July 25, 2013

This whole place is a novel that practically writes itself.

In the north, there's a post-punk soup bar owner named Paul. He puts on a rabbit mascot head and calls himself the rhythm chicken on obscure wiccan holidays. He's likely to appear when its least expected, and he always dances. If you wanted to meet him, his small shop is located in a dry town called Ephraim 30 miles north. He's 40, with bright eyes, he wears a bucket hat and dark rimmed rayban glasses and writes for a music magazine. He makes jokes about cyclops rabbits, communist russia, and groudhogs day.

And then Gretchen, the displaced belly dancer from Maui. a mother, with laughter you could recognize in the next town over. Her eyes smile when her heart does. She loves doilies, and everything orange. She owns orange doily toms and is known to slide into a faux boston accent when she's not paying attention. I sometimes hear her greet people "I think I's seen ya befo"  
Her birthday. a celebration of rebirth, we were required to wear only white, and perhaps some orange accents. orange is her favorite color. which is fitting because her body is stained the color from years of maui sun.

And then theres me.
The flawed protagonist. With more than one thematic issue than any novel can handle.
The quest to learn oneself, a loss of innocence, a rise from the pain of the past. coming of age, understanding my place in the universe. accepting that all will happen in its time, and nothing before its meant to.
Understanding that all will happen.

We are misfits. stranded on an island of odd inhabitants. We meet and work and fit together only because we don't fit together. We're all one entity of belonging because we don't actually belong anywhere. There's a home we've carved out of the stone beaches and sunsets. They belong to no one but us. The tourists get pieces of it, but they don't know what they are borrowing.

The only home we've ever known.
And only because it will always change, and the only thing we can grasp onto is that there will never be anything to grasp onto.

we are all bound by our lonlieness. we belong here because we belong in the warm company of those who are also lonely.

how did we get here?

we ask the stars.