November 1

Everything. Nothing. All at once. Always, never.

No goddamn stagnancy. My enemy, my rival. Keep walking.

No standing, no stopping. No strings, no strings, no strings.

No entanglements. No holding hands.

Don’t hold me back.

Searching? No. Looking.

Not looking for something. Looking for anything, I suppose.

My eyes are aware, my feet are in constant motion.

I want to take it all, I want it to take me. Encompass me in statues oceans and cobblestone streets.

Churches and thousands of years. My hands will become the eighteen hundreds. And my body a gargoyle. My mind will be a tourist, a raven, a rat on the street. I will scamper and scrounge until I am dead. No strings, no tangles, no holding hands. I will spin a globe and go where it stops. I will run and run until my feet burn. And then I will run some more. I will forget my name, and get a new one. Something exotic, or something plain. I will lose my clothing and run naked. I will learn to be friends with the dirt roads and the sheep and the stalks of corn. And then I will find the city. The city with no limits.

Don’t tell me where to go.