An Entry.

Technology – a bane. 

Yet, a much appreciated convenience.

The bad: Labor-infused writing, due to typing; have to see the grammar and spelling mistakes, thanks to AI – a glaring red line, wagging its finger in my face. I feverishly type under the nervous twitch of caffeine, social anxiety. 

The grace? I don’t have a pen, so here we are. 

That said, it’s nice to find a space in this sprawling desert ‘scape to narrate to myself quietly. I’ve always documented my escapades, but have been reticent and rarely share details of the sojourns. Maybe I’ve got a fear of judgement, but mostly, I chart my movement to account for the ground work I’ve laid – breadcrumbs, if you will. I clean up my messes, but still, got some miles underfoot.

I’m a boots on the ground type of person. Youth these days seem chiefly concerned with being “seen” in a virtual sense, rather than a physical one. It’s easy to orchestrate and manipulate your digital image. In person – you are you through and through. There is no editing.’

And there’s no beat, viral song and dance to share. There’s no soundtrack, really. I mean, headphones sure and cafe music, like the tunes covering me currently,  but there’s no filter, as it were. 

I like that. I like the gristle of reality. I like seeing pores – scars and frayed hems. 

I like the rank of circumstances beyond my control. I like to revel in my survival instincts and holding myself close in duress.

Being quite naturally insular, it’s all ok by me. I hear my own voice. I hear my own song – a breath, sometimes shallow, sometimes apprehensive…but mine none the less. Even if cured by car smog and honking horns and the cackle of drunks and crack addicts down the street. I command my own space. I live for concrete reality. 

The digital landscape is not a comfortable space me. Hashtags and algorithms…for the fucking birds.  

Back in my day!! Yeah, I’m one of those now. One of those ole bitties. Still…

back in my day…

the streets were the meme; the phenom we all agreed to meet on. 

And you could move in the shadows of everyone’s perception – keep close to you the precious and tiny – moments and memories and music you pick up on your way to somewhere…kicks on the pavement…packing up the relics like pickets. These singular moments no one can replicate, because you, and you alone hold the meat. 

But I hold onto certain memories – I wear them in me; they lull in my hair and live behind my eyes, humming me along as I stomp through these barren, barren arid streets.

9. 24. 2022. Las Vegas, NV.