Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Sometimes you need to get away, see other places from which others need to get away, so they might see the place from which you need to get away. Go west! And back. And when I say “away” I don’t mean some narcotic space wagon watching quiet hurricane pillows; you could watch those from your couch on channel 78 and the sound down. No, I mean rubber and road and run to daylight. You’re bound to catch a break somewhere, trip on a dry blue sky, stare at a perfected juniper, gawk at tawdry frontier history, maybe rummage through the guru’s leftover bins.

What you seek is some sort of ultimate road, but watch your vehicle. Make sure it has a good hum. You can tell when things have a good hum. Make sure it isn’t too big, some lumbering jumbo jet with nose up in a cloud, though I suppose all things are about the right size. It’s not all hunger and hum however. You’ll sense the entire mission slipping away at some point. Never been one yet to manage the A to B rhumba in a straight line. But by the grace of amber tiki gods and crashing breakers you always find another sleek wave, get back on line to a proper stray and veer.

good advice, esp. about the hum!
puts me in mind of late-night drives
on arrow-straight desert roads,
a battered Miles Davis tape
playing over and over...

the journey is the destination

-mb

i love the hum
it makes the world sit right
mnaz, rubber and sky and hum
i think you've written the perfect script for overdosed non-hummers

thanks muchly, judih and mb. U caught the vibe for sure. me doth appreciate greatly. looks like I'm back to writing "memoirs" again, all zigzaggin' like that...

...One time I threw a few things in the truck and drove out of town—four days’ worth of clothes, a mix tape or two, atlas, camera, sleeping bag and fifth of whiskey—the usual things. And as these things go I became addicted to hum and swerve, a steering wheel trance, left and right past eighteen-wheelers in a dance. It made no sense. I tried Oregon, but Oregon wasn’t far out enough until farther out into Oregon, but still not far enough. Don’t ask how I knew. Farther isn’t always further, though it holds currency in a trance. I passed too many places too lit up, too close to my origin point, though they decreased in frequency. Probably hiding in the trees.

I slowed around midnight like before, exhausted, with hundreds of milestones to my credit and should have conquered more, and I got a room on the edge of trees. I hoped it was the edge. Here the trouble started all over with a cable box and screen. Man, that wasn’t necessary, but you can’t help but stare at it, like a technological train wreck triumph of fixation. We see everything so clearly! High definition is creeping into the woods.

like a cross between hesiod and kerouac. neat stuff, mnaz.

thanks dino. I like throwing in a little beebop here and there...

I "cleaned it up" a little. maybe I'll write another book. heh. that'll take me a few years...

something happened to my "Nazz" handle. I switched computers and forgot my password. oh well..

I hoped it was the edge. Here the trouble started all over with a cable box and screen. Man, that wasn’t necessary, but you can’t help but stare at it, like a technological train wreck triumph of fixation. We see everything so clearly! High definition is creeping into the woods.: enjoyed the humor in that!

I feel the urge "to get away"specially each january: east, west, north, south... it really doesn´t matter most of the time!!

Keep tracking, amigo!

gracias Arcadia. Yeah, it's summertime soon for you!! (verano?) Time to hit the road for sure.. Us norte-americanos will slog out another winter... bummer! Continuing...

... At some point on the trail it makes sense to pour blended whiskey in a Styrofoam coffee cup. I sat on a foreign bed with strange blankets and visions of lights passing by, distant mercury vapor, and I couldn’t remember where they were, and that hum. They kept passing, remnants of steering wheel grip, until the first Styrofoam sip, whereupon the colors changed slightly. They grew fatter. The room got a little warmer, like a fat old rustic ocean, but I could still see pale blue lights and mile markers flashing, and the mania was not over, not yet, until the second sip or so, when amber waves started to flow.

Out on that road of travel just to get away for while. Did you bring Whitman along with you????

... brought Ed Abbey, Joe Campbell and a set of topo maps! Thanks, Dave.