I blame Zac Efron


in-flight…sometime between noon and 4 P.M. somewhere…

Yesterday I got up and ate my last free hostel breakfast for a while. I put my clothes on and headed to Tate. I ended up going to Tate Britain at first instead of Tate Modern. That one, however, was not free…so I peed and then left. Oh well. I love the tube, and enjoyed the walk anyway. Got to TM and it was awesome. There were a few artists there who I really liked and wrote down some of their work on my pamphlet. I couldn’t get over all of the mixed-media stuff. So inspiring. I was thinking about all of this new stuff I could do. Or would like to do. There were some weird performance-art clips projected on a screen. They overlapped one another to create this really trippy visual. There was one of a man rubbing lip balm on his bare cock for like ten minutes. Then there was a really bloody, gory room that had a disclaimer on the door on the way in. Cool shit. Really fucked up. Overall, I really liked it. Obviously. I definitely fancy TM over the National Gallery.

It’s weird going home. It seemed like an epic journey in a blink. Like the past month is just projected on the back of my eyelids. I left for the trip with the intent to soul-search and find myself. I found that I thought I knew everything about myself, and that I had myself pegged…and now I have no idea of who I really am. I did some things that completely surprised me, and didn’t do others that I thought were a given. I mean, my core values and moral fiber are deeply embedded into my being…but I am always evolving. Always changing. Polishing. Sanding. Polishing again.

What a trip.

What an adventure.

I miss it already. I miss the smell of the tube.

I’m on the plane now…hours and hours…

I gotta go…

High School Musical 3 is coming on.

“The art of life isn’t controlling what happens, which is impossible; it’s using what happens.”

-Gloria Steinem


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