In honor of a dear friend who also flies in her dreams

The Color Brown:

Life Next to the Mekong River, Inside the Fissures of My Vaulted Bedroom,
as written by Miss M. Cartwright

The light is beautiful as it shines through the blinds. I love it here and I hate it here. It brings out another part of me… a quiet part of me. One that likes to roll in the sir of sloth and sit alone in my chocolate-toned cathedral room all day doing nothing and everything without talking to much to anyone except for the words on this virtual page.




I am worried about myself since it is only in Udon Thani that I behave like this. I have no ambitious drive to do anything outside the confines of my bedroom… and the scariest part of all is that I do not complain. There is rarely a word of rebellion uttered in this house from my lips, while the most complicated thing in my life is getting from home to gym to home again and what we should eat for dinner.



I do not think I could live like this for a long time since… well… it would not only drive me into a silent insanity, but I would stop eating. Recently I have even lessened my eating, not quite by dieting choice, but because I am very very bored with the food here, and with the repetition of daily life here and internally fed-up with the quiet, anti-social person I have become while I am currently at this residence.





It is as if I am playing by myself in a fantasy world sometimes full of colored sunlight, and paints half in Thai, half in English and half in whatever language my music is playing in. I am constantly in a daydreaming state where I, guess I could say I have found contentment… but with that find I have begun to lack caring about personal goals, or dreams… instead I am all Pisces here, dreaming the days away and living inside the deepest fissures of my dreams rather than riding there waves into reality and making them come true.



Deep inside these crevasse of cavernous fantasy I seem to be sleeping with my book collection as pillows. My bed is scattered with drawings, novels: fiction and non-fiction the like covering genres from childhood fantasy to gastronomy to sex. When I sleep they bump into my legs since I am too lazy and too dazed to clean up the scattered messes of academia that roam the desolate landscape of my soiled duvet. I am delirious with the wonderment created inside myself, and have no desire to wake from the sleep… even when those fantasies entail writing a resume, and job hunting and predicting, almost certainly that I will get an awesome job soon (back in the states… back home?)… even though I take steps towards reality I am really just treating it all as a board game that I am playing with myself and my vaulted teak wood ceilings.



I need to wake up. I need to run away and out of the caves of my mind and into the sunlight of what I truly am… a desert… of vast epic skies and clouds with charisma of earthquakes… I need to turn into that desert again so that I can fly fast like the wind across myself, onto the next journey, the next goal, the next adventure, the next era of life.