in approximately three years, deckwreck dave (one of the two other bearers of the left-bicep chrysknife) and i will once again enter a tattoo parlor together, and we will have permanently placed on our bodies a peach and crossbones, symbolizing forever that, yes, we are from Georgia, and we are fuckin' proud.
we decided this tonight as we reenacted this summer in the local Waffle House, drinking heavily sweetened coffee and discussing that which is important. i put in a quarter for "Okie from Muskogee," and we shared our pains and our happinesses and stories about the kids from high school. i'm jealous. everyone i grew up with goes to the same school, more or less, they all live within minutes of one another in Atlanta, and they still party together every week. except me.
i had to move to fucking Portland.
i love Portland. it's wonderful. but there's something to be said for the comfort and (dare my chaos-magick-addled brain say?) stability of your hometown and your friends with whom you share certain pivotal experiences.
it makes me wonder if i made the right decision to go cross-country. because i've been in a pretty nasty funk for a while now, but just sitting there in the booth with D and griping about relationships and discussing the amazingness of the new Against Me! album, it all faded straight away. fuck loneliness, fuck philosophy and being jaded and dependent and whiny. life is beautiful when you've got your comrades and you raise your fists together in song.
makes me wonder if maybe i should check out the Spanish literature program at GSU. naw. Portland is beautiful without southern punk and sweet tea. but, still, home is other people.
we decided this tonight as we reenacted this summer in the local Waffle House, drinking heavily sweetened coffee and discussing that which is important. i put in a quarter for "Okie from Muskogee," and we shared our pains and our happinesses and stories about the kids from high school. i'm jealous. everyone i grew up with goes to the same school, more or less, they all live within minutes of one another in Atlanta, and they still party together every week. except me.
i had to move to fucking Portland.
i love Portland. it's wonderful. but there's something to be said for the comfort and (dare my chaos-magick-addled brain say?) stability of your hometown and your friends with whom you share certain pivotal experiences.
it makes me wonder if i made the right decision to go cross-country. because i've been in a pretty nasty funk for a while now, but just sitting there in the booth with D and griping about relationships and discussing the amazingness of the new Against Me! album, it all faded straight away. fuck loneliness, fuck philosophy and being jaded and dependent and whiny. life is beautiful when you've got your comrades and you raise your fists together in song.
makes me wonder if maybe i should check out the Spanish literature program at GSU. naw. Portland is beautiful without southern punk and sweet tea. but, still, home is other people.
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If you're always home, nostalgia becomes self referential, cyclical like the night sky. Memories will begin to occult the present and you'll long for something new without knowing what it is.
It's also possible that none of that will even occur to you and you'll live blissfully in the Southern sun. But, tell me. What fun is there without the homecoming, disguised as a different person only to reveal yourself before slaughtering the suitors and claiming what is rightfully yours?