This will be an exercise at awakening. I had terrible insomniac strife through the dark high pitch night. It’s okay because I survived to morning. I’m willing to wager, although I dislike gambling for the sake of profits, not the concept of taking a gamble… they are separate you conservative rats… I think many species of plant life prepare for death during every sunset, however cloudy and shrouded in grey absence of color. They know, philosophically, one day the sun will not rise for them. In truth, the end of the world will be more like our star rising with an overzealous excitement about reaching its boiling tentacles toward our atmosphere when it expands to a size greater than a quarter of our solar system, burning every living organic matter into a fine crisp before searing through Yosemite valley and melting all the ice caps in a flash of fiery lava death, all volcanoes would erupt at once, creatures from the depths of the ocean, unknown to science, would surface and walk on land, evolving rapidly due to the stirred up microbiology in the dense seas of apocalyptical turmoil. Then it would all be quiet for a time. Our everything’s throat melts.
Now I will let this mind wander wider. Those geographical features of my mental landscape are backlit and shining. Oh gorgeous mountain peaks and summer valleys, I wish to know your scent and I will attempt to fire up my neurons in a manner of connecting the dots, the dots, the dots and greasing up all of my schema so as to access as much of this enclosed infinite space as possible for true work, controlled and decent writing, the kind of combination of words to write for the ones I love to latch on to and carry with them until forgotten or used up. I’d rather my words be used up and become cliches than be forgotten.
Sun salutations to the sparks alighting my mind afire. Recognizing the shape of moving shadows of clouds. Listen to the Flaming Lips. Grease the hinges. Wake up the mind.
Every boy knows what it feels like to have perverted dreams and amnesia at the same time, some mornings.
I wish to teach myself a cue, a green light in effect, for when my mind is ready for real, emotional work. I want to write beautiful epiphanies down in exclamatory fashion for all I’ve seen this year. All this mind has contained is spiraling up there very rapidly, shredding vague moments into pieces and drugs, aside from stimulants I guess, speed up the process of forgetting. Let’s input! My darling sinners and road trip dreamers. Let us make collages as bible statements that no one will ever misread. They will not think our road trip was homophobic but rather more open than name calling and belief in fiction. Poetic phrases and life lessons will crash through our virgin river canyons like the idea of a flash flood forming a hundred miles up the ravine, in which we would be wiped away into oblivion or worse.
Remember. Remember. Recount. Those images were beautiful and forever. Eccentric, esoteric, enigmatic and shared with one or two other humans in glorious detail. Maybe it was enough to find an excuse to get away and hit that open road. Vegas. Zion. St. George. Arches. Moab. Western Colorado at Night.
There will be a mighty story of a road trip approaching. First I must wake up this tired, dull mind with a collage of pictures.