A rare moment of breaking free
One time, when I got free enough from this life of daily toil to take a short vacation, I bundled up some
stuff and took off on a little black and chrome late-seventies Kawasaki to visit a friend in Colorado. On
the morning of the second day into the trip somewhere in Kansas, I was sitting on the sidewalk of a mini-mart
clutching a styrofoam cup of coffee, trying to warm up after riding through a cold mist from my sleeping
place under a bridge. A woman dressed for business type work stopped and began quizzing me excitedly about
where I was from and what brought an unusual looking character like me to a place like her hometown. I was
sitting there in jeans and black leather, shivering, with the previous day's sunburn on my forehead (having
indulged a little in the freedom of crossing into a state where the law did not require helmets) with my
bike, backpack and bedroll, and she was vicariously enjoying my journey, wishing she could fly free from
this place. She had to go, and as she rushed to her car, she said, "Have a safe trip, and think of me while
you're out there on the road, and I'm here in my office crying." And I did, too. I thought, there's a lot
of us out here imprisoned by our lives. We're as free as we think we are, but at the same time, life's
really gotcha by the nuts (I considered using a more pan-genderal term but opted for this one for its
crude directness. Any girls who want to join in can either don strap-ons or just consider themselves
to have honorary nuts). We've got bodies that keep us tied to routines that allow only so much latitude.
They have to be kept warm, fed and entertained. They have to be kept covered, and they have to maintain
appearance and behavior within certain parameters, or risk becoming wards of the state in one form or
another. Within that framework, things are pretty wide open, keeping in mind the added stipulation that
you're going to have to work your arse off to survive. In and around that, there is a universe of freedom
that opens up as you imagine it. There's a lot of occupations in this huge hive we call humanity. I look
around at all these different people leadin' different lives, puttin' in their time at the grindstone,
and I'm bewilderd at the myriad ways we all push this phenomenon on. All contributing our energy, all
adding a piece of ourselves every day, all hoping for the good things and working so that there will
still be a niche for us tomorrow. When people ask me what I do, sometimes I'm at a loss. ... I'm a space
traveler, I guess. I think of things and make them. Or, I see things and feel them and experience them
and then try to describe what it was like. I romp around in my head until some cool thoughts come out
and explore the alternate realities that present themselves to my little corner of the universe. I try
where I can to be a positive influence to the collective reality around me, and I try to be open and
aware of what is going on. So if you see me acting strangely, thinking too much, absorbing too much
weird stuff from the paper or buzzing around in a blurr, or if you don't see me at all. I'm just doing
my job, and if you ask me, I'll think for a second, and, for lack of a better term, I'll say I'm an artist.
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