Taken from The Book, A Spontaneous Revolution (2010)

“It is the future generation that presses into being by means of
these exuberant feelings and super sensible soap bubbles of ours.”
Schopenhauer

 

I carry my luggage through the door and right away I’m surrounded by complete madness. Homeless men selling candy bars for two dollars a pop with wrappers that haven’t been seen since the late eighties, and my ears ring from the excessive use of electronic equipment that is beeping and sounding like the death of metal, and HERE IS YOUR AMERICA I say out loud as I’m slap in the middle of just one of hundreds of slaughterhouses that we call so innocently, the bus terminal.

Men and women returning home and body bags and sand bags and human bodies that are soulless bags terrorizing the lost beings and bags of chips being ripped apart and rapidly consumed, Amish hats and lines of pay phones and overflowing toilets and a tall black police officer is telling me to, get out the way and go…
Where… I ask
Sit down and wait like everyone else he says.

I can feel it. The Upper part of my shoulder is bleeding from the strap of my pack and I can feel the blood slowly rolling down my back as I’m walking trying to find some napkins and it seems that I’m always walking by all of this, walking by and under the no smoking signs in a place where you can’t breathe anyway.

Sounds of everything and tickets punched ATM machines and Vending Machines and cleaning the blood in a stall with no door… and, are you done yet man…
Sure all yours…

And all of this is so new to me and I’m for some reason use to it already, as if I was born worn down, born with a lowly bruised and beaten down low soul to the ground dragging with dirty shoes and born man, as if I was born used to all of this, to the brushing of my teeth in a dirty sink next to men that look stereotypically what the whites say on TV, are those who may be down the street and look out because they could be, sexually deviant.
The news doesn’t know shit. I didn’t either, well before, and yeah man sure, here’s my toothpaste…
Long day, right…
Always I say, as he tells me to…
Keep your head up. Life is a long journey. You remember that and you’ll be…
Ok? I ask…
Maybe…

Were now driving next to the Mountains. I can’t think of anything, nothing but beauty, and it’s amazing; The Mountains for some reason cause me to think about death, I don’t know why, and I wasn’t pissed or anything, but still only me and the mountains and the beauty and, the death.
What year is it again, the day and the month?

WAIT… and well who knows the truth of actual time but last year was 2009. I slept through the new year after going back home for Christmas and now, damn, how, yeah, I’m on this bus that’s spinning like a top my imagination of what I never even thought was a country, but I guess somehow we stick together to form the great big ol’ U.S.A.

And I snoozed for about thirty and as I looked at the cliffs rubbing my eyes I pick up my pen and I’m cracking my digits as the bus carries on as the wheels just like that old song, the melody that always put me to sleep…

Cracking my neck and back and writing down in my pad-oh man what am I doing- I say to myself…
Huh, the guy next to me says…

Oh talking to myself, I mumble with hesitation as I look briefly around the Bus, not wanting to carry on with any type of, conversation…

On The Bus Thoughts: Apple Juice

MORE TO COME IN THE BOOK…

a flask of gin

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