thinking

t h o u g h t s


bus rides. I went to France with a school trip a few weeks (alright, it's about a month, now) ago. Personally, i believe that it was the most valueable thing I've ever done. Perhaps the most tragic as well, but that's not that important.

We rode about on buses all the while. Eight hours on a plane, two on a train, a million a day on a bus--never realized how valueable it was. WE went to the Loire valley--chateau hopping, for two days. We spent about 15 hours that weekend, on a bus. Wonderful. It seemed to be an unacknowledged truth that the bus ride was something deeply personal--by the first hour, everyone had dove deeply into their own little worlds--no mindless chatter, which seems so frequent in this day and age. What else is there to do? I can break my day down into a series of unimportant events-- nothing truly noteworthy ever happens. But occasionally a series of events happen, which do make something seem relatively worthwhile. As long as one can keep that perspective, it's good.

Now, busrides. I can't imagine anything better than a good, long ride, a good cd, a good friend, a good book, and a good pen. I'd die today, if I knew that was heaven. Regardless whether or not it's a sweeping landscape, a bleak urban scene, some beautiful castle, or some trite farm, it's all good when you're moving. Thinking is more fluid. Perhaps there's some sort of subliminal realization that you are indeed moving forwards, and so it is important to keep your mind moving at that pace. I write volumes when riding. I can't even think of what to write about, but suddenly I find myself scribbling away endless streams of mindless philosophy and such. Nothing brilliant, of course, but it's something. Songs seem prettier. I listened to a few songs endlessly--put the tracks on repeat, memorized every breath, every chord, and cried when I realized who they reminded me about.

The point is, everything on the bus may not be brilliant, enlightened, or even intellectual in the slightest, most perverse, degree. But it seems wonderful. Conversation (when you can afford it) is lucid, revealing. Awkward silences aren't even awkward.

Maybe it's just me--I was on a bus for an hour last night. I think it's more me and my escapism tactics. But that's not the important part.

It doesn't make any sense. All I know is that I'd love to be swept away on a bus right now, so if you're employed by Dattco, just swing on by and take me off. I can fit every thing in my backpack, and all I want is a seat. Thanks. bubye now.


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