I think too that I was trying to find something real, quelqu'un, qui serait là. pour moi. I think I just had to wake up eventually and that is why it hurts so much

 I suppose this is why I am feeling so lost and disillusioned ….

rose glass dome

 

All day locked in thought. Thoughts. And look upon the steps and roads, how they link and seem to go somewhere if seen from altered points of view, and yet go nowhere just the same, but even nowhere is somewhere. Isn’t it

well I don’t know 

   but it has to be a somewhere 

and how I mean this is, in relation to that realization of, those things in life I once thought I had wanted

   I’d been on paths 

they took me somewhere 

but then I wound up nowhere 

anyway ….and I wonder, would it have mattered if I’d just stood still

didn’t go anywhere, if I stayed right where I started 

it has been this sprint through life

of wasted time; wasting time 

but I’d not have known unless I tried it so…. was it wasted? ….well…. sometimes I think so 

even as I know, it would have driven me mad to not have known had I not tried 

   those roads 

that wanderlust in me

I was so restless …. I never could stand still …. I couldn’t stand it, standing still…. wherever did it get me 

but I know I would not want to go back to most of the places I ran away from —all the places I ran from, I don’t regret leaving where I ran from yet, there remains one place I left that I did not want to go, never wanted to leave —yet I never could go back to

I think there is an uneasiness inside me, I imagine it was because I’d been uprooted before I understood where I’d been born and adapted another country’s ways that was never meant to be mine. And I look at this world with its wars. And the peoples who flee. Refugees, homeless and cast out or —killed 

I don’t understand this human experience. This kind of ownership of a land. 

we are all people. And everyone is walled up

I don’t understand

I am disappointed, I guess. Those peaceful people ….now seem so prejudice to me….no little China? No little Italy? Says one place. Fighting Hitlers and killing for false claims for a new evil painted another shade of white but black or white or red or yellow, I can’t even eat meat, so what is wrong with me?—clearly I don’t belong here, I am the little prince with my rose in delusions

I guess this is why I say I don’t like people, nobody is willing to tolerate, they only impose and dictate and listen to themselves and agree with their own echoes  

 sos

 so the answer to that riddle is….

     ….they cannot see past their own selves

so remain invisible 

  unless I could be proven otherwise 

but in this isolated moment that came to me the other night burning with fever, that separate plain wherein nothing else mattered but to keep afloat from danger; fighting my own dragon ….what is real but to be and to be really seen and exist in that truth

because the rest means nothing at all….

Today ….

There is a professor of literature who teaches at the university and it seems, lives down the next road. I didn’t know until today when I was accosted by his black lab. He tells me he’s been away all summer at his villa. I didn’t understand where. He speaks with a French accent. He seems to not know the neighbors which explains why no one ever mentioned him to me.  

Yet, his dog has been obnoxious to me all summer. I ask him,

“so will he be nice to me now that I have been invited inside?”

“No. I doubt it,” he says, matter-if-factly

I want to say,

“maybe you can leash him?” as I rub my ankle where his teeth didn’t get through my boot. But I don’t say that.

As I throw the book into my backpack he calls to me what sounds like 

“Return….jen-ever.”

I am almost all the way back when I figure out what that means   

 

Communist manifesto, the prince or man without a country?

The little prince 

I pick the last wish