A taste adventure, deep in the Arizona wilderness. The darker sand usually tastes less dry. And the cacti shake their heads at our desperation, for they hold abundant water and could be deep fried and dipped into prickly pear sauce. Cactus fries. I slept 15 years last night. I dreamed about many people or things I once loved and they passed by me like cars on the freeway in slow motion. Infinite time to get a word out but I held my tongue and watched. Everything was in a police line up and I was supposed to make a decision. Who would remain and who would disappear. One I could make vanish. I want to forget some things I used to love. Some girl maybe. Some cat who ran away. No woman no cry. Simple messages. The fact I'm writing these words represents a contradiction, a confluence of motives, positive and negative. Writing is remembering. If I wished to forget about a person or a cat I would never write about them. This is impossible for me. What will benefit me?
What do I need to do to assert myself. I want to ride out into the sunset on horseback with my cowboy brethren. Gambling with guns and whiskey. Ten gallon hats. Blue jeans, boots and spurs. A lasso. In command of the time and the environment. I wouldn't abuse my power. I wouldn't hurt the innocent for fun. Okay. Well I have a pair of jeans and I drink enough whiskey. I gamble with emotions like a bipolar shock patient. A russian roulette table where red represents happiness and contentedness and black represents pure cosmic misery.
Yesterday the last remains of the superglue on my left thumb scraped off. This was from Halloween when I glued a fake spider into the corner of the elevator. It must have scared someone. But if it didn't the lingering glue has represented my failure.
Begin 20 minutes of writing every morning.
