this is where i wake up
this is where i drink my dad's amazing coffee.
this is my neighbor's backyard. every morning i find a better hunk of trash to focus my attention on.
i mean, it doesn't really compete with the neighbors i had in london at alec's place.
the real one-stop shop.
and also zombie lions.
but, fuck! it feels good to be home. there are so many dogs to play with and burritos to eat. i have been working on my driving and watching movies with my dad. things are so easy and relaxed and perfectly wintery.
and i love just being in my house.
"Sometimes the house grows and spreads so that, in order to live in it, greater elasticity of daydreaming, a daydream that is less clearly outlined, are needed. 'My house,' writes Georges Spyridaki, 'is diaphanous, but it is not made of glass. It is more of the nature of vapor. Its walls contract and expand as I desire.'"
from G. Bachelard's "Poetics of Space."
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