Dark Ride on 289

At this point I could be on any planet in the universe.

Losing the city lights, diving into the sightless nighttime countryside, deeper and deeper, living at the mercy of rural strangers who claim the surrounding land as their own, people hiding behind religion and fear, isolated by the fantasies in their mind. What if I told them that being Christian doesn't make you good but that being good makes you Christian? They would have to agree - then silently start making plans for my demise.

I drive within the framework of my courier job, hundreds of miles overnight to my drop off locations, an expected person taking prescriptions to nursing homes and hospitals wards. This shapes what is in my head. What if I were carrying illicit cargo, a drug mule for an outfit? How would I feel then while driving the exact same road at the exact same time? What if my car were transported and suddenly I was driving across the Russian heartland? This same simple act of driving, my head makes the experience, though.

My life is in ruins. Back at the dispatch office I carry on my act. I can't wait to make my escape to the open road. But what does it solve? What can it solve? My book echoes in my ears. The movie even louder. Women I let down call out. I gaze at the ditch just off the side of the narrow highway, inviting me to finish my doom. I wonder why I carry on. Surely there can be no possible point by now. If someone could see my face, it must look grim in the reflection of the dashboard light.

I process the Paul Stanley interview I watched. He said he had no boundaries set for him as a kid and that made life rough, out there flailing on his own. He said he wouldn't make that mistake with his own young children. KISS didn't have concerts, they had events. It was like stepping into another world. They instinctively terrified the squares. That faded over time. But you know what drove all that initial hysteria? They made their own boundaries.

There's almost nothing left of me. Only Emily even has the capacity to know my sins. "Irreplaceable she is," I hear in my Yoda voice. God help me when that story makes the papers. But it won't in this time. I'll simply crash at some point in a drowsy accident and I'll become just another anonymous statistic. She'll be rightly disgusted when she reads of it. I create in a place where people can't read me without also facing themselves. That is my protection. It has proven wildly effective.

Oh, crap. Couldn't hit the knob in time to turn off the top-of-the-hour news before I got a whiff of it. Goddam that Trumptard. Some supporter squawked how it's "politically stupid" to impeach the monster. Reality is just the opposite. It would weaken him and suppress the vote. Yeah, a certain percentage of the followers are zealots but raising the hurdle for the shame to be overcome in voting for and endorsing his murderous and treasonous behavior will cause deterioration at the edges which is all it takes to sink him. And those are the same people who are lured in by a perception of strength regardless of who it is. Public rejection is the key.

The bottomless hole of uselessness awaits me when I get back to my hole. Every time I enter I have to quickly shut the front door as I hear the thud of arrows striking it that were meant for me. No place is safe. Stay holed up for a few hours, retrieve provisions as needed, then I'm back in this same spot all over again driving all over creation. I see other people struggling with this too. When you hear the "Be grateful for what you have" crowd you know they've simply given up.

I secretly miss Emily. She'd have my head on a post if she knew. I rarely miss an opportunity to lie about her however innocuous. No one can know how I feel. It was my final chance to face if I had something to offer or not. These people in these farmhouses I pass by don't feel they have anything to offer city dwellers - and vice-versa. If everyone came clean they'd be shocked how different the truth really is. I can't apply that to me for some reason.

Jesus, this country smell is incredibly uplifting. Taking in the air of dew covered grasses is a rush. Makes me wonder how much life I - we - are missing when a simple smell can bring such joy. This planet we shit on is an amazing gift. This feeling makes me want to live forever. I would like to fall asleep in the grass and watch the pure sun rise up over a glorious horizon. It would be as when the world was young, unpolluted by fictional beliefs that chain us. We'd exist to dream. Yes, it would be better than winning any lottery if I could stay in this moment of freedom. I would fall into God and fly forever.