admin
22 December 2023
PROLOGUE
I guess you can't keep that ruby red smile from leaking into your cheeks when you've just realized how this country is your sandbox. You want to pawn everything that is familiar to you right now. You want all the surrealism you can get for it. So pack your bags, folks, and don't set out wishing, because the road doesn't give a good goddamn about your wishes. Things never happen the way you think they will. Wishes never come true, because how could you even know what to wish for? This country is ruled by Jesus and the Devil, and you'd have to have some nerve to claim you know what they have in store for you.
You just can't help but feel fresh out of the river when you leave the city limits behind.
It's how the backdoor man feels, running out of his baby's yard and jumping the fence. It's how the little girl feels that he just left behind when she smiles at her husband. Incidentally, it's also the way the husband feels, when he sees no stranger in his bed.
I believe they call it "relief".
I say Friday when I got good religion. Day one.
Chances are you won't realize the full meaning of what "two weeks" means on your first day. You'll be too busy thinking about what a big bright world it is, and if you threw your luggage in the car on a Friday the 13th, then you'll be forever wondering when folklore and bad luck will hit. Sure, superstition is nonsense, any old fool will tell you that. But you try and watch your trip collide with the thirteenth day of your calendar. You try and brush it off like a crumb from your lap when you realize the 13th is a Friday. And so what if I'm talking out of my ass? I figure if you treat superstition with respect, then that's how it will treat you.
"I feel like shouting when I come out the wilderness!"
Out of downtown L.A. and into heavy traffic. The smog and sun tried to restrict us to the shallow conversations one is supposed to have in bad traffic-- something on the order of:
"Dude, this sucks."
"Yeah, I fuckin' hate traffic."
However, we had more energy than a brand-new nuclear power plant, and nothing was going to stop us from spurting out our theories on art, or digging deep into the meaning of life. We were oblivious to traffic; we were establishing the boundaries of tastes and realities in art. Besides, didn't you know? There's nothing like the first day of a road trip to unburden all those hardcore views on "the way it should be". It's not very often that you have two people trapped with you in a car for an entire fortnight, forced to listen to every opinion you've ever had. Talk about a soapbox.
Just before we hit the 15 North, I accidentally rubbed sunscreen lotion in my right eye, and went temporarily blind in the driver's seat. Beth had to lean over, take the wheel, and maneuver us over to the side of the road while I wrestled with my t-shirt to get the burning out of my eye.
7:30PM
We passed a chain of red alien mountains, and a huge pale moon was lying on the Arizona horizon.
7:54PM
Says here in my notebook "weird ball at side of road"-- so I'm guessing we passed a weird ball at the side of the road.
By the time we pulled into our first motel of the trip, the moon had turned electrically yellow, and it sat fat against a deep blue sky. It looked like some over-zealous prop-guy had gotten carried away and created a fantastic moon that no one in the audience would take for real. Except that it was real.
Motel number one was small and clean, in a motel kind of way. There was a heavy red velvet curtain over the window, and two television sets. I swear, there's nothing as potent for falling asleep as wondering why your room has two television sets.
I believe you's right about that. Day two.
There are a few things you should understand about motel rooms. Firstly, their pillows were tailor made so that the lumps in them are never anything but lopsided. This will keep you fighting for the right lump at the right place all night long. Secondly, the air conditioning/heating systems are usually loud enough to drown out a marching band, and the oxygen they circulate are guaranteed to plant new civilizations of microorganisms into your lungs. Thirdly, there are never enough towels-- ever. And last but not least, motel beds give you strangest dreams you'll ever have.
Beth and I generally woke up with dislocated bones and torn nerves. When Alex wakes up, the sun is bright and the birds are singing. I've never been able to figure out where she gets her full-night's sleep from. She could get cozy on a toothpick, if need be. She just jumps out of bed in the mornings, whistling, and by the time I make my first effort to "lift neck off pillow", she's already been in and out of the room about five times, collected the free coffee and doughnuts, taken pictures of the cleaning staff, and is ready to wrestle the day into resignation.
As for the dreams-- none of us escaped those. We woke up each morning with our heads heavy.
11:06AM
"Now, John the Baptist was a writin'-- writin' for the Holy Lord. Two tall angels come steppin' down, said 'Johnny don't you write no more.'"
Arizona and New Mexico. If you wanna get to the Midwest, you're going to have to go through two days of desert, where landscapes have colors that you last saw on a tie-dye shirt. The hot air will dance on the asphalt. Gas stations will sell t-shirts with pictures of Saddam Hussein saying: "Pull the trigger this time!" You'll pass places like Joseph City, Hibbard Road, Joe's Cafe of Chinese and American Food, and stores like Knife City. And plenty of fake dinosaurs by the side of the road.
4:30PM - Albuquerque
We stopped to have more tea and discuss why fat people always seem to feel the need to wear spandex. Not mockingly. You have to understand, everything we wondered about on the road, we wondered about without a muddied conscience, as clean and naive as though it were just born yesterday. We didn't laugh at people, we didn't look down on them-- we just looked at them.
Slowly, by the end of the second day, the New Mexico landscape will begin to flatten and turn grassy. Small bushes appear in the dry ground. You'll start having conversations about fuzzy childhood memories. And then the not-so-fuzzy ones about when you nearly got killed.
By the time evening comes along, you'll most likely be in Elk City, Oklahoma. This is a good place to spend the night, because, little kids, there's something in this town that you'd be a goddamn fool to pass up.
One last thing about motels: It's alright to get excited over prices like "Two for $24.95", but you have to be prepared for your high to go down hard when you open the door and smell urine crawling from the carpet. Prices like these seldom go unaccompanied by character. There might be mice or cockroaches on the bathroom floor. There might be mysterious stains on your pillowcases, or hair under your sheets. So if you wanna go for the cheapest in the market, by all means do. But I'd advise you to be wearing a tracksuit to bed, and to bring lots of rubbing alcohol. And maybe your choice of religious material.
CLICK HERE TO READ PART TWO
I guess you can't keep that ruby red smile from leaking into your cheeks when you've just realized how this country is your sandbox. You want to pawn everything that is familiar to you right now. You want all the surrealism you can get for it. So pack your bags, folks, and don't set out wishing, because the road doesn't give a good goddamn about your wishes. Things never happen the way you think they will. Wishes never come true, because how could you even know what to wish for? This country is ruled by Jesus and the Devil, and you'd have to have some nerve to claim you know what they have in store for you.
You just can't help but feel fresh out of the river when you leave the city limits behind.
It's how the backdoor man feels, running out of his baby's yard and jumping the fence. It's how the little girl feels that he just left behind when she smiles at her husband. Incidentally, it's also the way the husband feels, when he sees no stranger in his bed.
I believe they call it "relief".
I say Friday when I got good religion. Day one.
Chances are you won't realize the full meaning of what "two weeks" means on your first day. You'll be too busy thinking about what a big bright world it is, and if you threw your luggage in the car on a Friday the 13th, then you'll be forever wondering when folklore and bad luck will hit. Sure, superstition is nonsense, any old fool will tell you that. But you try and watch your trip collide with the thirteenth day of your calendar. You try and brush it off like a crumb from your lap when you realize the 13th is a Friday. And so what if I'm talking out of my ass? I figure if you treat superstition with respect, then that's how it will treat you.
"I feel like shouting when I come out the wilderness!"
Out of downtown L.A. and into heavy traffic. The smog and sun tried to restrict us to the shallow conversations one is supposed to have in bad traffic-- something on the order of:
"Dude, this sucks."
"Yeah, I fuckin' hate traffic."
However, we had more energy than a brand-new nuclear power plant, and nothing was going to stop us from spurting out our theories on art, or digging deep into the meaning of life. We were oblivious to traffic; we were establishing the boundaries of tastes and realities in art. Besides, didn't you know? There's nothing like the first day of a road trip to unburden all those hardcore views on "the way it should be". It's not very often that you have two people trapped with you in a car for an entire fortnight, forced to listen to every opinion you've ever had. Talk about a soapbox.
Just before we hit the 15 North, I accidentally rubbed sunscreen lotion in my right eye, and went temporarily blind in the driver's seat. Beth had to lean over, take the wheel, and maneuver us over to the side of the road while I wrestled with my t-shirt to get the burning out of my eye.
7:30PM
We passed a chain of red alien mountains, and a huge pale moon was lying on the Arizona horizon.
7:54PM
Says here in my notebook "weird ball at side of road"-- so I'm guessing we passed a weird ball at the side of the road.
By the time we pulled into our first motel of the trip, the moon had turned electrically yellow, and it sat fat against a deep blue sky. It looked like some over-zealous prop-guy had gotten carried away and created a fantastic moon that no one in the audience would take for real. Except that it was real.
Motel number one was small and clean, in a motel kind of way. There was a heavy red velvet curtain over the window, and two television sets. I swear, there's nothing as potent for falling asleep as wondering why your room has two television sets.
I believe you's right about that. Day two.
There are a few things you should understand about motel rooms. Firstly, their pillows were tailor made so that the lumps in them are never anything but lopsided. This will keep you fighting for the right lump at the right place all night long. Secondly, the air conditioning/heating systems are usually loud enough to drown out a marching band, and the oxygen they circulate are guaranteed to plant new civilizations of microorganisms into your lungs. Thirdly, there are never enough towels-- ever. And last but not least, motel beds give you strangest dreams you'll ever have.
Beth and I generally woke up with dislocated bones and torn nerves. When Alex wakes up, the sun is bright and the birds are singing. I've never been able to figure out where she gets her full-night's sleep from. She could get cozy on a toothpick, if need be. She just jumps out of bed in the mornings, whistling, and by the time I make my first effort to "lift neck off pillow", she's already been in and out of the room about five times, collected the free coffee and doughnuts, taken pictures of the cleaning staff, and is ready to wrestle the day into resignation.
As for the dreams-- none of us escaped those. We woke up each morning with our heads heavy.
11:06AM
"Now, John the Baptist was a writin'-- writin' for the Holy Lord. Two tall angels come steppin' down, said 'Johnny don't you write no more.'"
Arizona and New Mexico. If you wanna get to the Midwest, you're going to have to go through two days of desert, where landscapes have colors that you last saw on a tie-dye shirt. The hot air will dance on the asphalt. Gas stations will sell t-shirts with pictures of Saddam Hussein saying: "Pull the trigger this time!" You'll pass places like Joseph City, Hibbard Road, Joe's Cafe of Chinese and American Food, and stores like Knife City. And plenty of fake dinosaurs by the side of the road.
4:30PM - Albuquerque
We stopped to have more tea and discuss why fat people always seem to feel the need to wear spandex. Not mockingly. You have to understand, everything we wondered about on the road, we wondered about without a muddied conscience, as clean and naive as though it were just born yesterday. We didn't laugh at people, we didn't look down on them-- we just looked at them.
Slowly, by the end of the second day, the New Mexico landscape will begin to flatten and turn grassy. Small bushes appear in the dry ground. You'll start having conversations about fuzzy childhood memories. And then the not-so-fuzzy ones about when you nearly got killed.
By the time evening comes along, you'll most likely be in Elk City, Oklahoma. This is a good place to spend the night, because, little kids, there's something in this town that you'd be a goddamn fool to pass up.
One last thing about motels: It's alright to get excited over prices like "Two for $24.95", but you have to be prepared for your high to go down hard when you open the door and smell urine crawling from the carpet. Prices like these seldom go unaccompanied by character. There might be mice or cockroaches on the bathroom floor. There might be mysterious stains on your pillowcases, or hair under your sheets. So if you wanna go for the cheapest in the market, by all means do. But I'd advise you to be wearing a tracksuit to bed, and to bring lots of rubbing alcohol. And maybe your choice of religious material.
CLICK HERE TO READ PART TWO
artid
1543
Old Image
5_12_mercedes.jpg
issue
vol 5 - issue 12 (aug 2003)
section
pen_think