I'm sitting in my new living space, alone, having just found out that the project I came here with dreams of doing is not moving forward. I know that I will go through a variety of different emotions as the reality of this sets in.

This blog is about mobilizing our communities in support of (and somewhat demanding) fairness in business. We have the power collectively to leverage some power, and this week I made it my hobby to develop a mechanism by which that might happen.

Right now I am in this room. I am sitting at a desk that is a horizontal hollow-core door exactly three paint cans high. I'm looking at a room that isn't quite mine yet, and just a little in awe about this whole experiment.

There's no scientific method, so no worries. The experiment is existential and starts out with a fundamental query: what if I could just do what I want?

I have not forgotten that I used to live on 242 Josephine St. Apartment A. Atlanta, GA.

I used to get up every morning between 7:30 and 9:00 and take my dog on a run or a long walk. Like clockwork. Sometimes, I would pass by Christy Bradley's house. I passed by her house, and the green Godfather van with the AK-47 stenciled on the spare tire cover, whenever I decided I wanted a radial bagel.

I'm sitting in a recording studio in New Orleans listening to my friends record their 4th album: two blocks away from where I am staying with a friend in the Bywater. It floors me the extent to which my life right now is a series of pretty and benevolent accidents.

There are a host of us who have been accused of having a Peter Pan complex out there, and we're sensitive. The inference that we might be acting childishly, or clinging to childish things is one that some of us generally avoid. 'Why even go there?', we might ask? 'What good would it do in the end?'

It's midnight in the garden of Santa Fe or Atlanta, and the vertigo of having had to decide to choose between the two cities, again, is disorienting. I've been on a series of nested Odysseys and at this point am not sure that life is made up of anything but. So much so that it's hard to distinguish when they start or end. Sometimes, in order to tell yourself a story that makes sense, you have to just choose a landmark.

i went to the forest yesterday in this

banal mission to get the fuck out of dodge.

except that dodge is in arizona

and i'm in the south.

dripping with talent and heart

maybe some overly new age version of myself

the artist as a young architect

sitting and biding my hours

tick tock

tick

i don't want to be this afraid

new lets be real, people,

i was in a forest with two dogs,

some fruit, cheese, crackers,

and no tent poles.

I had been planning this for a minute (southern for an unspecified and somewhat longer than expected amount of time). We would leave around 6pm, get on the trail by 7pm, and then arrive at the lake around 7:30pm with a wine bottle and some citronella candles. She would be pleasantly surprised by the whole event.

One reason I go hiking is to hear the sound of birds. On almost every trail I have traversed, I can hear them. All different kinds with different calls. If I were not so quick to associate bird watching with middle age (which I am in denial of), I would know their names. As it stands now, I only know them by their calls, and because those calls are nameless, they exist outside of the culturally dominant scientific rationalism.