I am a creature of freedom— a creature of freedom. Freedom is tricky. Some days like— mind beats, judgement calls, unsound spectacles unsheathing my soul in sub rosa places only I can see (but boy do I feel). Some days, more like— crawling away hand over hand grubby knees scoot across dust. All the esoteric giggles become covert, stealthy, tainted by criminality.
This is the fire, the fate of the fire: to wax and bulge as I gaze upon it and shrivel and splutter when I turn my cheek— my chagrin is great and displeasure bold, for the night ahead is long. But this is the fate of the fire: to catch a waft a minuscule flick and with just a breath to light a … Read More Fate of the Fire
What a lovely thing, the written word. When you find that gut-dropping eyebrow-raising turn-of-phrase and you breathe: articulation. That’s me! That’s me written out and articulated! Then you get along with life–you no longer search for what the hell is this mumble of emotions you don’t have to spend your nights where is the justification?! It’s equally good, if not better, to read soul … Read More A Slice of Articulation
When I grow up, I will settle down near the last train station on the line. It’s where I live now, a five-minute bike ride from the last station on the Western Line. My e-bike whirls as I ride up a long concrete pathway lined with rails. Sometimes the train whooshes right past me, hurtling towards the station faster than I. Inviting me for … Read More Rushing to Wait
I am building my self-esteem around a sentence: I can learn anything. I’m not great with kids? Not a great runner? Not all that social? Not a published writer? Doesn’t matter, I remind myself (over and over again) being “great” is not my self-worth. I’m not great with kids yet. I’m not a great runner yet. I am learning the balance between Just Josie … Read More Transmitting a Different Reality
I am going to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail. Typical response: “But why?” I am walking across the United States, it’ll take me 7 months, I’ll cross 14 states. “But why?” I am going to volunteer on six continents. “Why?” I am going to run 50 marathons in 50 days. “Why!?”
I’m not going to tell you what happened. Not about the woman I met, nor the shades of green on the hillsides against the coal black sand dunes. That’s not what you want to read about. I know this–I think I know this–because that’s not what I want to write about, either. “No man really knows about other human beings. The best he can do is … Read More Master Puppeteer
What is it that I have? I have nothing, really, if one counts somethings as one counts apples plumping in a tree or pine cones in the outdoor slippers or little birdie heads that pop up and down on nests made of the dog hair brushed out of Lila this morning on the back porch; as if something is something that simply fits and … Read More Sorts of Somethings
It’s easy, isn’t it, to read Andre Gide, “It is only in adventure that some people succeed in knowing themselves — in finding themselves”, and suddenly get jazzed. To throw an assortment of clothes in a suitcase and purchase the cheapest ticket on Skyscanner and just take to it, damn it, “I want to go find myself!”
She takes a shower every day and cuts her hair five times a year but secretly she longs to be adventure girl; swinging from the trees and bathing like a monarch half-naked crazed and dreadlocked living with the birds and sister to the wind.
You want to do what? Have you saved enough? Are you old enough? Who will you trust? But aren’t you scared? How will you fare? Are you really prepared? Haven’t you heard? Those lines are blurred, you can’t be a bird, you can be cured. I don’t think I would I don’t think you should you’re not prepared you’re not a bird you’re not … Read More Permission