since-we-are-in-verse-mode dept.

I can see the world turning in its haste to engulf itself
I do not see myself segregated from it; I am It, it is Me
I am but a little eddy in a heady whirl of unheard voices
A little furl of cloth in the violent seas, merrily riding on

I have been a criminal, a liar, deeply have I offended
(I have even felt softly rising, the pangs of remorse)
I have walked upon this earth, on my own feet, jaded
And declared: none was like me, nor will there be another

one-before-i-turn-in dept.

With every aching bone, and a tired mind,
embrace the night; welcoming, knowing
Shoved around in the bustle outside
for you, the gift: the joy of forgetting

there-and-back-again dept.

In the last four days, I have travelled almost 900 kilometres, 450 of
which I drove myself. Which isn't much, considering my previous expolits in the great American emptiness, but significant nevertheless.

And at each end of the journey, waits a different life, with people with a different idea of who I am, holding on to radically incompatible symbols that represent the idea of who I am for them. And whats more, holding out the unreasonably intransigent expectation that I yield unquestionably to their stupid prejudices. More than the driving, its the patience that has to be shown with childish incomprehension that is more tiresome.

I think I know now how kindergarten teachers feel :).