|come hold my shaking hand and I'll show you around
||[Oct. 9th, 2005|12:41 am]
The American Caliban
Between two conversations at D's tonight I went out to Santiago Canyon Road for some high-performance driving. I do love a canyon road at night, coming into the curves at 80, smelling the intense chaparral, trees whooshing over the open sunroof. Not many people out there in the evening. For about a half hour I'm in the country, and then dumped back into suburbia. |
I really wanted someone in the passenger's seat. I miss having friends who'd be cool with just heading out to nowhere and talking in the car. I remember maybe 15 years ago going out to the desert and back with Darryl. We had a real peak experience together after a night talking, when we came back down the Tejon Pass at sunrise and the mountains coming out of the clouds were right fucking smack in our faces like a Japanese painting. It shut us up completely for a good hour.
Lately I wrap everything in words more than ever, layers and layers of paragraphs piled on puff-pastry style. What I really want to do is curl up with someone. Prose will have to do for now.