my wife and i just moved from waco, texas to richmond, virginia. we drove- two vehicles, she in her car, and i in the rental moving truck. currently an excessive selection of memoirs and such from road trips offer fantastic reflections of what it's like to hit the open road in some capacity. further, much of the music that i consider great, was likely written and refined on the road. personally, i often find myself thinking about the interconnectedness of roads, highways, interstates, driveways and even sidewalks- not in a religious tone, but in a structural sense. that's a huge construction. its hard for me to imagine a larger, more expansive project... instead of a poem from the trek, id like to make a confession. "i could be a trucker." the thickness of my beard, lacking; my rough-neck attitude, sub-par; my bladder, shallow. many of my long-haul trucker archetypes do not align with the profession. but t...
i recently inserted myself into a conversation- turning the attention to the (im)morality of natural state mega-store. or was it to myself? irony defined. im a fool. not for my ideals, but because i scarred sacred dinner with words more fit for pubs than friends. my apologies. the lasagna was actually fantastic. ive drank much- from the well of wendell, but ive had little from his table. ive romanticized the farmer, the worker and my own mind. goliath still wrong. but im not david nor a smooth stone. keep your head down man. work. listen. breathe and please don't talk. instead enjoy seconds. for the joy comes in the morning.
weekday mornings i dread. my phone-alarm vibrates, and my wife roles over away from me. i don’t want to go to work – i don’t want to study. coffee. as i shower, the grounds brew in hot water. the day ahead seems more manageable when i’m standing, when i’m reading when i reach my third cup. weekends i set no alarm, but i sleep no longer. i can’t. i awake. no shower, just coffee. i sit. i enjoy, nothing.
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