroundings and my goal is to accept that, and then fight it. I've noticed the difference between the rain forest and the desert is that in one they celebrate the sun, and in the other they celebrate the rain. The important thing is not one or the other, but the fact they they celebrate. To dance in it, make it mean something. The important thing is that we celebrate something, at least one gift from God.

{So please, ask travelers. Notice their gone. Don't ask "how was the trip". Just ask this "How were your mornings there?" That is all. That is the beginning of everything.}

.:.:.

On Planes.

I have been on over 70 flights, being small I have learned how to sleep in every position available. This is a good reason not to be big, and on planes, so that one can be formatively comfortable. But really, who can be comfortable with even the faintest remembrance of 911. My mother is sure that 911 was the terrorist's joke on the fact that Americans dial 911 for help. Some joke. Some help. Some war. Really, I can't speak because I know nothing about it. Except that the war helped break my sisters first marriage and the wildest boy I know is being swallowed by the sea. If you can call the navy the sea. "whats the best part of the navy" "the respect" but really, I respected him more than I've ever respected a breather years before he joined. But really, how comfortable can you be when you look out the window and see that you are riding on a huge chunk of metal, and you've never met the pilot. Bardoff Founder said that he would close his eyes and pretend that he was flying the plane. THis represents every reason we could, and could not be together. Anyways, there have been two times I've been completely out of it on plane trips. One was after 24 hours of straight traveling from Switzerland to Alaska, in which I derived the quadratic formula on my leg (a party trick I had learned the semester before in boarding school), in pencil, sticking my toes up by the 'assistance button' up top. Apparently, I'm quite mathematical when I'm insane. The other time I had spent the whole night beforehand falling half in love with my lover's old roommate, and fell asleep in crash position at the gate. Maybe they thought I was being extra prepared.

.:.:.
Joint

I imagined there were blank pages
behind all of your words
so that I could join you-
dirty your book in digested inspiration
wash my hands of your inspiration
creep between your lines
heets
I was going to ask how you could have managed to waste so many trees.
but it was just an image
in my nation.
Even to Americans, I speak in a British/German/now Aussie accent because I am an adaptable
Dinnie.
sleepy of "girl experiencing the world" salivating it, and spitting it out.
I'd rather be a man penetrating it.

The wheels of the SBB swiss train shriek with pleasure at their mountain land. Pleasure sounds a lot big like pain.
The first book I write will have extra large margins, so you can join me.


.:.:.

My latest notion is this: I used to walk through the world, with a giant "do not disturb" sign between by toes. Many years I spent avoiding being beautiful. "What if they are creeps?" "Creeps are people too" Not wanting to bother, but something switched. And now I walk through , desiring to make an imprint on all those who see me, tired of blending into cultures like yogurt. Being adaptable can only get you so far and in too much trouble. I go to CH to meet my soul mate-some find this connection in a human, but I find it in the pocket of the Alps. Like any good lover, I return, not expecting anything, not attempting to describe it's inexplicable beauty, realizing we have both changed. I will not box it in to be beautiful and allow it to be tumultuous. Not expecting it to anything, but be there.

.:.:.

Zurich
How could
Luzern
I have
Interlaken Ost
Forgotten My
Gimmelwald
Home ?
Oerlikon
Zug
Alpnach Dorf
Giswil
Lungern
Brunig-Hasliburg
Brienz
Wilderswil

1. Where I traveled with angels
2. Where I took my first picture series
3. Where my sister and I waited for a train
4. Where I began.

.:.:.

Where I come from, there are 100 words for beautiful, and they are all
svitzerra, suisse, switzerland, suiss, svitzera, switzerland, switzerland, switzerland
switzerland
switzerland
switzerland.....

.:.:.

The swiss trains run as smooth as that stone on stone on water on stone, when we tried calligraphy.

.:.:.

In response to time: Interregino
I might as well be four months old again, taking in everything for the first time as though they were succulent baby breaths. The trains get too close to each other here and after their whiz I am left with the crunch crunch of my apricot-melot gelato. Not real Italian gelato, the swiss kind. The women here are gorgeous, and we pass under mountains. I have just figured out why the alps are so jagged. It's because of every person who has seen their view, and has gasped. Maybe that's what dents it so. Anyways, it's almost like going back AND forwards in time. I am aware of time when I revisit a landscape and see how I have changed within it. (vamos a escribir mas sobre esto)

.:.:.
Who sits by those red benches
on the teal lake
by the lilies
under the willows?
Who does?
I'd like to make best friends and a cup of tea with them.
.:.:.

No comments: