on the cusp of june, torn between competing feelings: june already? and seriously, only june?! beautiful weather, i've taken blogging outside for my first time ever. this place feels like home, but not as much as it once did. it's familiar and i feel familiar, not quite where everybody knows my name but in the last week i've weaved myself into at least part of the social fabric here. i still have acquaintances, the people i graduated high school with that i hear from periodically, but there's no big homecoming. that's familiar in a way, too. there might be for somebody. keep thinking i want to work on the book, which is to say, start the fucking thing in a meaningful way. all the tools are here, i have plenty of time and all of the places within reach. it's the correct season.

it lines up: things happening all around that i'm not in on, comings and goings, encounters and parties. to alter into the first person a lucksmiths lyric, i live here but i'm a sightseer. always have been. that's what i wanted to write about, somehow living in a place but being so detached from what actually happens there, swimming in an intellectual pool you filled yourself behind a fence of obliviousness. each and every wasting day.

summer makes us all reckless in some measure, except without measure because we are reckless. what am i doing right now? in summer we become a little more reckless, more willing to take chances and chalk it up to the heat or the creeping heat-fed ineptitude, a childlike inability to wield a pencil anymore now that daily homework assignments have disappeared. does everyone remember? out of practice.

i'll think myself more into a pseudo-depression and escape to a nevercoming artistic project. i suppose that's what i've always done before. there's so little patience in me sometimes. i've decided the sounds of approaching sunset are not enough and started up electro-shock blues on my tooquiet ibook speakers. i feel like a real mac user now that my model has been discontinued. right to sad music, but meaningful music. reminds me of summers of the past, people of the past. if i don't delve too deeply into those thoughts i come out happy, almost feeling like i've been a part of something. like the names of people i kept on my cell phone address book months and years after my last contact with them, as if they'd remember me if i ever dared make contact or they'd ever give me a passing thought during a moment of reflection. no. i have a different number now anyway, but even some people since that change i don't talk to now. once more recently by accident. want to write a story about one of them. wouldn't want her to know.

i wonder where they are. all of them. sometimes the same places but never the same people. not yet.

life is so open-ended here sometimes. i'm only writing like this about the past and wishes for a portion of the future that i have control over because i have no idea what will be next.

nice breeze out here. doesn't feel like anything too bad could be coming.