Ok, best get this thing off the ground before too many people type in the address and get a blank screen. So, the short story is that today, after cleaning up a bit, I finished packing the van and embarked... to the coffee shop down the road, where I remain at this very moment.

See, I like the idea of changing gears. I love that moment, that between space, where home shifts to road, or consciousness slips into dreams. That's where it opens. That's what marriage means. When I lose myself, whatever was on either side gets to mingle in the vapors of mind, united in the pull of love at first sight.

Yeah, so, anyways, I am three miles from my former home. The water is shut off. The last of it went down the bowl with the picked over fruit of Alex's intestines. (And thank God for that) Goodbyes have touched tongues and hugs. Strange attachments to backyards and plants and rooms have been revealed for the first time. Instant nostalgia.

Although I sit a stone's throw from the town square I visit every night, now I throw the stone from 'home'. Home has shifted from a stable and sound place, unchanging, to a white van-shaped rocket ship piloted by a lost astronaut I lovingly and conveniently call myself.

The point is that 'home' is now wherever I am. There is some zen health to this fact. There is no air conditioned, anchored, wooden box to house my insecurities any more. There is no numbing routine to habitually distract me from seeing the aching flowers and soupy night clouds and mystical birds, chanting holy songs of more than statistically significant relevance---Not to be ignored.

On the road again, seeing things that I may never see again.