Home Sweet Homeless

It's late in Brooklyn. I can hear the BQE through the crack in my window, just two blocks away. The sound of cars speeding by at this hour is oddly comforting. It's nice to know someone besides me is awake in this city. If I don't think about it, the cars sound like a river. That last sentence is incontrovertible proof that I am a purely urban creature. I'm sure real rivers sound nothing like the BQE. Then again, how would I know?

The comfort comes at cost: I'm freezing. The cold air keeps me awake though, awake enough to write my first blog entry in nearly six months. I've had a hard time keeping up my internet musings, only cause there hasn't been something pushing me to do it. With a new album on the horizon, there should be lots to write about right? Funny I can't think of anything too compelling right now. If only you could see me, sitting on my pullout bed in blue and black striped boxer briefs, glass of coconut water by my side. A picture of domesticity. You wouldn't guess I'm hitting the promotional trail in a few weeks, about to trek up and down the island of England for 3 months in the name of great, glorious me. The irony is I've spent countless hours lately decorating my apartment, taking a strange solace in arranging what little furniture I have over and over again in an attempt to make perfect use of the 200 some-odd square feet I call home. I derive great pleasure from organizing my things, book, knickknacks. The more I travel, the more I crave something to come back to that's all mine, just the way I left it. It's like I'm trying to create a history that doesn't exist. I see my friends who have regular jobs and I want what they have - a motorcycle, a dog (in my case a cat). Because I haven't been in a single place for more than 3 months over the past 4 years, I don't get to have those things. Yes traveling is exciting and exotic, but as a lifestyle it can be exhausting. The grass is always greener.

I know as soon as I get on the road I'll be wherever I am, lost in the moment, as thick as thieves with whoever I'm with. But until then, I'm here, in my apartment alone, moving things around, trying to make meaning in this space and coming up with nothing. It sounds depressing and sad but really it's just curious. It reminds of being really thirsty and drinking some water and thinking, "Man water tastes amazing!"
Home tastes amazing.