After breakfast in McDonalds and a Pumpkin Spice latte, in route to Lincoln, NE. The scenery has somewhat changed here on the favorable. Clumps of bright autumnal vegetation saturated both sides of the road—yellows so bright, so deep and gloriously brilliant against such openness, of fields and fields that seemingly, to my naked eye, surfaced as some sophisticated, yet wild thing of a fashionably young woman of yesterday; collecting hips of skirts the color of butter and ripe lemons, and then proceeding on a happy sprint down... down to the end of the horizon where fields and sky conformed and mingled as one.
Van Dorn Park—trees and trees a forest of dark tree trunks with bushy heads the color of the sunset...and it was cloudy and the gray all over you looked, except for those glorious trees. I'm hearing that from here on we're heading Southeast. I'm excited.
MISSOURI – KANSAS CITY: Dearborn, Exit 30 – An hour or so stuck in a one-lane traffic jumble; due to an accident involving a huge truck that somehow had veered off the road and made a mess for miles.
We stopped at the nearest rest area in Platte County with the intention of preparing our lunch; like the gypsies of yesterday—stopping wherever they would, or could, but a cold wind blew us off from there mighty quickly, I should say, and we end up eating at Taco Bell.
I've been sleeping in and out of the stupor of the road for hours. When awake, I often find myself analyzing the world as it passes by us in a frenzy of sky and trees and fields... wanting to interpreter everything I see, give meaning to meaningless things; things that should not be thought of or need not be interpreted. Like the carousel of my childhood when I would see the world passing by me as in a dream and I so desperately wanted to grab hold of it and keep it there; within the hollow of my two small hands.
It doesn't do you any good to be a thinker. It hurt to think too much sometimes. But I am a natural thinker; writing what I see and feel, it does help ease the mind.
I read for hours too. And like the Triana of Ann Rice, in her "Violin", sometimes I cannot tell whether I'm reading, or living in the world of the dead or just dreaming. What a complicated mind—Ann Rice. Obscure mind more than a complicated one, I should say. And how brilliant! I'm not enjoying this book as I should—the first one I've ever read of the Ann Rice collection. And I'm not enjoying it not because of all the morbidity in it, but rather because of the amount of data and thoughts, which to me don't make sense in a clear and true profound way.
ST LOUIS – DES MOINES, WICHITA – city after city of buzzing crazy sounds made by humans. I don't enjoy the big cities. I wish we'll soon reach the frank openness of the gentle country side again.