Astray

July 5th, 2019, 09:02 pm

I once spent all summer waiting for a freight train to pass town. It started with a vague promise I made to myself: that there was some kind of deeper truth to be found along the west coast, or by the river banks, or high up the mountains. I never wished for a detailed plan. The plan was to stray, to get lost and to find.

Still I found myself staring at maps all through the evenings leading up to my departure. I philosophized about borders, what they meant and why we needed them. I fantasized about how it would feel to consciously cross them. I bought a compass without the intent to use it.

There had been filthy ceilings, books stacking up against the walls of my cluttered appartment. In my room I endlessly paced around, scribbling shreds of thoughts on sticky notes, covering my walls with them until I ran out of space. I started sticking them on my television, my refridgerator, even my cat, until everything was covered up in sticky notes. That’s how I left that place. All my thoughts remained there. Some would call it ‘art’.

When June arrived, I finally locked the door behind me and headed out.