Predictable.

This car has the potential to flood with tears while we're driving across the country. We both left a place where we felt surrounded by people who care about us, love us, to come to a place where neither of us feel connected. Neither of us thinks that there's anyone here we want to get to know. We don't feel like these are our people. We're both pining for Bloomington.

I found myself in The Brass Rail, surrounded by strangers that regarded me disdainfully. A sea of black. Negative black. I came in toward the end of Riverbottom Nightmare Band's set. Shane was there with his overly-possessive girlfriend, so I maintained a distance because I felt that she'd be the type to beat me up or start nasty rumors about me amongst these strangers. Then The Lurking Corpses went on and I suddenly felt like I was watching apart of my own script unfold, just as I had predicted these moments therein. I typically predict well. That is my superpower. I let my head bob to the metal, not caring what the strangers around me thought, though I was acutely aware that these strangers had begun to realize that I must be apart of the old school to some extent, as I knew the material. Kendy was there but drunk and filming, and I didn't want to appear clingy as she fluttered from group to group, socializing. There was a woman there she'd been talking to who was looking for a female drummer, because she plans on reuniting The Beautys, this time as an all-girl band. I had mentioned to this woman that I also wanted to form an all-girl band, and she said nothing. In fact, she looked pissed, competitive. She was also socializing off and on with Shane's girlfriend, so I quickly decided that she was probably not a social option for me. So, I sat in one of the faux-leather booths and watched the crowd pulse. I felt like I was in high school again, sitting outside of the Harrison House for hours in between sets and speaking to no one. I had no one to talk to in those days until Joanna decided to approach me and then introduce me to others. I was never very good at introductions.

My emotions were already in a sorry state before this move. Before graduation hit. Before I even started saying goodbye. There are layers to this sadness, and Fort Wayne does not help. I'm not sure what will help right now. Hopefully the temporary escape to the West will.

A rough plan is in place.

Fort Wayne to Madison.
Madison to the Badlands.
Badlands to Mt. Rushmore.
Mt. Rushmore to Yellowstone.
Yellowstone to Seattle.
Seattle to Mt. St. Helen's.
Mt. St. Helen's to Portland.
Portland to Eugene (couch/floor).
Eugene to Redwoods.
Redwoods to San Francisco (couch/floor).
San Francisco to Yosemite.
Yosemite to Sequoias.
Sequoias to Death Valley.
Death Valley to Las Vegas.
Las Vegas to Zion.
Zion to Los Angeles (couch/floor).
Los Angeles to San Diego.
San Diego to Tijuana.
Tijuana to Mesa/Tempe. (couch/floor).
Mesa/Tempe to Grand Canyon.
Grand Canyon to Roswell.
Roswell to San Antonio.
San Antonio to Austin.
Austin to Houston (couch/floor).
Houston to New Orleans.

New Orleans is a turning point. We can either go to Mammoth Cave or the Everglades in Florida, depending on how we feel at that point. We're leaning towards Mammoth Cave.

New Orleans to Mammoth Cave.

Mammoth Cave is also a turning point. We could go home or to Bar Harbor, Maine/Nova Scotia. I'm leaning towards Nova Scotia but Deanna is leaning towards home. Mostly, I'm thinking it'd be neat if we could say that we were in both Tijuana and Nova Scotia two weeks apart because they are two complete opposite corners of the continental US. We will have been on the road for a month at that point, so we may both feel like just going home when the time comes. All the same, if some kind of miracle occurs...

Mammoth Cave to Brattleboro/Burlington, VT (bed/floor).
Brattleboro/Burlington to Nova Scotia.
Nova Scotia to Niagara Falls.
Niagara Falls to Fort Wayne (home).

Potentially 32 days at asphalt.
About $1,000 in gasoline.
A food budget of about $200 each.

Home and then.

I'm excited about this place because it seems like it will be the endless stream of possibility. I am currently at a social disadvantage, but that will improve in time. Fort Wayne is not about happiness, Fort Wayne is about rebuilding a personal empire. It's like a giant cocoon, and I should, in theory, emerge free and prepared for something entirely new within a year. That is the plan. I swear. I will say, though, that boredom leads me to doing strange and unexpected things.

We will begin our roadtrip plans this week. We should leave Tuesday or Wednesday, hitting the road with full force. There are definite couches and floors to sleep on in Eugene, L.A., San Francisco, Arizona, Vermont, and Brooklyn. Hopefully, we can get to all of these places. I need to return by June 18 because Lilly and Terry are getting married in Kentucky on June 19, and there's no way I'm missing it.

Currently, I feel totally unprepared. I'm still in a bit of a post-graduation funk that causes me to sleep most of my time away. The room I'm sleeping in is tiny and I'm still trying to decide on how I want to position my belongings therein. My possessions are still in boxes all over this house and in the back of my truck. Can't stop the funk. The post-graduation funk.

I was playing a lot of music before I left Bloomington. Actually playing my guitar in front of people isn't something I've ever been entirely comfortable with, but always something I've felt secretly confident about. I'm considering bringing my acoustic guitar with me on the road. I will have to discuss it with Deanna, but I don't think she'll have much of a problem with it. I see it as a possible panhandling opportunity should we need it.

We will be traveling in her black, soft top convertible. Space is limited but should only be occupied by clothing, bathroom supplies, camping equipment and food. That sounds like a lot, but I'm thinking it should only take up the trunk space, leaving the backseat comfortably empty, save for the possibility of accommodating my guitar.

I wish I'd been able to spend more time planning this trip, but there's something in the impromptu aspect that makes me feel even more excited about it. Planning somehow feels pointless or against the nature of the roadtrip itself. The journey is the adventure, as clichéd as that is.

I want to see as many crazy things as possible. That's really the only thing we should plan for. Detours. A series of crazy detours.

Really, coming home to Fort Wayne feels like this roadtrip, in a way. It is the denial of the old plan to go straight into grad school. It is a crazy detour with practical purpose. It's like the time I went to Massachusetts with my family because we wanted to see the statue of an ancestor in Springfield, then found the Dr. Seuss Memorial Statue Garden about 20 feet away from that statue.

The detours are always the most memorable bits of the trip, aren't they?

The word is the wand, you magic motherfucker.

And your finesse is all that matters.
No one denies that. How could they?
Among foxes and wolves, can you really say that you're just a dog?
You're as wild, as lonely, as greedy, as driven, as unpredictable, right?
The world is your fucking forest, but who says you have to be real?
You're a goddamn wolox. A fog. A dolf.
A pomo-human. Who really cares how you classify yourself?
I certainly don't. How could I?
I have more important things to worry about.
Like songwriters of the Tin Pan Alley of American music's history.
Or the girl in the Starbucks box, her teeth fragments carefully collected and stored in a tiny, cheap canister.
Do you think she thought about things like this?
Shit, she's dead and unidentified and her skull is stored in a fucking Starbucks box.
She died some mysterious death in Indiana. She was probably a runaway from a different state, whoring to stay alive.
She's handled by countless undergrad Johns now. Thank you, Indiana State Police.
And her head's in a goddamn Starbucks coffin.

Valentine's Day

Obligatory warm and fuzzy feelings and guilt for having trouble connecting with other people and guilt for saying no to some and guilt for being so smitten for someone that doesn't care about you and guilt and guilt and guilt. But warm and fuzzy feelings for yourself and thoughts of being very very worthy and having not found "the one."

Happy Valentine's Day. We are married in secret much to the master's chagrin. All hail Lord Valentine. All hail the day of Roman orgy. The day the Roman soldiers would impregnate women with future soldiers. The day of candies and balloons and flowers and cards and red and pink and red and pink. Our hearts are black, and that means we're nervous.

Yuck.

I dreamt of a butcher shop last night where one could purchase any kind of meat. I tried to save the dogs they were slaughtering but failed. I woke up and felt unsure if what I had dreamed was real or not.

The human meat tasted like a chicken-pork hybrid.

This was a "soul doughnut."

I didn't realize it at the time, but this mix has remained very strong and representative of what I love most. It somehow captures my essence. It doesn't necessarily contain my most favorite songs or even my favorite artists, but there is something very simple and hopeful in it that still lingers.

And there is a story behind it that I don't feel like telling, especially not in a public forum. Let's just say that this might end up as a soundtrack to its corresponding film someday.

"Did You See the Words"-Animal Collective
"Mambo Sun"-T. Rex
"Soul Love"-David Bowie
"Jique"-Brazilian Girls
"We're Desperate"-X
"Neat Little Domestic Life"-Of Montreal
"Suite: Judy Blue Eyes"-Crosby, Stills, & Nash
"Step Into My Office, Baby"-Belle & Sebastian
"Get the Fuck Out of My Office"-Men's Recovery Project
"Ode to Billy Joe"-Bobbie Gentry
"Some Velvet Morning"-Lee Hazelwood & Nancy Sinatra
"Headlock"-Imogen Heap
"Alice"-Pogo
"Natural's Not In It"-Gang of Four
"Heartbeats"-The Knife
"Turn to Stone"-Electric Light Orchestra
"To the East"-Electrelane
"Road to Home"-Girl in a Coma
"Elephant Parade"-Jon Brion
"Under the Milky Way Tonight"-The Church
"Strange Lights"-Deerhunter
"Hushabye Mountain"-Dick Van Dyke

Listening to it makes me feel naive. When I hear these songs separate and away from this mix, it still makes me think of the mix as a whole. And the story. It's like hearing someone's name said who you were very close to and then suddenly died when the person speaking it is referring to someone else. The story has nothing to do with anything like that, but it's the same feeling.

I can't recall having ever made myself feel so vulnerable with a mix. I never knew it was possible until this happened. I can't say that I want it to happen ever again.