Journeys and destinations.

It's a cliché, of course, to say that {item x} is about the journey, not the destination. But would it be a cliché, were there no truth whatsoever to it? At any rate, the sentiment did resonate with me yesterday. (So many birds!)

Yesterday, I got paid. So of course, my task for the day is to go bring back cat food. Not a big deal. Not terribly exciting. If anything, potentially a chore. Yesterday being Easter Sunday, no buses were running, and many stores were closed where normally I'd shop.

This is, in fact, how I prefer it: not too terribly busy. I get more than enough of unpleasant people who dislike eachother jostling together, chattering incessantly, elbowing eachother out out of place (and in the face) while madly jockeying for position to catch the discarded scraps and detritus of wealthy decadence while well-connected contractors continually sacrifice what little's left of downtown (formerly charming) on the blood altar of persistent 19th Century ideals of "progress" where I lay my head at night.

So basically, I went from pokestop to pokestop, from here at home, through Washington Park, up the Bethany steps — quite passable, despite still being "closed" for winter — through the Bethany campus, past the big hospital on Marsh Street, and then up the perfectly serene, well-paved, and dry residential alley running parallel to Belle Avenue, a block and a half away from the noise and the traffic and madness of Madison. Then, as usual, a quick jaywalk across Victory Boulevard at Ace, continuing on Belle until it turns into Bassett, all the way up to Walmart, (stopping well short of multimillion-dollar county jail). Then, a quick detour.

Behind the massively impersonal big box store, across the street, just hidden past a curve, is Peacepipe Park: one pokestop, one gym. Of course I spin both, battle there, leave something weak behind — which naturally gets knocked out in the next 15 minutes — by which time I'm well on my way down the bike path 'round behind the (barely lived-in) houses there, past 2 small "lakes", I do believe they're called, still frozen, and not far at all away from fast traffic, but nicely enough isolated from it by surrounding berms.

It's not exactly nature, but it's not exactly the city, either. It's not a park, per se, and probably will be developed rather quickly, as things around here always are nowadays. But for the time being, at least, it's nice to get away from all the traffic for a few minutes at least.

The path eventually curves around, crosses Bassett, and parallels Highway 22, I believe it is, for quite a stretch — much farther than I went, beyond the various stores most frequented by persons driving cars, beyond the terribly mismanaged River Hills indoor shopping mall, and further on, if I am not mistaken, all the way past Highway 14, to Victory Boulevard, which curves around to meet the path not too far from Menard's.

Yes, all it takes for these places to be accessible to me is for the weather to cooperate. And yesterday was breezy, and yes, the breeze was lightly chilled. But the whole sky was wide open to me, stretching from horizon to horizon overhead. And there were so, so many birds! All sorts of different kinds of them. I walked for hour upon hour, happily, losing all track of time, immersed in the reality around me.

Most of the garbage in this town is concentrated in the downtown area, and near heavily-trafficked streets like Madison. It flows, first in a trickle, then torrentially, a mighty stream, downhill — snowmelt emptying into the Minnesota River, effectively transformed into a barely-living, channelized drainage dump downtown, thanks to the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. (An archaeologist could have fun digging in the snow drifts around here as they melt every spring. The strangest thing I've personally found in one would be a model æroplane.)

The residential neighborhoods outside downtown are actually quite nice. It winds up, having lived here near 5 years, I finally do figure out Mankato's not, in fact, a seething cesspool of incipient evil — except, of course, downtown.

Downtown is where I live: literal charnel grounds if ever this country's had such things. The site of violent conflict stretching back more than a century, site of the largest mass execution in US history being the view from my bedroom window. A seething cauldron (more than "melting pot") of different races, ages, backgrounds, cultures, and of course, various religions and ideologies which never have played well together. The world in which I live is not so much haunted by ghosts as overrun with rampaging demons.

But when the snow does melt sufficiently, the sidewalks finally become passable. Once that happens, the parts of town that aren't continually excruciating hellholes do, in fact, become not wholly inaccessible. It is entirely possible to live downtown without a car, to ride the bus when necessary, do one's shopping up the hill, and make it out alive (if you're lucky, to tell the tale!).

I do, in fact, I intend to go on exploring this town — especially the lovely parts of it — as time goes on. Don't be surprised if I show up at a pokestop or gym somewhere near you. Don't be afraid of me, despite the fact that yes, I do dress rather oddly by the utterly arbitrary standards of fashion belonging to the dominant culture here in this part of the world. I'm actually quite harmless, and in fact, just being nice to me — that's something else entirely than being "cordial" or "civil" — will reap you rich rewards the likes of which you've never dreamed were possible.

I'm here. I'm here to stay. There is no getting rid of me, or making me go away. I have come here — landed, really — in Mankato, just like an elephant, to die. Mankato's had more than enough gay men murdered in their homes already (five in the last twenty years, by my count) to add another to that list without everything being well-documented, far and wide, for all to see. The whole world really is watching, this time.

My job? To radiate peace, love, and nonviolence from the very core of my being. And yes, to observe you. Your ways. To speak the truth — at least a little kindly, when and how I can. And one thing more: to not get too deeply involved in your affairs — which is to say, at all. It's not that I don't care so much as it is that my battles aren't your own. (Unless, of course, you're fighting Pokémons in gyms near where I live.)

Of course, my own life and background are open books (as well as one critically acclaimed — and even popular! — TV show, handful of award-winning short stories, articles, news items, broadcasts, and, of course, a veritable mountain of cartoons) for anyone curious enough to engage with me directly. Such people — rare and precious as they come, both few and far between — I will both test rather stringently and protect, though very gladly, with my life as may need be.

Like it or not, it's true: I'm not "stuck in Mankato" so much as "Mankato is stuck with me". I'm literally putting your little city on the map.