The sky is a rumpled blanket of grey, smothering what lies beneath it in shadow. Every now and then there is a slight break, and you can see the light shoot through, a distant sign that there is something on the other side worth hoping for, but the real goal is for the clouds to burn away and have the sun shine directly down on you in its full majesty, to feel the dark, humid shade melt and dissolve as that overpowering warmth and light cascades over you. That's what to aim for, because once you've felt that glory, then it doesn't matter if the clouds come back, because you know that that power is still back there, and any moment now it will shine forth again.

Tunes: "10 More Minutes", Kill Hannah (iTMS); "Here Comes My Girl", Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. (iTMS).

I had to get out of town, escape for a while. I called up some friends and made arrangements to crash with them, then hopped a train. After finding an acceptable open seat (the one next to the infant/parent combo was out, as was the one next to the little old lady who looked as though she'd talk my ear off), I settled in and stared out the window. It's like watching a movie of sorts, with the window as a screen and the passing highways and slums as actors, silently demonstrating their angst and their joy, their apathy and their excitement. Annie Lennox sings that "love don't show up in the pavement cracks", but that's just what's happening here, like careworn creases in a kindly grandmother's smile. In contrast, the tall, foreboding factories stand steady and fearsome, with their grim lights, barbed wire, and plumed smokestacks, give an air of superior brusqueness. It only enhanced my desire to remove myself. I wanted trees, and hills, and nature, not this urban wasteland I call home.

Tunes: "Long Line Of Cars", Cake (iTMS); "Fibber Island", They Might Be Giants (iTMS); "Walking in Memphis", Marc Cohn.

It's a grey, rainy, completely blah day. So, making an entry in the book of Disgustingly Inappropriate Things, I turn up the stereo and blast out "Walking On Sunshine", courtesy of Katrina and the Waves.

Yeeaow! Um Yeah!
I used to think maybe you love me, now baby I'm sure
And I just can't wait till the day when you knock on my door
Now everytime I go for the mailbox gotta hold myself down
Cause I just can't wait till you write me you're comin' around

Now I'm walking on sunshine
I'm walking on sunshine
I'm walking on sunshine
And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good

I used to think maybe you love me now I know that it's true
And I don't wanna spend my whole life just a waitin' for you
Now don't want you back for the weekend, not back for a day
I said baby I just want you back and I want you to stay

I'm walkin' on sunshine
I'm walkin' on sunshine
I'm walkin' on sunshine
And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good

-(short instrumental)-

Walkin' on sunshine
Walkin' on sunshine

I feel alive, I feel a love,
I feel a love that's really real
I feel alive, I feel a love,
I feel a love that's really real
I'm on sunshine baby
I'm on sunshine baby
I'm walkin' on sunshine
I'm walkin' on sunshine
I'm walkin' on sunshine

And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good
And don't it feel good don't it, don't it, don't it, don't it, don't it and
don't it feel good
Tell me, tell me, tell me again and don't it feel good
And don't it feel good, don't it feel good, don't it feel good
Now don't it feel good
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah yeah, yeah, oh yeah

Your correspondent now hails from Marlboro, VT, on the last leg of his whirlwind tour of New England and surrounds. Academicall, the college seems in good standing, but I'll wait until my 3:30 class (Intro to Hinduism and Buddhism) to give the final word there. The people are firendly, at least those I've talked to. Because the school is so small, everybody knows everybody else on a first-name basis, and my being a stranger in such a secluded place seems to invite people to overlook me either out of wariness ("What's he doing here?") or awkwardness ("I don't remember his name, so I'll just keep walking.") The campus is stunning, but at a cost: the nearest metropolitan area is a good two hours away, and what passes for the nearest town's (which itself is a good half-hour away) bus stop is a trailer. Still, it makes for good prose:

The sun's painfully bright aura is the only refuge against Autumn's chill and the harsh mountain wind. But it seems to be enough, as young women and men congregate in the fields, eating and laughing, chatting and lying about on the grass. The setting is aesthetically ideal: rolling mountains, covered in warm greens, vibrant yellows, and crisp reds as the leaves slowly turn. The grass still fights valiantly against the change of season, but is starting to fade in the face of the inescapable.

Anyhow, tomorrow I start the long journey home. Until then!

Tunes: "Hope," R.E.M.; "Everything To Me," Rock Kills Kid; "What I Want," Autopilot Off.

I remember sitting with my brother on a balcony over a lake, sketching out our hopes and dreams underneath the morning sun, and submitting to the overwhelming waves of tranquility that swept us under.

I remember sitting with my sister in her third-floor suite, watching the rain falling in a continuous torrent as we ate, laughed, and shared.

I remember feeling like I'm home, like I'm where I ought to be.

Tunes (Yes, I'm gonna try and get these going again):"Feels Like Home," Bonnie Raitt; "Stop Crying Your Heart Out," Oasis; and "Stacy's Mom," Fountains of Wayne.