Late at night and I am staring at the fireplace.
It is unlit and there are 5 christmas stockings hung with care.
Or is it hanged with care?
A basketball game just finished on the TV to my right.
Commercials.
The Army has gotten so clever with their advertisement.
They show the desert, and I am tempted to join.
Do you really get to go rock climbing in the Army?
I don't think so.
Those deceivers.
And with out some one around to talk to about the things I like to talk about, my mind is a freezing pond, the last few ripples smoothing out.
I need stimulation.
I need conversation.
I don't really know what in particular I like to talk about.
I guess these things just happen when you meet someone on the level with you.
Damn Toni.
I grew accustomed to her obsessive style personality, always talking about the same things.
Those things I also became accustomed to talking about.
I need more movement.
This is the time for that.
I feel like a little "ADD" kid, trapped in a math lesson.
I need to move.
I need to run.
I need to be free.
So I'm sitting here, fidgeting, waiting for that goddamn bell.
Why the desert?
Why the allure of the orange rock, the very blue sky, the sometimes clouds?
Why the yearning for the soft whislte of no sound but staccato breeze?
Those sounds of big emptinesses, a long harmonica note, bending.
I know that it's hot and dry there.
I know that my nose bleeds after a day of driving through it.
I'll adjust.
I know that the water evaporation rate ridiculously exceeds the rate in which the water is received.
And the swimming holes are dry in the summer.
I know.
But I want that silence, that stillness.
I want to see more sky than earth.
I want to see for miles and miles.
I want to walk for miles and miles. And see no one.
I want to find those strange desert flowers that are growing, some how.
The desert after a rain.
And crumbling rock, orange and red.
Orange and blue are opposites on the color wheel, and so, perfectly complimentary.
I was at Denny's a few weeks ago, staring at the photo of a glass of orange juice in front of a blue back ground, sky blue, on the paper place mat sitting in front of me.
Just staring.
The spell of the desert.
I think you only have to spend a week there for it to infect you.
And it could be months before you show any symptoms.
But the seed is planted, and then...
Then there is this longing, and it grows, pervading your soul, your body, you can feel it in your arms, in your chest, on your thighs.
This ghost posessing you.
It grows to be very strong, and then, you have to go.
There is something about the desert.
You just ask someone who lives there.
They know.
It is unlit and there are 5 christmas stockings hung with care.
Or is it hanged with care?
A basketball game just finished on the TV to my right.
Commercials.
The Army has gotten so clever with their advertisement.
They show the desert, and I am tempted to join.
Do you really get to go rock climbing in the Army?
I don't think so.
Those deceivers.
And with out some one around to talk to about the things I like to talk about, my mind is a freezing pond, the last few ripples smoothing out.
I need stimulation.
I need conversation.
I don't really know what in particular I like to talk about.
I guess these things just happen when you meet someone on the level with you.
Damn Toni.
I grew accustomed to her obsessive style personality, always talking about the same things.
Those things I also became accustomed to talking about.
I need more movement.
This is the time for that.
I feel like a little "ADD" kid, trapped in a math lesson.
I need to move.
I need to run.
I need to be free.
So I'm sitting here, fidgeting, waiting for that goddamn bell.
Why the desert?
Why the allure of the orange rock, the very blue sky, the sometimes clouds?
Why the yearning for the soft whislte of no sound but staccato breeze?
Those sounds of big emptinesses, a long harmonica note, bending.
I know that it's hot and dry there.
I know that my nose bleeds after a day of driving through it.
I'll adjust.
I know that the water evaporation rate ridiculously exceeds the rate in which the water is received.
And the swimming holes are dry in the summer.
I know.
But I want that silence, that stillness.
I want to see more sky than earth.
I want to see for miles and miles.
I want to walk for miles and miles. And see no one.
I want to find those strange desert flowers that are growing, some how.
The desert after a rain.
And crumbling rock, orange and red.
Orange and blue are opposites on the color wheel, and so, perfectly complimentary.
I was at Denny's a few weeks ago, staring at the photo of a glass of orange juice in front of a blue back ground, sky blue, on the paper place mat sitting in front of me.
Just staring.
The spell of the desert.
I think you only have to spend a week there for it to infect you.
And it could be months before you show any symptoms.
But the seed is planted, and then...
Then there is this longing, and it grows, pervading your soul, your body, you can feel it in your arms, in your chest, on your thighs.
This ghost posessing you.
It grows to be very strong, and then, you have to go.
There is something about the desert.
You just ask someone who lives there.
They know.
1 comment:
heh, I am reading this.
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