I wear the stars well tonight. Those brave enough to outshine the full moon drip from my fingertips back into river below. something in the air tonight spins me forward, my wheels devouring the distance between moon-spattered skyscrapers, silent parks and leaf encrusted neighborhoods. I spring forward ever faster, to escape self reflection, each breath measuring another moment of clarity. There is peace in emptiness, the peace of absence and surrender, the silence of the void. Only the rush of air and muted hiss of my worn tires through the offerings of a maple accompany me to my door. Inside I have but a moment before mind catches up to soul, leaving me at once full, and hungry for less.

Greetings from Budaphest! after a three day driving tour of central and parts of eastern europe I have this to report: midaeval towns are were not designed for driving. you can get there at 140kph, then you have to crawl around the one way streets at 5kph, dodging all manner of fearless foot traffic. and even then you may end up in an underground parking garage from which there is no escape unless you fork over 150 Florens. ($0.84) Europe, where the history comes from. where it is impossible to get a martini. where you can pay in three different kinds of currency. where no one takes visa. where catholocism makes sense. where parkour is possible. where countries are the size of states. where everyone smokes. where gold leaf is a way of life. where they understand meat. where if you want to be cool you graffiti in english. where there are no shower curtains. where you can buy shirts that say: "I'm no robotic stepford wife - I'm here to REPRESENT!" From here, on to Zagreb. represent. further bulletins coming soon.

I now own the worlds largest messenger bag. or at least a runner up. I have spent the better part of a day playing "what fits in the bag? : clothing : check : tools enough to kit a shop : except the stand : 3 bike u-lok : my friends bike! : books: intermediate home brewing : malt : 8lbs munton light, 1lb crystal : hops : northern brewers : 5 gallon glass carboy : the flap still closes : PDX "I'm carrying 5 gallons of future microbrew on my fixie!" ego : just barely I sense the creation of the great bicycle brew off.

Yesterday morning, I had one of the most powerful experiences in my life to date. it started when an older cousin of mine, who has been somewhat estranged from the family, and involved in court cases with other family members over the last couple of years, including one with the state concerning the possible elder abuse of his mother, my aunt Helen, failed to appear for a court date about a week ago. My father and I met one of his only friends, who also had not heard from him in a while (after he announced he was going on a short business trip, but would be returning around the 14th) at his house and using the spare key went in. We found him in his bathroom, where he had apparently suffered a heart attack and died, about 4 weeks ago. Like most of us, I hadn't had the experience of dealing with a 4 week-old corpse lying naked in the bathroom. He had decomposed to the point where his skin was black and bloated, and his eyes had collapsed into his skull. the process for dealing with this situation turns out to be fairly drawn out, involving the police, the county medical examiner, and then a funeral home to actually pick up the body. (I didn't envy them, when they moved the body the innards which had liquified over the course of the month began to seep out). It was then left to us to go through the house and try and recover his various files and all of the odd bits of his life he had left unfinished. he was 52. One of the more interesting things about being in the house with a corpse for 2 hours, is that you manage to inhale enough of the scent molecules that you later sweat them out, which means you spend the next 12 hours smelling of corpse. He apparently suffered the heart attack in his bed, then made it to the bathroom where he managed to turn on the water, and grab a towel before collapsing. When we entered the house initially, it was dead silent, except for the sound of the water that had been running unnoticed in the sink for 4 weeks. Do the utilities have special rules governing the bills of the deceased? I was put in charge of accessing his computer, which ultimately tells the story of a very lonely, very isolated, and very driven man... someone who played scrabble and the SIMS fanatically, and at one point sued Gateway computers for a laptop which wouldnt run windows 98. and so it goes. At the end of it all, I am left feeling very happy about the people in my life that are close, that would notice my absence. I'm left feeling verry happy to simply be alive, to enjoy strawberrys and chocolate, laughter and tears, coffee and bacon. Without knowing what's on the other side of the bathroom, I'll take the here and now for all it's worth, and hope I dont leave the water running when I go.

to winding back up, winding back up somewhere, possibly here. an enigmatic mon hangs over my house tonight, lurking between the poplars and powerlines. and I am not there. the room hums around me, comforting me with the sigh and breath of inhabitence, technology, apparrati. And I am not here. I am out there, waiting, watching, observing myself back here in this world, this room, this time, searching for the signal. there is no truth but the signal, and it goes everywhere, even to where I am there, and here. this sentence will end, but time, and the signal will not. another riddle for another day of somnambulists and searchers, seekers and seers, and now i to will join the dreamers in waking life, and wait to watch.

Today I realized for the first time this year - my lawn needs mowing.
my neighbors pass by, fresh-cut-grass scented themselves, and tsk at the motly assortment of edibles that spring has sprung forth in my urban jungle.  they plead with me,
"cut down the puffy headed poppy mimics, the lawn eating lions, lest our own green pastures be overrun!"
"where will the ladybugs hunt?" I exclaim to no avail.
and so tomorrow, I shall give in to the desires of the pollen sensitive, and scythe the desired swath through the emerald explosion, imposing order once more on this tiny slice of suburbia.

time passes slowly tonight, the impatient hours creeping by on stealthy pads, waiting to pounce on morning. inevitability can afford patience, it is only those of us that doubt the future that rush, lest our flashpan lives end before we do. feverishly, we grasp at emotions, experiences, memories that will be ours to keep until they to fade. we consume and build, addind to any facade of permanance we can, though any we achieve will be strictly for those that come after us to savor. and yet, without the assurance of time, what else can we do? and with no one to judge us but our own selves, is not our frantic energy breathtaking  - even beautiful in its urgency?

If I knew I had forever, would I get out of bed tomorrow?

The cherry blossoms have sprung forth, and through my window each vagrant breeze wafts their intoxicating scent. Walking down the street, even those not directly aware of them, find their mood altered for the better by the perfume that hangs in the air, that scent you can never quite catch, search though you may.
Here in Portland, the Equinox rose sunny, as for one brief day the sun peeked from beaneath it's gray blanket to take it's first step toward the apex of the sky. Even the birds have taken to awakening earlier, their songs of passion, warning, and life rousing me from my futon a bit earlier each day.
I think I'll have ice cream for breakfast.

The sun begins to rise behind me, snarling at the smog that blocks it's path. The world begins to stir, and soak up the light, mindfull of the dark creeping past.
With the intrusion of the light, the neon signs burn with desperate intensity, as if trying to preserve their part of the velvet black. How scared we are, that we light the world even when we are not there to see it. A thousand sunrises reflect in the windows of my neighbors, and the shadows retreat to their hiding places. There they lie in wait, striving to remind us of the new night to come. In this time all continues to breath, but with soft and muted tones, as if afraid to disturb the peace and gentleness the ebony cloak has created. Each day we stretch our limbs toward the sun, and each night retreat to study what the day has given us. Creatures of soft habit, we stir timidly in these first few hours, savoring the few precious moments we posess that are not filled with clamor and chaos. Even we are awed to stillness by the coming of the light, only gathering strength as it grows. The soft tempo of helios footsteps, as light once more explores our world, gives tempo to the hum and symphony of the day and, obligingly, we breath in time.

It is a good night for walking. The rain hits me sideways, the city trying to wash itself clean.
I stand in the shelter of one of the city's remaining ancients, and reflect. I let the night air wash the pullution from my clothes, and continue on, the sound of my own beat added to the millions of songs singing from the sky to strike me. I imagine each drop on a kamakaze mission to bring the divine wind to all they touch, but who is awake enough to listen?
Asking what I can add to their lyrics, they whisper back that my bare head is enough, a canvas upon which to paint their wishes for another world, another time.
And what will you hear, as I smile back at you from the dark?