Hit the road Jack placing your thumb up and legs crossed packing a whopping life that left so young.
I can’t wait to pick up your book again and read it halfway through along with all the others on the shelf that I have been meaning to get back to.
The comfort of letting it linger and knowing I have all the time in the world to find out how the story ends has been an anchor of contrast to the rush that was my constant chaos.
Each sentence pulls out of me what Alan Watts paints but in a picture I can more easily recognize.
I can see his tone in your words and the depth of thought which goes into every piece of jazz.
The influence can’t help but rub my skin lifting the matching energy from my own pocket of dwelling questions put to paper.
Still the soundtrack in the car and not even worth pretending.
Multiple dimensions in an instant of 100 or so pages and a 20 minute set.
A guru down to earth with mud and dust in the pig pen wrestling with fate.
An outside view
no difference to the mundane transactions
catching us off guard in non sequesters
making you think
caging it in the mind to unravel a puzzle that can’t be explained.
On the road Jack
at the rest stop
chewing on sugar cane in the wrong neighborhood
hoping to catch a ride to the next
with no destination