wisconsin death trip

the sound of the wind rustling the cottonwood leaves. it's one o'clock in the morning and i'm the only one to hear this sound. it's like water, coins, falling. a secret message if only i can shut the fuck up long enough i will understand this code, the meaning of The Birthday.

The message is...."it's all good..." thank you hippie cottonwood leaves. tellin' me to chill the fuck out, be okay with who i am.....

contentment is a process and i'm happy to report i've been stuck in its feedback loop for a while now. something about watching the sun set every night. listening to the breeze blow by. chatting, not over-analyzing, taking things at face value, being real, authentic. getting up in peoples' shit and backing off. we're just all people making our ways thru the world, trying to work things out best we can

Oh! wisconsin death trip! you're real and surreal and i'm glad i know that people were always people.

the smell of cedar trees

is the most beautiful smell of all. I took my dog for a hike yesterday in the east sandias and was overwelmed by the smell of cedars. it was sunny and beautiful. there were these moths that kept flying around me and pup and trying to land on us. they had roll-out-tongues. Sandia is spanish for watermelon. When the sun is setting the light reflects off the sandias and makes them appear to be pink. even though i'm poor and kind of crazy and about to turn 27, there's still no other place i'd rather be.