Rumbling from behind the books
Tiny people drawing long lines in the dirt. Even a valley is the upper part of a gigantic mountain range rearing up from the planet, neck-deep in oceans. Just the wide, craggy tops over which we unfurl a big map of houses, airports, bars, bookstores, heavy roads that sink into the ground like netting taught on an animal's skin. We wake up and putter from place to place in the shadow of all this every day and bitch and laugh and hate and love each other, tiny cars going up and down highways every day like a frantic tide of plastic & steel & meat.//
I'm letting the imagination roll and writing about the next five years of my life right now. I can't believe I haven't done this yet, apart from the half-baked Walkabout plan of a rock-climbing/library/hostel someplace in Northern California. That could be fucking sweet actually.
I'm letting the imagination roll and writing about the next five years of my life right now. I can't believe I haven't done this yet, apart from the half-baked Walkabout plan of a rock-climbing/library/hostel someplace in Northern California. That could be fucking sweet actually.