“I’m just cooler than most people.”
– Taz, explaining her core temperature is generally low.
My car radio spends most of the time on scan. Lately on a stint of hitting songs I really enjoy.
The last twenty  seconds of them. Neat.
The High Country couldn’t make up its mind about Spring.So I dropped 5000 feet, headed West, into high desert.
Most recently, it was on the spur of an itch.
For the first time in months I had an entire weekend without obligations.
I made the mistake of beginning it by watching Gonzo, a documentary on Hunter S. Thompson.
In my esteem, one of the greater recent(ish) authors to terrorize our nation’s roads and minds.
He took the Beat Generation and quite literally put it on speed (well, acid mostly. + any other drug he could get his hands on).
Where Kerouac goes broke and hopeful, meeting the face of America, hitch-hiking (already a degree removed from treks of Abbey); HST plows a red 454 V-8 Chevrolet convertible into a herd of sheep on the rainy back-roads of Nevada. [If you dare: [Part II] Fear and Loathing in Elko: Bad Craziness in Sheep Country….Side Entrance on Queer Street….O Black, O Wild, O Darkness, Roll Over Me Tonight]. Hint: Text File.
But how can you not tip your hat to a man whose funeral was his ashes shot out of a cannon placed atop a 153-foot [47 m] tower of his own design, in the shape of a double-thumbed fist clutching a peyote button originally used in his 1970 campaign for sheriff of Aspen, Colorado.
Red, white, blue, and green fireworks were launched along with his ashes. [Lifted from wiki].
Never mind he blasted himself with a shotgun; everyone from his children to friends expected it.
Not on board? That’s fine. Let’s get Broad.
If you don’t see the social import of reading incendiary, revolutionist literature, in whatever doses of wayward and freakish you can stomach, please consider, we are inundated by: a government so bloated that at the threat of thinning it immediately sets about applying the full pressure of its excess to choke us into submission, a media shoving a toilet bowl of contradictions in our face who then feed on the frenetic poopy swirl, and where political opinion is informed by FaceBook newsfeeds. (How ’bout them adverts popping up?)
…Well, if that doesn’t mean anything to you, then how about this ladies: his funeral was bankrolled by Johnny Depp.
I’ll go visit the site. Maybe shoot a gun in his memory.
Nope, too late.
I’ll be back.
In the meantime, read books.
\/ This is how the post was supposed to start, and follow something of a time-line. Sheesh!
Slept in Saturday, got up, sent some texts, packed a tote, and took off for Fruita, CO for (unbeknownst to me) the Fat Tire Festival.