Founder & Captain of the Digital Lost Boys
A pretentious fiend.
Obsessed with the fresh.
Created of idiosyncrasy.
I’m stuck in Rock Springs, Wyoming with (no longer as Tech Editor, but as fiance) and a rather large crack in Nevermore’s front right tire’s sidewall. I haven’t written you in a month, and I have a lot to explain, but I’m not sure I’ll be all that interested. Or able, frankly - I am stealing a closed Starbucks’ shitty wifi with 30% remaining laptop battery, but I shall do my best.
In essence, my life would seem to have been turned around quite quickly - aside from the tire, of course (another pothole) thanks to one very special young woman, and - in a much lesser sense - a new iPhone 8 Plus. Lucky for you, both of them take great photographs.
Wyoming is unquestionably the most beautiful place I have ever seen. (The above scene very nearly brought me to tears.) It’s a completely different planet from where I was stuck for the majority of my 23 years until last weekend. Hawthorn wasn’t able to board her flight back to Portland, which is just as well - I’m no longer employed in Columbia, and we didn’t feel like separating, anyway. So, we stuffed just about everything I own into Nevermore’s crannies (apart from the absurd amount of magazines I’ll probably never read) and set off on what was originally a 1,997 mile drive to The City of Roses. You probably know I’d been preparing for a bit more deliberate departure to the same, next Spring, but I’m much more attuned to acting abruptly, so it’s just as well. It’s going to take me a while to comprehend just how much my life is changing, but I suppose I suddenly have a huge amount of tangible subject from which to draw from in writing.
After I finally (probably the cutest of the States’ alternate names, no?) I’m sure you’ve heard some throwaway sentiment about the purgatory-like experience of driving through Kansas, but I’m now convinced that the whole lot of its echoers simply chose awful cars. In a 20-year-old, dangerously-overloaded XJR, it was an exquisitely pleasant drive. The State certainly maintains I-70 better than any of the other of its hosts I’ve visited. At 80mph - tickling the lower end of the supercharger’s useful range - I didn’t have much to do but enjoy the scenery, which was spectacular, believe it or not., we left Columbia at 2 in the morning on Saturday, visited a friend in for a bite, and set off at dawn further West than I’d ever driven myself through The Sunflower State
These exceptional whirling boys, for instance, were stuck throughout the landscape in numbers exponentially greater than I’d ever seen. I find them - and the thought of their professional tending - quite charming, which is the only aesthetic on which Jeremy Clarkson and I disagree, to my knowledge. I’ve been thinking about writing a review of Kansas as a sovereignty for the site lately, but it’d certainly be a waste of my time.
On that note, foodists should watch for my , please. I’ve been doing my best to remember to review every establishment we visit on this trip, but I’ve only done two, so far. Food blogging might just be the fucking career for me!
I’ve also finally begun work on For God’s Sake, Just Sit Down to Piss - my self-help/how-to guide for white 20-something cishet men, which will likely end up nothing more than obtuse, elitist propaganda. Nevertheless, I have a duty to the world… Columbia’s Big Boys, especially, are desperately in need of some guidance. Here’s an excerpt, just for lucky ole’ you!
I have pulled a lot of stupid stunts in bars, though I’ve yet to be physically struck in one, despite some very persistent attempts at provocation by other parties, and I’m proud of the fact. I’m not going to tell to you that you shouldn’t enjoy a good bar fight – especially if you’ve a lust for violence that may otherwise manifest in less-than-consensual, more malicious activities – but otherwise, be aware that the vast majority of Huffy Yokels can be talked down from even the Most Bothered of dispositions with intelligently-applied finesse, should you care to use your time alternatively.
Of course, one would do best not to allow himself and his own designed influence over his outward image and subsequent bearing in a given social biome to become rampant and/or obsessive patronization. By nature, such a pursuit will only metamorphose into a slope of blisteringly-multiplying inclination which terminates singularly into the oxymoronic undoing of itself. A preoccupation with the petty maneuvers of one’s local bar culture tends to rapidly illuminate one’s weaknesses like a psychosexual flare gun. Be wary of your own undue satisfaction with petty demonstrations of power over the older, more-regional crowd. The greenest patron (those who’ve just arrived at legal drinking age, for instance) may find the low-risk, relatively collateral-resistant nature of this environment incubatory, at first, but they would do well to agitate their social pool astutely, lest they become ensnared in some of the various crud on which the other, ruminating citizens of these foul associations have found themselves caught.
Though we’d originally planned to take the whole 30 hours direct-to-Portland in one big bite, we were able to split it up in Colorado thanks to my sister, who allowed us to stay in her Keystone (a ski resort) condo for a few nights. The town was , in contrast to when I last visited two years ago, in-season. It was less creepy than you might imagine - nicer, I think - but the near-10,000 feet elevation got to me more than I remember and seemed to mystically soil my ability to write at all.
Over the summer, I pulled some real toddler shit and managed to both break my phone and lose my $1100 glasses. Bittersweetly, I found the distasteful pair I wore in high school while rummaging though storage for the move, so I can see much better, though I cannot bear to look at myself. As for my cellular, my mother graciously offered to buy me a new device for my step out of the wading pool, though lately I’ve been less informed about consumer electronics than ever, and had less than 24 hours to decide. All indicators point toward the new Galaxy Note as the ideal choice, right now - and I’d that my 6S Plus was my last Apple-made handset, when I bought it - but… I think it’s actually the 8 Plus which I settled upon. iOS is one of only a handful of spheres which I consider myself to write about since I’ve been using it for over a decade, now, so I think I shall explain further, soon.
The immediate effect has been my renewed presence on , , and now . Suffice it to say, the front-facing camera is one hell of a sensor. I took the image below in the wee hours on the condo’s balcony. How it was able to find so much light, I’m not sure.
A few nights ago, I would’ve told you that Loveland pass - a fairly-steep, ribbony mountain jaunt between I-70 and Keystone - was the most beautiful road I’d ever experienced, but yesterday’s trip was probably the most visually enchanting afternoon of my entire life. (If you’re curious about the specifics of our route, .)
Unfortunately, we struck a pothole on I-80 just before dinner, and are stuck in the Rock Springs Days Inn, which is proving to be spectacular enough to write about in the near future, assuming we survive the night. If we don’t, please bury what’s left of my body in my Jaguar.
squeeze your way through the bluffs,
as you go
stay your phatasms, scouting
chase them well down the weekday road
(just until you’re sure you’re dying in your sleep,)
stop for a shout; a beat
caught in the disingenuous mishmosh;
chucking the soul’s sodden peat
and you’ll find patches on an unrelieved blacktop band,
spite throughout the abandoned land -
the Decade of Negligence -
(angry at me)
langoliers don’t discontinue their chasing
just seen -
shit a quick wallop on ‘ready-sparsing trees
(where are they going?)
in every day’s
boozy dusk, seizing
forevermore to fuck something
moths: loose formations,
forlorn, smut rot,
flailing unawares into phosphorescents’ thoughts,
a by and by haunt
swipe their heat at the daintiest breeze
because a man’s life is short -
his flout sticks wicked
in the craven jaunt
no better future than to dust his musk over the nesting crags,
I’ll be damned if that’s how I go out -
dumb and prideless,
dripping dick doubt
it’s a fuck lagoon, this town
standing water’s in the nightlife sounds
never short a dullard
just hangin around
and I’ll loam his way
levees cleanse plagues