writing down the late-summer bones

the growing piles of books, zines, and overdue bills are threatening to crush me as i attempt to write again. the sheets from both beds in my room are in the dryer downstairs, dirty clothes strewn across the floor. the breeders on the stereo. i've returned to pre-summer stoicism as i breathe in change with each late-summer breath of air. i embrace change as a defense mechanism. change is exciting, both in the shifting trivialities of daily life and the potential of large scale social change--the new society beating in all of our hearts. but change is also really fucking scary. we have to numb ourselves sometimes.

i watch videos of the street protests happening in denver and st. paul against the major u.s. political parties and their conventional spectacles. four years ago i was in new york city during the republican national convention, participating in the critical mass bike ride with over 10,000 others. the idea of going to the twin cities this year was never an option. it's not desirable to me anymore to travel such distances for political uprisings. of course, i'm in solidarity with the actions going on this week and also in denver last week. i guess i'm just not a 20 year old student activist anymore. working toward the creation of alternatives is more appealing to me at this point than following around the global elite in dissent. i'm grateful for those who do. it's just not where i'm at right now.

the sort of change that is in the air here, in this peculiar valley of ours, binds us all together. flights leave for seattle and berlin, while others return from reno and oakland. we commiserate about the return of the students. we celebrate the return of better live music and the approaching beauty of autumn. change is in our water supply. it's in the first leaves to change color and fall to the ground. we commiserate and celebrate.