the end.

i dont live outside of the usa. i will probably move out of the country again, but i dont know when or where (hopefully south america).
so, this is the thing. i dont live in spain anymore. i started this blog, at the suggestion of ben trimble, to update folks on my time in spain. but i am not in spain anymore...

that means friends can call me on phones and eat lunches with me. and for that, for the living of life in true colour, i am ending this blog. let's live life together, in real time.

im moving up to seattle in august. if you are california, get your kicks out and see some of me. if you are eastern usa, wait for mid-july. ill come over your way soon.

love
jeff

Life is made of ever so many partings welded together - dickens

homecomings

i am in a hostel in barcelona. it's a sticky hot outside, and im sunburnt.

im gonna be in san luis soon. june 2.

how about thoughts on clarity? lack of clarity fuels my curiosity, and so maybe i ought to be thankful; but that ain't nothing to be easily appreciated. curiosity is hard. i was talking to a friend last night and she told me, "i just dont think. it is easier that way." i can see the attraction of that point. one day i'll get to clarity, but i refuse to let it be a letting go... i am stubborn. my clarity will be realization, not exhaustion. thinking about that day is a sweet thought. below is a quote from dicken's Great Expectations. notice the contrast of morning and evening, and the contrast of mist and tranquil light. sounds good, doesnt it?

"I took her hand in mine and we went out of the ruined place; and, as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so the evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw the shadow of no parting from her."

san luis special #2

i mean honestly... we are from san luis. these quotes should move you. not everyone is in love with this sort of stuff. sierra, have you got another one to add? and guys, just look at erin's blog. its been a month since i looked, but i remember seeing a theme in the content of the poetry.

Like most of the others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser. I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that my instincts were right. I shared a vagrant optimism that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top. At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles - a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other - that kept me going. (hunter thompson)

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!” (Kerouac)

"You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You're on your own.And you know what you know. You are the guy who'll decide where to go.” (dr seuss)

Scrubby & Lloyds

i never followed up on that promised blog... and ive been doing a lot lately. ive got plenty to catch up on. i am no longer a university student (in either continent), i went to paris (painted, loved new friends, etc)... and im about to go back to living with my backpack. goodbyes are hard. my heart is tired today.

i was thinking about san luis obispo people today. we are weird. i mean, i talk to nyu kids and they dont really get me the way people do in san luis obispo. we dont do "the grind" too well out there. as an example, here are some of my good friends:

casy - livin in nashville

sierrha - always hatchin something new

jon & beth - livin in illinois

erin - makin plans to head to seattle

anicia and drew - i know you guys think about it... probably every day

dan griv - philly

my mom - always jealous of me and ready to go 

i dont know.. i mean, i dont even really know where all my san luis obispo friends are. they scatter and spread like folks from the valley. but when we talk about san luis, it is heaven (an obvious separation from bako or the like). right? i mean... i spend half my life making a case for san luis obispo being the best city there could possibly be, and the other half of my life i spend figuring out where im headed next. what is it? what makes us san luis kids end up in the appalachians, in the rough neighborhoods of northeastern cities or out in the nowhere-towns of middle america.... and all the while, we sit spinning tales of our home. it's like this new sort of slo-evangelism, all the zeal but none of the confidence of why we left. at the least, i sure dont know why i've said so many goodbyes (if someone else gets it, tell me). for now, i am guessing that's the legacy which has been left to us by kerouac, miller, steinbeck and all the vibe falling down from frisco. it could be the ocean breeze; just thinking of that cayucus breeze on a sunny day draws me north up the 1. we are weird. . so discontentedly disappointed with what we do not know, and so over sufficiently curious to not allow ourselves to be appeased in apathy. maybe my thoughts are not for all the folks from san luis, but they make me think about the ones i care deepest for.

if any of you have thoughts, write them so we can talk about how weird we are. also, i forgot to add paul to the list. paul, you are an odd exception. you love atascadero (few people can claim that)... but i think you still didnt manage to escape the san luis fire that get's people moving. that's why we canoed together in north carolina, why you can say (with extreme passion), "i hate arkansas; it is the devil's wasteland," and maybe that's why you went on some random solo road trip up north. and paul, i dont think you are finished.

sierra, please talk. 'ol jack, jean wants to hear your thoughts. drew, i dont think i know anyone who has explored more of the county than you. you have a family in san luis, work, life... thing that are not easy to move, but i cant help thinking about how youve walked the tracks near the grade, climbed obscure hills, and breathed big sur. you also got the slo itch. you an anicia both; i am already sure about her.

so, i want to hear your thoughts, friends. not saying we got to do anything about it... itd just be nice to know how some other people in the world think the thoughts goin on in my head.

who can tell me why i chose that title? 

del polvo

of the dust

"the men who came with the dust, and were gone with the wind" (W. Guthrie)

this week has been eventful, present and future. I have only 6 technical days of school left, and preparations for the United States is beginning. Im moving to seattle, right? yeah, but where in seattle? and also, where am i going to school again?

just some questions i am currently working on.

But i have some good stories about the past 5 days. here is a rough outline, a few words, and one story. to preface, valerie's two parisienne cousins came into town (Boris & Ania) and we showed them around. 

Thursday - Joy Eslava (baroque theatre, converted one of the "hottest" nightclubs in madrid). i danced from 9 to 5:30, made it home by 6:30, and in bed by 7. that's a nine to five alright. Roommate valerie commented that my dancing was everything she hoped it could be.

Friday - Malasana! the heart of the aternative cultural movement of madrid. Malasana included a bar dedicated to the ramones, a club called tupperware (indie music club), a basement club called "El Perro" (looks like a brick dungeon, creepy and great), and doner alip (for kebabs at 4 in the morning). i made it to sleep at about 6 o' clock, very tired and grateful for my bed.

Saturday - el chapandaz (full story in the next post)

Sunday - after a desert filled evening at Jardin Secreto (madrid's response to NYC's serendipity, a cafe specializing in very delicious desserts), we headed to pent house. located on the top roof of one of madrid's finest hotel's (where penelope cruz had her birthday party, and yes, she is spanish), pent house had these little outdoor rooms (like wooden platforms on stilts, with canvas roofs and canvas walls seperating each other) with a sea of pillows in them. 6 of us crawled beneath the pillows, and boy, did it feel like a very lush, luxurious, and sanitary ball pit. we stayed until 4, when we were kicked out...

that is a little about the weekend. interspersed were picnics with good views, museums with picasso paintings, good eats, and new friends from paris. C'est la vie magnifique!

hunter thompson

Like most of the others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser. I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that my instincts were right. I shared a vagrant optimism that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top. At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles - a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other - that kept me going.

(i read "Rum Diaries" while i was in france, this is an excerpt)

the farm 1

more or less, this an email i just wrote to anicia. so, i just copied it onto here.

the farm? wow, how do i describe it? i lived for two weeks with a bostoner/honduran (gregorio) and a puerto rican (celeste). the three of us had travelled together from the NYU program. ill have pictures up soon, i just need to steal them from celeste first. the house was a 1500 year old, and fully restored, farmhouse. the owners were two gay millionaires (english and german, jeremy and michael). they didnt have a farm, just tons of grounds/gardens. so i worked in their orchard, rose garden, vegetable patch.. etc. Gay englishmen love their gardens. apparently they got over ambitious and they had more beauty on their hands than they could manage... also, i am sure they enjoy the influx of new blood to stimulate conversation/soical movement. next to the house was a waterfall, huge and beautiful. the house itself was an hour and a half walk from the nearest village (so, fairly remote). most afternoons were spent meandering through the woods.. if you find the french town Amelie (in the french pyrenees, not farm from Perpignan) then you can be about a 45 minute - an hour drive from where i was. the dinners were the highlight. good food, 3 glasses of wine, and long conversations every night. the hosts were sooo good at talking and moving the conversation. Jeremy had studied history and history of art at cambridge (went on to make a software company), and michael was a lawyer in germany. apparently jeremy used to be buddy buddy with a duchess who had been the 3rd richest person in england, but then she died. Jeremy had one of those, "oh yes, i dare say..." accents. and michael, well.. he showed us how to play a german board game called Carcasonne (the equivalent of german-Risk). it was a really good time. the conversations had good depth to them, we explored nearby cities on the weekends, and the whole trip cost me 200 euro (would have been just 100, but i rushed back to madrid to see the padre). i enjoyed it so much. now, i am back in madrid. gettin into the final flow.

ill have pictures up soon.

may my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living whatever they sing is better than to know and if men should not hear them men are old     may my mind stroll about hungry and fearless and thirsty and supple and even if it's sunday may i be wrong for whenever men are right they are not young     and may myself do nothing usefully and love yourself so more than truly there's never been quite such a fool who could fail pulling all the sky over him with one smile

-ee cummings

my mother and the farm.

my mother never heard about how i spent my birthday, and i love her.

it was a pretty quiet day. beginning at midnight, my roommates woke me up with donuts and to sing happy birthday for me.

the following day, i went to school as usual, and then went through most of the day until someone realized it was my birthday, and people sang. into the third class i found the gummy worms that valerie had snuck into my bag last night, and so i shared them with everyone in the class.

i came back to the house after school, took a nap, and watched an episode of the office.

Christy and Hilary called me and happened to be in my neighborhood, so we all met for some kebabs down the street. about 2/3s of the way through the dinner, i randomly looked up from my food and said, "hey, did you know it's my birthday today?" they were a little surprised and possibly mad that i hadnt said anything beforehand.

anyhow, they had stuff to do in the city and so off they went, and i went back home. at the house, my roommates where all in the kitchen cooking dinner for me (each cooking a different specialty). so we all ate together, enjoyed the conversation, i had some wine, they did the dishes, and then i went off to bed and slept earlier than i had for a very long time.

it was one of the slowest days of my life here in spain, but it was everything i wanted. an introvert's recharge paradise.

and now, the farm portion.

i wont be blogging for a couple weeks. i just had cousin timmy here, and i love spending time with him, so i know its been a while since i wrote something.  but also, my spring break started today, and i am headed off to work on a farm in france for two weeks. so, i wont be intentionally bringing any electronics but my phone and a camera. ill put up pictures when i return.

mother, i love you. thank you for being my most dedicated audience.

nature.

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things—
   For skies of couple-color as a brinded cow;
      For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
   Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
      And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
   Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
      With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
                                                          Praise him.

                  Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–1889)

my hair.

and again,  this is my hair. you better believe it. that picture in the middle, yeah, that is val wishing she had my hair... actually, that is her combing it in the other two pictures... that creepy french/kenyan/southafrican/haitian roommate... she can't be 20, i am convinced she is a young 36.

stoked

also,

timmy-tiger and erin-emu have bought tickets to europe. dang kids! get on the road.

people!

yes, these are three of my lovely roommates. Greg is the only other guy, nneka has pizza again, and ann-valerie let us play with her hair again.

this is a good group we've got going.

my birthday.

yes, the third was my birthday. i was a bit close-lipped about all of it, so sorry if i didnt give anyone a heads up. so, some of you (especially my lovely mother) would like to know what i did, right? well, this is supposed to be a very important age, and so i will give you an entire run down.

however, you will have to wait. i am headed to sevilla in an hour and a half. that is right, i am hopping a bus south into warmer weather.

this is where sevilla is:

http://maps.google.com/maps?client=safari&rls=en-us&q=sevilla&oe=UTF-8&um=1&ie=UTF-8&split=0&ei=hFOwSbmYGOLEjAe23Y3PBQ&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&resnum=1&ct=image

i am leaving from madrid, and the ride will be several hours. i return on sunday, and at that point, i will give you guys a run down. ok? bueno. mother, i love you.

Anicia

Today, I get the impression that you are a pretty pivotal part of my blog audience. How often do you read this, nitzche? and yes, i just called you nitzsche.

and who saw erin's post about wanting to just come to spain? i did. wazzup america! bam!

song of the open road

it's been a while since i lived in san luis obispo.. and i wont be back for a couple more years. moving can wear you down at times. whitman is my boy.

You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all 
that is here, 
I believe that much unseen is also here. 

Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial, 
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the 
illiterate person, are not denied; 
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the 
drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics, 
The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping couple, 
The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the 
town, the return back from the town, 
They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted, 
None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me.

winners drink alcohol.

This is my bottle of alcohol.. and that is my winning stare.

continuation of of confession...

as long as i can half-way pretend that these two stories can be related to thievery confession...

1) i've managed to recruit 5 NYU students to play "Age of Empires" with me on the internet. a housemate downloaded the spanish version, we spread it around... and now world domination will begin.

2) a brazilean gave me a whole unopened bottle of hard liquor yesterday. our eyes met on the metro... the classic spanish staring duel ensued (it's all the rave here; i stare people down on the metro every day). after several minutes, he approached and gave me the hard liquor. it now sits upon my armoir in the attitude of a trophy. 

origens.

for the sake of clarification, and a tinge of catholic guilt.. i admit that every picture on my blog has been stolen from somebody else. all of em.

immature poets imitate. mature poets steal. - ts eliot

i feel pressured to perform for my newfound audience... 6 people following my blog, and 17 views... a record turn-out.

here is the update on life in madrid.

I have had a lot of energy and anxiety lately, and in the absence of books, guitars, or the mountains, i have poured myself into wilderness survival training. apparently, i now theoretically know 6 different ways to provide fresh water for myself, 5 different fire-starting methods, 3 different types of shelter, and a handful of basic foraging principles. i am most proud of my newly learned directional skills; i've got 4 or 5 different ways of finding true-north in the northern hemisphere.

now, this post would suck if it was only me bragging... in that case, i am including a few pointers about eating the pine trees native to madrid (same goes for most of the states), and also one of the ways you can find true north in the states. it's easy!

first, the trees.

the inner bark of a pine tree can be cut into strips and then roasted on a hot rock (hobo skillet), sauteed in a pan with oil, or dry roasted and ground into a flour. it's best to use the inner bark closest to the hard woody part of the tree (or furthest from the outer bark). the bark is a living thing (the floem, carries nutrients up and down the tree) and so you have to harvest it fast.

also, pine needles can be eaten by crushing them in your hand, or by making a tea out of them. there a good source of vitamin c.

ok, as for finding true north, my favorite way is with an analog watch. if you dont have an analog watch, you can just draw the current time in analog form on a piece paper and it'll work just as well as if you had a watch.

1)ok, so first make sure you have the correct time of day on your watch/paper... 

2)then you point the hour (short) hand of the watch at the sun. 

3)draw two imaginary lines from the middle of the watch, one along the hour hand towards the sun, the other towards the 12 at the top of the watch. what you end up having is a simple angle that will change in size depending on the hour hand of your watch (you are only concerned with the smaller angle). 

4)lastly, cut the imaginary angle in half with a third line that comes from the center of the watch (or the corner of the angle). that line is pointing at south... just reverse the direction to find north.

if nothing else, at midday when the sun is "directly overhead"... walk towards it and you are roughly headed south. otherwise, without using other tools and stuff similar, remember the horizon sets in the west.

yeah. so tomorrow i am going out to the woods all day to practice this stuff. you should too.