May 28, 2003
One of my favorite parts of traveling is that exact moment where you feel the nose of the airplane begin to tilt downward ever so slightly and you know you're almost there. Takeoffs and landings have lost their thrill, but that realization of descent always gets me.
Driving home up the freeway through the city my heart wanted to burst because of being back, with good radio and sushi and friends and ocean and all. And yeah, also the people who tie my stomach up in knots, but right now I think I can handle it, maybe I can handle anything at all. Maybe it will all shake down and I'll just be standing there laughing, better than fine. Parking after midnight in the very spot where Aaron was mugged I felt giddy and breathless and alive, hurrying to gather suitcases and things and walk past closed markets and laundromat and coffee shop, my neighborhood! And there are shows to see and miles to run and work to do and plots to garden and laughter to laugh and poems to write and I want to do it all right this minute!
Also, he wrote this to me:
"If I live, If I survive the trials + trails of the valley of death, for which I leave tomorrow; the former referring to the bass player who spends so much time laying back that his ass is hugging the sides of his face, an organism I must travel with like a dead critter whose innards carmelize slowly against the bottom of a catalytic converter or somewhere hot down below, releasing a toasty, nauseating aroma, a friend of a friend as it were who just happens to be the most uptight-laidback wound up-relaxed imploding hole of angst I ever had the misfortune of passing two straight minutes with in bars where he always does his best to ignore me whenever possible; the latter being in the 110+ heat of the lowest point navigable, a place paralleling in reality where I have spent much time following my own footsteps in the close, unforgiving circum-meridian of my own smouldering wasteland of the, quote, soul, unquote; ..."
Oh my, I still think he's devastatingly clever.