FEBRUARY 24, 2008 - LEAVING LVIV

On my last night in Lviv, I had 5 different dreams in between pee breaks. And the dreams seemed to appear more real by the minute. In all of them, I found myself back home, under a multitude of different predicaments: Being pissed off at my mom due to a lifetime of preferential treatment towards my brother, myself smoking a bowl of Cali Green while watching a documentary with Pat (for future reference...Pat = Amsterdam, Patrick = Crazy German), drinking 40s and talking about hip hop with Roy and the homies out in the streets, even with a past love interest pleaing to get back with me...and in every one of those I'd think, "Holy shit! How did I get here? Wait, I have to catch a train to Odessa. Did I buy a plane ticket to Lviv? Should I just go straight to Istanbul? Fuck!!" I'd wake up and be relieved that it was just a dream, but even if it wasn't I woudlnt' have regretted my decision to return home and miss out on the rest of my adventure (more so, I would've have regretted the cowardice of the decision). But, fuck; they felt so real -- as if somewhere between my stages of sleep, my soul would excavate my body, traverse the continent of Europe, and reconnect with the familiarity that I miss, and then return Donnie-Darko style to remind me that I've got to press on.

Don't get me wrong, I'm having the time of my life. I'm justin between swings of the vine, you know? Arms outstreteche, I have to release my grip and trust that I'll have a place to land and that I've left enough of an impression to be well-received upon my return. But for real though, I miss home. I miss surfing (but I hear it's been rainy and big, so fuck that shit!). Really though, I miss edge and independent music. I'm a social creature and my identity depends heavily on external factors and my environment. In LA, I am king (straight up). Even in other cities like New York, San Francisco or Chicago I know that'd only be a matter of time till I know what's up with the city and the city to know what's up with me. However, here, in Eastern Europe where pop music and Dolce & Gabbana happens to make polyester filled jackets (with elastic waistbands) I can't really see myself as nothing more than an outsider looking in. What I mean is that being different has never been more natural; nor unavoidable.