13 Things I Never NeededSometimes I drive myself out into the black and white Nevada desert, not lost, but feelin my way through that big ole emptiness. The tire rutted road wraps its way around the hills, scrub-brush and sage like Bonnie Raitt’s voice twistin and breakin across the melody of a sad blues song. There ain’t nothin but a whole lot of nothin out here, just the way I like it. I take a long hard look at my face in the rear view mirror, and once again its just me runnin to be runnin. I’ve always been good at bein alone, just the sound of my tires over gravel, under those gray desert skies. I like what Robin Williams says about being alone, “I used to think the worst thing in life was to end up alone. It’s not. The worst thing is to end up with people who make you feel all alone.” He’s absolutely right, these days I pick my company wisely—–that’s why I don’t mind bein alone.

I can’t imagine how things could have gotten so goddamn barren, I scan the landscape to find pieces of myself in the nothingness of it all. Out here on the edges is where I find my freedom——not homelessness—-my inspired solitude—–not orphan-hood.

I can be your brother, your lover, your friend on this race to nowhere. I could belong to you, I could—–if you’d only let me, for just a moment, right here under these purdy twinklin western stars. I’d be your outlaw cowboy and you’d be the only one hell bent enough to ride with me. And, between our sins and trite apologies, we’d just keep on runnin wild and we’d say, “fuck this world” and “fuck all them city folk livin for all those things we never needed”. You’d bed down here right next to me by our dying fire, and out there we’d fall asleep to the sweet sound of coyotes singin to us—-

They say there are more stars in the heavens then there are grains of sand on all of this worlds beaches—–we’re so small and our time so deceitfully brief—— insignificant to everything and everyone except one another—-which reminds me, sense you’ve moved on, I’m not so good at bein alone.

Most people don’t come way out here, cause there ain’t nothin here but what you bring along with ya, and if all ya bring is yourself, well that could blister a soul, leavin it dried up and earth cracked like an Arroyo filled with white sun bleached bones. Cause between here and that fallin horizon——-all ya gonna find is all the things you’ve done or didn’t do—– could’ve or should’ve done—-intend to do or never will do.

Yeepee-ki-yey, I’ll send ya-all a picture postcard from the edge.