Faultlines

The moon is a big white wheel of satellite firefly bulb that dances circles overhead. She listens to no one; her hair waves wildly with the passing of each new cycle. She is the woman of the night, her eyes and ears form a second reality unknown to humankind. Man sleeps, the world wakes. Her lack of concern belittles the bevies of worry making waves in my mind. That maternal smile and soothing mouth could lull the most savage of beast to a coma.

But I must be strong. There are miles of alleyways and faultlines burrowed deep inside my skull. Once within, the most minute of thoughts could penetrate my daily routine, yanking the wanderer in me to roam aimlessly. A single glance could adjust my pathway for millenia to come. I must be careful.

I tenderly tiptoe amidst the entangled mounds of dirt and roots and the toplayer of soot. It's been raining charcoal for months. The calendars have become meaningless and are no longer ruled by precision, but by decision. My gaze rests thoughtlessly on my bare feet, those self-same feet that decades ago were cloaked with contraptions of suede and rubber and felt. What misery some contrivances will create!

I've escaped the categorical upheaval of the system by relying on the distance of the planets. They alone cast a genuine smirk of disapproval, unlike the fancifully fake inventions of men that reshaped the moon. Gravitationally bound, emoticancically intended. My misshapen mind is still under my own control. I've outsmarted the enforcemen due to my ability to reason, to think using biology and not technology. There were limitations, and I touted them for years, but no one listened! The appeal of convenience and experience won over the hearts and heads of the majority. Many of us fled, undiscovered, and planned to use logic to find a way to the home we once knew. Then the controlled blizzards came, to dislocate us and route our pathways. We sensed the outcome yet willingly walked to our doom. Somehow I was spared. Those memories haunt me only in dreams, during the trigger of supposed daytime. I cannot recall them right now. They lie within the faultlines.

I love the open road/Washington

The hypocrite

I hate this world. But I like to fill up with gasoline. And I love to curse the truckers that bring it to me - along with my groceries and clothing and 'necessities'. They always cut me off and don't pay attention to smaller cars. And those big trucks pollute the air with their black smoke. It disgusts me.

I hate capitalism. I won't give my money to Wal-Mart, but I'll gladly give it to Coors and Marlboro.

I hate suburban sprawl. I want to live in the woods. But wait, I want to be close to the city. I want the Suburbanites to wake up at 7:00 and go to work so I can have security and reliance. If the power or phone or cable goes out, I am angry. I want it fixed immediately. I want my insurance coverage - with the smallest deductible. But I hate brokers. I want to deposit my earnings in a bank. I love an honest day's wage. But I hate bankers. That's just not for me.

I hate big business, but why doesn't my cell phone work in my house?

I hate the automotive industry; I hate fossil fuels. But I love traveling and road trips.

I hate publishers and record labels. But I love authors, books, music and creativity.

I hate the government interfering in my business. But I want to be safe and secure. I hate the wait at airports. But I want my plane to land safely. I hate having to get my car smogged, but I love the glorious inhalation of clean air.

I hate Hollywood. But I love documentaries. I hate big budget films, but I like a good story to be told - but only when told by an indie.

I hate department stores, but I love convenience.

I hate celebrities. But I love to read People. I hate how celebrities are all fit and thin. That's not the natural human. But I am getting fat. I am starting a new diet next week, with low carbs. So this week I will indulge myself.

I hate disrespect for animals and for nature. But I'm hungry. Where's the nearest fast-food stop? I'll be a vegetarian tomorrow. I'll be a vegetarian but I'll still eat fish and fowl.

I hate people who are close-minded. I hate many people who work for the government. I hate people who can't break from tradition, and those who are duplicates of their parents. But I stand for equality. I stand for love and respect for all people.

I hate that I am a part of this world, but I don't want to die.

[This is written from a hypothetical point of view. It is not necessarily how I truly feel. The thing is, I feel that so many of us, myself included, are hypocrites. We complain and lambast that which we feel is incorrect or wrong, while half the time taking advantage of a situation or cause that that very same thing has furthered. I would like to lose my own hypocrisies, but it appears that for now it is a sad human reality of mine. I will just have to do the best I can.]

Re-experiencing the mind of man

My brain emits a wavelength of energy that is similar to most minds, but has a syndication all its own. It is these slight idiosyncrasies and nuances that make my energy detectable and unique, something to pick out from amongst the daily barrage of mind-energy flows. A simulation/recording device is nearby, set to record the patterns of my brain as input and output signals that are sensory-based.

The result is simulated memory. To re-experience something that has occurred in my life since the introduction of memory recording technology, I need only access the archived raw data, reverse the device's signal to feed, set myself in a pillowed, spacious, danger-free zone, and ignite the fake dream. Once the set memory length has been exhausted, my mind is returned to its current and actual surroundings; it is returned to true existence.

In this manner, memories never entirely fade, they cannot become corrupted with incorrect data or fabrication, details are permanently etched into existence, and the barriers between reality, dream, time and space are confused. This is the future of life. This changes the inherent human nature to age and not-so-gracefully forget, to hit that downward arc of seniority where lifeblood is watered down and the night becomes longer than the day. Where we live to sleep and eat and lament. This fits beautifully with the Hollywood-view of youth and life and vigor and desire and contentedness; that American dream to resent hair, skin, eyes, keratin, lipids, difference, indifference. We want to be like you. I don't want to be like me.

A life composed of memories. I will eventually be re-experiencing the re-experiencing. And the cycle ensues. Soon all new life will lose its meaning and will be led soley through the experiencing of memories of ancient and passed individuals. We are not different. We are each other. Your mind is my mind. It begins now.

We've built our own sun

the detergent burns with each of my breaths
and the bars on the windows keep insiders out
but i've grown thin enough to slip through the cracks
with a cape of homemade fabric at my back
just a touch of color in this luxury shack

past the plastic patio furniture
and the fancy couch we could hardly afford
i'll make my way on these crumbling sidewalks
as the gaps pick my pockets and the night picks my locks
i'll walk and walk - like a moth to the sun

i'll emerge from the other side unscathed i fear
darling, pass me a pen my dear
i'll record every word to forget what i've heard this year
each and every year it's the same

and i'm tired of this game
so bring on the rain
cause i've built my own sun

bring on the rain
i've built my own sun

The return from Pateros

So the routine returns. It was a short but seemingly endless outing that resulted in not much more than empty pockets and a drift of a hike. I felt some sad sense of longing as I drove out of Pateros, that tiny town supposedly holding 643 souls, give or take, and the smells of the bakery that welcomed me as long as the sun shone. I can't explain why I feel like I am leaving something behind. Maybe my expectations were too high. Maybe my expectations were too low. I had hoped for an improbable burst of life excitement, all the while planning for the sad reality that would most likely realize itself once again. I am not angry; I am not upset. I might be disappointed or discouraged. But the smell of the Washington air that was so new to me, the somewhat-heat of the pollen-tainted breeze that filled my rental car's humming engine vents - and would have blown my hair awry if it were long enough - those things keep my senses alive. Those people that seem alien, those Washingtonian foreigners, they are so eerily similar to me and mine. The backroad highways paved decades ago and well-traveled by thousands if not millions - they speak some testament of my smile for life and the spontaneity and lack of reason that could fuel and refuel me for an eternity. Sometimes it doesn't really matter if practicality speaks loud enough. I guess my ears were muffled at least for a day or two. And I am excited for that. 25 is still not a man. I'll never be a man; I'll always be a boy.


Sweet River Bakery

[In late May/early June, I took a random trip to Washington - my first time there - to pursue some interesting treasure-hunting dreams of mine. It sounds a bit ricidulous, I know. I came home empty-handed, and more in debt, but it was a great experience and I have no regrets. My trip consisted of flying from Sacramento to Spokane, then driving a rental 2+ hours out to mid-northern Washington, past the towns of Moses Lake, Brewster, Pateros, and more - all on my way to Alta Lake State Park. I stayed overnight in Pateros, and I was welcomed by the Sweet River Bakery, the Rest Awhile Fruit Stand, a comfortable Chevron station, and the Lake Pateros Inn, to name a few of my stops. Then I turned around, drove a bit, and flew a bit - all to return to the life and normalcy I had temporarily left behind.]