casually wiping out

i never thought id be so complacent with so much rain.
its fine.
reykjavik makes the island come together. the high possibility of random chance encounters gives this place a warm touch.
par example. stumble upon Vala, who's buying gourmet cheese. stumble upon an American guy you haven't met before, but talked to online through the network (im all about the networking now, its good shiz) and be all like, "hey, uhm are you.. -----?" of course he is. YAE. good people everywhere. good people and free beer apparently, which, like we discussed, is a g-d send in this country. i AM the homogenizing queen. pretend you are a student, mingle with good people from everywhere, experience extreme forms of amazing nationalisms, and form world alliances. also, apparently i like beer now? it is just way too casual. meeting people here helps ease the first tension i am apt to hear from others... "why iceland" well,...... these people know, clearly. unspoken givens.

small enough for chance encounters. big enough to keep some anonymity.

strange days, interesting evenings, cloudy mornings.

bike to work. and just what the fuck is that. it seems as though what i was doing all summer in mcgills dank basement was not work. work smells like onions a bit, and looks like a busy body. strap on ye olde apron and giver 190 (something which people just have absolutely no idea what this is here).

the Algerian owner seems to think im his quasi-illegal foreign prodigy. he is as meticulous as he is lofty. "just feel for it" he tells me, as im not supposed to set the timer on the oven, use the oven mitts, (????) measure, weigh, or anything too specific, but just go with the flow. really get into it. i never knew pizza could be such an artful process. he is teaching me his way - and his way is wildly unconventional, but very rigid in maintaining these conventions. they work. i made a fabulous pizza. who am i anyways? sandwiches are part of my youth. im not sure how this will continue to go, but he seems to like me. mostly foreigners seem to come in, so the language barrier is only a bit of an issue. i had a boy come in and ask me for 10kronur. i gave him a sugar cube and put his hood up and told him to carry on.
coffee is strangely hard to master - or maybe thats the foam. i dont really care.

wet clothes. perma fucky hair (learn to care less and less). this is about the only place in the world i can imagine where one is not starred at and thought to be a loonie when wearing a huge effing yellow rain poncho, looking like an oversized bananna boat coming down the street. we're all so wet, together!

finally starting to read on the road. trying not to get flat broke before iceland airwaves. living like a bachelor with packaged noodles, beer, and well, sky.ir, which, might actually have crack in it. no, they do not subside on fish here, they get it the hell outta here.

wanna go further north. wanna see the hot springs yet. wanna get a huge icelandic flag and drape my naked ass in the very material which represents a nation that raped and pillaged my ancestors and made beautiful celtic/nordic hybrids from.

listening to Rush's Presto album is sheer relevance here i find. everything in tune with the workings of nature, especially the sun and wind bringing everything and everyone in unity.