Tuesday, August 3, 2010

The beast, the bolt, etc. We take our symbols for granted because they are granted. We swim in a denser sea of constructs. Denser than our very real bodies, the sea, so that we float without effort. We walk through the day as if submerged in oil precisely heated to 98.6 degrees. The Great Lakes of America call to us like seas of gin. At our slowest pace we set a course with our flasks in our pockets. Michigan first. Then Huron, Erie, Superior, and little Ontario. We drink them to their deepest deeps. We thank the Corps of Engineers for their faultless maps and unshakeable God Complex.

Tonight we are blasting up the braided Missouri by jet boat against the current following in the footsteps of Heat Moon and his drunken navigators. It is only by some divine hand that we have dodged the stumps we've dodged.

I've been working like a dog but I've been thinking about you.

They say you had more range than Wyoming.

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