My last night in Los Angeles was rather beautiful yet self-destructive at the same time. To properly prepare for the trip I removed myself from my body, went skinny dipping and probably shouldn’t have done most of what I did especially since I had to drive the first trek. Fuck it. No sleep for a wicked soul moving cautiously at high speeds across the Southern part of the Great Ole’ US of A.
California (goodbye), Arizona (moccasin-time), New Mexico (New Mexicans), and then into Texas (”Do Not Mess With Me”). The clear plastic bag is still full of multiple blues, oranges, yellows, whites, sticks, multiple cigs and such. It’s not as if we needed all of this for the trip, but fuck it when it’s all a gift who am I to pass up an opportunity to go American. American-distributed, American-prescribed, American-lobbied. What the fuck have the rest of us done for this country? I’m helping the economy with this bag of tricks (not really they were free). I’m also learning AGAIN, NOT to mess with
Texas (if that wasn’t already glaringly apparent, what with the Freeway signs, bumper stickers, coffee mugs, T-Shirts, lighters, etc.)
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Lovers, he had concluded, were like Mexico herself, little more than instruments of grief.
Lovers, he concluded, were nothing more than empty scales at a truck stop in
LousianaLouisiana, just laying there waiting for someone to lay on them just to judge them and their weight.Post a Comment