Whole of our Heart

Turned up radio, tires slipping over wet asphalt. heart slipping on ice. Two days of rain. tomorrow they say ..."sunny and clear "
blue skies over gray. a long wait for someone special. the wait for snow. I'll take that.

There are two roads since she's gone. this way and that. up and down. I notice nothing of red lights. all green lights from here to the east. I've gone north and south. dizzy with the thought of drink on my tongue. I'm healthy again. A good sign she still thinks of me.

I thought of a cabin in the woods or seaside shanty , a house boat , a sail boat. then back to mountains. chopping wood, growing a beard. building a fire. books stacked to a ceiling made of cedar. writing is isolation. a desolate place. its like being dragged to the bottom of a pool except your able to hold your breath- endlessly. you can look up and see the sun refracted through the water. you should be drowning but instead you're in the silence. i can hear my blood. my heart beats in a pattern. everything frequency and patterns and nothing lasts forever, not the memories tattooed into my skin,  not even me writing it down for you to read someday.  
 
A song without words. miles of rain slicked highway. accelerate. stay alert. oncoming high-beams become hundreds of  tiny moons. the only sound the tapping of keys. some impossible way to get you to notice me, but I must be dead for there is nothing but blue snow and the furious silence of a howling wolf.

the fade away

 Am I her bruise? I wonder this under the halogen canopy lighting glow. In the stillness of night pumping four dollar-a- gallon gasoline into my truck. glug- glug- glug. road trips and bruises are an extravagant expensive. Soon, i fear we wont go anywhere at all. bruises and memories fade. will she remember me?  

I prefer to pay inside because enhances the two a.m. twilight zone experience. the people inside are crazy and smell like cough medicine and cigarettes. I feel i am seconds away from an armed robbery but nothing ever happens. there are zombies picking out candy and porno magazines devouring them like fresh brains. A girl with a blank stare. the floor is dirty. choosing the right energy drink is crucial. and let me ask you, at what age should one stop mixing every soda together to form the 40oz concoction we used to call " the suicide " as kids. I want to tell this  guy at the dispenser, holding his cup under one then the other, back and forth.  Dr.Pepper i believe is well enough alone (there have been extensive tests and studies) no need to hit it with cherry coke and mountain dew too. But it's his gut, his lost childhood. I open the glass cooler door avoiding   my reflection and choose a  red bull. Another form of suicide.

I kept the motor running in the truck, which is illegal. An empty car left running outside a convenience store is called a get-a-way car. I just call it my ride home. No cops. No hassles, I put the truck in gear. Red bull sweating bullets in my hand. Humid nights in south florida. Another then another then another. This is how it goes. I have to go to work in a few hours. I want to live somewhere where a scooter is a viable means of transportation. Somewhere like Italy or the Florida keys. A mint green vespa and the wind in my hair.. Aviator goggles and 5 dollars worth of fuel taking me 80 miles per the gallon. Every night a trip there and back there and back. This is how it goes.

Casually Smashed to Pieces

road journal in no particular order:

june of july when summer starts. It used to be when school ends - is summer. simple enough. now we pack bags and load the truck for camping or some disney world bullshit. stock up on explosives; fire- crackers, mortar shells, bottle rockets - the 4th. charcoal for the grill, bright red cooler stocked with bagged ice .

I like the road at medium distances. the great lakes and oceans blue. I like mile high cliffs and smokey mountains the peaks and valleys and her curves. anywhere. anywhere with you. I try to count the orange trees. they fly by in a hazy blur, im doing 85 or 88 mph. bugs hit the windshield with a Thump.Thump. Splat. Florida presents one the most boring of drive. flat awful roads; the occasional road kill. skies can open and pour down on you in a blink of an eye. torture you with black and grey and wet. Yes, there is lightning, more strikes than any state in the union. As suddenly blue skies, birds singing. all in all the surroundings near and far are not much for recalling. drink your fluids, check your gauge for overheating.

high noon mind numb with motion and vibration. It's not long before the sun drops off a western horizon. keep the radio playing loud, keep driving, keep taking mental notes. Are those mountains or clouds up ahead? Is that the ocean im driving into.. the abyss? tricks and illusions. Im not cut out for long distance. she kisses me awake with sugary redbull kisses. Im vaguely aware of She & Him playing from the tiny dashboard speakers- it seems to fit my mood now, fit this road and hour, twang and whisper and zooey eyes. I start to fade again. Half asleep I pull into a small motel, single level maybe 15 rooms. serene, half cozy half dirty. neon pink screaming Vacancy and cold a\c. In the dawns early light the office window is fogged with condensation. a glow creepy and inviting.

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The gas light has been on for the last 30 miles. So now I m pumping gallons of fuel into the tank. road weary with a slight Red Bull buzz. I like motels with window shaker a\c's units. the soothing hum and glow of vending machines that for 2 dollars can dispense me ice cold Mountain Dew. A motel that suffers through the off season months, through the hard times. like these. a motel so rightly fucked in and fucked up. Over chlorinated pool that burns my eyes and tingles my skin. A hard pillow and hard cock and two fingers in her mouth. scream. moan. It's okay. We ain't from around here and we aint never coming back.

june of july how wonderful to be alive and able to write this. running out of ink and out time. she calls for me to hurry it up, there's a nasty storm coming from the South. Get back in the truck, get back in and just drive. drive. drive.

She & Him - Thieves (BBC)

rustle and sigh and dead leaves falling

The sweetest decline is always voluntary. I remember how she gave me the keys and let me drive. how she put her arms around me like they belonged there. I kissed her hard and deep. drunk on her youth, sick with our disaster.
In case we don't make it back. i say
Earlier on the phone she asked me, Do you remember how to get here?
me with the knife, me with the gun, me who drives miles and miles, to her anxiously awaiting. hell fast and filled with random thoughts. her heart, her body, now the keys,
that's trust baby. with bruised lips we now depart.

skin the color of snow, her hair- darkness, sunshine, ginger, apples- I just wanted eat her cold white skin.

I pull over under a lemon tree or orange tree. something citrusy and sweet. a rest stop with vending machines and clean rest-rooms. fat squirrels beg near a garbage can. 18 wheeled truck noise from the highway. somewhere train tracks and power lines run parallel. I just assume.

At the car, we're both back from peeing.
how was it?, did it burn?, If it did, I'm sorry.
she's funny too. i like that.
No, I could hardly keep from moaning. it was almost orgasmic. do girls get like that?. does peeing feel that good for girls?

No. I'm orgasmic for some foods. and sex. mostly anal. and older guys.
more jokes, more good times, more somethings to remembers.

she's done being witty or bratty or both.
she climbs over top of me.
okay, baby, you drive for awhile.


random, grasshopper thoughts. honey and sliced orange. come stuck from the tip of my dick to the inside my underwear, it rips away with a slight move. pain, but not so bad that it's almost erotic. I drifted. hardly aware she was in the passengers seat. legs slightly parted, crumpled skirt, eyes closed. I was inside her not just .... how long ago?. mile markers have past by, my foot to heavy. intoxicated. sex dizzy, road dizzy, brain tumor. something.
I play god behind the wheel, i play a detective on t.v. In real life, i think she just loves me.
Do you remember how to get here?
right before i came, she called me daddy. petrol and go- go juice. motel neon and greasy spoon diners. There are parts of me still inside her.