As Travel Pushes Me Forward, Memory Keeps

As Travel Pushes Me Forward, Memory Keeps Dragging Me Backward.

Like Fanning Through A Deck Of Cards, My Mind Flashes On The Thousand Chances, Trivial To Profound, That Converged To Re-create This Place. Any Arbitrary Turning Along The Way And I Would Be Elsewhere; I Would Be Different. Where Did The Expression "a Place In The Sun" First Come From? My Rational Thought Process Cling Always To The Idea Of Free Will, Random Event; My Blood, However, Streams Easily Along A Current Of Fate.

Venice, The Most Touristy Place In The World, Is Still Just Completely Magic To Me.

Everything I Pick Up Seems To Lure Me Away. Everything I Do In My Daily Life Begins To Feel Like Striking Wet Matches. The Need To Travel Is A Mysterious Force. A Desire To 'go' Runs Through Me Equally With An Intense Desire To 'stay' At Home. An Equal And Opposite Thermodynamic Principle. When I Travel, I Think Of Home And What It Means. At Home I'm Dreaming Of Catching Trains At Night In The Gray Light Of Old Europe, Or Pushing Open Shutters To See Florence Awaken. The Balance Just Slightly Tips In The Direction Of The Airport.

The House Protects The Dreamer; The Houses That Are Important To Us Are The Ones That Allow Us To Dream In Peace. Guests We've Had Stop In For A Night Or Two All Come Down The First Morning, Ready To Tell Their Dreams.