As I sit at the round, wood veneered table inside of Room #2037 on this beautiful Wednesday

evening within the Sahara Hotel and Casino in the heart of Vegas, I regain control of how I somehow

aligned myself underneath these hopeful stars of a once triumphed dream. Looking around at the

scattered clothing and loose items dispersed through the room, chaos is evident … but accepted typically,

especially by me.

My trip began on Saturday, June 4th, 2005 … somewhere in a distant thought. A blond

siren brought me to Midway airport in the early morning to battle the congestion of travel. Tracie has

always been willing to sacrifice the heights of heaven in order to assist alternate human … or animal …

species. We smoked two joints on the way to the airport, and approached my terminal without despair.

On time, bags checked, priorities already melting away into the soft layers of the earth. I fondly remember

my mother picking me up at the Tampa, Fl. airport. We lug my bags out to her luxurious mini van, and

begin our journey towards her home. She turns to me, and says … “Jeremy … do you mind if I ask you a

personal question?” “Well … certainly not mother … shoot … not me … but the question that you have

for me.” “Is that reefer I smell on you?” There were several things bombarding my mind at this point.

She is a family therapist; whom witnesses drug abuse in the most fowl way from time to time. She is indeed

extremely open minded … has been ever since I was a male maid during the Nixon administration. And that

my friend, was nearly a lifetime ago. What’s strange is how long the fragrance lasted. Did I walk through

the airports with a haze of grass around me? How many people knew that I was smoking? I guess it doesn’t

really matter.

The point is … my mother has the nose sensibility of a goddamn hound dog. An hour and a

half mini van ride to her home in Crystal River, Fl. would open a book regarding grass, and other drugs of

this particular century. She herself has attempted the benefits of grass … however, luck be told, it hurt her

throat … leading to the crumbeling of her attempts. I have heard that the highest that you can get is actually

without drugs, which I believe.

I also believe in the manipulation of the senses to understand yourself in all

of its entirity. The conversation with my mom went well in regards to drug usage, I think at least. Over the

course of the next three days, the devil didn’t shine its blood on the eyes of the watched. I exhibited my

natural state of being … so she wouldn’t worry about the addictions of an otherwise chemically induced life.

This worried me practically none. I made myself enjoy sobriety. A test of the will; and all drug users could

relate to that. I knew that soon enough I would have any kind of impurity within my grasp. I will leave

for Vegas on Tuesday. Arriving later than the large grouping of my friends, that are, without question,

already there. I can wait for booze … I can wait for drugs. Relax … enjoy this personal time with my

mother. Benefit from her insight.

I, typically speaking of course, smoke grass all day, everyday … this is the reality in which I thrive.

Those few “days off” from practically all chemical sedation were breaths not taken in years. It’s baffeling to

watch the patterns of ones life develop. Taking a break from writing this I glance through my notebook. I

notice a previously played game, or games as it would be, of hang man. The selections are quite symbolic

of the nature within the beast. Five games were played, and the answers to the questions are as follows:

Dirty whores, eleven hookers, forty dollar suck n’ fuck, pissed off pimp at the door, and smoking 22

assorted kinds of grass. Where am I going, and what have I done? The core of evil is in us all, and the

perception will alter the dream.

My flight leaves early in the morning; to early for the mask of awakeness to be worn. So I stay up

all night, and contemplate my learnings. I sat up in my mothers living room thinking of advancements in

human evolution, in relation to the fact that avacados are a fruit … of course. This took a lot of deep

thinking. After all; shit, avacados just don’t seem like a fruit. When I think of fruit, I see strawberries,

blueberries, yada yada yee… you understand what I see? Well, okay; so I thought about the progression

within my mothers life, as well as mine.

Streams she’s swam, bridges not built … love that is always there.

She really is a sensational person, with a heart large enough to block the sun out from at least four galaxies.

We left to head to the airport at 3:00a.m. The newly found tollroad is desolate and quiet … dark as a lost

shadow. An asphalt travelway to lands all around. There are two places on this 80 mile stretch, only two,

where the road is elevated slightly; as to allow the “natural” state of wildlife to coincide with humanity.

Able to travel freely; ya know, since they have two little passings in a fucking 80 mile stretch. This is pretty

much complete bullshit.

I can picture what these bastards were saying to each other in a teak wooded office

with golden drapes. “Lets announce how we are doing this for the wildlife … to allow them to still live

uninhibited. We’ll put it in the paper, stating it’s because of our general morality towards animals. We’re

just trying to save the wildlife, one animal at a time.” I really don’t think that they all care though. All I

know is people are getting rich off this beautifully ugly road. The sad fate of greed in the world; the

american nightmare. But we travel just the same; hypocritical perhaps, but just the same. Effortlessly

creeping through the darkness towards Tampa airport.

Sitting in an airport with an unfamiliar amount of time to kill gives you plenty of space to think.

An older lady, seemingly distressed at our government, was aimlessly babbling at me in regards to the

corrupt behavior of this fowl world. “They’re all after us … and death is near!” Death is always near you

crazy hag … but so is life. Living in the bewilderment of bastards will progress us none. And maybe they

are corrupt; what are you going to do about it? You might as well forget about “em, and find your own

dream. Something a little more positive towards yourself and your surroundings. What the hell can you

do about social distortion of moral values.

Greed is upon the world as a whole. It’s not everywhere; and

sometimes not seen much of at all. It can also be evident in everyone you see. It’s the american way …

consume what we can; shit, take some for the road. Two overpriced Starbuck coffee’s later finally led me

to the fate of my travel. And the sad irony of my benefiting purchase just moments prior.

I will be flying

from Tampa to New Orleans, have a slight layover, and be on my way to Vegas. The initial flight was only

50 minutes. This metal bird was like a turbo jet … 12 engines powering us through the depths of the sky.

Super jets … potent to the brim of their mechanical existance. Unfamiliar grounds are upon me, which I

crave and love. Searching for a place of sanctuary, within the New Orleans airport, I was drawn to a bar.

Only a few Heinekens, and multiple cigarettes left me feeling suprisingly buzzed. That first sight of the

devil can turn against the grain of time, stalling onward movement towards your final destination. I find

my terminal as they are already boarding. There’s no stopping the train … the ticket has been bought.

Rum and Cokes are the answer to the question as the 3 hr. and 50 min. flight brings me to the Vegas airport.

As I walk from the plane to the baggage claim I notice an already bronzed beauty … who is here to

meet me. Collecting my belongings at the claim of baggage with Tracie went quickly and effortlessly. We

took the shuttle from the airport to the Sahara for a mere four dollars … U.S. currency. Intrigues and

delight I wish to pursue will be my inevitable fate here in the lovely city of Las Vegas. The sun beats

through the tinted windows as if to say … “Welcome … you dirty bastard … it’s hot … there’s excitement all

around … and you need to get out of this fucking bus now … and enjoy this tantalizing town. It won’t take

long now til we’re smack dab in the middle of chaos. The shuttle bus abrubtly pivots into the Sahara

parking lot; nobody has got a second to spare around here. As we whipped into the lot, I realized what

was in my future.

The coming of the Merman is soon. I can feel his oily skin rub against my subconcious. I fear

his beauty. I love his beauty. The Merman was once known by the mortal name of Neal. A master of

his own domain. Capable of swimming for hours on end … and on the end of that end. To see him swim

is a goddamn miracle. Not so much to swim, but to hover in the dark abyss of water once befriended by

a multitude of astranged faces. Born in the Northern corner of the Black Sea, Neal quickly learned to

breathe under water. Hell, he had to. Adapt to the lands in which we know. For that, he grew gills, along

with the contemporary set of human lungs.

This is where his power grew. Able to swim under water for

hours on end allowed him to sneak up on unexpecting travelers, and steal them blind. Take everything

they ever dreamed of having. Jewels, Gems, Moneys of vast assortment, furs, dirty diapers, yo-yo’s; ya

know, pretty much anything you could ever want. Everything he ever wanted, that much was for sure.

Taking the money into the States allowed him to function in society as we know it. Able to sell off most

of the rare jewels, and assorted gems, Neal was an instant gizzillionaire of unknown stature. These are

the frightening facts that I know. To think; this man of the sea is going to be in the lobby, awaiting my

arrival.

Tracie and I will be sharing a room. A love haven to be. We have both been living in hesitance

towards each other for some time; due to a ruffled past. A few years prior … in a lifetime remembered we

were inseperable. Despair hit … as it will quite often … and lives parted to seperate dimensions. We had

a sensationally vocal initial ending. Fuck you … fuck this … I hope ya drink my fuckin’ piss! The

behavioral patterns of an underdeveloped child. A flaw of human nature. Calibration of ones energy not

even close to registering positive for god sake. Evidently the human mind is capable of layers within

layers, without layers within other layers. That’s a whole hell of a lot of layers. People are capable at

any given moment to collapse during emotional congestion. No longer able to think, one becomes

separated from positive emotional responses. Turning abruptly away from the truth of your own heart.

Through skies of brilliance and skies torn apart, we have been getting reacquainted as friends. Friends

for now; but I already know that I’m just avoiding my own willingness to give. Our rooms got a beautifully

descriptive mountain line … awakening the sun from behind its edges, every morning for us to see. Comfort

approaches me; this room will do just fine.

$200 and 20 minutes can disappear like an angel of god. Especially on the Wheel of Fortune

machine; which magnetically draws me to its essence, only to steal my imaginary fortune … and my

pride. Slot machines are not manufactured for people of my sort … my sort of luck with them anyways.

I enjoy losing money; but I just don’t have tons of it. The sad irony of the 75 year old woman with one

of those self induced oversize purple or red hats, and a purse fabricated from diamonds and gold,

hitting a small fortune on an obscure slot machine; while the rest of us animals are losing our footing

quickly. Mountains and valleys are true of Vegas in many ways.

You pay for entertainment … and

entertainment, I suppose, can be outlandishly expensive. Stealing from Vegas would be very tempting.

Difficult to do … don’t know if I could get away with it. I don’t seem to plan much; kind of shoot from

the hip. Which may be my downfall in robbery attempts within the city of sin. And say you did; and

say you got busted. Those bastards would drag you into a basement room, below the vault … deep

into the earth. To peel the skin off of your hands with a rusty straight razor blade, just to get a laugh.

Sick bastards surround us all.

Probably torture you for days on end, until it lost its thrill. Then drag

your broken body out to the hot sand lands to be nibbled on starving lizards … just looking for a few

scrap morsels of food. There’s nothing we could do. Even if found … death would surely be near. Skin

torn, hope lost, memories fading, lizards nibbling, shadows of hell approaching the boundaries of the sky.

So I decided long ago to avoid theft in this city. Shit, I don’t want to end up savagely torn to shreds from

an assortment of negative influences. It’s Vegas … you gotta figure on going broke. In the destruction of

one perspective is the bridging of a stronger one. Off to the pool I go.

The pool is fully embraced with bronzing sun. The delicious taste of poolside drinks are definitely

in my sights. Mau Ties … pinneappily booze delight … seas of cherries so lush it would make one blush. I

drank Mau Ties, and more than just a few. The drinks were good, but certainly not the highlight of this

concrete paradise. The merman loves the water; and I sense his presence near. Neal has a somewhat

reddish glow about his body today. Seven consecutive hours in the water yesterday has brought the

king of the tides to the soothing comfort of the shore. The intense heat can bring even a mountain to a

crumbling existence. The prolonged sun makes your skin feel tighter than if it had been drawn in closer

with a goddamn ratchet set. Headaches too … as if your mind has suddenly split. Trudge onward though,

through the ruffled waters.

This was my first visit to the pool, and I plan on soaking up some of this devil

heat. All sea creatures, real and imaginary, visit the realm in which the merman resides. He’s a monster of

pure integrity, devouring the consciousness of everyone that he encounters. The magic he holds, while

hovering in the waters, is incomparable to anything imaginable. For this, I must stay close. Keep the

waters within my sight at all times. The pool will be a tangent of sanctuary. Even the overpriced drinks

cannot bother you here. After all, it’s poolside in Vegas. Shit, what do you want. I’d rather pay five times

as much as accustomed to, and be poolside; than to pay less and sit on my couch. And after a few of these

delicious beauties, the price factor vanished in thin air. While it’s in my pocket, I’m covered. Financial

stability has never been my strong point … not even a dull one.

Money in this town can either spread thick, or spread thin. Everything is either really expensive,

or a good fuckin’ deal. Like a simple grilled cheese sandwich. At one place, on the beautifully written

menu outside the establishment (to show us how classy they are), a grilled cheese is $14. Seems a little

excessive; especially because around the corner the same sandwich is $1.25. The mark up is astounding

in this town.

Bob Nevada, a Sahara dealer, bought his house several years ago for $120,000. He just got

it appraised, due to his in ground pool addition, for $400,000. Real estate in Vegas is a bottomless pit of

financial growth when pursued aggressively. I don’t know if I could survive out here in the sand ridden

floor on which the devil will dance. Dance he will … right into your pocket book. I was entertained though.

This is the adult toy store, in many forms; but you must pay … and pay often. Searching the streets, you

can find many intrigues, for little money, to keep yourself occupied. Pictures don’t cost much. Freezing

a moment of time to instill a constant memory. Encapsulating what is symbolic here. Casinos built on

dreams of power, by people I would never understand.

Overloaded with lights, distractions, flim flams,

and yanker willies. All of which can be very destructive. The bells and whistles of this town call to you:

“come over here and have such an incredible time that your goddamn heart bursts right inside of your

chest … leaving only your soul to admire the fantastic sights.” So what can you do? It’s risky business

to open yourself up to the possibility of your heart exploding; but you certainly would want to admire

the sights. So much to see, and so much to do … that you seemingly stand still … just spinning in place.

I like to travel in a format of nonsense. Meaning you have no designated tour. No designated roads to

follow, like a herd of sheep blinded from the pasture. Wander aimlessly. Walk by a street, and think …

golly geez … this goddamn road looks nice, and I think I’ll walk down it.

This will introduce the possibility

of “getting lost.” Do not worry though; do not hesitate. Who gives a shit anyways, which way we’re

going. This is how you sometimes find hidden little treasures within this sometimes fowl world. Be

aggressive and unmerciful. Be sedated and compassionate. No plans are necessary. Memories will

develop either way. The point is to feel out each individual day, and adjust accordingly. Leisurely

travel at its finest.

There was over a double digited amount of people that came in our “group” of friends. I could

foresee problems from the start. You can never organize the entirety of a particular day to correspond with

what each individual wants. Different things are wanted, and needed; which makes planned group

events very ironic to me. I indeed can enjoy herding around with a group of people. Why not? There is

just little progress gained. After time it begins to strain on ones imagination. Planning within the city of

chaos is unreasonable. I think planning an entire day in advance can be very restrictive. What if you

change your mind? What if you walk by Circus Circus and feel like going inside for several hours? You

have these important plans of walking the strip until 11:00 a.m., eating lunch at Margaritaville at 11:30, take

pictures from 1:00 until 2:00 of the Bellagio fountain … yada yada … constricting to the soul.

This kind of

controlled behavior is bullshit. Freelancing wherever you want to go is worth a gazillion dollars in pure

gold. About halfway through the trip the goddamn earth split, and split hard. An elderly man hit huge

at the Flamingo. Five million dollars … and some odd cents later, the place erupted. A whirlwind of magic

swept through the streets of Vegas. An energy so overwhelming as to pull the lost souls out of the

center of the earth. Deep ridges opened irradically, and ghosts escaped. This is great for them, sure; to

finally be freed. Allowing to travel to their intended destination; but shitty for a large group of people to

encounter. Walking along … sipping on a cocktail … mind slightly fogged over … and the goddamn earth

splits wide open. Demons and angels, and ghosts of souls we never knew come flying and hovering all

around. Watching us, studying us … what do you want? Jesus, these energies are savage and ruthless;

cold to the bone in every imaginable way.

Myself and Tracie ventured off, one delightful afternoon, into loop holes within loop holes …

within the thick air of Vegas. We really didn’t go outside the strip; but there’s just so much to see

that you become engulfed in the cracks. The Bellagios replicated labyrinth of itself can leave one

bewildered and speechless for moments on end. The place is phenomenal. Consisting of sharp dressers

with expensively horrible sunglasses … name brand of course. I can only imagine how deep their needed

connection of power will stretch … until it snaps. You become temporarily lost in the beauty that money

is able to buy. The American dream. The American nightmare.

It’s fun to be a consumer. At what price

is happiness bought? So much happiness lies in nothing tangible; while sometimes so much misery lies

in the most extravagant products of the 21st century. Either way, the sun will still shine … and the dog

will still run. The day will continue to progress. Our walk led us through many conscious and

subconscious channels of the past and the present. Awkward thoughts sometimes; confusing to feel

this kind of strength in our reuniting. The wind cries sweet sorrows into our eyes. I had somehow

managed to construed a bridge within my mind; that hadn’t existed in several lifetimes. Freedom within

myself tasted oh so good … drinking’ it down smooth and effortlessly.

I suppose I had been afraid to give

that much of myself; betrayal lives in many forms within the world we see. Tearing down abandoned

buildings requires a permit; and building a new one can take some time. I was happy, and my walls

were coming down; and I liked it. This 115 lb. siren had drawn me magnetically to her. I was at the

mercy of the gods. No hope for the wicked. I can tell already I will socomb to what I inevitably want.

The trip was going well … but where was it leading to? A goddamn “78 Lincoln shuffling down

the road while the monsters of the darkness creep into the rear view mirror. Chasing you down the road;

anxiety strikes … the torpedo of movement hesitates, chugs slightly … then powers from within force the

great engine to lustfully chug through the pavement. Faces everywhere are abnormally twisted from their

own self righteous behavior. Wondering just when and where their big score will come. Looking for an

answer to the search. Searching for a hope somewhere under the layers of the vibrant Vegas drapery of

lights and excitement. Funny how the central illusion of this magical city has a grip on society”s faith;

seemingly playing and taunting us from the dream we want to live. When all along; sanctuary is in our

hearts, and in our soul. We all know of this truth; but it’s difficult to follow in full.

I am personally effected

by the interpretation of others; sure, it shouldn’t matter … but it does. Only once we find that highest level

of conscious existence, away from the initial reactional emotional behavior, can we truly understand our own

mind. Our emotions are a part of our conscious life. Things we obviously react to. Placing yourself outside

of this realm allows you to relate to the reasons in which your emotions would react. Unfortunately, at least

for me, weirdness can come quick. Imagination can run … and run wildly down the tormented streets of a

dark, obscure alley. Realization can sometimes come fast; helping me to explain my feelings. A rush of

chaotic nonsense can sometimes overload my mind; leaving me feeling tired … and inexpressive. Take

this venom with a thought in mind though. Poison can be poisonous; and poison can be life altering;

but poison will make you see the truth. Whose truth are we even talking about? I don’t fuckin’ know. All

I know is this. I see way to many people reacting to things because of reasons they don’t even understand.

Built aggression from years of regression; exploding up through violent sky and penetrating nothing at all.

When I hear of a “stupid little fight about nothing” I practically grimace.

It seems absurd to think someone

would actually get angry at their partner for not setting the pepper back on the counter after one fine

evening dinner. Escalating vocals at the fact that he’s “so messy, and doesn’t even care.” I’m thinking

that this is complete bullshit. This bitch can’t even be honest with herself. Maybe it’s not her fault. Maybe

she doesn’t see. Conformed state of dillusionary growth is the American life. Maybe she doesn’t realize

that she doesn’t get the necessary attention from him. Maybe doesn’t feel appreciated or loved. Little

things that she tries to forget; but they inevitably build … and build and build some more. Mad because

that person drinks all the time; having fun … she’s not having fun. Where do they meet? You have to

find a middle ground in which to relate. If that’s not there; stop kindling yourself. Fuck it … move on.

Sure

the possibility of loneliness is strong. You have to fully understand your own potential of givingness

before you can share completely with somebody else. And I’m not saying I’m any of these fucking things.

I’ve been thrown into the circus just like anyone else. I know that I don’t know shit; but I also except the

fact that … yeah, I do know a little though. Just a little pinch of something; something you can almost

taste. Something you can almost smell. Something just on the outskirts of your mind. Something so

very close; but tangents … and quickly fades to less than a memory of an illusion you just can’t see.

Where was I? Regroup, relocate; and away we go. Tracie and I walked for about twelve hours

straight that particular day. The fact that the flesh from our feet was now dangling from the exposed bone

of our foot was certainly a horrid thought. We struggled with true integrity towards the phenomenal

Sahara Hotel and Casino. Difficult to walk straight; we dazzlingly galloped across the night covered

street. We were both near the fatal point of physical exhaustion. Going strictly on adrenaline, which

was more difficult for her; which really shows her heart, we clawed our way down the hallway and into

the “accessory” elevator. This is the “secret” elevator; where there is never a wait. We wanted up to

the room quickly and efficiently … no bullshit on the way. Just give me a quick shower … smoke a

cigarette; then fine … we’ll go get some food. This stragegy proved flawless, since Tracie desired

the same. The food would come; and delicious it would be. Sleep came soon after; in the cave like

darkness of Room #2037, where it’s proven that one is able to sleep like a goddamn angel baby …

straight from the pure goodness of heaven.

I certainly find it true that for myself, I must sometimes drift from the herd. Venture off by

myself for a few hours; see what kind of chaos I could find. I’m an observer, and that’s what I like

to do. Walk around obscure areas, searching for true existence. The flaws within humanity are what

make us America. I hope on seeing some weird stuff; shit, what do these people think the American

dream is. They gotta have some good stories. So I walked out the door of the Sahara and started

down the road; heading away from the strip.

The strip is where the action is. We were located at

the end of the strip. Behind us would lie a mystery, until explored at least. So this is the way I

went. Funny it seemed; isolated and desolate. Parking lots abandoned, with used appliances

scattered throughout the dust flurried parking spots. No lines anymore. OSB board covering the

windows. Whores of the dirtiest context. True grit; the American downfall.

This is exactly what

I wanted to see. The Walgreens I went into had two armed guards at the doorway. Interesting

I thought, as I drunkingly stumble past them. I had to take a leak so fucking bad at this point,

that the sense of nervousness didn’t cross me. Sanctuary within the simplest things. I walk out

refreshed, and ready to explore this broken area. Quaint little book stores mixed in with shitty bars

next door were sporadically spaced down the street line. A lot of pink neon sign age was going on.

This wasn’t like the Red Light District or anything, but you could probably find some abandoned

soul willing to sell herself, or himself, for a minuscule amount of U.S. currency. Horrible dreams they

must have. Nightmares of failure; within people they know and within themselves. Everyone has a

breakdown of failure from time to time; but to completely relinquish your own positive progression

is a completely different world.

That is real, and is around us all the time. Dreams no longer exist

for some. A dillusionary state of an artificial life takes control over their own nightmare. The ironic

part of this visual notification was the fact that I only had one remaining picture in my technologically

advanced instant camera … flash available. This is the shit I love to see; and I only have one picture

left. What to take it of? I stood in a about a 4′ wide concrete corridor, along side of shitty motel lined

with weeds and dust. The shot was chewing its way through the thick air and leading into a parking

lot across the narrow dust covered street. The lot was perfectly symbolic of the location. Beaten from

the sun; and abandoned from the lights.

Now scattered goods and rusty bicycles lay weakly on the

cracked ground. The building along side of the lot is covered with art. Angry art that most people

frown at … but an expression just the same. Talented people get lost in the depths of this hell. A

woman in her late 40’s stands outside the concrete entrance way of the building. Apparently looking

for a lost love of sorts; or maybe a sort of lost love in herself. Maybe blinded … seeing nothing at all

anymore. Walking again down the empty street, I approached a man sitting on a curb. Daniel was his

name, and probably still is. It amazed me on the sensitivity and care in his voice. A Vietnam vet who

now lives homeless on the outskirts of the main pulse.

He has served his country, and what does he

get? Abandoned on the lost streets while begging for change? This patron deserves more. The most

I can offer him, financially speaking, is about $5.00 in mostly change. The trip is nearing the end. Not

the end yet though; I’ll have to sparingly utilize the last of my paper money. Like monopoly money out

here; shit, who cares. The land of chaos is an investment. At least in your own financial deterioration.

As I approach the Sahara again, my friends are awaiting. Apparently it’s about time to get the

hell out of dodge, and head back to our own homeland. Perfect timing; hell, it’s fuckin’ fate as

we once had dreamnt of it. Reality was striking, and with much vigor. I fondly, as weird as it is, remember

walking through the Midway airport. Head pounding, thirsty as hell; practically ready to eat off my own

leg if I don’t get a smoke soon. Still arm in arm though, Tracie and I were. Stopping to buy a couple waters

at the overpriced vendor; and slamming them down without hesitation. The van would be coming for us

soon. Back to Valparaiso, In.; where the sun does set … and rise as well. Did I find what I was looking for?

What exactly am I looking for? Really nothing, but everything too. The ride was awkward home. The time

had come for communication.

I could hardly even keep my mind still. So much to talk about; but not here,

not now. I must wait. It wasn’t appropriate with all our friends surrounding us. Patience is truly a virtue.

Tracie became van-sick; and by the time we got back to my apartment she was nearing physical exhaustion.

I must wait longer. This conversation will happen. I waited on the couch to wee hours of the night; and

eventually fell asleep. I awoke in a semi dillusionary state, confused and bewildered. I regrouped quickly,

as Tracie had walked into the living room … and was now hovering near.

I suppose it’s true. Sometimes

the unanswered questions that we seek hover around us at the most necessary time. A general concern

of the world is to give in to the anger that overpowers the beast; leaving us at its mercy. To have mercy

for the beast within us all will eliminate that same kind of general concern towards the world. A new ticket

can be bought; and shit, it could be golden. A ticket that says right on the stub; ya know what, this is a

great world. Through ups and downs you can still end up engulfing yourself in the love that surrounds

us all; hovering within our sights sometimes without being seen.