Mojave Desert- The Adventure of the Infinite Landscape

I. PART ONE

the infinite landscape

the mojave

in the desert, the speed limit is as high as the temperature. i was yearning for something unfamiliar and a mindset just on the verge of deranged lunacy. in the mojave, that wasn’t hard to achieve.

my hatchback was our craft. four friends and i packed in. i couldn’t see out the back, but it was insignificant. i was high on coke, from what we thought at the time, and my only worry was having enough cigarettes to get us to big sur.

we aimed for three and left at five-thirty. not bad. the coke helped push us along. after a few lines, we were neurotic and anxious enough to forget the forgotten and get in the car.

we had it all. cocaine, acid, mushrooms, pot, norcos, adderall, beer and a lifetime supply of cigarettes. my car, uninsured. we started to drive. the plan; food, gas, a carton of cigarettes & pulling a heist at rei. the goal; spending the night in big sur.

we went frantic food shopping at my work. we rapidly filled a basket like coked out locos. chris was working. he looked at me and his eyes reflected omniscience and suspicion. my dilated pupils confirmed his belief and he shot me a glance of appreciation. the kind that holds, “i know what you’re on…”

we got in the car. we got on the one. the raindrops washed us through windy roads onlooking steep faces of death. it was big sur, blurring the line between feeling more alive than you ever have and its inverse. the rain forced us to put on that empty sort of tripped out music enhancing the undertones of doubt that stuffed up the car. too many substances, cigarettes and full hearts draining empty. each had their own set. minor slides reminded me of the potential bad ending this trip could have. but luckily i had enough cigarettes to forget with every puff.

we kept driving. the night was thick and the lights neon. they blurred and ran and i kept driving. i pulled out a marlboro red. at this time, i was converted to cheap cigarettes by a friend. i grabbed the black lighter and lit the stick. it caught aflame and i inhaled the act of moment making. it remained in flames. i blew it out for another inhale only to have it resist again. this inhale of marlboro left me choking.

i lit it backwards. i was smoking filter. this was the most intense and peculiar ‘flavor’ i had ever experienced. it was truly the most horrific cigarette of my life. although, we’ll see what the future holds. the drip of insufflated substances lost the battle against this flavor. the taste of uppers was only a ghost now. i scanned the streaked highway for the next gas station.

i can’t smoke marlboros anymore. i’ll smoke anything else. anytime. anywhere.

i am forever cursed. limited via a doped up road trip. no more can i accept the gracious gesture of a stranger passing the baton of a free stick to me with no fear of what breed that cigarette is. at least, i met virginia slims on this trip.

bakersfield. motel 6. room for one. we made room for 5. after security guards induced mass paranoia, we decided to smoke a joint and drink some beers. this would be the third substance of the day. i got too high and the motel 6 lived up to it’s name. three on the bed. two on the floor. i didn’t sleep that night.

i woke up. i stepped out of the dark hazy room and walked to the edge of the perimeter. an abyss lay before me blanketed in misty heat and smog. the particles of air were visibly at war. jack in the box, subway, carrows, dennys & java detour. the american life.

the rest woke up. i ate a pill. more driving. coffee stop. he got my drink wrong but everyone else’s was right. it was okay. bakersfield is an armpit and we flew out of there. the road was promising. we headed into fields of sand, mountains and windmills. the landscape begged for ambient psychedelic jams. atom heart mother. pink floyd. remember a day. remember this day.

we stopped at a diner. 20 mule cafe also known as the middle of nowhere. but to some, this was somewhere and everywhere. i didn’t eat. i wasn’t hungry. i used their bathroom for a boost and watched my friends eat horrible food. standards were different here. it was refreshing. they had nice water and nice straws. our waitress was beautiful and i was curious about her life. we were all feeling strange on this day. a little apprehensive. what’d we get ourselves into? handfuls of hours away from home and the horrors it held, it didn’t feel wrong. but it didn’t feel right either.

no one finished their meal.

a flyer for a thrift store named the mothership was spotted. intrigued, we attempted to pursue it. after flying 10 miles down a paved road, we came to a dead end. our only option was continuing into the sandy oblivion or the neighboring trailer park. we pulled a u-turn and hoped it was the other way. it wasn’t. we got back on the highway…

Savage Ceremony

She danced in tranquil motion
The river gentle at first
Every particle of body
Consumed and caressed her

They danced within that moment
Until desire awoke from the depths
Difference dissolved into waters
Dismal, full of regret

And the forest, it echoed moments
Lost lust & hopes to forget
She drowned within that moment
And the leaves, they creaked with distress.

They had seen this misfortune
Crown it’s ghastly head
Entangled in the rhythm
Of the motions once again

Conceived in consummation,
A starless space at rest
Impious emotion
In a womb of contempt

And the forest, it echoed moments
Lost lust & hopes to forget
She drowned within that moment
And the leaves creaked with distress

And the dark cosmos of the womb
Yielded more than simply stardust
A savage ceremony
Fueled simply by lust

Lifted Sorrow

His body pressed against mine. Bodies entangled and intertwined. His heart beat in rhythm with mine, waltzing to our movement. I wrapped my legs around him and his skin stirred. Caressing his calves with my ankles, memorizing his shape. The way his muscles tensed as he pressed into me. Loving as if it was our last. Yet, hoping such a thing was never to exist. 

 

And the sadness lifted, knowing I would never lose him. 

COSMIC SEER

A cosmic conception,
lapsed between tides.
A beautiful maiden,
entangled in lies.
Patiently waiting,
she hopes to be bride.
To mother the cosmos,
with darkness in stride.

Awaiting the moment,
she kneels on the steps.
Praying to darkness,
a prayer soon she’ll regret.
A life ruled by misery,
shadows & fret.
To mother the cosmos,
she soon will repent.

The moon clearly waning,
burst full of desire.
Invites the flamed maiden,
a lift heaven higher.
She gladly accepts,
and lust fuels the fire.
Thus cosmos were born,
wombed in pyre.

The moon quickly cycles,
and then disappears.
Proving too soon,
the maiden’s true fear.
The calm cosmic child,
conceived so dear.
Resides far in the heavens,
condemned as a seer.

CHRIST’S SPIT

I. GREASY LOVER
Masturbating to the elaborate imagination produced by days of loneliness. It all seems to be tumbling down now. So, I looked up at the tip.

The sun drooled down the snowy mountain top. Glistening wet, the frost ran until it rested at the base. It was if that dead snow arranged it’s afterlife. The land rejoiced, welcoming another member to the ground level. At least happiness is somewhere. I looked up again only to watch another tear fall. The view was good from the bottom.

I sat alone in my bed. My mangled mind strangled itself until despair consumed me. I love so much. I want so much. My deepest being yearns for it…

Yet. I. Ache. So. Bad.

It becomes a beast at night. My body aches for him, reminding me of my solitude. My hand seems like a sad excuse for pleasure. My imagination only reminds me of the warmth his body held. And his body reminds me of the cold space that displaced him. Reminding me of my solitude once again.

I can’t seem to find the words to admit he left 8 years ago. One month from yesterday.

October 29, 5 X.Z.

X.Z. is the year. It starts over and over again like a memory you can’t help but remember. It is conceived with each manifestation of christ. They keep believing in the personification of unity & spirit. We are lost in this generation. A generation trapped between X & Z. A generation of Y. That’s why I climbed to the top. That’s why I climbed that fucking mountain….

FAME

LET’S GLAMORIZE EVERYONE BUT OURSELVES.

HEAD

She grabbed it. She pressed her teeth against the glass, sucking liquid lust through her front teeth. The taste of forgotten nights better forgotten lingered on her tongue. She couldn’t get the taste out. She just couldn’t get the taste out.

She laid there as he spread her legs. She watched the light on the ceiling. It danced with the particles drowning the room. The speakers were whispering and her coffee was on the windowsill next to them. It’s movement influenced by her motions, tempting the sun. He couldn’t help but watch.

Their union reflected upon the ceiling a dance like no other. It had no limits.

The light pirouetted to the rhythm of love, sex & other drugs. And she came.

GUTS

“Why are you upset?”

The silence gathered
and
I parted my lips,
“Because I say things I wish I never said.

I do things I wish I never had done.

But most of all, because I’m afraid to share them.”

We stared blankly at one another. The wind interjected and I walked away wishing I didn’t.

The wind. The trees. Howling. Their limbs shaking. Begging the leaves to acknowledge their time together was done. They both could feel the end creeping closer. But the leaves wouldn’t let go. And the tree knew, the leaves had changed. They weren’t the same anymore. But the leaves wouldn’t relent. They had grown too attached. Too comfortable. Unable to accept the reality of their difference. Once green, then orange, briefly red and now dead. Merely a skeleton of their former self. Barely clinging to the dead comfort of company. The wind had watched too many moons pass and had to interject. He blew and solidified the separation. The leaves waltzed away to the windy rhythm. They’ll find one another again if they must. In the soil.

Suddenly, all of my female friends are running from age. It knocks at their nightmares like the grim reaper of sex appeal.

“I’m here to steal your value”

Yeah, I get it. We’re aggressively educated to believe our worth is our beauty.

Yes, I understand. We’re constantly confronted by iconic images of ripe 18 year olds with prepubescent bodies as the standard of beauty.

I know. The perpetuation of sex icons makes us doubt our own sexuality. Forces us awkward. Concerned about our tits, pussy and what our partner is really jerking off to.

Oh, trust me. I understand that we foster this negative image of ourself and it manifests in every aspect of our life. A life led by insecurity that becomes reality when 24 year olds begin purchasing anti-aging creams.

Well folks, I’m real insecure. I’ve been subjected to all of it and I recognize it. I can’t hide in ignorance, a curse I wish was lifted. But, I don’t worry about my age. I fucking hope I make it to see my wrinkles. All I hope for is that I don’t have cancer by the time my wrinkles deepen.