"I want to thank watermelon in the summer and Hitchcock movies in the winter, especially his film Rebecca, because now my brother and I say 'you can never go back to Mandalay,' but really we mean I miss you, you live so far away." -Matthew Dickman "Thanksgiving Poem"

It's been a while. Too long, in fact. Let's get reacquainted.

I forget how to do this. Where have I been, what have I done? Since my farewell from BKK, I've been jetting between Chicago and San Francisco - attending to some personal business, writing,  applying to MFA programs and making music. I've been reading a lot of books. I've been drinking a lot of tea. I re-met old friends, saw a few sunrises and I went to the dentist for the first time in several years. My teeth are fine, thanks. The only bad news is my new dentist doesn't have bubble-gum flavored fluoride. Growing up is such bullshit.

Alfie is in China now. Brawn is back in NY, but I caught him this weekend on his trip to the bay. Scoot or Die reunion 2012. 

Me, I'm in San Francisco again and my life is concentric circles. With every spin around the block, I get further from the nugget in the center. Please, don't press too hard on my metaphor. "What is the nugget?" is a question I promised myself I'd never answer. Spoiler alert: the nugget is made of pre-nugget meat paste. Pepto-pink chicken ice-cream. Ammonia-washed for your safety, mechanically separated for your pleasure. That's why you don't ask questions.

They say life is like a roll of toilet paper - the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes. At 24, I feel quite the opposite. My childhood has sped by and I sit now in the lull. I grieve the loss of innocence, yet relish the onset of awareness. A slower transition than anyone would like to admit. We must take our time so as not to lose the best parts of either one.

In less than a week, I embark again. This time, my companions are scattered and the roads of home beckon. The vast American Southwest. Some fragmented illusion, no doubt - the Canyon and the border, the sun scorched desert. An oasis of forest and an endless winter trapped and freezing in the mountains.

This is the America we are described. This is the America we are promised.

I decided on homeland travel when I was engaged one night in Cambodia in the defense of America against its doubters. It came upon me like an electric shock. I do not know you, America. At least, not well enough to be your defender. Not well enough, even, to be your critic. Not well enough by far to be your crusader. 

The view from the road is stilted. Caught on highways and in motels, passing strip malls and mega-farms and all the wrinkled scars we've left on this planet. But in between, I hope I am offered a small glimpse at this country, its inhabitants, and what we truly are. Weather permitting.

I will stick to back roads. I will ask stupid questions. I will talk to strangers. I will try to be brief.

Happy Valentine's day, you bastards. I'm looking for love again.

-Reverend Blood