My glob title

Mambo, bonjour, sac passe, yassas, in short... HI!
What is Wild Grass? It's me, and it's whatever you want it to be. Here's some rigging. I mean, riffing: wild grass is tough and hardy, and it can grow even on a stone, it just digs right in there and fights for its life. And because it is tough, when it catches fire, the strenght of its material creates a brilliant flame that provides warmth, a place to cook food, and it will burn you if you aren't careful with it.

I was watching Castaway as I was typing up some more of my novel. (I wrote it in bed, like Proust, in Dar es Salaam, under the fan, sweating, next to my sleeping queen, on a foam mattress- more on all of those eventually). The first time I watched it I had the same reaction: what a lucky bastard! However, the people in LOST at least had some company, but no junk mail! Fresh food! Crazy beards! Free balling! This time I found my miserable guts twisting in knots at a feeling of recognition I had when he returned to his home. In the film they really did a wonderful job depicting how you feel when you return to this land of many things, after having spent a long time purging yourself of the need for many things, for whatever reason, or as a simple result of where and how you were living. There is a social space around him, because people don't quite know how to take him. He's become objectified, as they have objectified themselves by their concerns over what, to him, are pointless facets of life. He looks at all the excess food, his former coworkers and their superficial worries (to them they are important, but to him he sees that he used to be like them, and realizes he no longer would worry or feel the need to have those things again), and he, too feels the distance.

This is perfectly illustrated when his old girlfriend's husband shows up. The man stands ten feet away, as if he's not human. And then, that man goes on to describe how the return of Tom Hanks' character has really upset things. Most people cannot bridge the gap that has somehow installed itself by his absence, and by the dizzying gulf that separates the ways they have been living. When you come back from somewhere after a long time, especially if you have been somewhere out of the ordinary, say a deserted island, you find you can't really come back. Partly its in you, partly its in the life of the world where you return to. It is a very lonely feeling to be in that place. How do you pick up the pieces of an old life? You can't. Unless people take you as you are, or try to bridge the gap (they must do it, because you bear the unfamiliar fruit of absence; and they must try, it can't be forced) and forget about the old you, then you can for sure, never return.

Now, faced with that situation, no real way to fit into old patterns, with a very special treasure back in that other place, what would you do?

By the way I got a new I phone, it has a snow scraper app.
It doesn't work very well.
(I don't have an I phone, I was trying to bridge something with comedy.)

Well, come to my glob. Wit and sarcasm await!