2002-01-30 - 10:26 PM
The West
"I figured, I'd go down to the Holland Tunnel and bum a ride, and then I'd bum another one, and another one, and in a few days I'd be somewhere out West." - Holden Caulfield, quote from "The Catcher In The Rye" by J.D. Salinger
"I used to be the main express / All steam and whistles heading West / Picking up my pain from door to door / Riding on the storyline / Furnace burning overtime / But this train don't stop, / This train don't stop, / This train don't stop there anymore." - "This Train Don't Stop There Anymore", Elton John
"Dreams of the West have always dominated our national consciousness. With its wider hospitality to the values of rugged individuality, self-reliance, and boundless freedom, the West has a deep, mythic appeal." - Sanford Pinsker
"For West is where we all plan to go some day. It is where you go when the land gives out and the old field-pines encroach. It is where you go when you get the letter saying: Flee, all is discovered. It is where you go when you look down at the blade in your hand and see the blood on it. It is where you go when you are told that you are a bubble on the tide of the empire. It is where you go when you hear that thar's gold in them-thar hills. It is where you go to grow up with the country. It is where you go to spend your old age. Or it is just where you go." - excerpt from "All the King's Men", Robert Penn Warren
Ever since I can recall, I've dreamed of cross-country travel - East to West, burning up the miles with some time and wishes. Vibrant images of what lay ahead in the Western wind, land soaked in sunset mandarins and fuchsias, garnished with rolling hills and steadfast mountains, singed my mind with the passionate fire to just flee - flee what I know, to dive into the unknown. It's a little boy's "childish" want to escape the troubles, the pains, the people that somehow get under your ass, that tries to push through my chest whenever I drive a little laid-back on a nearby desolate highway. The lines that lazily roll by, end up signifying each problem I'm leaving behind - just dashing behind me, one after another, as I begin to wave mental good-byes to them in the rear-view.
Pay me some time, and I'll miss them a bit. But really, not that much.
But honest to God, I'd love it. Leave my world behind; let it fade away with the paleness of my skin. Let the nervous beads of sweat and stress, fall and disappear in the passing breeze. It's the West I want, the West I need. I need to visit these visions of grandeur I've painted in my head, of driving through state after state, on an endless road, that really does go round and round. Passions for pastures, desires for desert, my yearning for Yesterday-worlds - yeah, I really need to head West. I need a spiritual awakening while I'm at it. I guess I have a little chunk of Kerouac in me, gotta get "On The Road", be a bit of a Dean Moriarty - "the great amorous soul". I need to tap into these worlds inside of me - so perhaps I can take life better, mean more, love better, then write it all out, soul on sheet, use the pages to wipe away the tears of our generation. We all have the itch inside of us. We all want to leave. We're sick to death of all the hell and horseshit. We want to find the heaven that we somehow know is out there. Yet I know, that our heavens are within us, but more often than not, we need something larger than life to guide us to our destination. We find that "something" in the Westward way, far from the hell and horseshit.
I'll even settle for a train-hitch out there, "all steam and whistles heading West". For I believe in miracles; I believe in my dream, able to bring me redemption, able to bring me peace. And peace - such a foreign thought. And we're all dying slowly.
We all need to be rescued.
We all need to be rescued from pain, troubles, worries. From the silences when you really should say something, but don't know what. From the heartaches and love anguish. From the third of life we spend on boredom and essentials, the third of life we spend on sleep (of which five-eighths of that sleep, we don't remember our dreams). From the tears that bond, the tears that wreck. From our "I don't know"s and "I'm not so sure"s. From our "Why"s and "Why should I"s, our "What the hell"s and "What should I do"s. From our being answerless, and our creeping "emptiness". From overanalyzing and thinking too much. From rush-hour traffic, late fees, and term bills. From routine and convention. From all the hell and horseshit. From dying slowly.
We all need to be rescued, really.
So the West is looking pretty good right now. My dream and desire - it's really looking good. I need to take this trip, grow up on the road. To be rescued of everything, and just flee, for all is discovered. Let me wave my mental good-byes. Good-bye to my problems and worries, my wounds that dig into my sides - good-bye, passing lines. Good-bye hell and horseshit. Good-bye to all my failing ailments - those nervous beads of sweat and stress. Good-bye to it all, and all those things I need to be rescued from.
...
I swear, just pay me some time, and I'll miss them a bit. But really, not that much.
