Saturday, November 19, 2005
"the highway kind."
Friday I had a bi-polar day. I can't explain it really, just somewhere around the late morning I suddenly realized that I was in a sour mood, and somewhat depressed. I have no idea what triggered the surge of emotion, if anything at all, but the remainder of the day was spent drained of energy and emotion and, well, feeling. I felt as if I were just existing, nothing more, and certainly nothing less.
Around sundown I drove up to Denton for the night. I met Mike at his new place ("shitty apartment" as it was described to me several times during the directions there) and we grabbed some dinner and caught up. Afterwards with absolutely no motivation between the two of us we sat through an hour of Friends and the first part of Matrix:Reloaded (his television only picked up TBS) all the while discussing everything from racism in America to artificial intelligence to the current world's energy crisis and the potentials/necessaries of a coming pandemic. In the other room his roommate was breaking up with his 'girlfriend' of the month. We then decided to head out and grab some beer. More or less completely ignoring his roommates' invitation to some random parties (again, a lack of motivation between the two of us to take the energy to go to someone's...hell I'm boring myself even typing about it) we threw in Boondock Saints because I had never seen it and everyone I know has told me I needed to. Halfway through my second beer I cut myself off when I realized I was tired from awaking at 8am to wait for a plumber appointment--scheduled 8-12--who subsequently showed up at 11:56.
Driving South out of Denton on I-35W one finds themselves surrounded by mild hills. Nevertheless there is beauty in the night. Undeniably beauty in the stars and the shadows. Coming across my radio as I drove past the rises in the land was the accoustic sound of musicians covering the haunting Townes Van Zandt. Looking out my windows, listening to the music my hair began to stand on end. Suddenly I was in New Mexico. Red River, with Julie and Kevin three or four years ago. And it was cold, and it was early morning, and we were surrounded by snowy hills. But no--that wasn't right. That time was only once. That's not my New Mexico. My mind blinks and I'm in Ruidoso, among the hills of Alto and Sierra Blanco, and I'm young. I can smell the pines; I can feel the cool, crisp wind against my skin. I am 10, 12, 14, 18 years old staring out from my grandparents house, from their deck that faces the tall mountain to the East. Ignorant and naiive; beautiful and imaginative. I am with family, I am all alone. My mind is flooded with memories of joy and happiness that filled my youth and my countless visits to the hills of southern New Mexico. My soul explodes in feelings of bitersweet longing to return to what no longer exists. I am reminded of feelings I have forgotten to experience for a long time; I am reminded of sleepless nights feeling the ghosts of Billy the Kid and other rustler spirits' wandering the woods outside my bedroom window. I was often frightened of what I wasn't sure then existed in the night sky. It was always so quiet there at night; quiet in the daytime, too--but at least then I could see. I could see the endless pines, stretching off to the distance in all directions. I could see the wind as it made its way through the hills and valleys, blowing needles onto the ground...
The music ends as I approach the outer banks of the Metroplex. Suddenly I am surrounded by suburban lights; urban sprawl captures me and neon forever expands to the East, West, and South. I am no longer accoustic, in the hills of my youth; I am in the concrete plains where I also grew up. The concrete that I long to forget and that I know I never will. So we scan the music to find an appropriate soundtrack and...oh yes, The Colour and the Shape. How perfect. I immerse myself in the music as I drown down the stretch of road outside my windows that I have driven hundreds--possibly thousands--of times. I think back on the day almost ended. As the clock strikes midnight 'My Hero' comes forward into the space around me. Making my exit from the freeway I slow down, now just a few miles from home. Over and over in my head I hear the words of the song echoing, "...He's ordinary...he's ordinary." ¶ 11/19/2005 01:11:00 AM
Around sundown I drove up to Denton for the night. I met Mike at his new place ("shitty apartment" as it was described to me several times during the directions there) and we grabbed some dinner and caught up. Afterwards with absolutely no motivation between the two of us we sat through an hour of Friends and the first part of Matrix:Reloaded (his television only picked up TBS) all the while discussing everything from racism in America to artificial intelligence to the current world's energy crisis and the potentials/necessaries of a coming pandemic. In the other room his roommate was breaking up with his 'girlfriend' of the month. We then decided to head out and grab some beer. More or less completely ignoring his roommates' invitation to some random parties (again, a lack of motivation between the two of us to take the energy to go to someone's...hell I'm boring myself even typing about it) we threw in Boondock Saints because I had never seen it and everyone I know has told me I needed to. Halfway through my second beer I cut myself off when I realized I was tired from awaking at 8am to wait for a plumber appointment--scheduled 8-12--who subsequently showed up at 11:56.
Driving South out of Denton on I-35W one finds themselves surrounded by mild hills. Nevertheless there is beauty in the night. Undeniably beauty in the stars and the shadows. Coming across my radio as I drove past the rises in the land was the accoustic sound of musicians covering the haunting Townes Van Zandt. Looking out my windows, listening to the music my hair began to stand on end. Suddenly I was in New Mexico. Red River, with Julie and Kevin three or four years ago. And it was cold, and it was early morning, and we were surrounded by snowy hills. But no--that wasn't right. That time was only once. That's not my New Mexico. My mind blinks and I'm in Ruidoso, among the hills of Alto and Sierra Blanco, and I'm young. I can smell the pines; I can feel the cool, crisp wind against my skin. I am 10, 12, 14, 18 years old staring out from my grandparents house, from their deck that faces the tall mountain to the East. Ignorant and naiive; beautiful and imaginative. I am with family, I am all alone. My mind is flooded with memories of joy and happiness that filled my youth and my countless visits to the hills of southern New Mexico. My soul explodes in feelings of bitersweet longing to return to what no longer exists. I am reminded of feelings I have forgotten to experience for a long time; I am reminded of sleepless nights feeling the ghosts of Billy the Kid and other rustler spirits' wandering the woods outside my bedroom window. I was often frightened of what I wasn't sure then existed in the night sky. It was always so quiet there at night; quiet in the daytime, too--but at least then I could see. I could see the endless pines, stretching off to the distance in all directions. I could see the wind as it made its way through the hills and valleys, blowing needles onto the ground...
The music ends as I approach the outer banks of the Metroplex. Suddenly I am surrounded by suburban lights; urban sprawl captures me and neon forever expands to the East, West, and South. I am no longer accoustic, in the hills of my youth; I am in the concrete plains where I also grew up. The concrete that I long to forget and that I know I never will. So we scan the music to find an appropriate soundtrack and...oh yes, The Colour and the Shape. How perfect. I immerse myself in the music as I drown down the stretch of road outside my windows that I have driven hundreds--possibly thousands--of times. I think back on the day almost ended. As the clock strikes midnight 'My Hero' comes forward into the space around me. Making my exit from the freeway I slow down, now just a few miles from home. Over and over in my head I hear the words of the song echoing, "...He's ordinary...he's ordinary." ¶ 11/19/2005 01:11:00 AM
