churn, churn, churn

drove across the Midwest plaines into other Midwest plaines.

Goal: Des Moines Iowa

The intention: to clean the attic. of my psyche. to be present in the music accompanying me. the music part seemed to be going quite well, but not the attic, which only got more cluttered with each passing mile. Even Bach, and Fairport Convention, a Mozart clarinet sonata, Dylan’s Time out of Mind, The Feelies, The Fiery Furnaces. Tried streaming radio every so often.

The result: But nothing worked. the brain kept churning out thought after thought after thought. Ceaseless chatter through the 360 miles. An exhausting amount to think about for 2 sides of a solitary brain.  But by the end, neither side had very much to say to each other. this persistent, invasive chatter. i think they were having a tiff, the left and the right sides, with the music struggling to be heard above it.

There’s more to say about my night here in Des Moines and trying to contend with family-indued infantilism. It happens every time, i retreat to his infantile place… and I wonder why I keep returning. always managing to succumb to it… how to make that stop?

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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