Typing on the road!
This marks my first use of the palmpilot keyboard in a moving car.
Recounting the day:
I am in a gigantic warehouse. Skot and Zog and a few friends I do not know are there. A huge mound of snow is piled up against one corner of the room. As I watch, a few people start skiing down it.
I climb up the mountain to see out the window of the warehouse. A cityscape extends in a low panorama, rendered entirely in pastel yellow and purple, by the fire of the sunset. Still lakes reflect a crystalline blue sky.
I realize that the skiers had climbed over the roof of the warehouse to get to the top of the mountain, coming in through a window. Why didn't they just climb up the mountain, like I did?
I am at my Scotts Valley house. On the television, behind sandblasts of jerky interference, Skot is nearly in tears as he describes his case to the defense attorney. He has been charged with some outrageous crime. He is overcome with emotion as he describes the torment that this trial is putting him through, and his innocence despite the strong circumstantial evidence that the prosecution has presented. He wipes a tear from his stricken face as the camera moves up for an intrusive zoom.
He arrives at my house and asks to go for a drive with me. We cruise downtown. Skot is still depressed by the outcome of the trial. I switch on the radio just in time to hear the verdict announced: Guilty. Skot is not bothered by the sentence, which is a mere three months in some kind of rehabilitation. There is no mention of a permanent record. Skot is about to tell me something interesting from the trial, when I find myself in a forest. A group of people are trying to move into a tree-house, but the resident girl will not allow them. She is some kind of feral forest dweller, half ghost.
As we stand on the patio of a restaurant at the base of the resort buildings discussing her, she appears from the trees. Leaping through the air, or possibly flying, she aims straight at me and takes me down to the ground in a tackle.
I was brought in to this conflict because I have a history in dealing with haunted places - either by making peace with the spirits there through understanding, or by consuming them and conquering them so the place is no longer haunted, and I take the spirit with me, contained inside. The people standing around me know that I am able to deal with this infestation, so they simply watch me, confident that I am in control.
The girl rises and floats in front of me. I stand up. I lean back to get away from her and she reaches out and grabs my hands.
I feel the edge of a stovetop poking me in the back. The burners are like the ones on the old electric stove in my house. She takes my hands and shoves them under her shirt. I raise them and her shirt pulls up, and her breasts are in my face.
I grasp both, and suck on one. The ghost girl closes her eyes and breathes deeply. She is placated by this action, but whenever I stop sucking on her, she gets nervous as if sexual foreplay is the only thing that will contain her spirit. I do not know what to do with her, but in the mean time I enjoy her breasts, which change shape several times and become pointy and uneven.
- - -
I wake up with a dehydrated mouth. Ken says we should get up and plunder the continental breakfast, but I say that it's too early for me, and that I'm going to grab another hour of shuteye. Ken thinks about this, and decides to do the same.
I am dancing alone in a discoteque. I am clutching a stuffed animal to me. Tara, a girl from my high-school, is judging the dancers. The winner will marry her. I close my eyes and dance to the music. A round ends, and she walks onto the dance floor to tell the people who can stay and who is disqualified. She slaps me on the back, which is a signal that I can stay. I am unsurprised by this, since I know in the back of my mind that I am destined to win anyway, and that Tara knows it. This is all some kind of formality to indulge the relatives or something.
I continue to dance, paying attention to my footwork. Ken pokes me in the foot, waking me up, and says it's time to go.
- - -
We pack and move down to the front desk. We file a complaint about the pool, and get a fifteen dollar refund.
We hit the road eating pizza along the way. I drive the car at around 100mph until a Navajo Nation cop pulls us over and gives me a ticket. Oh well, end of the fast driving. I continue onward at a slightly more subdued 83mph, feeling ambivalent about my breaking the law. No one was hurt and I enjoyed it. Driving a car for 15 hours at 100mph was almost worth it, especially since the rest of this adventure is costing so little.
We pass through the painted desert, and Ken takes a nap while I play FSOL. We stop in Albuquerque for lunch at a really shitty diner. The chef's salad is nothing but iceberg lettuce and lunchmeat. Ken and I have another discussion about religion that gets pretty involved. He feels I am being too harsh about Catholicism and Christianity. He's probably right.
We continue, singing along to Weird Al, and cruising by endless streams of tacky roadside crap.
Soon it gets dark and I can no longer type on my little keyboard. We're cruising for Amarillo right now. Hope we make it before too long, still got a lot of driving ahead.