i'm just not there in the streets

books and stories and movies and imagination have created this fantastical fantasy
of italia
the land of pleasure....
where satisfaction drips like tree sap.

4 more days until i shove myself into the alps
knowing no word of italian.

i'm excited.
it's a dream.
i'm fulfilling it.

another new year and i jump on the reflective pensive bandwagon...
although i must admit that i am guilty of riding this route more often than others...
or so i feel.
though it seems never enough.

so here. journal electronico. i give you another moment
in response to my jaded expression
one of void.

honesty? do you want it?
oh. its sad. walking through the high schools of rural vermont
i could feel the hormornal signals shooting through the hallways
as arms of innocence brushed another.
and as the creature of nostalgia is... i felt so far
from it all.
and here i was starring straight at it, yet i knew that i could no longer wish for such thoughts or such feelings.
the here that i know now does not know that land.

walking down the peak of innocence (or tumbling? is that more appropriate(?))
burdened with information, knowledge, injustice
the downhill journey does not seem as easy as expected.
but i feel it
yes, i know it
that this is living as we know it.
and that so many have tumbled down this path before, possibly (probably) a rockier route.

the momentum. can't take a break.
yeah. but i'm rolling down, baby. and i see that i'm not alone. gosh there are hundreds.
why did i feel so alone before? and we burst out laughing
it's hilarious. isn't it? we're all fucking rolling down a fucking hill
and we can't stop because there's all this fucking weight on us.
haha.
actually it is really funny.

messed up too. because as soon as you are having a good time you realize you are working up another hill.
different.
you're climbing to the side to reach the dip peak.

patient and at peace
we grow
together
to be free.