Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
The Time, Time To Go

It's a windy day in Recce Town, the sun is hidden by light grey clouds that manage to say, "Yes, a storms a-coming." It's that perfect combination that makes the day so damn boring. But that's okay, it's completely fine. It's the last week of classes, and only eight days until I'm forced back into a hole that I'd rather not be in.

Family Reunion.

I shudder just at the thought.

It used to be that I'd enjoy going on trips. I'd enjoy getting away from it all and sleeping in strange places with semi-strange people. It's one of those moments of zen like quality where I can go, "Yes, I have arrived." No more. Now I want to explore, and go back to my bed. Where the pillows are just the right size and right density, not to soft, not to firm, and will completely devour your head if you let them.

I do find it amazing how I grew out of this. I still get the itch now and then just to run outside, jump in my car and just leave it all behind. Had a moment like that yesterday. Made it as far as the putting the key in the igintion until I saw I had no gas. Piss.

But I'm happy just staying in one place for a while now. To view and understand all the intracies of the walls or the trees or the concrete blocks. Watch the world and humanity just walk past on the way to thier own little moments of zen and happiness. It brings me a certain sadistic pleasure. Like a voyeur cam.

But now I'm being forced to back to Michigan. Back into the family and back into the seemingly intense, yet non-existant drama that exists. Not where I want to be. Too many people.

Perfection then? Sitting in a car with a friend, snaking our way through a mountain pass in the chill of the night, windows cranked down, radio softly playing something by The Eagles or Simon and Garfunkel or The Silver Bullet Band, The moon is a absolute full bathing the road and the mountains and the valleys and everything in it's pale glow before and after the headlights sweep them like beedy little eyes. No talking, just silence, a mental conversation, as Joe Walsh's & Don Felder's guitar solo would just break into the cool night air...

1 comment:

  1. reunions (family or class or school) makes me ask: "what we're doing it for?"

    ...and the answer is quite dreadful