Cicadas, all the sound of nitrous with none of the fun.

Tiny helicopters,
Two inch weed wackers,
Insectile tibetan throat singers.

I used to hear these noises,
poised
over a can of ready-whip.

Now,
from a Hundred-foot Cottonwood
these noises drone down.
Reminding me that i still have some gray-matter to spare.

Now where's that can.............

Travel makes you Love and Hate everyone all at the same time...

I'm in Colorado right at the moment.........


Not a pleasure trip to be sure of it, but somehow it still manages to feel almost, but not quite, entirely unlike a vacation. I'll be in Texas next month. Running a straight line from Dallas to Mission over the course of three weeks, catering to the needs of a more priviledged, and sometimes classless bunch of Lone-Star Staters.


I HATE the Midwest, because there is no scenery, because everyone wants to escape yet is so brain-addled and afraid that they never do anything about it. There is something disconcerting about a view of your surroundings with no Background. The earth just falls away at the Horizon, it's no wonder they think that there is no escape...........there is nowhere to run. The world ends ten miles from your front door, and that is that.

They call the Midwest, "The Heartland" because the Brain isn't there.