nomadic nostalgia.

 having two bohemian dreamers for parents, my brothers and i had spent our childhood on the road. i never understood how people could live in one house, town, city, or country all their lives. for me every few months there were new suitcases, fresh gas station maps and a glint of poetic romanticism in my father's hazel eyes. we traveled from the ice cold pacific to the warm atlantic without any ties or boundaries. at times i furiously loathed having no roots or ties one would with a real home as defined in the movies and literature. yet somehow i am still seduced by the freedom that my ancestors of the steppes embraced. to roam the urban concrete jungle, the suburban plywood forests, the empty countryside deserts. 

  

flickr, deviantart, found.