Monday, June 14, 2010


I have just returned from a month or so long goofbang of driving my comrades family arrow along their tour route to the west coast. First through the appalachian forests for pennsylvania and Ohio dissipating to cornfields and the blue grasslands of Kentucky. Then on through lower Illinois where the civilizations of crops give way to vast open expanses and oil fields as we trudged through Kansas and the land began to humble us completely. From there it was into Oklahoma and more dust and weeds and the onslaught of oncoming tornados that feathered through the alley all the way across the panhandle of texas eventually spitting us out like a dry heave into the southwest. Low desert country and high desert country, to be flanked by barren cliffs and unforgiving mountains and at the same time to sleep in such lush pine forests and aspen groves where the moon lends a particularly clear luminescence to all. Then through the tail of Nevada by way of the hoover dam and through the ridiculous corridor that is Las Vegas, and real or not it filled our van with neon and awe and stained our eyes and minds before we made a quick escape into the brush of nevada dodging elk and wild mule stranded in the street along the way. We rolled onward over the mojave desert and finally got to the end of all land eternal, the rugged, wild, un-forgiving, gorgeous California coast. Big Sur held us steady and I clung to the sharp curves and hips of a wild and winding highway along the seaside. The redwoods assured us we were small and I fancy living in a hollowed out downed tree trunk someday. Then finally one long push not without it's inspiration to the gem of the pacific northwest, Portland Oregon. We arrive at one in the morning to a house that's gurgling strange characters and old friends out the front door and we settle into the porch and sip beers as the night becomes some essence of morning poking through the overcast and rainy atmosphere and then it was inside to let a collective gathering of records lull us all to sleep. It was a truly wonderfull trip. The land, and the sights, and the ever moving road, and the people along the way, and the punk houses and zine trades and records and cassette tapes and the wind constantly whipping across my body has filled my head to it's occupant load. My eyes hurt, my retinas are burning from it all and I am filled with admiration and love for all.
It was in Portland that I would jump ship and test my personal endurance by taking a greyhound bus home. Long long hours gazing upon the theatre that is the United States and all it's amazing geography. Every state I enter charms me endlessly, Idaho, Colorado, Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, Wyoming, Ohio, Pennsylvania...I want to know everything about all of you. Your secrets, your people, your resources, your sights, your wilderness...everything. Now back in the New York town nothing feels the same and I feel replete with motivation and excitement. It's time to get some real good work for the world done.


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