Projects below.

- clothing line.
- book.
- language studies [Russian, French]*
- yogic studies.
- disillusionment EP.*
Etc.

Wish me luck!

*perhaps there will be separate blogs discussing these subjects.

You know you’re a traveler when you can’t name a single place that feels like home. What are the perimeters of that feeling? A place with familiars, memories you can readily pronounce, a peaked intuition coming from what you believe to be your inner conscience? I am always trying to define what HOME means for my life. Home for me has been simplified to being somewhere by choice. Due to my travels, that is what is most familiar, if safe, and the only characteristic that YOUR and MY HOME have in common. Two things I pine for always; peace and stability—ironically, coupled are the two things i’ve never had. It would seem that my ideal destiny would include aspects of both of these, but I am learning all the time to sacrifice one for the other depending on the situation. Inner peace for outer stability. Outer peace for mental stability. Should that be normal? Is that the game to play? Today it is raining. I love rain. The rain in Seattle provided a backdrop to the canvas of my life where, I felt whatever I was going through was drowned out and silenced by my awe of water coming from the sky. In this place, the rain acts as a deterrence, coming to swallow your pride for you, and facilitate the sacrifice aforementioned. It hits the ground and I am almost hurt by how willingly I succumb to defeat. On this day, having recognized my goals again, HOME has a second meaning; the place I shouldn’t be. The place I have abandoned to the extent of loss. My heart is my home. At least I can carry it with me.

Hey! It had to be known.

I’ve missed you too.