4/30

A week ago we knocked beer caps off on the Mexican fencepost. Now we are plunged deep in the desert, but not without intoxicating kindness. Interaction happens like desert rains: life is dry for days until a monsoon of stimulation. Thus far we've been soaked with the kindness of pies beside the road, of beers in stream beds, of hot dog grills in parking lots, hot thermal springs, and most recently, a man called Mike let us into his home. 

All fifteen dirty hikers were lounging in a little room glowing with a wood stove. Roasted chicken, tortillas, rice and beans after seventeen miles of tortuous tranced shuffling through sand is the root of Euphoria. Hunger is indeed the best sauce. 

We left he desert shack this morning, left the sleeping strange machinery and dumbbells rusting in the yard. Left the beer behind, back into a place that men have not put in bottles and packages. 

I think a lot. I let lines of song reverberate over and over, dancing with thoughts of my own. Reason is a scalpel, and there is no amount of fat insulating a riddle through whit it cannot cut. School is a wonderful confluence of ideas, a sort of flea market of questions, but is a distraction as well. To fully enjoy he things you've been given, you must turn them over and over until the ends are smooth.