This was 13 years, 7 months, 27 days ago

st. petersburg to seoul, vis train and ferry. without lifting a wing.
here we go.

am to sleepy to talk, but wanderlust is kicking into effect, I am
seeing the unfamiliar syntaxes of infrastructure: different bottle
sizes, can sizes. People are different. I will be pulled out of
myself, and be pushed into myself, more external, more quiet, more
talkative, more introspective. I will redraw my boundaries.

I can't remember where exactly but somewhere in Anti-Oedipus, Deleuze
(and Guattari) talks about the loss of the self, how we are afraid to
encounter the loss of the self. And immediately when I read that I
thought, "of course, obviously; the loss of the self is unmooring,
freewheeling, disorienting. It's more a meta-disorienting then a
disorienting; the question is not of the jumbling of senses, but of
the jumbling of the definition of which senses are which." It's a
hygiene problem, so to speak. Keeping the world out, having me be

and I think sometime a few days ago I talked about a phenomenological
puncture of sorts, or maybe what I really meant was a phenomenological
punctum, something that makes you say "wow" with all the force of a
sudden change, a rapid difference, a rupture. Travel is the inverse of
Serra, in that the world moves around you.

I go to travel alone to be apprehensive, confident, available, to let
myself be porous and fill with the atmosphere and energy of the air,
to be soaking up newness with every step.

here's to ruptures and porousness and redrawing the exterior edges of
my self and being powerfully okay with that.

9:52pm EST, july 18th, saturday, on the plane to dusseldorf.