Long Way Home
Money's just something you throw
Off the back of a train
Got a handful of lightening
A hat full of rain
And I know that I said
I'd never do it again
And I love you pretty baby but I always take the long way home
Tom Waits, The Long Way Home
There's something about travelling that is simply addictive. For some this may have something to do with spending months in a seedy opium den while being fellated by underaged amputees. For others its trying the foreign cuisine. Oh the joy of finding blood in their excrement after a crippling bout of diarrhoea they got after eating a soup consisting of decayed mahi-mahi and ground up light bulbs! But I think the fact that no one knows your name, age or what you actually do for a living ('Seriously baby, I'm a private detective who owns a sky diving business.') gives you the freedom to lie through your teeth.
I have decided to return to Tallinn after all. It seems like a great way to break the monotony of my day-to-day existence back in Melbourne (wake up, masturbate to mug shots of incarcerated females in Des Moines' Polk County Jail, watch lawn mower commercials, masturbate again, go to work, work, masturbate, go home, sleep) which was getting too comfortable anyway. And meaningless. My former life, trying to remember it, was becoming increasingly harder every day I've been on my journey. When I try to recall my friends they appear slightly different in my head- hair parted the wrong way, wearing shirts I know they don't own, talking in a Texan accent- they are still familiar, yes. But its a cover version of the original song. The tune sounds a bit wrong to my ears. At the same time I think I'm also becoming less integral to the central plot of their lives as well. I'm a jigsaw piece that no longer seems to fit the overall picture. A remainder in a maths problem. An out-of-focus image.
The two days I spend in Lithuania are spent wrestling with my decision to go to Tallinn. The pros and cons of staying in Estonia for an additional month tumble around my mind, like watching clothes spinning around in a front-loading washing machine. Having this happen behind my eyes obscures my vision of Lithuania. I see the Gates of Dawn and the Church of St.Peter and Paul. I venture into Uzupis, the Republic of Angels, where bohemians have declared the 148 acre district with only one main street an autonomous region. You can even get a stamp on your passport for one day of the year- April Fool's Day. After being swallowed by the city for the two days we reach its heart- Frank Zappa's head- and I touch it. My work here is done. Now...to return to Tallinn, my temporary home.
Off the back of a train
Got a handful of lightening
A hat full of rain
And I know that I said
I'd never do it again
And I love you pretty baby but I always take the long way home
Tom Waits, The Long Way Home
There's something about travelling that is simply addictive. For some this may have something to do with spending months in a seedy opium den while being fellated by underaged amputees. For others its trying the foreign cuisine. Oh the joy of finding blood in their excrement after a crippling bout of diarrhoea they got after eating a soup consisting of decayed mahi-mahi and ground up light bulbs! But I think the fact that no one knows your name, age or what you actually do for a living ('Seriously baby, I'm a private detective who owns a sky diving business.') gives you the freedom to lie through your teeth.
I have decided to return to Tallinn after all. It seems like a great way to break the monotony of my day-to-day existence back in Melbourne (wake up, masturbate to mug shots of incarcerated females in Des Moines' Polk County Jail, watch lawn mower commercials, masturbate again, go to work, work, masturbate, go home, sleep) which was getting too comfortable anyway. And meaningless. My former life, trying to remember it, was becoming increasingly harder every day I've been on my journey. When I try to recall my friends they appear slightly different in my head- hair parted the wrong way, wearing shirts I know they don't own, talking in a Texan accent- they are still familiar, yes. But its a cover version of the original song. The tune sounds a bit wrong to my ears. At the same time I think I'm also becoming less integral to the central plot of their lives as well. I'm a jigsaw piece that no longer seems to fit the overall picture. A remainder in a maths problem. An out-of-focus image.
The two days I spend in Lithuania are spent wrestling with my decision to go to Tallinn. The pros and cons of staying in Estonia for an additional month tumble around my mind, like watching clothes spinning around in a front-loading washing machine. Having this happen behind my eyes obscures my vision of Lithuania. I see the Gates of Dawn and the Church of St.Peter and Paul. I venture into Uzupis, the Republic of Angels, where bohemians have declared the 148 acre district with only one main street an autonomous region. You can even get a stamp on your passport for one day of the year- April Fool's Day. After being swallowed by the city for the two days we reach its heart- Frank Zappa's head- and I touch it. My work here is done. Now...to return to Tallinn, my temporary home.
posted by Fatman | 4:18 am
5 Comments:
Fatman- I need your help. Who am I? Check out the Wikipedia definition of Yawning Anus and please add to it. I need some input on this. The Agency needs a good old fashiooned footnote in history before I leave it for good.
Yawn- Hacking into the Agency files may take a bit of time. Everything is encrypted to the wazoo. Give me about a week.
Gorilla Bananas- I have a tendency to omit certain details when I write my Ramblings. Yes, I touched Frank Zappa's head. But where was my other hand?
You certainly lead an exciting life and I must say your taste in "Christian" movies sounds eclectic to say the least.
Sassyassy- Remember that just because most Christian movies/music/people suck balls not all of them do.
ps- How did a film like Jesus Christ: Vampire Hunter not get the recognition it deserved?
"For some this may have something to do with spending months in a seedy opium den while being fellated by underaged amputees."
Yes, that truly is the addictive component in travel. For some reason there are a lot of Russian hookers out there, especially in Latin America.
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