As Requested by burlapdragon....
Keep in mind that this was written long ago....
The Circle of Life Continues...
(even in BFE, America)
The circle of life isn't just a line from a famous Disney movie but a fact that forces one to realize that everyday it exists. The sun rises to shed light into this small corner of the world. New lives are just beginning with a push and a gentle hand while others lie down for the last time knowing that their circle is complete. Buildings are torn down making way for new ones to be erected, carefully planned and executed with twentieth-century precision. Same ole shit, different day. Those days progress into weeks and then years. The wheel turns yet again.
This just happens to be about a small 24-hour restaurant in the asshole of America.
"What does this restaurant have to do with the circle of life?" (Pause and Ponder)
Well, these are my observations and personal accounts while injecting my system with endless streams of godlike nectar from my cup. This restaurant has a life of its own and for the last several years, I have been involved in its circle. The restaurant offers travel weary crusaders some time off the road. Friends and family meet here to discuss the happenings of their lives. It allows those who drank too much to come and sober themselves over gut-wrenching food. This place occupies a miniscule part of town but intertwined throughout many different lives across the country.
I first entered the circle about six years ago, knowing only that this place offered something to eat. It was after an evening had run its course that six others and I went here to seek refuge in hopes of getting hot meals to fill our stomachs. We all sat in the back room, away from the whooping and hollering customers. In our group, there was a violinist from Dallas, a weirdo from OKC, an artist of vision and sound, a couple of actors on the road, a Beat cat in grunge and a Chinese girl who I have no idea what she did. The party complete and ready, we sat down and began to talk.
What was intended to be a short visit turned into an eight-hour commune in the back room of this restaurant. We discussed a variety of subjects, from the evening's activities to our hopes and dreams to just plain silliness. It took us eight hours to become good friends where it takes others a lifetime. But the most important thing I remember was indulging myself to unearthly contentment at this meeting: my first binge drinking experience. Not of the alcohol persuasion, but that of which the god Juan Valdez had picked himself and bestowed upon the human race; COUGH-EE! Our little group guzzled about twelve wonderful pots of this magickal brew that night. This began my journey around the circle of this delightful little restaurant in BFE, America.
I have gone to this restaurant over the years to engage in mindful activity, whether it be writing an essay, studying a book that I recently purchased, or talking among friends. I have met people that I could trust and call brother there. I've communed with others of my guild and discussed our part that we play in life. Good times, as well as sad, are remembered. To me, this was and still is the most sacred place on earth. Why? Because it became home.
Since then, I have probably consumed about a thousand dollars worth of coffee. I have notebooks filled with poetry, sketches, essays, drawings, notes, pencil squiggles and other assorted items, including coffee coasters (with stains) and used sugar packets. But these items came from endless hours with my friends and a few strangers. My only observation of the circle that this restaurant weaves on a daily basis. It's there but most fail to recognize it happening and enfolding their life into its grasp. People throughout this and other towns remember the ambiance of the restaurant: the way people filed into and out of the place, the way the staff received and served them. The several small things that people take for granted. That all adds up to my special love for the place.
What is the point about the circle of life? I really cannot tell you. It's there. Places and people dance into our lives to an underlying rhythm that nobody can seem to put a name to. Some call that rhythm God, or Great Spirit, or BOB, or whatever man can use to distinguish it vocally to another. But I just sit here feeling that my journey with this restaurant is coming to a close. My circle complete, I must now move on into the great wilderness that we call the Circle of Life.
The Circle of Life Continues...
(even in BFE, America)
The circle of life isn't just a line from a famous Disney movie but a fact that forces one to realize that everyday it exists. The sun rises to shed light into this small corner of the world. New lives are just beginning with a push and a gentle hand while others lie down for the last time knowing that their circle is complete. Buildings are torn down making way for new ones to be erected, carefully planned and executed with twentieth-century precision. Same ole shit, different day. Those days progress into weeks and then years. The wheel turns yet again.
This just happens to be about a small 24-hour restaurant in the asshole of America.
"What does this restaurant have to do with the circle of life?" (Pause and Ponder)
Well, these are my observations and personal accounts while injecting my system with endless streams of godlike nectar from my cup. This restaurant has a life of its own and for the last several years, I have been involved in its circle. The restaurant offers travel weary crusaders some time off the road. Friends and family meet here to discuss the happenings of their lives. It allows those who drank too much to come and sober themselves over gut-wrenching food. This place occupies a miniscule part of town but intertwined throughout many different lives across the country.
I first entered the circle about six years ago, knowing only that this place offered something to eat. It was after an evening had run its course that six others and I went here to seek refuge in hopes of getting hot meals to fill our stomachs. We all sat in the back room, away from the whooping and hollering customers. In our group, there was a violinist from Dallas, a weirdo from OKC, an artist of vision and sound, a couple of actors on the road, a Beat cat in grunge and a Chinese girl who I have no idea what she did. The party complete and ready, we sat down and began to talk.
What was intended to be a short visit turned into an eight-hour commune in the back room of this restaurant. We discussed a variety of subjects, from the evening's activities to our hopes and dreams to just plain silliness. It took us eight hours to become good friends where it takes others a lifetime. But the most important thing I remember was indulging myself to unearthly contentment at this meeting: my first binge drinking experience. Not of the alcohol persuasion, but that of which the god Juan Valdez had picked himself and bestowed upon the human race; COUGH-EE! Our little group guzzled about twelve wonderful pots of this magickal brew that night. This began my journey around the circle of this delightful little restaurant in BFE, America.
I have gone to this restaurant over the years to engage in mindful activity, whether it be writing an essay, studying a book that I recently purchased, or talking among friends. I have met people that I could trust and call brother there. I've communed with others of my guild and discussed our part that we play in life. Good times, as well as sad, are remembered. To me, this was and still is the most sacred place on earth. Why? Because it became home.
Since then, I have probably consumed about a thousand dollars worth of coffee. I have notebooks filled with poetry, sketches, essays, drawings, notes, pencil squiggles and other assorted items, including coffee coasters (with stains) and used sugar packets. But these items came from endless hours with my friends and a few strangers. My only observation of the circle that this restaurant weaves on a daily basis. It's there but most fail to recognize it happening and enfolding their life into its grasp. People throughout this and other towns remember the ambiance of the restaurant: the way people filed into and out of the place, the way the staff received and served them. The several small things that people take for granted. That all adds up to my special love for the place.
What is the point about the circle of life? I really cannot tell you. It's there. Places and people dance into our lives to an underlying rhythm that nobody can seem to put a name to. Some call that rhythm God, or Great Spirit, or BOB, or whatever man can use to distinguish it vocally to another. But I just sit here feeling that my journey with this restaurant is coming to a close. My circle complete, I must now move on into the great wilderness that we call the Circle of Life.