cuz you're the places that i wanted to go

can i kiss your dopamine?

There are chance meetings with strangers that interest us from the first moment, before a word is spoken.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

i don't need drugs. i am drugs.
dalí

places to go:

moscow
houston
tel aviv
upper peninsula

the preceding photos are mine, the following are not.

i refuse to give up my obsession.

ginsberg

things fall apart

What I'm trying to say is that I wish things had worked out better for you. I wish it more than anything in the world. When I look at you now, the circles under your eyes become more pronounced every day. It's as if time has added to your fatigue as continuously as it adds each passing hour. As relentless as time. If I could undo it, I would. I would give my livelihood to you as fully as you needed to get by yourself. If I could drain my vitality to give yours back, I would. All that I want is for that to be enough. Your happiness means more to me than does my own. I would rather have you than have myself.

fairground doctor

For the first time since all this happened, I feel my understanding of the world start to shift, as if it's only now- now that I know this is all true- that I can allow myself to start answering all the questions I have: to start adding up all the pieces of information and all my experiences.

I am suddenly sure that the moment when you catch someone's eye, or the moment you think someone's looking at you, or the moment when you think of someone and then they ring, or the moment when you start getting lost in a building you know so well because most other people in it are lost- these aren't accidents. They relate in some way to the structure of the physical world, to the fact that all our minds are as connected as everything else.

Scarlett Thomas

you don't know nothin about where we're from

Three weeks ago I took a flight 4,407 miles away from home alone, to be greeted by people I had not met before. I have had some of the most eye opening experiences of my life, and days that have made me feel both intensely frustrated and satisfied. However, I have not felt more far away from home than I did Monday night.

Monday night at dinner, after a German girl stated that it had always been one of her father’s dreams to settle in the United States, an older man from another European country joined the conversation.

“Why?” he asked. “Why would anyone want to live in such a god-awful place? It is the worse place on the planet. They are killing thousands of people. They made George Bush, and now they have made Obama.” He elaborated about his stance on the deployment of troops in Iraq and Afghanistan.

The man then looked directly at me and said it is the last place that he would ever want to visit.

The Bolivian girl disagreed with him apprehensively: “I fell in love with the United States when I was in Washington. The people were so nice to me. If you had said that about Bolivia, that all Bolivians supported Evo Morales or it was an awful place, I would be very angry.”

“Good people in a country do not make a good country,” the man said.

I didn’t say anything. I have traveled enough to know that it is typically not advisable to speak about American politics in different countries. I stared straight at him and waited for him to finish his rant. It was obvious he wanted me to disagree, and generally I have no problem with arguing. However in the middle of South America, being the only person from the United States at dinner with people from five different countries, I was at a loss for how to handle the situation. It takes a lot to offend me, but by brazenly insulting the United States and failing to make any differentiations between political disagreement and personal insult, he accomplished it.

Earlier in the conversation, when the man learned that I was from Chicago, he looked at me with an expression of disbelief and said “Wow. I thought that the last of you had fled out of here. It is not common to meet Americans in Bolivia.” Unaware of what was to come in the conversation, I had told him that I have heard that his country is absolutely beautiful. It takes a special kind of arrogance to openly insult someone who you have just met, and who was not only friendly but complimentary.

I have traveled fairly extensively for my age, and this is the first time I have directly encountered unprovoked, direct hostility from someone of another country. Of course, I have witnessed obvious anti-American sentiment, however I have never personally been offended. I have met many foreigners in the US, and I can’t imagine ever making a derogatory statement to them about their home country, no matter what it is. Typically, I have found my acceptance and appreciation for people different from myself to be met with a similar attitude.

I have always felt appreciation for my American citizenship and home in Chicago, however it is even more evident when it is challenged. When the man said that, I wished that we were in Chicago, and he could have absorbed the repercussions of his statement there. The reality of the situation was that I felt more alone than I have in a long time. I am lucky to say, however, that this event has been the most ostracized I have felt in my stay here.

I love America.

tropic of cancer

I have been in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia for 10 days now. I wish I could write more frequently, but it is hard to articulate all the things that happen every day.

I love South America. The people are beautiful, and the city seems to run in a manner very near to chaos. At first this frightened me, but it is becoming more and more liberating. I love the way Bolivians say my name, 'Cah ro leen.'

There is a simultaneous wildness and modesty that is characteristic of los cruceños, and I appreciate it more every day. They seem to have a lust for life far less inhibited by consumerism and bureaucracy. I love the way that some people look at me here, like there are hundreds of things they want to say, but are prevented by the translational gap. I feel that they are able to communicate more to me than they are aware. I wish I had a book by Pablo Neruda here.

and one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.
pablo neruda

a mutual addiction

I realize now that my actions have become slightly manic, like those of an addict. After this I will be withdrawn and unable to think of anything aside from my next fix. It's not healthy, and it's not lasting. It's for right now. If the future doesn't involve it, I don't want it to come. Right now my future is stretching in front of me like a gravel road to be walked barefoot. The pain won't be acute, but it will be constant. I wish I didn't think about it so much, but I can't help it. It's beyond obsession. I wish I could develop normal penchants and inclinations, but I can't. It's as if I am lacking a chemical that I had before but my body can no longer produce. I can't be accountable for things I do now. If I could, I would drink a sleeping draught. Powerful and immediate, like a shade being drawn over a window. This would slow the off kilter reeling of my mind. All it does is spin and spin and drive me crazy with the immensity of everything.
I put two mirrors directly across from each other to illuminate my room. Looking at them reminds me of you, reflecting wildly forever. They constantly spit light and noise back and forth and when you look at one you can see the other replicated for infinity behind the glass.

write it on your heart

I'm done with school- completely done with exams and leaving for South America in two days. Last night I went to the city to see some of my friends before I left. It was a crazy night and I ran from an apartment on Dearborn to Navy Pier to Wrigleyville and saw friends from work, high school, and U of I. I stayed with two friends of mine from Nazareth, and in the morning we sat by the lake and talked for a while. When we were driving back on Lake Shore Drive, I kept telling my friend how happy I was. It was so beautiful out, and I kept looking at Lake Michigan and all the people walking along it. I have always loved Chicago, but for some reason its beauty seemed especially transcendent. I remembered the fog of Navy Pier and the twinkling lights of the buildings the night before, and the charmingly chaotic nightlife of the North Side. I couldn't articulate the feeling I had that made me feel like my heart was swelling with my gratitude for everything.

Imagine we're astronauts who have crashed on the moon. We're stranded. We look up into the sky and see the beautiful blue Earth, but can't get back to it because our ship is damaged. All we can do is look at that brilliant blue orb in the cold black sky and long to be home again.

But suppose we managed to fix our craft after all, and landed once again, on Earth. How would we feel as we first set foot upon the Earth? What would we observe and savor? How intensely would we experience the smells and flavors, the gentle rain, or the warm sand underfoot?

This, says Thich Nhat Hanh, is how we should walk on the earth with each step.

Steve Hagan

My friend and I started talking about immigration, and the difficulty in reconciling the idea that open borders aren't feasible with the fact that immigrants are undoubtedly looking for opportunities that they don't have in the country where they are coming from. To me, it is presents a moral dilemma to deny someone an opportunity that you were given by pure chance. There was nothing that I did to earn the life I was given. I am so lucky to have been born in the United States. I am so fortunate to be in one of the most beautiful cities in the whole world. I feel that an awareness and gratitude of the circumstances that I was born into is conducive to acting in a way that promotes the lessening of the disparities in the world.

I explained my interest in international development to my friend, and my belief that there will be no end to civil strife, corrupt governments, and denial of basic human rights in periphery nations until they are able to ascend out of poverty. I saw Muhammad Yunus speak at U of I, and one thing that he said has stuck with me for months:

The poor themselves can create a poverty-free world.. all we have to do is to free them from the chains that we have put around them.

While I was speaking to my friend, I confessed my feeling of inadequacy in being able to effect change. I feel like there is so much to be done, and I should be doing it. But who am I? A 20-year-old, idealist college student. I do not have the platform or the devices to influence change on the scale I would like to.

I realized then how negative I was being- I have as much potential as anyone else. You can't change the world just by wishing it to be so. By changing the way that I act, the things I do, the life that I live I will effect change. Going to Santa Cruz de la Sierra to teach English will have an impact, and even if in a small way, I will be living a life reflective of my ideals. I am happy for that.

i'm surprised no one's told you before

I'm in the middle of exams, and it's really easy to get sucked into the super competitive atmosphere. It's exhausting and demoralizing. I kind of reached a point today where I couldn't study anymore, and felt overwhelmingly drained.

I can study all I want, but I won't get the grade that I want to get. I'm not smart enough. It's too difficult.

I realized then how close to being done my year was. Two projects and an exam away. That made me think about all the things that happened this year, and what they've meant to me. How many things I've done in 9 months, and how much everything has changed. I started to feel a little bit better then. I remembered times that seemed very difficult, and how they had worked out. Because they did work out. I made it work then, and I will now.

I think it's just as important to appreciate what you've done as it is to think about how far you have to go. It is easy for me to say that, and to be honest it is something I rarely do. I often feel overwhelmed by the expectations that I have for myself, and what I see as my limitations. I constantly feel like I should be doing more. I should be studying harder, I should be more conscience of my carbon footprint, I should be keeping in better contact with old friends. It seems that the more you try to realize your potential, the higher your expectations for yourself become. That's not a bad thing, ambition and drive are important. But it's also important to recognize how far you've already come.

As useful as it is to make resolutions on what you need to improve, how will you be happy if you don't stop and appreciate where you've been? There will always be more that you can do, or things you can improve upon. This doesn't make what you've done insignificant. Think about all the things that you've learned, all the people you've met. Make a list of accomplishments of the year. Be happy with that, because the world is different because you've done those things. Just by living your life, you have had an impact on everyone around you. Remember that when you start to feel insignificant. You are the furthest thing from that.

The road goes on for a long time, but you've made it this far. You must be doing something right. In fact, you're probably doing a lot of things right. You're probably doing more things right than you're aware of. You probably impress people all the time with what you've accomplished, but because of your own ambition you don't see it yourself. It is good to strive for more, but give yourself credit for what you've done. Recognize the beauty and the potential in the world around you, and recognize those things in yourself. No one said progress had to be linear. Let yourself see what other people see in you all the time.

To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived- this is to have succeeded.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

hungary

italy

sweden

turning your orbit around

Your pupil is like a black hole, and when I look at you it's as if I I can't see anything aside from it. Everything around me gets caught up in the inertia and the matter all goes hurtling toward you. The light getting pulled in makes streaks that look like fire scorching against the sky. I go tumbling down but don't hit anything, it's just that my sense of direction gets thrown to hell and I lose where I was going in the first place. You don't see it, but I can barely maintain the path I'm on, the force is too consuming. If I resist it little parts will fracture off into the tide. I know that I should want my autonomy back, but I don't. The universe is too infinite without you keeping me here, and I don't want to get lost in the expanse. If I go too far I will get colder and colder and freeze like Hoth. If I wasn't straining against the gravity I would be spun out in the opposite direction and I would never be back again.

one flew east, one flew west

"Madness." But what does that even mean? Just that you think in a different way than everyone else, you see things other people don't see. But that's not a bad thing. And who cares if from time to time you write about things that other people think are strange or morbid or crazy- what do you think people thought about Lolita or One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest or Catcher in the Rye when they first came out? But unordinary things exist in life. And people who are poetically and artistically literate appreciate someone who can see the beauty or the importance in things that other people shy away from.

Alexandra Koys

east of eden

Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is really worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person’s face as you pass them on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It’s okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise.

Miranda July

I miss her smell, and the way she tastes. It's a mystery of human chemistry and I don't understand it, some people, as far as their senses are concerned, just feel like home.

High Fidelity

I wanted to get out and walk eastward toward the park through the soft twilight, but each time I tried to go I became entangled in some wild, strident argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into my chair. Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I was him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

in our bedroom after the war

I just had lunch with a friend that I haven't seen for some time. I always like doing that; it is difficult for me to ever say goodbye to anyone, and I like it when people don't make me. We talked about books and traveling and Carl Sagan. When I started talking about school and my ambitions I realized how morose I sounded. I am so discouraged. I don't like constantly thinking about things like my place in the world, and life after death and what the point of everything is. I don't like to think about it, but I can't help it. I can't focus on what I'm doing because my mind is everywhere else. I like to think about the human body and how intricate it is, and how much of a miracle the rushing of blood in your veins and the firing of neurons seems to be. How everything going on in your body and mind is the most interesting thing I could ever imagine. Or how we are made with matter from exploded stars, how we have all sprung from the same origins and we are all connected. I like being able to write on this because it's like purging all these things that are on my mind all the time. Like the pensieve Dumbledore has. Here are some things I've seen lately that I like, I hope you like them too. Thanks for reading what I write.
Recognize that the very molecules that make up your body, the atoms that construct the molecules, are traceable to the crucibles that were once the centers of high mass stars that exploded their chemically rich guts into the galaxy, enriching pristine gas clouds with the chemistry of life. So that we are all connected to each other biologically, to the earth chemically and to the rest of the universe atomically. That’s kinda cool! That makes me smile and I actually feel quite large at the end of that. It’s not that we are better than the universe, we are part of the universe. We are in the universe and the universe is in us.

Neil deGrasse Tyson

Stéphanie: Why me?

Stephane: Because everyone else is boring. And because you're different.

Writers, especially poets, are particularly prone to madness. There exists a striking association between creativity and manic depression. Why are more creative people prone to madness? They have more than average amounts of energies and abilities to see things in a fresh and original way- then because they also have depression, I think they're more in touch with human suffering.

"We came to writing at an earlier age, from an urge to release a scream that had stuck in our throats. Then we worked on our screams until we thought they were something someone might want to hear.”

Stephen Elliott

A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.

Roald Dahl

We embarked on our journey to the stars with a question first framed in the childhood of our species and in each generation asked anew with undiminished wonder: What are the stars? Exploration is in our nature. We began as wanderers, and we are wanderers still. We have lingered long enough on the shores of the cosmic ocean. We are ready at last to set sail for the stars.

Carl Sagan

let's drive to the mediterranean in a stolen car

Then he came in, breathless and starry. When he slammed the door behind him the cobwebs and moondust scattered into the air, so the whole room looked to be swirling with silver.

'Get the map, and the compass!' he said, his voice urgently quiet and shaking with the tone of repressed excitement.

They went out to the garden. The colored lanterns hanging from the tree cast their glow on the grass as the darkening twilight was giving way to a daisy-field of stars.

'What is it?' she asked.

and it rained all night

I feel like every atom in my head is going in a different direction and it's splitting apart. In Champaign, in Chicago, in Moscow. Back in my apartment in Italy. In a dusty computer lab coding HTML and helping sneak manuscripts out of the Soviet Union. Nervous anxiety paranoia consumption and I can't do anything about it. Coming down from mania is rough business. Only real accomplishment of today was having survived this weekend.

we must never, ever be boring

I shared a vagrant optimism that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top.
At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles—a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other—that kept me going.

Hunter S. Thompson

déjà vu theory

déjà vu- "already seen"; also called paramnesia, from Greek παρα "para," "near, against, contrary to" + μνήμη "mnēmē," "memory") or promnesia, is the experience of feeling sure that one has witnessed or experienced a new situation previously (an individual feels as though an event has already happened or has happened in the recent past), although the exact circumstances of the previous encounter are uncertain.

I used to get déjà vu a lot- when I was a kid I remember riding my bike up a hill and being completely taken aback by the fact that I was absolutely positive I had already experienced that moment. I still get it sometimes, but I don't think I notice the feeling as being as transcendent as it used to be. I was thinking about the feeling a few years ago, and came up with an idea I really like.

Maybe God instills certain images in us before we are born- certain moments, sensations, feelings, or events that in the plan for your life are set to unfold. These are given to you as memories of things that you have not yet experienced, but if everything goes according to plan, you will.

When you get déjà vu, then, it can be taken as a sort of checkpoint- that every decision, instance, thought, action, and the compilation of every second of your life has led you up to that moment- which is where you were supposed to be. That can dispel any doubt or regret that you should've done anything differently. You are exactly where you were meant to be. Everything has occurred just as it was supposed to, and though your life may not have been perfect or as you planned it to occur, you have lived into the life you were meant for.

There isn't anywhere you can be that isn't where you were meant to be.

The Beatles

everything i tell you now is true

You'll continue to be on the infinitely tall pedestal from which the fall would be fatal. Fatal for me, because if you were to fall it would surely mean my demise. I don't know how you would; you can do no wrong in my eyes. When you left you took away so much of me that I felt like I could barely function. Like I lost too much blood, or a vital organ. Even though you aren't present physically, you are here. I see you in everything around me, and I refuse to accept your absence. Like your presence has permeated so deeply into my psyche that I can only comprehend a situation when you are in it. I never knew what it was to be alone until I met you, and now I know it more intimately than anything else.

That day that you left last year the chandelier fell. I don't know what happened. I was sitting at the piano and suddenly it came crashing to the ground. It looked really pretty when it was falling; for a second there was light going through every one of the crystals and it shone so brightly the whole room looked like a rainbow. It shattered when it hit though, and there's still little shards of glass all over the floor that I can't see until I step on them. The room is so dark now, and when I go in there I remember how the bright patterns of refracted light used to cover the floor.

Every time the phone rings, every noise I hear in another room, every time I walk in a large crowd of people I expect you. The hall is still echoing with the intonations of your voice. It is so quiet, but it keeps me up at night. People can't really know me if they didn't know you. I told a stranger all about you last night. It was hard to know where to even start, with my mind exploding with its inability to articulate you. They could never understand the way I saw the colors around me intensify and deepen when you were there. The way everything around me became illuminated because when I saw it, I was also seeing you. There is no one else to me.

all the people dreaming and the immensity of it

I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, 'This is what it is to be happy.'
Sylvia Plath

"That is well said," replied Candide, "but we must cultivate our garden."

little by little you will turn into stars.
Hafiz

then i'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours

We can go back to that secret meadow we found, with the little stream running through it and the old willow tree. We can talk about anything you want. You can tell me all your secrets, or we can talk about mermaids or the Freemasons. We don't have to talk though, I don't mind not talking when I'm with you. As the sun begins to set we can go into the treehouse we made last summer, where we lined the floor with the glittery stones we found on the beach that one day.

I still remember that day, when we made the huge sand castle with the moat. And when you stood up all the sand fell out of your hair and I couldn't remember seeing someone look more beautiful than you did in that moment.

We can stay up in the treehouse, and then we'll have that adventurous feeling of being out when we should be sleeping. We can watch the lightning bugs flicker on and off as the daylight fades away. Do you want to go back there? I want to go back.

did you tell him all your secrets?

I don't want to make this a music blog, but I have to make an exception to rave about the Headlights show I went to last night. Headlights are signed to the record label that I interned for last semester, so I was familiar with them prior to the show. 'Market Girl' has been one of my favorite songs for a long time. Their live show completely blew me away. They opened for David Bazan, but truthfully he should have opened for them. Their stage presence was phenomenal, and I was really satisfied that I had been involved (albeit in a very minor way) at the record company they are part of. This is the first time since I saw Ezra Furman and the Harpoons over the summer that a performance has made me want to listen to everything they have produced. Their modesty was obvious in the dialogue they had with the crowd in a way that made me want to be friends with them; immediately endearing. The venue was pretty full, but it was as intimate as if they had been playing in a backyard during a summer party. In the midst of their national acclaim that was rather unexpected and very refreshing. I love Midwestern people, I really do. I liked these photos of them, and their uncanny ability to capture central Illinois as a destination scintillating with intrigue and understated beauty. It is too, it's just in how you look at it.

turn on tune in drop out

I want to work in revelations, not just spin silly tales for money. I want to fish as deep down as possible into my own subconscious in the belief that once that far down, everyone will understand because they are the same that far down.

Jack Kerouac

I've really been trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. Putting in some serious thought. I had to facilitate a symposium for the program that I'm in, and it was intimidatingly professional. In the middle of the dry cleaned button-downs and suits I found someone who basically did with his life what I aspire to do with mine. That was reassuring. He is now retired, but was a journalist who traveled all over the world doing foreign correspondence.

He told me that he had constantly felt restless in one place, and wanted to experience things for himself. Him and his friends wondered if getting drunk in Moscow would be more satisfying than in the United States. It sounded like they caused quite a ruckus behind the Iron Curtain. He wanted to experience every nuance of life and existence in a different context. I could basically feel the wonderlust just talking to him. I loved hearing crazy stories of getting detained by the KGB. He reminded me of Jack Kerouac. A lot of people and events remind me of Jack Kerouac, though, because I imagine I am a little obsessed. He said that he had confidence I would figure everything out, and he felt like he was talking to himself 30 years ago.

Is not this the true romantic feeling - not to desire to escape life, but to prevent life from escaping you?
Tom Wolfe

The event was interesting and important-seeming (chock full of distinguished alum and 'keynote speakers'), but afterward I needed to get away from structured bureaucracy. And my feet really hurt from my shoes. Really bad. I had gotten an email from my adviser about a writer visiting campus for a lecture he was giving. Typically those emails are about little speeches that academics make in lecture halls that you can attend. In this email the writer, Greg Lindsay, proposed meeting for drinks at a bar on Green Street. This sounded promising immediately, and in the enterprising spirit of the day I decided to go. My instincts turned out to be correct!

At one point in our discussion Lindsay compared himself to Tom Wolfe. I knew then that the rest of the night would be pretty interesting. It was nice to drink off the feeling of inadequacy that had burgeoned while listening to the lectures at the symposium gallivanting around campus with an esteemed writer. I loved listening to stories about the Manhattan power elite and ending up in cabs with David Bowie as much as hearing about KGB detainment. At one point I asked him if he ever found the NYC party circuit to be vapid and draining. He said he did, but he'd had a lot of fun getting to that point. I can imagine! While he told stories I was thinking of the smoke-filled bars they probably unfolded in. My imagination got a bit carried away and I think what I was imagining was more in tone with a speakeasy in the 1920s than a swanky Manhattan event full of socialites and entrepreneurs and artists.

I am fascinated by people who run with an idea or a passion and make it their livelihood. I love hearing stories of how you can make your own path through life. How the world is riddled through and criss-crossed with people making new trails all the time. People who defy the status quo. What a day!

They're just beginning to open the doors in their minds.

Tom Wolfe