Miss Missouri. (Thank you Elliot Smith.)

Green expanse
Low rolling hills
Land-locked ideals
political dance

Twenty-one hundred miles
away from home.
Disaster waiting,
Thunderstorm trials.

High wind, high water.
sheet lightning,
blinding rain,
crashing thunder.

Natures opinion
is "flood this place."
None to soon,
Quicken the pace.

Limestone hills
Hollow inside
Shelter from the Mother
a place to hide.

A beautiful and miserable location.

An endless expanse of white.

Salt.


It stretches on for hundreds of miles in every direction but West.
I sit on the far edge of the Great Salt Desert, an area so desolate that even the surrounding parched landscape seems lush by comparison.
Devoid of any life save the people driving East and West on the I-80...........


Sorry, I lost my train of thought.


Fuck it.

Downtown on a Friday...

Friday, May the Ninth, Two-Thousand and Eight:

There is a loose band of howler monkeys on the street below my apartment. The monkeys, along with the barking of the occasional dog make this city, and every other major city that I've ever been in, sound like a zoo with no keepers. The Simians I speak of are wandering groups of twenty-somethings, horny young beasts that know no end to their appetites.

It generally starts sometime around Eight o' clock with the whooping and hollering coming from the early starters at the Babylon-style date-rape club that sits kiddie-corner from my small apartment. I tell you readers, these kids have less class than a herd of goats. They look better, but they are no different. The Thompsonesque scene at my company retreat a couple of weekends back was one-thousand times more civilized, AND we had better drugs! We just knew how to keep our behavior above the level of common,(or not so common)animals. But i digress...............................

One of these horrible creatures happens to live directly above me in my building. A young woman with bright green hair, she has the predisposition to coming home at 1:30 on a tuesday morning with thirty other companions,(how she fits that many young men in that small space I have no clue!) and the continue to make libations until 5:30 A.M. Keep in mind that I've only twelve days until my thirtieth birthday, however, these children make me feel like an old man. And I don't want to feel like an old man, I like to raise hell as much as the next debaucher. I just feel that there is a certain common courtesy lacking in most of my fellow upright primates.

Death to all the party kids!

Manners are on life support, please don't pull the plug.

Let's all stop Drunk-Dialing, as fun as it seems at the time.

God, I hate how old this makes me sound.

Goodnight fellow Bastards

Early December Blues

No beer
No cigs
No buzz
On edge.

Sitting in a hotel room in the south of Puget Sound.

Do I turn to books again for the third night?

I've read 500 pages in the last two days. finish one book, feel empty, start another.

I don't feel as if I have a choice, it's compelling.

When will it end? Do I want it to, I think not..........

It's an adequate distraction when you're trying to keep yourself healthier.
(and by healthier I mean I'm not having any fun)
Putting words on a screen or on paper always seems to help some.

Mind
Races
Non-Numbed brain thinks too much
sometimes not enough
No OCD trappings to fall back on

This all feels like something someone other than myself would write.
I hardly recognize sober me when I'm traveling.

Maybe Kerouac would understand better my predicament(thanks Angels!)

Thompson would never get it

Burroughs would laugh

dylan would just write a song.

Later on me amigos

Thoughts Untold........

Friend,
Lover.
So many words in a very small space.
A whole untold story, for only us to hear.

So many years,
So much time.

We ended up here.

We never thought it would..........

Life in Liquid Sunshine.

This is the first time in Eight months that I have needed to use rain gear to get my job done.

For these last eight months I have worked in climates far more condusive to my line of work. But this is not the reason that I write tonight...................

Grey Skies, Newsprint touched with white-out and blue paint.
The permanent color of Puget Sound.
Portland looks like Palm Springs by comparison.
Keep in mind that I am NOT complaining, just stating the obvious.

I feel at home in this dreary world, I love the overcast skies of the northwest.
I never have to squint my eyes here, not to mention the greatly reduced risk of skin cancer.
How can you get cancer when you can't get a tan.

I've never seen Mt. Rainier, Kind of surprising when you stop to consider the length of time that I've spent in and around Seattle.
I think that the City doesn't want me here.

I think that I'll let it have what it wants.

Bad Monkeys.

No sandstorms, no wind, just the beautiful bay breeze whipping across my face.

A lot has passed, dear reader, since i last graced you with my presence. Too much time that I should have been putting pen to paper................................

Since last we talked I have covered no less than 7500 miles of these american roads, and it still all leads me to the same conclusion. We as a country are incredibly small. We have no clue about our purpose in this world, and we do not care to. The callousness of our countrymen is readily apparent in everyone that I encounter in my travels. I always hope that my wanderings will make this world seems a bigger, more inviting place, but they do not.

Disregard. The word I most often use to descibe the actions of the other residents of terra firma.

I don't much care if this doesn't make a lot of sense, it is what it is.

B.M.