Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Conjectures of a guilty technician

18 hrs comes and goes like a dream - long enough to leave impressions short enough to be misinterpreted as a dream. I trade the secluded candle lit comfort of angels for hard grey loud scatters of new jersey. I find my legs in the bus that feels more like a submarine and a place i call 'home'. There is an odd comfort that i have found with the bus, a familiarity that estranged childhood friends would have, i say hello and she tells me to sit down and welcome back. The road beckons.
The rolling white hills of pennsylvania pass by smothered in the golden quality of light that has become a signature for frost bitten mornings. memories of tunneling through manhattan on a bleary eyed A train. brief. did it happen? whose face is that? why is everything green? i cant see green - startle - dreaming - complete - memories replayed as reoccuring dream. The roads have gotten bad, will informs us. his twang thicker than before, usually a notation of frustrations as the increasingly iced roads glare and mock him. i sit shotgun smoking cigarettes and trying to make sense of the headlights that pass my face. no such luck. West Virginia unfolds quickly - hills replaced with small desolate store fronts - all dime stores and lonely drunk streets. I unlock my rooms...johnny P and i stand and look at one anothers. we have walked into what appears to be a bed and breakfast, we prepare for a heart shaped bed with satin sheets, and lubricants and marvin gaye and poorly produced pornography. but it turns out to be tastefully decorated, where two people deeply in love could lose themselves - but johnny and i just met - so its seperated beds tonight! i wait for the load in tomorrow and to recap the previous towns show - my thoughts are scattered but i will attempt to lay them here...up next: the theory of todds.


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