old words. new day. no pictures.

"I love a good hometown song. I love a good hometown. I think everyone should pack their bags and leave though. Separate yourself from what makes you, from your identity. Leave the posters on the walls and your half empty bottles of shampoo in the shower. Disregard your magazine subscriptions and drive east for as many miles as you can in two and a half days. Stop for abandoned industrial complexes and etched marigolds and estate sales. Pull over for graveyards, abandoned cars, and church bake sales. Listen to the local radio, whatever comes in, through the entire desert stretch. flat yellow and subversive. This is not a road trip this is a growing pain. A groan and a baptism, trial by fire, by sun, by dust, by grip and smoke and dehydration. Eat in your car at night. Be invisible for the time being, be the mystery diner in a wasted town. Guess the secrets of patrons and passers by. Imagine them in bed, with their eyes closed and mouths open, gaping and gritting. Don’t keep a journal, it ruins the myth and desecrates the memories. The memories will forever be that cryptic silent laugh the instant before the drag the slant of your eye to the side the shuffling foot, the perfect kink in a steady character."