back to the bad place
	12.28.00
			Pieces are revealed...in a rather sedate fashion. Factual tellings, simple sentences describe death and adversity. Not  really pride nor shame, definitely not self-pity. Just because that's the way it was. A realization that we are all a series of events. A new color emerges from that same old painting. A boy on a mountain, his house burned by Japanese troops. A boy without shoes until he was 16. A boy who has seen wrath and pain and suicide. The red cloth as a mark of death. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. The boy becomes a man. Many years pass. A man who spends because he can. He has the right to do it. A man who takes pride in all he has, where he is, and that it's there, it's real. A distrust of modern amenities, knowing what is, but also what was, and what could be again? Still, it's a comfort and a safety, knowing that he can deal with what comes, because he's seen it, he's been there. He sees the light because he has seen the dark. And if he can't, well, hell, he's had enough luck for a lifetime. Serenity in chaos. A product of your environment. No fucking kidding. A girl with a freedom derived from a man who lived on a mountain in a house made of banana leaves. A girl with a passion driven by a man who has been through it all. A girl who lives because of a man walked for seven days to return home. When it was time, he just went. Nothing to pack, nothing to save. He just went.