Did I learn my lesson? 

The first defecatory poem was clever and appropriate, considering its location (Aspen) and my reluctant ambitions (journalism, documentary), but THIS defecatory poem? I shit on Indians, to put it bluntly, and then I got shit on myself. 

Whoops I thought, then took steps to appease what I had angered by NOT picking up the dollar bill when it “fell” out of my pocket the second time. I left another dollar bill tucked in the handle of the gas pump where I got the warning from the gas station clerk about the roads to the Indigenous sacrifice zone I was adamant about seeing.

Did I see it? No, I did not, but I got within a few miles, then got thoroughly unsettled by the prospect of getting stranded at seven thousand feet elevation with NO ONE around, so I found a spot where my chance of getting stuck appeared low, and holed up for the night–the long, cold, starry night with stars that were pretty impressive, but I only spent a few minutes gazing before going back to my mummy position in the box.

I drove to Gallup, where scenes from Natural Born Killers were filmed, then continued on to Arizona where I thought Sedona might provide some warmth. It did not, but I stayed anyway as a storm lit up the sky and clamored quite impressively.

I was hoping a podcast would be relaxing, but when I heard a certain William talk about a certain Smiley Face movie, and the writer of the script, I quickly entered arrived at BUTTHURTVILLE. Why? Because this William had replied to me last October about this very movie, and how it was NOT relevant, which I wrote about here.

I tried to exit Butthurtville, but other factors were stacking, personal factors that portended serious difficulty that I would be facing upon returning to Zoom Town. So I left Sedona feeling agitated and drove, thinking I could find Slab City somewhere near the Sonoran Desert, on the border of Arizona and SoCal. But no, that effort was also a resounding failure, so I stopped in a literal wasteland and slept.

I decided to beeline to Los Angeles after taking care of business and NOT writing a fucking poem about it, trying to leave my wounded ego behind, but instead the road signs and “random” music shuffle selections took me into a crazily sustained synchronicity storm I’m now attempting to absorb. This shit is fucking EXHAUSTING!

I will detail what this storm started doing the second I rolled into LA in the next post, so stay tuned!