Number 7

Saturday morning, the 20th, we landed in Manchester to awkwardly pile into vans hired to drive us to Liverpool.  All the cars driving on the opposite side and our driver on the opposite side of the car is a head trip.  It feels like my brain has been flipped inside out  or like when I do a left-handed cartwheel (being right-handed).

The lot of us, as they say here, are a very dynamic and gregarious group.  The few quiet ones of the bunch talk plenty when badgered, then there are the perpetual vociferous few—I fear I may be one of them, though those of you who know me well would be quite shocked at how reserved (all things relative) I’ve been here.   Sheik and Curly are more on quiet side out of the women and were in the same van with me.  Curly also plays the guitar so it was fun chatting and strumming The Lovechild on the forty minute drive.  I’m embarrassed to say I can’t remember who else was in the car with us because Chip, sitting next to me, is one of the vociferous bunch and usurped most of my attention haven declared me interesting the previous day at orientation.  God only knows why specifically, I am many things good and bad, though I suppose boring isn’t one of them.

I strummed and sang back up to Chip’s brilliant improvised lyrics.  The reoccurring theme: number 7. This refers to the concept of group imposed rules concocted during orientation, and a proposed method of efficient communication if someone was breaking a rule, a numbering system.  Instead of 1, 2, 3, 4 etc. I’ve declared number 7 to stand for all of them because I think it is so funny.  Someone complaining?  Number 7!  someone use your stuff without asking?  Number 7!  And so on and so forth.

Respect the Bubble

There is fiction in the space between ~Tracy Chapman

Here Comes The Sun

The space between days 19 June 2009 and 20 June 2009, warped to time travel just a bit as we chase the Sun. It wore pinks and dreamy-creamy blues to our farewell party outside Newark, appropriately luminous and cheerful. We fly on the breath of this Sun’s laughter. Limbo, or purgatory, have always held a perception of negative connotation and anxiety; anxiety actualized when limbo becomes a real life practice. But Here is nice. Here is where I’m supposed to be in this Here undefined. I’m looking at the world through delirious insomnia rose coloured glasses and it accentuates the blood burn crimson, faded to azure, then deepened to navy black, that the Sun has now adorned with a Mona Lisa smile of knowing and knowing I’ve no idea. I have a strange peace with it all, a tranquillity I never expected to find mid-six hour flight in the middle seat yet there it trembles in its existence. I think the apparition is because I’m finally learning how to run with Fate instead of away from it or tackling it. You see—I believe in Fate. I believe in the power of the human entity to take what will happen regardless of the individual’s action and either fuck it up or make it incredible beyond what individual’s or Fate’s power could do singularly.

To cut through the flowery petals to the root: some things happen and turn out so well you can’t believe you really wielded any part of it, my peace in purgatory is from a long since lost inner initiative. I’m delightedly frightened by the potential of the resource I’ve finally been able to tap into.

The Travel Quote Post

God Save The King“What do we leave behind when we cross each frontier? Each moment seems split in two; melancholy for what was left behind and the excitement of entering a new land.” Motorcycle Diaries

“The use of traveling is to regulate imagination by reality, and instead of thinking how things may be, to see them as they are.” – Samuel Johnson

“The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it.” – Rudyard Kipling

“Travel is glamorous only in retrospect.” – Paul Theroux

“Travel does what good novelists also do to the life of everyday, placing it like a picture in a frame or a gem in its setting, so that the intrinsic qualities are made more clear. Travel does this with the very stuff that everyday life is made of, giving to it the sharp contour and meaning of art.” – Freya Stark

“What you’ve done becomes the judge of what you’re going to do – especially in other people’s minds. When you’re traveling, you are what you are right there and then. People don’t have your past to hold against you. No yesterdays on the road.” – William Least Heat Moon

“Not all those who wander are lost.” – J. R. R. Tolkien

“To my mind, the greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the first time, to be in a position in which almost nothing is so familiar it is taken for granted.” – Bill Bryson

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” – Mark Twain

″A traveler without observation is a bird without wings.” – Moslih Eddin Saadi

When preparing to travel, lay out all your clothes and all your money.  Then take half the clothes and twice the money.  ~Susan Heller

There are only two emotions in a plane:  boredom and terror.  ~Orson Welles


I met a lot of people in Europe.  I even encountered myself.  ~James Baldwin

The only way of catching a train I ever discovered is to miss the train before.  ~G.K. Chesterton


I travel a lot; I hate having my life disrupted by routine.  ~Caskie Stinnett

A passport, as I’m sure you know, is a document that one shows to government officials whenever one reaches a border between countries, so the officials can learn who you are, where you were born, and how you look when photographed unflatteringly.  ~Lemony Snicket

No matter where you go, there you are. ~Confucius

Please feel free to add!

Sources

<http://www.bravenewtraveler.com/2008/03/07/50-most-inspiring-travel-quotes-of-all-time/>

<http://www.quotegarden.com/travel.html>

Perhaps Professional

A sheepish grin from the author after correcting three or four misspells and, ironically, mistakes in the posts written so far.  I do take my writing seriously but know myself a little too well and know to expect many more in the future.  Hopefully I will avoid it by following Mr. Carter’s advice of drafting it in Word beforehand, thus idiot-proofing myself somewhat.  But the organized clutter is here to stay, the flighty forgetful, the improvisation the soul to the writing.  My only concern, as I say when tutoring others with their writing, is that the meaning is gleaned.  Clarity is key.  So if I am professionally flawed to the point of confusion, by all means, let me know.

Once again I’ve set myself up for another post for another day; that being my take and views on the fluidity of language and subsequent levels of arbitrary when it comes to what is ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’.  Unfortunately, even with this discussion, I cannot escape spelling.

Lingering in the Preparatory State

Nervous.  Anxious. Unprepared.  The English language has a diverse variety and states of being for me to choose from or multitask in performing for my up and coming departure from my homeland.  Technically I have been out of the US of A before, Canada, Tijuana, Mexico, and The Bahamas.  This adventure however, will be largely independent.  Even though my life, my preparation, and factors involved in general, have, in fact, been going well, I feel like something must go wrong.

Luckily, I have proven to myself and I would say to outside observers in general, that I recover quite well from my mistakes regardless of the magnitude.  Mistakes are an interesting part of life.  They are so much of what makes up who we are.  They are unavoidable.  They are, a topic for another day because, I am leaving the country.

Friday evening, June 19, 2009, I will board a plane to Manchester, England.  I will join a group of people who have never met me before.  I will leave behind previously mentioned mistakes.  I cannot and do not wish to deny my mistakes, however, I intend to live without them during my time there.  I will be attending the University of Liverpool.  I am taking with me the lesson learned from a Creative Writing class in highschool, Novemeber 2001-March 2002; be a sponge.  The sights, the sounds, the people, the accents, the mannerisms, the smells, the tendencies, the belief-systems, the colors, the loves, the weather, the everything, are the water to the sponge in your pocket, the sponge you need to be as a writer.   And so it seems perhaps needless to say, more to follow.

Nervous Squirrel With Nut

My First Post

www.Futureworld33.com“Look at me, I’m on the Internets!” she exclaimed.  A true sign of being a child of technology at last.  Though she had played games on her grandmother’s macintosh as young as she could remember, and attempted to conquer Freedom and Oregon Trail on computer lab days in elementary school, in truth she was a mediocre operator of software at best.  Her grandmother, still alive and kickin’ at 83 years old could tell you more about ram, hard drives and the like than she could.

But she, Ms. Edith-Marie Roper, would have to adapt eventually.  And so, on her Macbook attained in such a manner that requires a story for another day, she is learning.

Welcome all and enjoy.  And don’t worry, I generally will not refer to myself in the third person.