All my exes live in Texas...

But whatever I may say, it’s not that terrible of a place. Not all the time anyways, but I must say, Texas has it out for me, whether it be the drivers or the women, I could swear that it’s trying to get me. It was a short five hour drive down to Denton with a wonderful (albeit accidental) trip through Hwy. 75. Denton’s a pretty nice place, a medium sized town surrounded by what seems like miles and miles of flat nothingness. Nice place otherwise. I took up residence in the Hilton 6, which gave me a magnificent view of the Waffle House and Denny’s. How cool is that?! A nap, a shower, a shave, and P shows up. Great guy, nice car, good disposition, gonna be a good night. We leave my palace in search of that golden ambrosia which only the most respected establishments can provide, and head to our semi-final destination.

It’s amazing how many ‘different’ people you see in the world. You grow up your whole life meeting certain people who become your friends, your enemies, your lovers, your angels…And that all seems perfectly normal to you. You don’t think twice about why or how or what. You just know that this is as it is.

But then you become an outsider of sorts when you travel. You’re not the usual. They’re not the usual. You view things differently, see the small differences that separate the people you like from the people you love. You meet people that remind you of your own friends, small differences, important differences, but the reminder is there. You know these people. You know how they’ll react. You can almost pinpoint their mannerisms just based on what you’ve experienced with a different group of people.

Are we all that predictable?
Are we all that similar?

No.

Similarities aside, the differences are blatantly obvious. Humans are made of so many different templates that we will always run across people with similar interests, peeves, loves and hates, but never the all the same ones. Those are the small things. The things that set us apart.

The imperfections that make us what we are every day.
Alcohol brings this knowledge out at the most inopportune times.

It makes you miss home quite quickly, but the question is, how much exactly does home miss you? While driving through Louisiana today, I started to think; What makes a person missed? It’s a simple answer for a simple question. The companionship, the accessibility, the sureness.

But there is always another answer, a more difficult answer, to a more difficult question.

What makes a person truly missed?
People miss the easy times. People miss things that make their lives easier, more comfortable, luxurious. I go through the faces and the names. How is your life harder now? How is it worse? For each of you there is an answer. One or two. Not at all, or a little bit. When you truly look at it, you each have your companions right there, usually at arms reach, if not a few minutes of travel. Smile. You’ve lost little, and those that would truly make your lives more difficult to get along without will be there with you tomorrow. Realize that you have it made. Consistency, something only a few search for, something those few often do not find.

People strive on change. You’re cursed with monotony.
People strive for regularity. Your life is bound to become a cluttered mess.

For those of you who do have a true need for an opus in your life; I always come back. I do not abandon things so easily. Sure, I let them settle on their own, strive for their own way, to see if that need still remains. Everything will go as it was set out, myself present or not.

I know I will have a friend when I get back. Just remember that you have a friend no matter where I am.

Who I am.
Who.
Who?

I miss my puppy.

Maybe things aren't going so well...

But they are in fact moving forward. Always. It's been a rough day, a bit gut wrenching, a lot of tongue biting. I've been staring at the wall again, tracing the same damn raster as always, head cocked to the side, slumped in my chair, staring a that shit eating grin. Can I truly go against what my mind says? The pure aggrivation at what this summer has held for me? Hate is a hell of a thing to embrace. Experience has taught me that very well, and has rarely led me astray. But how do I just come out and say that?

Five days left. Tick tock, around the clock. Five days of what I can almost see as pure hell. Things slide along smoothly like they're supposed to, something has to screw up. Something will happen. My mind runs along the possibilities. The lies that could be. The situations that might be. The truth that is. Which one is it? Why can't anyone just tell me?

Five days left. Dragging longer than the last.
Five days left. Dragging further into the past.

Who's gonna be the first to fuck this up?
Step right up, take your swing, win a prize, try your luck with the cycle of pain!

I hope it's not you, but who am I to say it won't be? Time to sit back, yet again, and see what kind of crap life's gonna pelt me with, helpless as a man in the stockades, at the mercy of each and every single one of you.

Through the shit I smile. Nothing can touch me...nothing that I would let any of you know about.

BRING IT ALREADY!

Alas, how the days dwindle...

A credit card down, a cigarette in the floorboards, a long gaze at the ceiling. These are the moments that stick out in my mind. A long, memorable weekend of ups and downs and turns along a riverbed. It's struggling again. Nicotine will help, and now, a moment of silence for our sponsors.

Tap, tap, schlit, ktchh, ktchhh-snap, crackle, ahhhh...

This is my sweetest friend, the stinging against my bloodshot eyes. The rolling, acrid smoke that pours from my lips after it has taken a long, rampaging tour of my lungs. This is the same smoke that will be whisping against my windshield, rolling out from the epicenter, being slowly drug along the dirty glass, and being shredded by the passing wind.

I can't die. It's too impersonal. It's almost sad, fifteen thousand miles of road, people, experiences, tradgedies and happiness all around me, but nothing able to affect my livelihood. I can't die away from this place. On the side of a road in Dakota, frozen from the settling snow. Along the beachs of Key West, scattered and torn by an abrupt storm. Buried in a landslide in Northern California after a monumental rainstorm. Bit by a diamondback while wandering the deserts in Arizona. Mugged and fataly wounded in Boston, stuffed in a dumpster behind an Irish pub. Obliterated in a car wreck on 25-A, not a mile from my final destination. Not gonna happen.

Won't happen.

Can't happen.

Too impersonal. Too quick.

The tendons snap under the pressure of the engine block, ribs compressed flat by the steering wheel, shards of glass shirking through eyelids and arteries, organs shredded by broken bones, popping like water baloons being sat on.

Too easy. I can't die. Can't. Won't. Shant. He won't do it. I'm still of some use, I suppose. And besides, my death shall be far more personal. Not just a simple out, but a destruction. That is how. Not just my physical self, but my mentality, my thoughts, dreams, passions. But, concern yourself not with eventuality. I won't.










I'm just gonna keep driving, each of you in my mind, and show you all the little parts of the world through my eyes.

...shards tearing...
...sinking deeper...
...horrific shrieks...
...metal twisting...
...teeth cracking...

Cheer up. I always come back.

In the beginning...

This is how it always starts, half-assed plans trying to make it through a half-assed life. It still feels spontaneous as hell to me, and things like that aren't my style. Certainty and reliability are something I like to have around, and with actions like this, there are none. I'm too far in to back out now. I don't want to, but then again, I do. The indecision kills me most of the time if I think on it too long, always taking the safe, explainable route.

But this is finally for me, no explanations needed. I'm getting out, seeing people I've known, people I've never met, seeing things that some people never have the chance to see. I'm getting out, getting away, getting mine.

I'm getting the hell out of Arkansas.