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september eighteenth | ten thirty post meridiem
...Las Vegas to Arizona to Albuquerque to...
The sweat and smoke of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning.
I probably got that wrong, but whatever: the timing of my arrival in Las Vegas was totally Fleming: 3am precisely (Casino Royale is the clincher in the Bond Rubbish In Bed argument: after a romantic beachfront weekend together, Vesper Lind kills herself [and no other Bond girl hangs around afterwards never ever]). I went straight to downtown, where I wandered around a bit (being almost immediately propositioned by a hooker), trying to decide which hotel I should stay at. Binion's Horseshoe seemed to have the most dimly depressingly wood-paneled casino with the most haggard-looking faces still staring into the slots, so I went there. Slept through most of the next day, which was fortunate since the temperature outside reached almost 100 deg. When I finally ventured out at 6pm, the air was still thick and oppressive, so I quickly sauntered just once around the block before heading back in. I played video poker and slots for about five hours, losing only $10, and consuming at least three times that much in complimentary drinks. Ordered a few more while sitting and bullshitting with the pro sports gamblers. Eventually I stumbled out onto Fremont, the weird video-cave street, in time for the light show. I watched people instead: I loved it: here were the same 60-something couples in shorts and polo shirts I'd seen doing 60-something couples in shorts and polo shirts touristy shit in California, except now the 60-something couples in shorts and polo shirts were clutching giant margarita bongs and swaying awkwardly to "Macho Man". Magically, mysteriously, gambling, drinking, smoking, stripping and hooking make tourism fun. This totally made up for the dreariness of the guided tour I'd endured at the Hearst mansion.
Still inebriated, I wandered into the strip club across the street. I was too drunk to feel self-conscious or even cheated by the $10 drink I ordered. Soon wound up at a side table having an hours-long, totally fascinating conversation with one of the dancers. It's too long to put down here, but it involved lots of Mormonism and organized crime. Maybe later.
Hi,
I found your email address wedged inside a book- it was a pleasant reminder that there is life outside the confines of work and the other mundane atrocities that hold me in tenebrous homeostasis. SO how is your sojourn going? What sort of things disappear and unfold as miles sublimate the revolution of tires on asphalt to tiny, upward-crawling numbers on your ododmeter? Where are you at now, and where have you been?- Jesus, the lyrical ranting of Henry Miller doesn't translate to direct communication quite so well-
my tenebrous homeostasis actually includes lots of cool things like two kittens from [Maenad], grape arbors, and a view of the water. Anyway, would you still like me to send you some prints from burning man? About a third of the pictures were worthless dust speckled shots of things disappearing into murky gray dust, but there are several cool and amusing ones as well. Send me a physical address and ye shall recieve 15.9 ounces of glossy memorabilia.
"Do anything, but let it produce joy. Do anything, but let it yield ecstasy"
Mimmimsy,
occasionally monosyllabic locutions facilitate manifest comprehensibility.my trip has been wonderful/tedious/splendid/despairing, sun-stroked with time stretched thin. so far. it's strange, after the wombish community of burning man, to be a ghost passing linearly through the circular routine of people's daily lives. this last saturday morning i was walking down sunset blvd, which was nearly deserted as hollywood seems to be on saturday mornings, and there was so much trash, i wanted to pick up every piece of it, to leave at least one block sparkling clean, with no trace, just for nostalgia's sake. i'm leaving la for nevada, probably tonight, and i'm tempted to try to find a semi-deserted desert spot where i can sit for a few days and dream and write. i don't know if you feel the same way but remembering that week is pang-inducing, like recalling a lost paradise. or something.
TWO kittens are great! i wish i had one kitten, or even just a half, like the half-dog that comes to life in return of the living dead. grape arbors are great. waterfront views are great. i hope you're doing great, outside of the tenebrous homeostasis�
"light is the left hand of darkness, and darkness the right hand of light." love, c.
Vegas was a relief in that for the first time on this trip I felt everyone around me was moving linearly, or at least staggering in as linear a fashion as they could. It was a nice change not to be the passive ethereal observer of the crushing mundanity of others' daily lives. OK, now you want to hit me, so I'll stop. (I certainly don't in any way regret going on this trip, but I am already nostalgic for sedentary life.)
My last few days in LA, before Vegas, were low-key but very enjoyable. It was nice to see cool people again, and meet a few new ones. (Boo Yaa Yaa!)
I left Vegas the morning after the drunken stripper talk. Didn't stop, for dreaming or writing (though I grudgingly did so for the 3 police checkpoints preceding the Hoover Dam); instead drove straight through AZ to Albuquerque in a day and a half, landing in the welcoming bosoms of GEB and FMB a few days early. No Grand Canyon, no cacti, no pueblos: just a ribbon of interstate and miles of beautiful blighted landscape sinking from cocaine-white into rust into violet. Reasons: I'm a little bored with driving; I'm definitely bored with obligatory YOU'VE GOT TO SEE THAT sights; I'm a lot bored with driving. Here I get to be with close friends, I get lots of time to write and read while they go to class and work, and I don't feel compelled to rush out to see boring shit cause it's freaking Albuquerque. Here is where writing is done, as I am sedentary for the next week.
Today at a city-wide party for --- employees, I ran into the n@ked gourm3t, a devout burner who massages goddesses with mango butter and cooks delicious food, obviously clothing free. He called me back home to burning man. He showed me several beautiful pictures of the temple of honor pre and mid flame, and he told me about a decompression party happening next month.For me, the desert always has that clean, round, purifying womb-like sense, so your idea about finding a few days to meditate in that setting sounds amazing.
My tenebrous homeostasis morphed into tenebrous what the fuck- I am suddenly unjobbed, nearly unhomed, and mad happily bekittened.
Keep me posted on how your trip goes?
Love, M
In the last few weeks I've been to Nevada twice (that makes twice my entire life): once in the far northwest corner, once in the far southeast. Each looks exactly the same: miles of coke-sand dusted evenly over a mirror erupting on the horizon in rivuleted hills of beige. The moment you cross into Arizona, the fine white sand turns to red rocks which soar and dip in an effort to be the Grand Canyon's own (still impressive) mini-me. Needless to say, NEVADA is now a mystical magical gumdrop land leaning hard on heartstrings for me. Like Agent Cooper and his Tibet, sort of.