Oh, and this is a little bit longer for a post.
- On trap doors: I think people would be somewhat put-off by me coming out of a trapdoor or a manhole cover like some wayward ninja turtle.
- Past Vegas is an endless desert made beautiful by its singular vastness and huge open stretches. The clouds are dark and stretching. The distant haze gives the mountains a blue hue that brings out their contrast and sets them on the yellow plains that are divided by the long black road. A wasteland beauty, a road-way beauty, if nothing else.
- A single white snowflake darted past the windshield like a baby squid dashing back and forth in the inky darkness of the ocean, glowing white. A precursor to a great storm.
- The center of the Great Ripple is the birth of new ideas.
- Inside a roadside, red neon-lit motel: The pungent smell of gasoline lingers in the winter air. There is a gas station right across the street. A small rest-outpost on a great plane. A train whistle blows outside; it cuts right through the walls. I wonder what else could cut through these walls. What writhes below these paper-thin floor boards?
- Maybe I appeared as an old burned-out Russian special forces soldier pursuing his life-long retirement dream: skiing the slopes and photographing the magnificent views. A hint of longing sadness under that ice-caked balaclava for something that once was.
- The road's scars and debris told countless stories of terrible crashes, horrible strandings, and great tragedy that could only be recreated by a fictional mind staring out of a snow-caked window of a passing car.
- These notes are sloppy and smeared, the result of trying to write awkwardly in a notebook while sitting in a moving, rumbling vehicle. Constant vibrations. No support.
- There is truth in what every single person has to say, whether direct or indirect, for good or ill.
- Dreaming in Idaho: In a room with people. An industrial over-office. Bad vibes outside. There is a latin chant coming from me. Me? Wolves, Hellhounds, coming in through the windows, latching onto people. I throw them off and out of the windows. Become a fire god. The wolves are hatching out of blue spheres. I crush the spheres before they spawn.
- Looking back: With that long trip came a mind trip, a mind trip that could only happen on a long lonely road like this.
There is more. Maybe another time. Soon. Later. Much later. Who knows.
Goodbye for now.
