marge, it's pronounced nu-cu-ler.
on the bus going home, somebody got on dressed in a quite well-made iron man costume, and started handing out flyers for something.
"come on man," she said.
"we have to leave this town.
i can't stand another day without the rain"
someone asks me, what's with all those northwest bands? they always seem so...dreary. go through a winter here and you'll understand. a lack of color, braving mountain passes, driving around the lake, just a little too fast.
she whispered, "let's get moving"
nobody gets that. they have fear of perpetual motion. nobody gets that need to keep moving. no, they don't. vancouver, maybe europe, southeast asia. los angeles. san francisco. rio de janiero. of course, french polynesia and the coconut crabs. everything pulling me in all different directions.
the more i learn, the less i know. the more i'm lost.
the more i explore, the more i see, the bigger the world seems. the more space between us.
that night we night laid on the floor of the desert
but i still couldn't sleep.
there was man in a black car, with a man in the back seat
and i'd wake up in a cold sweat with her lying next to me.
write my words on your walls, and i'll write about that, too. then laugh, in so many tones but the real one. and then let that come and i still know what's real. at least, now i know. mirror images seldom get along, and when they do it's boring. never was it more felt than car rides and passive agressive comments back and forth. but who cared, really? all the faith i had in slippery waves of an expert opinion.
i'm being barraged with information and experiences and my mind's racing. i can't get it down fast enough to be coherent. too fast to structure into something workable.
on another bus i walked past later in the evening, a woman was thrown off for puking in the aisle.