reconnaissance mission, the 2011 edition (that never was)

[© tweed]

I have walked into the Depot Rd. 7-11 countless times.  its updates, due with time, determined by that far-away bureaucracy of power that controls all things -- Steinbeck did this better than I ever could in Grapes of Wrath.  don't blame me, I'm just the hired gun, son, go on and eat your fried dough.  fried dough 7-11 style arrived just a few years ago in the form of buffalo wings, pizza, chicken tenders, and, most recently, mini-tacos.  I don't touch any of the damn things.  I don't touch anything I couldn't have bought in 2009, or, at the latest, 2010.  it's a lot later than that now.

open the door greeted by the markers of heights.  they suspect me already.  I'm not a criminal, I'm white and upper-middle class.  we all have to go one direction or another, this life isn't enough for us.  there is no inspiration on the cold barren pavements and assorted strip-mall blacktops of lying unfame, none at all, we must all live our way through analog.  time to let you get to know me better, as I'm probably fondling my way toward the Slurpee machine, where I've become adept, adept as any, at determine what makes a quality Slurpee from the composition of the technicolor syrup spinning round and round in the proprietary, industrial, syrup-and-ice-mixing brainless behemoth.  six feet or five or, seven, I couldn't steal this if I tried, I wouldn't try if I wanted to, and I wouldn't know I wanted to even if I wanted to. nowhere to begin but always finishing somewhere.

back in the Glory Days I did a lot of avoidance.  I avoided a proportion of the sh**t tossed my way, and I in direct proportion to that proportion felt good about myself for the skilled avoidance.  it is a skill, on this I swear.  if it is not a skill my whole worldview crashes to the floor, and I couldn't have that, I've gone to Hell and stayed their for my world-view, what do I want to be like Bill Wilson for?  he's just a ing drunk on a bed, met by another 'reformed' -up in a suit.  "I've proven it", I told Her once, one of my favorite quotes... but there comes the point, when you realize, all these interactions with people, it's all about making me feel good.  once again others have "proven" this far better than I can.  genuine connection is a ghost of a trace that I caught in one of my side-view mirrors a long while ago, so taken with it that I wrapped the car around a tree.  I haven't been the same since.

[Frodo]

You'll never match angus, Tweed. 

[© tweed]

right around this time.  snagging a warm-up burrito.  in the Glory Days Arkady and I hypothesized that these fckers have metal in them in order to conduct heat from the microwave (which is generously provided on-site, free of charge, at the Depot Rd. 7-11).  this proved to be nonsense, as everything did.  microwaves heat water molecules, we learned that in high school.  Arkady and I were so wrapped up in re-narrativizing the horror of who we were that we moved right through the things we definitively knew, like a neutrino through a human, not knowing the embarassing afterthought.