Coffeehouse antics.

I was sitting inside of a coffeehouse the other day, buried in books, my mind wandering to places far better, far prettier than the words Emily Bronte. Her words, dark and descriptive were frustrating, boring even... So I get up, drag myself outside. I’m standing there, silently observing downtown, standing in the sun, freezing when I am suddenly startled by a woman’s shaky voice.
Her clothes were ragged, she was clinging to a plastic yogurt container, top off, filled with change, with her worn wrinkled hands.
"Excuse me, I don’t want to sound rude, but do you know if today is Sunday morning or Monday Afternoon?"
It was, in fact, neither. It was Sunday Afternoon.
So I told her and she looked at me, quietly whispered, "thanks" and walked away, down the street, eventually dissipating into the darkness of the downtown.

I wondered what kind of life you live if you don't know the time, the date, how far removed from society you have to be....

Photos (click to enlarge)

Rain from my window.

M.I.A.

Oh man, so amazing

ramble.ramble.photo.

When I first found out about this assignment, I didn't want to start a blog. Blogging goes against everything that I feel my writing should do. What I write, whether it scribbled carelessly on a napkin, neatly composed in a journal or impersonally typed on a computer, I don't want people to read. It is mine, it is just for me. Selfish? Going against everything communicative about writing? Oh yeah, so maybe blogging will allow me to grow as a writer. Whether eyes awkwardly stumble over the words, or even if they sit, untouched in the endless abyss of cyberspace, it doesn't matter. They are my words and my ideas, my thoughts given form. They just are simply piercing the computer screen. blah blah, end soapbox.

Anyway, enough rambling. Most of the time I'll probably post pictures I take alongside strange stories that happen to me... (because Bellingham, you are a bizarre city)