Prudence can kiss my ass.

[KB.]

9/14/09

“You ever wish you’d settled down? You ever still want to settle down?” “The only time I wish I had or still do entertain the idea is when I stop to think that very soon I’m going to pass a point of no return. I’m going to pass that point where I’ll have managed to live too long to die young.” “What ya mean?” “I’m dangerously close to outliving a youthful death. The way the laws of the universe work with folks like me is that you’re either going to die young or you’re going to live way too damn long.” “Nothing wrong with living a long time. Lots wrong with dying young.” “You’d think so. Especially if you’d settled down. I didn’t. I don’t see a whole lot of folks lining up to take care of me when I finally fall the f**k apart. So yeah, that’s when I wish I had and when I still want to, when I think about 20 years from now.” “Still got time.” “I ain’t nobody’s bargain sweetheart. I ain’t the one you look at and say, ‘He’d be fun to try and fix up and make presentable’, I’ve just got to hope there will be a little mercy left over when the time gets here.”

The smart thing for me to do come September 23rd would be to take my money and drive straight back the way I came on May 18th. That would be the prudent thing to do, the sensible thing, the normal thing to do.

Prudent, sensible, and normal.

Three words that won’t be used to describe whatever I do over the next month or two. Nor will smart be among the list of adjectives being used in any discussion concerning my actions. Why change s**t up now? Broke, bankrupt, hungry, in need of a shave, smelly, and jobless. Those for sure will be used. Take a minute and say them to yourself. “Prudent, sensible, and normal.” “Broke, bankrupt, hungry, in need of a shave, smelly, and jobless.” Prudence can kiss my ass.

I’ve never driven Pacific Coast Highway 101 from Washington State to the Mexican border. You either? Not such a big deal you say? Well personally, I think it’s a damned crime, and so should you. What kind of stories will you have to tell when you get old and too tired to start new ones? Whether you believe it or not the stories are the only thing that matters. The dash between those two years chiseled into some cold as hell piece of granite.

I’m restless. I usually am. It isn’t so much that I want to go “home” I just need to get the hell out of here. Put me back on the road. I’ll walk if need be. I’d rather not but I will. Montana, Idaho, Washington, Oregon, California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Missouri, and Tennessee. The clean mountain air, the salty breeze of the Pacific Ocean, watching the sun set from the same wharf where Steinbeck wrote his amazing stories, following the footsteps of Mr. Kerouac, the dry as fossilized bones desert, the heat and humidity of Houston and New Orleans, a night or three in a little Monastery located on the north side of Lake Pontchartrain, a little time in Faulkner’s neck of the woods, my favorite little corner pizzeria and bar in St. Louis, seeing my best friend and her little girl for the first time in well over a year, taking a walk to the back forty of my grandmother’s land in rural West Tennessee and camping under the stars and autumn leaves.

Normal is boring.

I’ve got eight or nine days before I can head west. Head towards the coast. It makes my nerves ache, it literally does, and those eight days are going to be months long. Somebody ought to go with me. Pictures and words can only convey so much of the actual seeing it, feeling it, smelling it, and tasting it. Reading a romance novel, no matter how steamy, can’t compare to even a bad night of rolling around sweaty and naked with pretty girl. No movie, regardless of how tender and emotional, can compare to actually seeing the look in the eyes of someone who loves you as they watch you walk in the door after a long absence. No worries though I’ll take pictures and I’ll write stories. I’ll use sentence fragments and bad metaphors to try and help you vicariously experience the absolutely opposite side of the spectrum that prudence lives on.

The four months I’ve spent in this beautiful place have been yet another blessing in my restless life. I’ve managed to grow closer to old friends I moved so far away from and I’ve managed to make new friends I hope to always be able to call such. I’ve added a few states to the list of places where I know people who with an email or phone call will gladly give me a place to rest my head should I happen to be passing through. I’ve walked along the continental divide and looked around and found myself surrounded by mountains and pure wilderness. I didn’t get eaten by a bear and I know some of yall figured I would. I retained my Southern accent and used my Southern vernacular with abandon. I took pictures that even my photographer father complimented. I think the pictures alone made the trip worth it. I never was one to take a picture until I arrived here and now I have a love in common with my dad. It’s a nice feeling.

I still blame Jack Kerouac.

Kevin

“What is the feeling when you're driving away from people, and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? -it's the too huge world vaulting us, and its good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”

~Kerouac

[Peg]

Good to see you. I was just wondering about you yesterday.

[AussiePam]

Jack Kerouac does have a lot to answer for. I suffer a bit from the same disease. And it's always worse somehow in Autumn. Maybe it's the wind rustling the leaves, the softer light, the woodsmoke. I want to be on the road. Have you ever walked any of the Appalachian Trail? I've barely touched it, but have driven the I-10, the I-90, Route 66 and a few others.

Luckily it's Spring now in Australia and the pull isn't quite so great - but I'm planning to get my backpack out soon and head back to Europe... Maybe Alsace Lorraine this time... France, anyway!!!! Give me a winding road, preferably sandy... through woods and villages, across streams and fields and through vineyards ... fresh cheese from a farm, bread from a village market, wickedly foraged figs and grapes... BLISS.



---

My best friend's called Prudence.. I"ll pass on your offer to her. She is a sculptor and artist who specialises in the seriously weird and strange... pernicious seraphim, the plagues of Egpyt, close ups of eyeballs etc... Her partner is the expert talking head here on post torture trauma.

[KB.]

I've never been anywhere on the east coast. its in the plans for the near future and so is some of the Appalachian Trail. I read a book by a guy who walked the enitre trail, a technical guide with some stories thrown in, when I was 14 or 15 and have wanted to walk it ever since then. Huge undertaking.

[AussiePam]

KB.;1246153 wrote: I've never been anywhere on the east coast. its in the plans for the near future and so is some of the Appalachian Trail. I read a book by a guy who walked the enitre trail, a technical guide with some stories thrown in, when I was 14 or 15 and have wanted to walk it ever since then. Huge undertaking.


Was that Bill Bryon's book??? I liked his earlier books, then he got all kind of smart ass... but his 'A Walk in the Woods' was interesting. Different from the travel books, more contemplative. He didn't walk the whole 2000 miles, went about a third of the way, I think.

Amazon.com: A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail (Official Guides to the Appalachian Trail) (9780767902526): Bill Bryson: Books

[KB.]

It wasn't that one but I read some of it in MT. One of the guys I worked with was reading it. I don't remember the name of the book I read so long ago.