MARCH 27, 2008 - NOT TREE, NOR STONE

So it's almost been 2 months that I've been on the road now and today was one of the more defining ones.

I don't know what to make of this whole thing. I'm tired. I feel I'm as much a tree as I am a rolling stone. I don't want to go back home. I don't want to counry hop anymore, either. I'm just tired, I guess. But I AM a rolling stone. Nothing (outside of hip hop and the ocean) has been able to hold my attention for too long. And even hip hop has lost my dedication, to a certain extent. For real though, after all this, despite all this, am I supposed to just carry on and pick up where I left off? By the time I return, others will have already left and where would I actually continue? South on the 405? To my delusions of still living out on the westside, and not with my parents? Or that we'll still go out to Silverlake, The Brig or even go surfing before and after work like we did last summer? I don't know. The world continues, life continues and I'm Rip Van Winkling.

But on the other side, I'm also a tree. If I'm forever standing on unstable soil, when will I ever plant my roots? What is with the way of the stone anyway? Meeting people, etching permanent marks onto each other and then just having them disappear and (realistically speaking) never see them again? It's a phenomenon, to me.

The lives of travelers, the dimension in which they live and the way they occupy that time in their lives. Traveling in and out of hostels, couches. Washing clothes in sinks, growing out their facial hair, asking people for nail clippers. Opening up dialogue with, "Hey, where ya from?" Looking a menu and ordering food based on money rather than the actual food description. Not even being able to fucking read the menu to begin with. Having a little guidebook dictate what exactly you will be able to communicate, flipping frantically through the pages, like, "Ok, just point and I'll head in that direction." The life of travelers, I tell you, isn't for me. I can't be a rollling stone. Let me fall into a country, get all the ingredients, throw it into the oven, open it up and smell the wonders and then leave just as the yeast is going to rise. It is the most wonderful thing though; and I guess it's because travelers catch other humans at their best of times -- when they're open to the world, vulnerable to do just about anything, have to trust in strangers, have to just have faith that people are inherently good, and are willing to make the most of it (drinking, fucking, drugging, photographing, plowing through hangovers) because they know, just like I now confirm, that it's all fleeeting. None of it lasts, not the photographs or souvenirs, the relationships...even already the memories are settling onto the back of my mind like potato chips do during transit.

(Side note: As I currently transcribe this it's been over a week since I've posted up in Amsterdam and I feel it even now. Lord knows how prominent it's going to be in two months time.)

Like I said, it's a phenomenon to me. Usually when I find somethign good I tend to hold onto it. If it's fertile soil, I want to set up shop. But the forces of nurture always shake shit up and I can't even grow a damn apple.

"Hey Rob/Sean/David, it's me, Roe. The person you met in Central Turkey, on a Soviet train, in a posh Berlin hostel X amount of years ago. So I'm going to Australia and I was wondering..."

For the record, I think I relate most with Australians and I would live there, without even having ever visited, based alone on my encounters with the countrymen. Americans can learn from them; lesson one -- fucking take it easy. I am trapped in this etherworld, where my reality has all these flings with people -- forming bonds, so strong and so temporary and fleeting at the same time.

Whatever -- had they known me long enough they would've fast been privy to the fact that I'm an asshole. But you know, the solitude and stuff just kind of makes me realize how niche I am. When I started Chiat I also got out of a long term relationship. And when that struck, I made a personal commitment to just be whoever I naturally am and not try to be perfect. I decided to just be me, the best that I could so long as it didn't really hurt anyone. You can imagine the liberation and boundless opportunities that arose as I started to nestle into my character. However, all that self-discovery comes with the side effect of self-distancing.

All I can say, really, is that I'm glad I'm on this trip. I miss home, but I'm no longer certain of what I'm more afraid of. As I head west (currently on a 14 hour bus ride from Prague >> Amsterdam), traveling through well worn paths leaves a lot to be desired. As time brings me closer to home, my sense of adventure severely diminishes. I just need to replant my roots. I just need to photosynthesize. I just need to rebulid. But the life of travelers, I tell you, shit, well, I guess it is me.