Let us be lovers, we'll marry our fortunes together
I've got some real estate here in my bag
So we bought a pack of cigarettes
and Mrs. Wagner pies
And rode off to look for America
Simon & Garfunkel's "America" played on the radio. I was having my perfect moment. Spalding Gray talked about the elusive "perfect moment" in his monologue Swimming to Cambodia. Spalding looked for his perfect moment his whole life and it caused him quite a bit of grief.
I always knew what my perfect moment was gonna be.
Picture this. Perfect solitude. A guitar in the backseat, Simon & Garfunkel playing on the stereo, and an unfolding road in a country scene.
Solitude always sounds better than loneliness. I think because 'solitude' implies that you choose it.
Last night while I drove past a rest stop, I spied a middle aged man letting his big dog out of the car for a short walk. I wonder what he thinks about solitude.
A dog is a good idea, I think. I'll bring a dog next time. But right now, I'm enjoying this, what I'll call solitude.
What's wrong with the world and why is it so hard to put it into words? And even if I were to put it into words, who could understand me?
In that song "America," it goes:
"'Kathy, I'm lost,' I said, though I knew she was sleeping. 'I'm empty and aching and I don't know why.'"
That might be me right now.
Why doesn't the speaker tell that to Kathy when she is awake? What would she say?
Would he find out that he is less lonely than he thinks? Or would Kathy not understand, making his loneliness complete?
These roads... Maybe what makes me sad about them is that I leave no trace of myself on this trip. I wander without leaving a trace. A writer once wrote that it would be a damn shame to, in one's life, leave no physical evidence of joy. I think I'll work on that now.
I need a dog.
I've got some real estate here in my bag
So we bought a pack of cigarettes
and Mrs. Wagner pies
And rode off to look for America
Simon & Garfunkel's "America" played on the radio. I was having my perfect moment. Spalding Gray talked about the elusive "perfect moment" in his monologue Swimming to Cambodia. Spalding looked for his perfect moment his whole life and it caused him quite a bit of grief.
I always knew what my perfect moment was gonna be.
Picture this. Perfect solitude. A guitar in the backseat, Simon & Garfunkel playing on the stereo, and an unfolding road in a country scene.
Solitude always sounds better than loneliness. I think because 'solitude' implies that you choose it.
Last night while I drove past a rest stop, I spied a middle aged man letting his big dog out of the car for a short walk. I wonder what he thinks about solitude.
A dog is a good idea, I think. I'll bring a dog next time. But right now, I'm enjoying this, what I'll call solitude.
What's wrong with the world and why is it so hard to put it into words? And even if I were to put it into words, who could understand me?
In that song "America," it goes:
"'Kathy, I'm lost,' I said, though I knew she was sleeping. 'I'm empty and aching and I don't know why.'"
That might be me right now.
Why doesn't the speaker tell that to Kathy when she is awake? What would she say?
Would he find out that he is less lonely than he thinks? Or would Kathy not understand, making his loneliness complete?
These roads... Maybe what makes me sad about them is that I leave no trace of myself on this trip. I wander without leaving a trace. A writer once wrote that it would be a damn shame to, in one's life, leave no physical evidence of joy. I think I'll work on that now.
I need a dog.
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