Mr. Tree stopped by. He called. He is urgent. He wants me to meet him in Penang, Malaysia. That is his home. He is flying out today for Cuba where he will meet his girlfriend, a Cuban physician, and start the long journey on Sunday. Penang, he said, is world renowned for its cuisine. I Googled it, as I do all things, and that is verified. From there he wants to take me to Thailand and Viet Nam. I checked on flights, and the shortest is over 30 hours. It is not easy to get there from here. There are no cheap flights, either. One needs to be a hearty, monied traveler.
I'm considering it.
What I've been dreaming, though, is a road trip through rural Texas. I've been watching YouTube videos about it. Barren. Dilapidated and deserted towns. Weird, scary looking shit. If you've watched movies at all, things like "Paris Texas" or "No Country for Old Men," you have to be terrified of these places. You might go and never be heard from again. I have a Sam Shepard dream--you know. . . about the west. But, and here's the thing. . . I ain't no Sam Shepard. Still, though, maybe all that is lacking is that big trip through rural Texas. Hell, it could extend to Kansas, too. Or maybe Nebraska. You've seen "Nebraska," surely.
Q might go with me if the timing is right. He's about to have some time off. It might be better, you know, on those dirt roads that lead to squalid houses with mean guard dogs and boys without much conscience, especially when it comes to strangers. Q told me some time ago that he watched "The Last Picture Show" again.
"What a great movie."
Last night, I rented it. Small town Texas, alright. The Big Empty. Ugly sex and uglier violence. Great movie, alright, and from what I have seen on the YouTube videos, small town Texas has only gone downhill from there. They all look like sets for "The Night of the Living Dead." So what on earth can I be thinking?
So many things. Can you imagine how much fun Dallas might be after a few weeks on the lonesome road? Maybe. I've never been to Dallas. There is a lot to see. And I have imagined all the brilliant photographs that would stun and dazzle people with their Beckettian emptiness and squalor. And, I wouldn't have to fly through airports. I could take my time and drive out there if my old Xterra could take it. Or, if I was really brave, I could mask up and meet Q in Dallas and rent a car.
Or. . . I could fly to Penang.
But I'll need to get my knee fixed first. Before I go anywhere, really. I'm trying, but it ain't rehabbing on its own. I can't walk so very far on it now, and I can't sit in a car or on an airplane without EXTREME discomfort. Yea.
More likely, however. . . .
I went out for a little bit last night. It seems strange every time to me now. Even my own hometown becomes alien after dark. Adventure looms everywhere. It can lay right around the corner. But the idea of taking my big old Liberator camera into that spooky rural Texas. . . I mean, you can't get those pictures in your own backyard.
Only things like this.
If I stay home, I will be confronted with all the cultural rot we are given. Harry and Meghan. The new Avatar thing. A movie about Barbie. Trump's NFT trading cards. Obviously Covid has retarded most of the population. It surely affects the brain. It has infantilized most of the country.
No, I don't think I could stand all that.
Maybe it would be better to get eaten by a pack of wild Texas dogs or die of dehydration from vomitting and diarrhea in Malaysia. Jesus. . . these are difficult choices.
Here at home, the feral cat came into my kitchen unexpectedly a couple nights ago. She sits for hours by the door now. And last night when I fed her, she came up and brushed against my hand. She let me touch her without freaking. Maybe we are becoming domestic, she and I. Cozy nights, etc.
Surely it is better than Bumble.