8/19/09: Devils Tower & Jimmy

When people ask, "Todd, why do you do this?" I often answer that it's funny how the people you meet under odd circumstances can significantly affect you.

In March 2008, just a few months after my divorce from radio, I took a job as a carnie with an outfit in west Texas. That may be the furthest from the expected vocational path you would expect me to walk, unless you know me well! At that point, it made perfect sense. As I saw it, I had worked with legalized, dishonest criminal-minded scum for twelve years. Why not authentic criminals living on the fringe? I never intended to do it for long; a month or two as I tried to raise money for 2008.

Many of the assumptions about carnival life are accurate. My first destination was Odessa, TX. In my two days there, I believe I saw every drug man has produced to date, and listened to a knife fight outside my bunkhouse. (I was just pissed that they had woken me up at 5am!) And yes, the arrest warrant to employee ratio is quite high!

My final straw in Odessa was walking by a kiddie ride just prior to opening and finding a pouch of cocaine on the ground. Not so bad at 2am, but the carnival was about to open...and cocaine looks like sugar to a child. With that, I had had enough. I wasn't alone. One of those joining me on the bus to New Orleans for a change in assignment (and scenery) was Jimmy. He was Chickasha Indian, lived in Oklahoma when he had a home, and I had gotten to know him a bit over the short time we were both in Odessa.

I was primed for tangible, external ideas after spending the winter transitioning away from radio and buried in abstraction. As we rode across the expansiveness of the Texas Republic, we chatted about the similarity between my blossoming beliefs and that of the Chickasha Tribe. He was passionately proud of who he was, particularly his heritage. However, like Dennis, he was also tormented, although not to the same extreme. In Jimmy's case, he was cut off from who he felt he was: a Chickasha. It was as though he were transplanted to live with an African tribe; society had nothing for him. He was rotting from within so, like Dennis, he drank. Alot. This is something I can easily relate to and unfortunately Jimmy's story is not uncommon around the southwest.

Once in New Orleans, we were assigned to carnival group that was in a holding pattern thru Easter weekend. While drugs weren't tolerated, they created their own special brand of drama. This organization was known as a "gay friendly" carnie group, and I learned later that what I took as standoffishness when I arrived actually stemmed from some of the boys laying dibs on the "fresh fish." Me!

They were quite disappointed, and one individual was particularly spiteful, when they learned that I like girls. A great deal. This, along with nothing better to do with their idle time created a thick, palpable negativity. The kind you can feel.

Enter Trisha. She was a rare breed indeed. An intelligent, attractive 22-year old from little Rock, traveling with the  carnival, and with all her teeth intact. She took to me in much the same way as Inga did on the bus last month. I was one of the few heteros who would actually leave her alone while at the same time act as a flaming torch to the pack of red rocket dogs eagerly sniffing at her hindquarters. Along with Jimmy, the three of us quickly bonded.

Easter Sunday 2008 is, in part, why I'm sitting in the shadow of Devils Tower today. Jimmy invited us to his morning Chickasha ritual; what he described as "communing with his dead ancestors". Seeing it as an opportunity to leave the "hens" behind, Trisha and I happily went along.

Winter Quarters was directly across a small road from the Mississippi River. There happened to be a circle imprinted into the grass, and Jimmy arranged us inside then began chanting while Trisha and I sat respectfully quietly wondering what he was doing! This went on for some time. When he stopped, Jimmy said he had communed with The Ancestors (apparently that's not always successful), and that they had given us Indian names. Mine was Runs with the Wind. Thus, the name of the first blog.

Now, I agree with you cynics. You can find a performance similar to this at any number of the touristy "Indian Trading Posts" littering the west. What struck me was the gradual, then all-encompassing feeling of peace overcoming me while sitting beside the river. It was incredible. Something I had neither felt before nor felt since. With it came a sense of clarity that, for my indecisive ass, is invaluable.

I had the sense that I was indeed on the right path and that this "voice" was indeed what I thought it was. The three of us sat by the Mississippi all day. Just being. Trisha felt it too and that we were able to find calm in the Sea of Negativity was lost on neither of us, particularly when we left.

As soon as we crossed the road returning to camp, Trisha and I both said, at the same time, "Did you feel that change?" It was something akin to strolling thru a garden then stumbling out into an open landfill. It was that stark. I suspect it was what Steve describes as going from "awake to asleep" in Eastern terminology. I don't know what happened that day. But in a quiet, subtle, yet powerful way, it changed me. I wish I could give that experience away.

As I was sitting in New Mexico a week ago pondering Dennis, I thought of Jimmy. The similarities would not leave me alone and, as I thought of that day by the river, I again began to think about Devils Tower. I had the notion in July, but dismissed it in my pre-Dennis fog. I did some quick research and while I already knew it was sacred to natives, I had no idea why. Devils Tower was seen as a place of rebirth and rejuvenation. Several tribal leaders are still buried nearby and where young men used to come on their vision quests, the US Government now charges $10 for a "prime view."

Considering all that's transpired over the last 2 1/2 months, and looking back to that Sunday on the Mississippi, this place of "rebirth" struck me as the place to start again. No, I'm not hoping aliens take me away. Nor, I should point out, am I on my own vision quest. I don't know specifically why I am here other than it "seems" right, to borrow Chris' phraseology! If the patterns hold, I suspect that will become clear enough soon enough.

To close Jimmy's story, I spent another week with them. The night I left the group, in Baton Rouge, he was drunk and making no sense other than I "shouldn't leave." In retrospect, now, this echoes with a haunting familiarity. But, as with Dennis, I knew better.

I found out a week after returning home that Jimmy had been beaten up, and had left too. I have no idea what became of him.

5/7/09: Manhattan Day 2

Considering how late of a night it was, I felt good as we moved out of Ingrid's place on a search for coffee and a train to midtown. Just after we said our goodbyes, the skies opened up and let loose a deluge the likes of which I had not seen in ages! This made the walk around Columbia's campus interesting, and we finally found a suitable coffee shop just as the heaviest rains began to fall.

Coffee is a wonderful thing! We had originally decided to make our way to Penn Station and head back to New Jersey, but after caffeine and walking in the rain, it seemed like wandering the streets of New York for a few hours more was the thing to do. We found our subway and eventually Times Square and the United Nations. I cannot explain why the UN was such a draw, it wasn't like we were going to take the tour or anything, but it's a place I've just wanted to visit for a number of years now. I can now cross that off the list.

We were on the bus back to Jersey by late afternoon, and as we approached his Mom's driveway, we noticed a few deer wandering through a yard adjacent to the road. The deer closest to us had no interest in running off as we walked by. There were a couple others on that side nibbling on grass and across the road and I noticed another, younger deer navigating down the steep, wooded hill onto the asphalt trying to join his friends. He was maybe 25 yards ahead of us, and as I looked up, I saw a car speeding down the hill toward us.

The next few seconds were in stereotypical slo mo. The deer began to run across the road, as the car came around a slight curve in the road. The driver was gabbing on his cell phone and never saw the deer, slamming it directly with the center of his grill... NEVER hitting his brakes until his front end was smashed. With a loud "thud" and the sounds of shattered fiberglass, the car sent the deer flying through the air, then along the asphalt directly toward us, before coming to rest in the brush only a matter of a few feet to our left...thanks to the curve in the road. We initially thought the carcass may actually hit us. I could see the whole thing develop, and could only say, "I didn't need to see that" while fighting the urge to implant the old man's cell phone firmly, and sideways, up his ass. There was no reason for him not to see the deer in time. His phone call was obviously more important than looking down the road.

Being sensitive to such sudden events, seeing that deer annihilated created distinct reactions specific to our different personalities. For Chris, it seemed to be a possibly ominous foreshadowing of events as they related to him or us. For me, it was an instant, disturbing reminder of something that had happened in Baton Rouge at the end of my Carnie Adventure in 2008.

I had been with the carnivals for about 2-weeks by then and this particular Sunday evening, I had been playing with a kitten that someone had brought along. A few minutes later someone sat on the front end of a trailer. The added weight caused it to tip on its wheels. Unbeknown to him, this kitten was sitting beneath the trailer. The frame landed directly on top of her back- snapping her spine. The last straw was one of the degenerates spewing the machismo filled "Well, time to snap its neck!" With my affinity for cats, at that moment I wanted to hurt him more than I ever wanted to hurt a person. I instead put my efforts into trying to convince anyone with a vehicle to take her to a vet. That failed. I was on a bus 3-hours later.


Perhaps I am a bit overly sensitive to energy as some have suggested, but it was only later that I realized that the cat was a serving as a brutal metaphor for other things that I had sensed there. It seems that whenever something positive was introduced, it was "crushed". I had seen it with a few people who were obviously there because they were searching for something. Trying to get that "something unexplainable" to take root only to have the negativity of the place suffocate it. That happened with my Chickasha friend, Jimmy. He had led the Easter Sunday Indian ritual outlined on my other blog. I learned when I returned home that someone had beaten him up shortly after I left.

My sense of the deer experience was that it was time for me to exit New York, and I was now grateful that I had my bus ticket for Monday. What solidified this notion was Musty. His witty reaction to our anecdotes: "Is it dead? Good, one less deer in the world." His primary concern: his lawn. Regardless of the fact that he owns property in their habitat, he believes that his deed trumps any sort of natural law or obligation to balance. They should all be dead because they create what he perceives as an "inconvenience!" Not that he is in the minority, of course. But, is it any wonder that we are where we are as a species if the prevailing attitude is that wealth, property, or even simple convenience dictates supreme law, and another's right to exist? Sorry, but that's unsustainable.

After Musty's commentary, I was reminded of his theory about how "evil" will never have any problem "killing good." I laughed at the obvious irony! Since he was happy to arbitrarily kill these creatures simply because he had judged them as "pests", I wondered (at great length) as to how he'd define "good & evil" and where he'd fall on an authentic scale. Ahh, these annoying "abstract" concepts like good and evil! I see no "empirical proof" that, in the grand scheme of things, YOU yourself are "good?" In fairness, that's an inventory many of us could stand taking, especially when expanding the idea beyond an isolated incident in New Jersey. I keep hearing the conversations with Eric back in Denver about coyotes and prairie dogs...

Regardless, this was pretty much the end of my interactions with Musty other than the polite, obligatory, superficial small talk.

All considered, I was happy to make it an early night. Chris' sister, Wendie, was flying in from Seattle the next day to spend Mother's Day weekend with Chris and Mary. I had been looking forward to meeting her, curious to see if she'd be likely to play a significant role later on.

6/5/08: Santa Fe-Metaphorical Whirlpool

Ever get that feeling as though something is bound to your leg dragging you to the bottom of a lake? Santa Fe feels that way, much the same way home did 11 years ago. It's a very difficult place to escape from once it has you in it's grip.

I really intended to leave yesterday, and was packed to do so, but circumstances here are a bit--tense. Laina is moving on the 15th, and she's had a harder time than imagined finding a place to move TO, and even getting some of the idiots that live here to even return phone calls...on their own rentals! I essentially didn't know what I was returning to. So I've gotten involved in helping her find a place, pack, and dealing with others complacency. Not how I pictured my week going.

Something I've never been able to grasp: the "Land of Manana" thing; procrastination on steroids. It's initially quaint. Then infuriating. Especially when you're actually trying to get something done. That's why it took 3 weeks to get phone service in Taos, 5 weeks for (crappy) Internet, why our land-line went out every time it rained and no one from Qwest would bother to do anything about it until it began making phantom 911 calls (we canceled service), and on and on.

But it looks as though I'll be setting off soon. By Sunday. Every thing's still packed and waiting, and the positive aspect of this little sojourn is that I've reinforced my attitudes and my motivation is higher than ever, although of course I'm fighting the 'comfortability' of familiar surroundings.

Time to vent.

I've gotten emails from a few people who have chastised me for coming back here so soon. Remember, however, how easy it is to judge some one else's actions wile sitting in your own comfy chair! It's obvious that to some people this is reality TV, and I get that. However, this isn't fabricated drama written to increase viewership or solely provide entertainment. If I wanted to keep producing that shit, I'd have stayed in radio and be eating much better!

The tricky thing about publicly documenting this is that you have to be careful whose insight you value and learn to take the opinions of the others with a smile. I always ask myself how much the 'Reality Show Couch Critics' are putting out there, and rather they'd welcome the same type of critique in their own lives if their ideas were laid open for the world to see.

No. Of course not! They be indignant! It's easy to criticize someone else's work when you're doing none of your own, eh?

I saw this coming because Chris went through similar stuff on his trip. It's the problem with the anonymity of email and the illusion that you're reading some fictitious travel novel, or watching some fluff piece on the Travel Channel. I welcome opinions, don't get me wrong. But, I'd encourage you to offer something personal from your own life up for critique if you presume to dissect mine. Or at least be constructive and offer some original insight as a companion to 'opinion'.

Feeling a bit defensive today, ain't I?

On that note, I REALLY should have left early Monday morning!

I've had a chance to contemplate a lot of things over the past few days through the "Sweet Perspective of Melancholy". (How dramatic!) It's pretty apparent to me that, despite what YOU may think about my Interlude, this trip is going to define much more than I even realized--and this is a big part of it.

The prospects of returning to Santa Fe after this is 'done' seem smaller than before. Laina's adapting to and preparing herself for that; something I sensed even before I left Denver the first time. No one can blame her for that, and I'm GLAD she is! She's growing roots into the High Desert, and it seems as though mine are slowly being pulled from among the sage. She says that she noticed the 'feeling alive' part (previous post) of my short little adventure so far, and she expects this to last much longer than we'd discussed, or I even expected.

This coming from the woman who saw my Epic Bike Tour last 3 days! And most of the other plans I've made over the past 4 years fall to oblivion.

She also seems to think that in the end I'll return to Denver, while she has NO intention of leaving here. I want to argue, and I rightly point out, that nothings been decided but my contradictory arguments are prefaced with: 'You may be right--I've thought about that'.

Sometimes people just grow apart, and the realization that you want different things is tough to digest, especially after seven years. I'm afraid that this may be exactly what's happening, and this is the crescendo of our personal overture that's been building since August, 2004.

"I told you!!"

Shut the hell up. Or I'm coming to live with you and I'll offer uninformed commentary on what YOU should do!

But, things can change. I've been a testament to that gospel many times since 5/20.

If this does happen, and we go our separate ways, I'm glad it was done in the right way. Not out of anger which is usually the case, but out of a mutual respect for what each other wants out of life and what we believe their lives should mean. We both want what's best for the other person AND ourselves. For that I'm glad. Now we'll see how this plays out indefinitely...

As for the next chapter on the road, I've begun to consider going east again...WAY East. Florida. US 17 is a great road in E. Georgia and S. Carolina that's runs closely to US 1, which takes you all the way through Maine. Then there's New Hampshire/Vermont and a road that runs along the Hudson River into Mass. Then maybe Chris's friend Gus could be added to my ever-growing yet nonexistent list. I believe I'll probably figure out a way to get to I-40, and take stock and follow my Indian name I was given while, of all things, I was working as a carnie: Runs With the Wind.

What a great story that was...maybe I'll pass it along sometime. I mean really, how many of you have had a spiritual experience as a traveling carnival worker in New Orleans?

Anyone? Anyone? Dyson? Anyone?

4/2/08: Baton Rouge-The Cat

Saturday was a rather long, boring day. We started at noon and ran rides all day, until 10 pm. We were up late Friday drinking beer and chatting with Tricia, Toby, Andy, and James. We all seemed to relish the idea that there was no drama to deal with. It was a nice night. I finally got to bed around 3:30 or so.

The 10:00 close was a bit of a surprise, but really no big deal. The crowd was sketchy, but picked up toward the evening because of some on/off rain earlier. I got to bed early both because I was tired and Sunday was tear-down day, after we had already worked all day. The worst day of every week. The Carnie life is indeed for me...

Sunday was interesting. I was ready to leave then. I woke up ornery and fed-up. I called Laina, Brian, and Joey and tried to get as much info as I could. I found that I am still supposedly "on track" for the job in Michigan. Laina and I decided, in a roundabout way, that I would try to stick out another week, since Monday through Wednesday would be easy -- with the exception of set up in Baton Rouge. I also discussed possibly getting my little group together -- Toby, Gabby, Jimmy, James, and Tricia -- to join a group out in California. That sounded good, but the idea in the end went nowhere.

Tear down was long, hard, frustrating...and encouraging. Reminded me of my boot camp days: working through exhaustion. Jimmy, Andy, and I tore down the Merry-Go-Round in five hours or so...then had to help other slackers...despite the fact that ours was by far the hardest and most complicated of any of them. We finally finished around 3 am. I went straight to bed, but as tired as I was, had trouble getting to sleep. My body seemed to hold up well, although I was definitely sore.

We all slept in Monday, bummed around for a few hours, then finally got the bunkhouses prepped and jumped from Ethel to south Baton Rouge -- about an hour down the road. I was still envisioning at least getting through the week, but the first seed to leave was planted when I got "paid" before we left Ethel. I got a whopping $126. I had taken $75 in "draws," was charged $25 for my shirt, and taxed $60. It could have been worse I guess, and had no real logical complaints about the pay, until I thought about the hours put in to get it!

There was a touch of drama Sunday with Willie after hearing a rumor that we were "renting" our bunkhouses; twinges of Odessa. He and I resolved it quickly, it was just typical camp bullshit. I also addressed my problems with Timmy and discovered he was, in Willie's words, an "errand boy" despite his claims to be a "supervisor". More shrapnel to throw at him. I never liked Timmy because of his mouth and underhanded nature and, despite his posturing as someone important, I never had a problem telling him so. No one else dared to force his hand, and he just couldn't figure that out; he never knew how to approach me. More on that in a bit.

I discovered a lot about myself by way of perspective. How far I've really come, and how I can influence people and have impact when I'm focused. I'm not so diluted to say that influence was significant, but I noticed that people here gravitated to me -- despite my perceived "rudeness!" Much more needs to be processed in my other journal. Not the time yet.

I really enjoyed my conversations with Jimmy when he was sober, although after we got to Ethel, he seemed to disconnect. James and I seemed to connect well also, and had some deep, philosophical conversations. Amazing to find a guy with a biology degree in that setting. He was the most like me, admitted to alcohol problems and is, or least was, guarded. I'd be interested to see what happens with him.

Monday was a day that was disturbing for lack of a better term today. It rattled me, and exposed a raw nerve.

We got to Baton Rouge, and of course things were typically dragging along. Trouble getting the electricity and water going so people were going to the stores, sitting around, killing time. Typical. I didn't like the vibe from the start. Not something I can explain, but we were adjacent to the projects, set up the dirt, and other crews were showing up periodically.

A guy named Dave, who was at Winter Quarters in New Orleans was here and had brought his two young cats with him. I was very happy to see them running around! It was something nice, pure, and real in what was a toxic environment thriving on negativity. I started playing with one of them, a very energetic and friendly calico who loved playing with a stick I had found. The other one was a dark gray with tinges of orange and, like the calico, had his tail clipped. This gray was skittish, but was warming up to me when one of the most horrible and disturbing things I have ever seen happened. It pains me to think, let alone write, about it and -- I hate repeating myself -- still disturbs me whenever I even think about it.

The kittens had taken a break, and I was sitting against a chain-link fence chatting. When James sat down on the lemonade trailer in front of me. The trailer wasn't on blocks, and when someone sat on the back edge it would tip on its wheels -- and hit the ground. The calico kitten was underneath and the trailer's rear edge -- loaded with the lemonade stand -- landed flush across her back/mid-section.I heard her howl, people yell, then lifted the trailer. The kitten took off running, but not... running. She could not coordinate her front and back legs and ran with her rear legs cockeyed; nearly 45-degrees to one side. She seemed at first as though her back was broken.

I'd never felt what I felt at that moment. I couldn't deal with it. I remember yelling, "God fucking dammit!" and, "No! No! No!" I felt it in my lungs, stomach; all through my body. I don't even know what "it" was. It was just something I...couldn't handle. I was just playing with her, getting attached, and enjoying something...pure. Then, that place almost literally killed it. It was the same blackness as Easter Sunday by the river: it seemed to have a way of brutally destroying anything positive.

I pulled myself together and found the cat lying beneath the lemonade stand's trailer having difficulty breathing... and crying. Then came what finally drove me out of this place. People running away like children! They acted as if they were kids who busted the neighbor's window! "Let's get to the store! Let's get out of here! We didn't see anything! He's gonna flip!" When I heard Chris say, "it's time to snap its neck" I about snapped myself. I said nothing because by then it occurred to me that, after seeing her run, she may not have broken her back, but perhaps ribs and needed a vet. When Chris reached to grab her, I told him to "get the fuck away from her" then tried to rally people to get her to a veterinarian. Then, the final straw: Andy bitching about who's going to pay the bill! I forget who, but someone took control, got a milk crate, and got into the van to supposedly find a vet, but it was 6 pm and no one knew anything about Baton Rouge. How were they going to find a vet? They weren't.

That was it.

I called Laina and talk it over with her. What I just seen, the realization of how little money I was able to save -- and the disgust I felt for "these people" after this -- I was leaving. She agreed, checked the schedules, and we decided I would leave on a 12:30 am bus from Baton Rouge that night. I went over to the football field adjacent to camp to talk to Jimmy, who was drinking Jim Beam and already annihilated. I wish he hadn't been. I couldn't talk to him when he was drunk. He tried to talk me out of leaving for his own reasons; had he been sober he would've understood. I talked to Willie right after, and he was very cool about it, giving me $25 for my shirt, but no money for Monday. Not that I did anything anyhow!

I went back to the bunkhouse and started sorting, packing, and since we had just been paid... selling shit. I sold my Merrill hiking shoes to Andy for $20, by old, comfy Nike running shoes for $10, and left some work jeans and other odds and ends for Jimmy. The pack was seven or 8 pounds lighter than what I arrived, and I was glad. As the word spread that I was leaving, people are asking why, but I was unable to really explain it. I just kept saying, "I have to." I would hit on it later, on the way to the Greyhound station. But, at the time, I just wanted out. It was actually a nice two or three hours waiting to leave. It felt good, despite the immediate reasons behind it. I asked Gabby to drive me into Baton Rouge, instead of Timmy, and she agreed. I was beyond grateful, and I'm sure Timmy was, too! Then, James asked if he could go, and of course Tricia came. Toby and Chris too. We left Jimmy behind because he was too obliterated.

The atmosphere in the van was a quieter than I expected, but no one had a lot, or knew what, to say. It occurred to me, as I mentioned, what had happened, or at least how it hit me. The cat was not only a personally perceived tragedy, but a metaphor for the whole place and the energy it attracts. It seemed to kill anything good, gentle, and/or real; allowed nothing positive to thrive. I'm reminded of the day by the river with Tricia and Jimmy. We were all at peace until we crossed that road, and all of that positive energy was instantaneously replaced by something sinister. We even noticed it in the moment and commented on it. We were never able to get around or through it. When I saw the kitten hurt, after bringing some joy into that camp, and my world, for a while -- I couldn't be immersed in it any longer.

When we finally got to the bus station, I was struck that these people had wanted to ride into Baton Rouge, not for the road trip, but to see me off! I was touched by that, particularly because of my history with people over the last few years, but I politely refused to give Tricia my phone number. That upset her great deal. As cruel as it may be, I don't think I want to deal with her. She's a great person who is lost in her mind; lost in her world, and wants to stay there. She's afraid to step out of it. I really don't want the drunken phone calls in the middle of the night, or any of that. I may call her in a week or two to see how she's doing. We'll see. I did however give my number to James, to keep one line of communication open.

The ride out of Baton Rouge was weird. That vision of the cat, and that I later saw her with Patches -- wheezing -- because they couldn't, or wouldn't, try to find a veterinarian, hit me hard.

Then, I started thinking about the friendships I had developed in the two weeks I was gone, and more importantly -- why. Some names to remember: Andy -- the insane, wanted felon. Bob -- the basketball-game guy. Jason -- Timmy's boyfriend, and really a decent guy. Brandi -- the obese, slutty, 18-year-old idiot, who talks like a retarded racist. I never did get ahold of Steve in Oklahoma. May not, but I'd love to know how he's doing.

From Baton Rouge, we went to Houston then Dallas. I met a very interesting guy at the Dallas Greyhound who reminded me a bit of Clint Hurdle, of all people. He was 57, from north-central Texas, and heading to Roswell on business. We talked about many of things, mostly the failing economy, on our ride from Dallas to Wichita Falls. I found it interesting that I could relate to a Texas conservative who spent 20 years as a cop just as well, if not better, than the hippies I have run into! He even shared many of my views on life, technology, sociology, etc.. These ideas are not ideology. I wish I could have spent more time chatting with him. He reminded me of what Jimmy kept saying: "listen to the older folks, heed your elders." I'm glad I met him. His name was Dan.

Not much on the hike again today, but that's not done. In fact, I'm now much more confident about it, and need to see what happens with Michigan.

An interesting experience comes to a close. Glad I did it.

3/24/08: Ethel, LA-Reflection in a New Mirror

We packed and "jumped" up here this morning/afternoon. We're through Baton Rouge, and in the middle of nowhere. Reminds me a little of Michigan in how green and rural it is, and the actual location reminds me of some of the New Mexico holes-in-the-wall. I guess we'll set up shop here through the weekend, then go back to Baton Rouge for a time.

Nothing much is happening today at all. Willie is most definitely organized and, so far, outside of the pseudo-drama. I can handle this. I'm obviously seeing some places I'd never go otherwise, and there are some good people here. I'm slowly adjusting and getting used to everything and everyone. I've yet to read one page in a week, and plotting what to mail home.

Tricia and I were on the verge; one push away-- from stepping off of here. The Synchronicity aspect of things was a hot topic yesterday, and still is in a way. It occurred to me that the trip I foresaw had already begun. Maybe I won't be going "back." I seem to have found a travel partner or two if things were to start today, but then again we've had a lot of idle time. When things get busy people -- including me -- may revert back to their individual ideas.

Tricia is a bit of a split personality depending on who she's with. Yesterday was incredibly cool, but last night she ran to her gin and there was the carnie redneck again. She doesn't seem to know exactly who she is. Who does at 22? Jimmy's a bit different, and I'm not sure how our story is going to to end. He's 46, smart in a lot of ways, and seemingly a good friend. Yet, yesterday annoyed me. A lot. All day drunks just bug me now. I'm sick of his "taking care of each other" line, which equates to me buying his shit, giving him cigarettes, and then having his sloppy, drunken ass spill beer on me!

Karma's paying me back. The bitch.

I'm not sure what to make of this part of my personality. It's quite surprising, and I don't like the hypocritical and judgmental tendencies. I've found new things about myself; some very good. I have discipline all of the sudden. And, I seem to be pretty focused and anxious to start my trip. I've been more open and honest with people than I remember...with the exception of Skippy. That honesty is at times a blunt hammer. I've gotten quite terse with Jimmy over the last two days and my impatience and temper with the Killer Queens needs checking. I'm sick of Timmy's posturing displays, and it's obvious that despite the bark, he'll cower at a challenging growl. We're about to find out. Yet, I seem to have settled in here for the near future. I need money. I've found a few good people, even heard from Steve today. This may be home for little while.

3/23/08: A New Orleans Easter-Jimmy & Trisha

**It's poorly articulated here, but this would turn out to be one of those monumental days that resound and echo indefinitely.**

Well...things here are different! Jimmy and I got what we were looking for: a change from Odessa, and we got it for sure!

This outfit is much smaller and much less...intense...then Texas. We got into New Orleans on-time, called Willie from the bus station, he then sent two guys to pick us up. The vibe was instantly better. Much more positive. We both had a great feeling about this decision and were quite happy to get here. We chatted with Willie in person on Saturday, and since today is Easter and his family is here, haven't really seen him since.

We all seemed to get along well last night and met some pretty good people, one in particular--Tricia. She would seem to be in the same mold as Carrie and Sarah, yet a great deal different. She is exactly the opposite of those two in almost every way! She's from Little Rock, Arkansas and just a good ol' girl. Yet, she's also tuned in. She "gets it"--doesn't realize it--yet she does. She's aware and trying to process and define what she's aware of. Been there. She wants to travel; suffers from that same affliction I do. She's frustrated and seems ready to do something about it. It was odd when I first got here; we were immediately drawn (not physically...pervert) to each other. It's like there is an internal guide pointing out the right people and the situations in which to find them. My mystical senses are returning to a degree; paying attention to these "coincidences." Steve, Jim, Tricia. I thoroughly enjoyed this trip so far, for the most part.

There are some twisted, ironic, some would say comical shades McComb [MS, 2005, following Katrina] here in relation to my friendship with Trish. The gay guys here are pissed off! And, so are the straight ones! The gay guys are gnarled up because they viewed me as their "fresh fish!" Of course, the breeders are pissed off because they've been trying to get on Tricia since she first got here and now she's begun to use me as sort of a shield! I find it hilarious! There are rumors etc. already; it's pretty pathetic and drives me up the wall.

I'm getting in tune with myself too, I'm aware of my reactions to all of this. My mindset is slowly adapting to my surroundings and my tolerance level is sinking. I have become more aware of who I am and how that differs from past experiences. My personality also seems to be changing more & more as I adapt. I've become more honest, much more open with some people, and seem to have developed some bizarre leadership qualities from my experiences over the past few years. I don't bother with the idiots, charlatans, posers and punks. I blatantly disengage from them and gravitate back to the ones that posses some kind of character and honesty; and I don't care about hurting feelings in the process. I'm looking for "my people" and not really bothering with the rest.

I feel myself becoming more a more direct. For example, Jimmy drank pretty much all day [after the levee experience-below], and it bothered me. Not that he drank, but that he drank and was trying to communicate. I can't hold any of that against him, but it's a mirror of myself from not so long ago. I can't stand being sober and dealing with drunks anymore. In fact, it's been a long time since I could, but now I have next to no tolerance. I'm doing to some people what Danny, Dyson, Jason, Greg, and others did to me: judging. I don't really like that, but it's happening. Tricia got lit up tonight and was passed out by 7:30. After the day we had, it was a study in extremes and bothered me a bit, although I was more forgiving of her because in the short time I've been here, our friendship has caused her much grief for no reason, and she needed the escape.

I have hardly eaten anything since leaving NM last week; I'd love to get on a scale. I must be in that 165-pound range by now. I've had 2 cups of Ramen Noodles today, and a few M&Ms. I've also discovered how much shit I really do have... and shouldn't. My backpack is 45 pounds, and I need to ship some stuff home. It's rather hard to keep all that shit organized, let alone keep track of it.

Today was an interesting, enlightening, and frustrating day all wrapped into one. Jimmy took Tricia and I across the adjacent road to the levee the banks of the Mississippi River, letting us sit in on one of his Indian rituals where he says he "asks the spirits for guidance." We sat inside of a natural circle depressed into the grass, and just talked and bonded -- just the three of us. Afterwards he said our Indian names were Little Feather and Runs with the Wind. While I sat there playing with a twig, they both looked at me with an odd, astonished look and said I was doing some kind of Indian weave -- something I had never heard of. I really had no idea what I was doing, but just thought it looked cool. We went out there about 9:30 and didn't come back -- didn't leave the circle -- until 3:30. Just talking, lying on the grass in the sun. Had the day ended then, it was one of the best of days. I felt so at peace and comfortable...with both myself and them. It was a tiny taste of that experience I've been craving. No distractions or bullshit obligations. Just me, my people, and out in my place being -- me. It was the closest thing to Nirvana I can probably get, and it occurred to me that I may have already started my adventure. I felt free and unmolested!

Then, as soon as we rejoined the herd, a relative black energy/vibe returned. As soon as we crossed the road! I won't elaborate on more of the drama inside Winter Quarters this Easter Night, but it provided something that, using the first part of the day, could have been a case study in extremes. It got to the point where Trish and I discussed, and even tentatively decided, to leave here tomorrow and "just go." She says she wants to today. She says she wants to go with me when I/we begin my/our trip. But, of course she'd like to work it out so we stay on for a few months to get cash together.

We'd both like Jimmy to be with us if he chooses to, and if today was an anomaly (the drinking). If not, I don't think we will be doing anything together after New Orleans is done. He's a wonderful guy, yet one who's battling something within. He has much to offer, yet also has that self-destructive air about him when he drinks. If both he and Tricia could keep handles on that, I'd be fine and would love for us to keep it together.

The view from here regarding the "backpack trip" is a bit different. I could see the three of us doing it, but believe Jimmy will carry on his way. And Tricia may remain here, or just go home to be near her son in Arkansas. I don't really know. I just feel that I've met some wonderful people in the five short days I've been gone. I feel like I'm on the right course and can see some possibilities. It'll be interesting to see what else develops. So far, this trip's been exactly what I need, and I still find it remarkable that I'm in New Orleans. New Mexico feels remote and far away today. We'll see how it all goes; off to Baton Rouge in the morning.