Blue Ridge Mountains Con/Jur/d, 2/5/25 Lumbering ballet edge of death by metal, spinning, smoking wheels, a release of cargo cult signified toxins, the end of a singular caravan, communities of the lonely a nation of deliveries, without deliverables. High above the ridges, with their infinite crags, crannies, secret lives watch patiently -- observes silent as a dark BLUE line at twilight the same gaze before our hurried language, rushed transport still staring long after we are returned to scrap.
A MACGUFFIN OF CHANCE Con/Jur/d, Around Vegas We cannot run from EARTHQUAKES. HURRICANES. BLIZZARDS. MONSOONS. FORESTFIRE. TORNADOS. CANCER. CARCRASH. Rather, we can run and run in response to, and still remain our own primary protagonist IF we acknowledge, these are possible events in the scenario of our lives, similar to the GALAXY FILAMENTS made of WALLS of GALACTIC SUPERCLUSTERS woven into the fundament of our EPIC HERO JOURNEY, like this morning when you went to find us coffee through the labyrinthian halls of this casino among the countless other casinos, MACGUFFIN generation service for particular subplots Along your life's lived FILAMENT
Listening to Lord Huron while backtracking an hour because we forgot our suitcase at the hotel
Con/Jur/D, 2/something/something
A few songs ago
the chorus used
BASIC to good. Effect
we're too old to use
it this way, maybe
GENERIC, falls
to us
yet, it isn’t as clear
as basic of a description
but when Kristen Stewart
sings about UFOs and NEON
worlds in the Lord Huron song
We know we've been here before
and nothing ever changes.
Much love,
Con/Jur/d, 2/18/2025
Into The Wastelands.
I haven't had a real road trip in a long time, and certainly not one across the continent in decades. In a way, I will hold on to those memories as it was, before the corporate incursions into the heart of the matter.
Damn I hope you got the pecans at buc-ees