obvious: lately i had found myself forgetting that i have all the fucking freedom in the world- possibly for the first time in my life. coming to the revelation that i have no one but myself to answer to has made for a peaceful sense of contentment. everything is much easier and attainable this way.
subtle: still caught up in what i should do vs. what i want to do. want to molest a stranger, alter my conscious, drive to baja? or graceland! better not. sensibility or masochistic morality? when the fuck did good idea/bad idea ever really matter in my life before?
walked through a good portion of seattle last night under a perfectly full moon. i always wonder how many other people are looking up at the same time. this is often a rather sexy thought. i imagine people feeling optimistic, awed, aroused, lonely, inspired. i remember camping on a wet grassy hill outside hope, alaska, running around naked in the moonlight. i love the sorts of memories that, in recollection, i am impressed by: yeah, that was part of my life. i was careening down a hill in my car yesterday, no shocks, sailing through the green lights. any pededtrians would have been killed before i would have even noticed their presence. i was singing as loudly as i could to "lola". that was a fucking good moment too.
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