Well hey there my friend. Get all packed up for our ride. Don't forget your towel.
The streetlights lights flashed by at an amazing speed, blurry in the rain. Light can not deal with refraction very well, and I was refracted. It was not raining outside, you see.
What the Hell had happened in the desert?
Why the fuck did I say all those mean things and then done that to the food?
What was I running from?
Cars entered each intersection as I blasted through under the red lights, and they screeched to a halt, blaring their horns at me as lights bleared through the window screen in front of my wet face.
A fraught, red-lit face baring red-lit teeth leered back at me from the windshield mirror I leaned forward into with white knuckles gripping the steering wheel that held no air bag, no form of protection, no safe haven from harm...
...I was completely in escape mode.
In the back of my mind I knew that I was not treating my little Celica all that well, but at least she did not complain to me. She was True to me.
Even if I wasn’t true to her. She would die from my anger and my bravado, in a chapter to follow soon.
Neither of we travelers knew what the future held for us.
At that moment, she was all I needed. She did not let me down. It was two against one. She was always that way.
I had built her to be that way, if you recall.
You can escape from a bad situation in your rocket ship, unless it is you who is the bad situation.
You may not find a mental escape.
As the lights bleared in my eyes, a sole figure appeared before me, off in the distance.
A ghost, a memory, a lost soul in the desert of the Sans Joking River Valley…
In this dust bowl of Hell.
From a watery grave.
I swung to the left and my little bitch lost her footing. I had lost my footing earlier, but I chust didn’t know it yet.
More cars blatted their horns of various musical accompaniment as I headed to a crash, and I responded with a scream into the general direction of my skid.
This is what you must do when you are losing control.
You peer into the face of the deep chasm, and the chasm looks deep into you.
If you scream, it might save you.
It’s a sort of therapy, when you think that all is lost, and you will die.
I was out of control.
And I was an asshole, lest you forget.
I was a creep.
I didn’t give a fuck about Katheena anymore; that awesome, beautiful young lady who would eventually hold more than her weight in mettle, as you will see in a further chapter.
I’d lost control of the Swallower Shituation, and that could have been a true connection to physical happiness for quite a while, perhaps a lifetime? Who knows how long the physical aspect can hold together that which has not much else to contribute to anything at all?
I’d also lost control of playing a violin, when I didn’t have all that much play, and she held all of the strings. I was running from her.
I was truly out of control.
You see, there are exceptional moments in your life when you can look back, if you are fortunate to have survived, and you might see the fork in the road.
Which path would you take?
The road less traveled?
Or are you a tourist? Just looking for the next Mickey D in a land where they have invented and perfected the flavor of life?
My Celica swung around and around while I dug hard on the brake pedal.
It’s all you can do when you are out of control. You panic.
Do Not Panic.
Lorelei was the One.
I should never had let her slip my grasp.
All of the memories and ghosts of the past may never leave you to rest in peace.
You may find yourself wondering how you could have done things better, how you could have changed things, if you could go back in time, at an escape velocity of 88 MPH, if only you knew how to construct such a device.
But there exists nothing like that at all.
So what does a young punk do?
A young punk will face his demons.
A young punk will consider Punkology.
This is the point where we begin to see it all come together.
Thank you for following me along this sordid path all this time, my faithful friend. There is Redemption at the end of this long, true tale, in a way that you can not imagine.
You will see.
Hug a freedom warrior, if you could, for what they do.
Someday, I will rock you, like a Daft Punk Cover, on guitar, baby.
Simple ideas that make sense.
Makes me hungry.
More food here.
Don’t be an asshole, Anon. There is good that you can do, /b/
Like, make some good artwork for a record album?
Or, why not a private spaceship?
Think about Dark Matter. Hmmmm…
Also, for we nerds, Gandalf talks about filming The Hobbit.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
OK, One More For Ya.
Don’t be stooopid.
“I have black friends on my flag football team, send in the white women to fix that.”