soon

I'll write more shit in here on a daily basis soon.  I feel guilty when I don't.  Just that I'm missing things, and so often the things that go undocumented fade to nothing, and then I'll just be sitting on a mighty mountain of nothings and that will be my life.  

There's a great part at the end of "The Neverending Story" (the book, FUCK that movie(s), the book is a stunning work of fiction that makes me feel such ways), where Bastien loses his memory and is trapped in some sort of memory mine where all forgotten memories ever are frozen in ice, and he has to mine them for years and years until he finds his father trapped in a memory and he can remember and go home.  

I need to read that again.

But anyway, that's what it's like, see.  

My trip to Minneapolis was hard on me, mostly in a mental way that I can't really pin down.  I've felt "different" since.  All I want to do is travel to every place, it doesn't matter how small or far away, to see the ways each of the places makes me feel and changes me, ms. malleable.

I've been feeling manic, like my body and mind want to move faster faster faster but nothing else can catch up, and my heart's like "woah, fuck" and I'm twitchy and on the edge of panic.  But you can't see from the outside.