Living in a foreign country is hard.  I don't have the photos to show for it.

The Vagrant's Story of Reappropriation

He claims that you've got it all wrong. A home is not stationary, despite popular belief.  Rather, it takes the shape of the place that he looks forward to returning to.  He finds home to be inextricable, as the vagrant is an atavist being.  It is in our human nature to seek comfort, in hopes of returning to a state of pleasure.  The vagrant is misunderstood.  Home is what he carries.  Whether it be a photo of a friend's face, a coloring book of hummingbirds, a streetlight intended to mock the color of the sunrise, or the waking up to the sound of chickadees.  When he returns to it, he is happy.  He thinks of Barbara Kruger.  Home is inextricable.  

Just Buy a Postcard

How strange is it that people go to these incredibly famous museums and spend so much time capturing it with a cell phone just to let it sit and collect dust in their iPhone gallery or on Instagram, where people could give two shits?  I do not claim to be any better than these people; I simply claim to truly have a hard time enjoying museums.  I can't stand the phoniness behind appreciation for all of this stuff.  People of our generation are so caught up making it known that "I was there" that they lose the actual content of the experience.  I wish there was more effort put into bragging about knowledge rather than bragging about being somewhere without knowing of its significance.  I couldn't tell you the difference between a $9 bottle of wine and a $30 bottle of wine, and so I only buy from the bottom shelf.  Today, I visited the Uffizi and Galileo museums where I spent most of my time photographing people photographing the art.  Is this ironic?  Sorry to those offended by my lack of appreciation.  I search for something to grab my interested rather than resorting to the clichés.

She

"It's toothpaste", she said, knowing that it was not toothpaste.  

She recognized her wasted effort without acknowledgement, knowing damn well that the rural Italian cooks could not understand a lick of her Midwest American English.  She now wondered if they were even looking at the stain on the collar of her dress, or if she took a glance in her direction too personally, as most interactions seemed to conclude as of late.  

The touch of cold that was transferred from the stone floor to her feet became the strongest sensation of sanity that she was able to grasp since arriving in the village.  The feeling like a reminder that these days of heat are only temporary, as are these days spent in denial of loneliness and futile distractions from a lack of human intimacy.  Slowly, she repeated the action of pushing one heel off the ground until contact was met with the ball of her foot, and thus followed by the next foot, until she reached the edge of the bed.  One deep breath.  Dirty underwear caught her vision.  Glancing just one foot to the right, she noticed her shoes, untouched and unpacked, in a plastic bag.  How long had she been walking around barefoot?

One last lift of a heel, push of a ball, and she found herself molded into the curves of the bed, similar to her ribs silently protruding from her torso.  Now, intransigent to the thought of a necessity to ever leave this bed, she fell asleep at approximately 4:38 somewhere else's time.

Serendipity

I keep having the feeling that my timing has been on point.  I came to Zurich early this morning to stay in the airport hotel before leaving for Italy early tomorrow morning.  I am having a hard time writing right now because I just had two glasses of prosecco.  Anyway.  I walked towards the water, as that typically feels like the destination point of most cities that I visit.  I walked on a balcony overlooking the lake, and saw a man approach, in preparation for a performance.  Initially, he began what I thought might be a magic show as he pulled two long poles out of a short bucket.  To my surprise, he pulled these poles apart to create massive bubbles.  Maybe bubbles are trite and cliche, but the rain came as soon as stopped shooting, so to me it was serendipity.

Full

Nils, Tamara, Jolle.  We drank beer, considered different time zones, categorized stars/aliens/airplanes, dunked into the warm, black lake water.  The moon was full (like a mirror for our bellies).  Drying off, with bikes parked in the field, we celebrated Nils' dad's 61st rotation about the sun with this 10 year old (illegal) hot air balloon.  The flame grew precariously large.

Gonzo Journalism/Ship of Theusus

I keep waking up to find myself in the same unfamiliar place. Am I a prisoner? In exile? Is this the quantifiable Atlantis? Signs direct me from one to the next. Like the lilies, nearly silhouetted yet outlined in white by the earth's final turn away from the sun, lined up against some shitty orange cloth masking the construction site. Is it too naive to conclude anything from a good night of sleep when it's preceded then followed by a night of terror? Dreams of animals scurrying lead into a slap of reality as defined by 2:30 AM and an alert of an ax murderer some three hours north of here. How can I conclude anything when these horrors are then followed by a gratuitous message permitting information that I had been intentionally avoiding? Now I sit in futile attendance of this golden hour, hopeful that the sun sets on the cloth before the flowers. My skin is itchy and broken and I keep picking and picking just to reopen old scabs. If I continue to replace the scab with a new scab, does it remain the same wound?

Orange, Pink, Yellow, but Mostly Greenhouses

Today I would define as the best day, thus far.  I sat on a boat for an hour long trip to Isle Reichenau.  Reichenau is a really fun word to pronounce in a German accent.  Last weekend, the woman I met told me to go here specifically to visit the church which has well preserved historic paintings due to the fact that they were painted on wet walls.  I was surprised to find that this island was predominated by greenhouses and farms of lettuce, pumpkins, squash, etc etc.  I could eat up this entire island and feel full for weeks.  The absolute highlight was the Salatstube, a salad bar built into a functioning greenhouse.  The second highlight was the shokolate hasselnut (chocolate hazelnut) milkshake.  Honestly the best milkshake I've ever had.  (Maybe it was my state of mind???)  By the end of my two hour land excursion, I sat blinded by the sparkling water, slumped against a tree, sleepy and satisfied.  The boat ride back home was only but a dream.

Disclaimer: These photos are mediocre, but they serve as evidence that today happened.

Ten Years

Days like today are my personal proof of reality.  I can measure days by the placement of my books, can measure months by the diminishing 25 toothpick pack, can measure years by the number of July Fifteenths that have passed since you had.  Reality only exists to me if I can count it, quantify it, put it in my pocket, and look at it later.  Since you left I have graduated twice.  I have left the country four times.  I ran 13.1 miles.  I have made one friend that will be in my life forever.  I have had ten birthdays (that's 185 candles), been in two bike accidents.  In three years, I will have lived half of my life without you. I have gone zero days without thinking about you. 

Chamomile Cure

These photos are quite boring, and as of lately, I am quite boring.  Something I keep telling people is that here, in Germany, I am living the same life (and am still the same person) that I was before I left.  I am not changing, only adapting to being alone, walking greater distances, coping with days of silence, falling asleep before the sun sets. Mostly, I feel tired but cannot sleep. I spend most of the day dedicated to exhausting myself by going on runs, walking into town, reading, creating, but the only thing that has worked thus far has been chamomile tea.

Dreams of Being Held Captive and Torschlusspanik

VIctor/Trauma/Slow Down.  Exit the bus through the second door.  Pull out all of your hair and dream that it grows back.  Dream about the wrong bus picking you up from your oppressor.  Door close panik.  Goal close panik.  Wake up to the rain.  Three hours to go.  Light from a flashlight, seeking your oppressor.  Pain in your chest. Panik in your brain.  Victor/Trauma/Slow Down.  Running for the train.

Blue

A color that describes the feeling I have returned to a number of times this week. Small situations bring me out of it.  The old man who sat next to me on the bench by the blue lake.  The woman who invited me to share drinks with her family under the dark blue sky.  The loss of breath while choking on the reflected blue water. 

Day Four: July Fourth

July.  This is always a tough month for me.  This summer, I can vehemently direct my emotions to the album July by Marissa Nadler, and in particular, the song Firecrackers.  Marissa Nadler sings:

Firecrackers burned into heaven on the floor

My attackers, it's me it's me it's me you're looking for

July Fourth of last year, we spilled all the blood

How'd you spend your summer days?

I know better now I don't call you up at night

'Cause baby, your ghost and I have changed

I have a tendency to relate random things that I read, see, taste, etc. into one amalgamated theme.  Ayn Rand writes:

"We cannot serve him by making terms with his destroyers."

"I'm not making terms with them.  They need me.  They know it.  It's my terms that I'll make them accept."

"By playing a game in which they gain benefits in exchange for harming you?"

On a separate note, tonight I photographed windows and reflections.

Day Three

This time zone is diminishing my circadian rhythm to the point of virtual non-existence.  I stay up late, sleep until the afernoon, and I'm acting like this is a pattern, but the reality is I've only been here for three days and two nights.  Run on sentences, run on sentences, running on coffee, days running into weeks, weeks into months.  Stream of consciousness. Sea with sailboats. Seerestaurant on the coast of the city.

Day Two

I don't really feel like saying much today.  Too caught up in a different time zone.  Here are some of the photos that I took today in Konstanz/Radolfzell.  The graffiti pic is one of my favorite photos I've ever taken.

Day One

Day 1 of many in Germany.  Honestly, one my favorite activities while traveling is sitting on long train or bus rides and staring out the window.  I am able to understand more about a place by watching it fly in front of my face, delivering no words, just thoughts.  Germany feels like my dreams.  Like stacks and fields of colored boxes decorated with windows and people, visible by incandescent light.  I see totems and cows, symmetry and chaos, all sending me that visceral assurance that things will be ok.

Best Coast WWOOF

I can confidently say that my experience with WWOOF (World Wide Organization of Organic Farms) in Santa Cruz, California was one of the best and most formative of my life.  During Summer of 2014, I spent three weeks on Blossom's Farm, living in a trailer in the woods, planting, watering, harvesting, and cleaning every day.  Blossom's Farm is owned by beautiful Swiss Carin and her husband Delmar.  This farm employs biodynamics (bless you, Rudolf Steiner) which is a method of utilizing soil, minerals, earth, atmosphere, and galaxy forces to maximize crop potential.  I look back on this experience with a full heart and remember well four leaf clovers in the meadow, standing on the edge of the quarry, waking up to goats screaming, selling bunnies at our farm stand, and celebrating our last night with wildflower crowns.  I shot solely with my thrift store point and shoot and a disposable.

India

Dehli, Agra, and Jaipur in 11 days with 18 students. Being there made me feel mostly introspective, considering how in the United States we live for pleasure, and in this country, so many people live for survival.  The colors and spirit of the country were juxtaposed against the pervasive poverty pouring out of every street and alley on repeat.  People bathed in the water that was too unsafe for us to drink.  With my mouth closed tightly shut in the shower, I considered how privileged I am to live in a country where I can walk around without fear. Aside from the psychological experience I had, the ancient and historic architecture of this country is surreal.  I shot only with my cheap point and shoot and a disposable camera.