Theoretically, I have neighbors to the left of me. Outside of the occasional thumps I hear through the paper-thin walls there’s no sign of them. The notices for the apartment block that cycle through the floors often stay stick out of their mail slot for days on end.

Supposedly a family of three lives there, but there’s neither hide or hair of them. It’s a weird place to be a recluse. Even on my own weekend days where I don’t venture far from my own apartment I haven’t gotten to that level.

I’m on a walk to Isiribi Park up the way and I’m trying to air out the stale cigarette smoke stuck to my denim jacket. Every time I go into the billiards bar I come out smelling like an 80 year old grandpa who can’t give up cigars.

A stroke of double luck saw me retrieve my lost coin pouch after playing darts, but the machine that we played on darts they gave us a hell of a lot more games then I put coins in for. Didn’t help me win too many games, but I count it as a win anyway.

It’s funny to live so close to the ocean and have days where I don’t see it. It’s a force of nature right beside me, and there are times when it just slides across my field of vision.

I couldn’t work at writing anything in the apartment, so I’m walking at a slow pace and using diction to copy all this down. The wind is blowing at a decent clip in through a murky dog shit grey sky.

My Sundays are spent on phone calls and pacing in my apartment. I’ve been a big fan of talking on the phone my entire life and have always paced during it. I wonder how many steps I’ve taken over my life. How many miles have gone under my feet. How many rugs have been worn out as I make circles with nowhere to go.

In the distance, I can see the two ridges of the mountains on Iki. I haven’t been to the island today. Don’t know if I will be for my time is up here. Same for Korea. It’s funny how close are you to be to something completely different and never go.

I was doing some ancestry research earlier today to track where my fathers paternal line is from. I discovered that instead of Bavaria, like I thought that my dad‘s family came from Prussia, specifically the Pomeranian region. The town where I can trace. The last legitimate record of evidence goes back to Nowogard is a small spot in modern day Poland.

It’s funny how quickly he begin to accumulate different names from people you’re related to. A couple of the winners are Sylvester Pious, Bengal, Archon, Ida Eda, amongst others.

You go back and pretty quick the amount of people you’re related to blooms like wildflowers. You Imagine yourself to be in a small family bubble and in reality your relations spread tendrils across Time and space linking you to people you’ll never know. Histories you’ll never uncover. Stories you’ll never hear.

And yet— it all runs through you. Small parts like pieces of sand. All there for you to pile together as you built your temporary statues on the beach.