As I listen to songs on my playlist, the last thing I remember about them is I picked each of them out. I match up the feeling of the sound to the silent TV of movement that plays out on every screen ever known. I am alone sitting on the couch with nothing but my thoughts and mindless entertainment.
On HGTV there is a story of a young family moving away from home. From the states to the Middle East, they look out at their new home which sits on a man-made island, removed from the peril of what you might see in conflicted countries. Because the money builds places where you can escape to, a place free from fear and judgement. How on this globe there is no other escape from it except for complete isolation, and perhaps being a tourist in a foreign land grants us an imitation of this solitude.
There is a place I go sometimes to skip all of it. I tread water in the middle of a pond and my ears underwater hear something that I cannot describe to you, but it holds this feeling.
Because floating islands afford us the luxury of opting out of local unrest or the perils of life without silent agreements of democracy, there is something vague about leaving your home in exchange for an expatriate life. I remember how people have told me that when I move my problems move with me. I forget that I am inextricably linked. I feel like this is something similar to what moving to another country is, as similar as being put into a box that does not fit your expectations, or living in a town that has outgrown its admiration for you, or living in a snow globe. There is a connecting warmth.
blorgons 