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Old 01-02-2003, 11:39 PM   #2
old s'cool
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Join Date: Oct 2002
Posts: 2,426
Paper trail

In my old REI bag that comes with me, there is a notebook.

There is ALWAYS a notebook.

It's not because I always ask it to come along on my journeys out the door. No.

It follows me.
It follows me in the same way a security blanket follows Linus, a loyal hound follows its feeding hand, a little sister to her older siblings.

Inside, lesson plans are orderly, neat, scattered between other parts of my brain....

Kanji on how to get to an office in Yokohama.
Notes on acceptance.
Drawings of made-up playing cards for "The Cards Dealt"
Lesson plan
Lesson plan
lists of potential URL's for a homepage
layouts for Typhoon, a language game

drawings that illustrate the complex differences between "immigrant", "migrant" and "alien". For some reason "Kumo=spider" is next to it.

four pages outlining an argument. Never shared.
Lesson plan
"The Morning Shift"
A drawing of the US showing the Mason Dixon Line.
Questions from Lapietra taken with me on the train.

Lesson plan
Book titles and authors I want to find.

The start of a long list that someone recently suggested I should write. On the top, it says "Sometimes the best job is not one that can fit on a business card."

More hand-drawn maps- my migration path.
Japanese for asking "How long will it take to get to America?"

Lesson plan

Blank pages.

Similar notebooks are around. One I can see sitting on my books- I know that one is scattered with notes from books read a few months ago, more arguments, more hand-drawn diagrams, French, Japanese, Halloween traditions explained, lesson plans.....

Wherever I go, my brain leaves a paper trail.

Lines make it easy to dive into- spiral bound, rounded corners. These are my training wheels. No second thought needed to muck about on these pages.

My sketch book is sacred ground. In it are a few paintings, drawings. But there are not many. It's not for lack of want.

It's the little cloth tie on the side.

Even though I live alone, I still tie it. To keep sacredness. To keep intruders away. Even myself. Especially myself.

The whiteness is there for me to express on. To do what I wish. I know that. Of course I know that...rationally.

I wish only to approach it when I feel worthy enough to approach it. When it is time.

When the mind is not scattered with lesson plans, arguments into the flurring of obtuseness, kanji to get from point A to point B.

Sometimes, the whiteness is the perfect reflection of thought.

Nothing more needs to be said.
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