11:41am (Santa Rosa) :: The biggest detriment to any individual living in a Christian society, is that most everything in these types of small towns, where it is often necessary to do your business, is closed on Sundays. Restaurants, pharmacies, clothing stores, even gas stations decide God over money, or at least to some extent. The Blue Hole is truly beautiful and I may swim in it tomorrow, despite its frigid constant temperature of 61 degrees. What made me really pull this thing out in the Santa Rosa Mc Donalds though was a thought I had when hearing a woman say while heading to the bathroom "Girls in here, boys in there." It's not necessarily our parents fault that we're assigned these gender roles from an early age, but it seems to be a larger unintentional by-product of society. Society separates the genders, tells these girls and boys that they are very different, despite what they might think if they were told nothing. I think it would be interesting to see how children reacted to this, being told nothing.

Enough of that, I'm not a fucking psychologist. The most annoying thing about Mc Donald's no doubt, is the little kids. Not really the kids themselves, but their overbearing parents, deeply embedded in the unending struggle to force their kids to eat. The kids are right in not wanting to eat it, it's gross. Mc Donald's makes some of the worst quality food available on the planet, and the children seem to have an unbiased intuition regarding this. I am forced to admit though, after trying their Green Chili Cheeseburger (which only seems to be available in and around the southwest) that they have done that well, and for only $1.

Oh, but I have to talk more about Santa Rosa itself. There are really two parts to it: one exists on a hill, east of the original town and consists solely of the typical interestate town establishments (hotels, fast food joints and gas stations), while the other side, below the hill, houses the downtown, the grocery store, the older motels and most of the better restaurants. The downtown is smaller, nicer and healthier than that of Tucumcari. I would have liked to see more of a diver presence in the town itself; all of the divers congregate at Blue Hole and don't seem to leave. Divers themselves are an enjoyable sort, their only flaw being that they incessantly talk about diving. Having been diving once, I can relate somewhat, but don't really find it interesting. Still though, it is a nice town, especially considering this ugly landscape of shrubs, junipers and dirt in which it exists. I suppose I am biased since I am overjoyed at the prospect of the free camping offered in one of the city's parks, as well as the Blue Hole, which is well-maintained and free to use. I must investigate this supposed free camping. Mr. Moon has not lied to me thus far, and I have high expectations of him at this point.
It occurs to me now that I may have to soon pull off the riji page and start a West journal, which will have to edited and revised later. THOUGHT:KILL ALL HIPPIES. I do have to mention the awful music at Mc Donald's though, as I'm sure I have before to someone or other. I suppose Mc Donald's spent millions of dollars on research, focus groups and royalties payments so that their clientele may enjoy such inoffensive classics as Duncan Shiek's "Barely Breathing" and that "I have to say I love you in a song" song. Shit, hire me as your music engineer, I'll play German speed metal and Brazillian rap, nothing but. After all, Mc Donald's is an international icon, and this must be reflected in their music. Lots of 4-wheelers and dirt bikes here; I wonder where they're all going. To find some dirt? I figure I'll buy some land here and set up a resort for the fuckers, charge $5 per person and shoot trespassers, aim low, for the scrotum. New thought: play regional music at the various Mc Donald's (like country in West Texas, zydeco in Louisiana and polka in Wisconsin) so that the clientele may better get a feel for the landscape they are blowing through in their big SUV, occassionally peering out the window to say "Ooh, but soon going back to the GMC entertainment system. I'm not angry, I'm just bored. I need to do some more hiking, get back to what I enjoy about the West. There's just not that much to do in this area. I see "Table Mountain" on the map, but it is most likely one of those typical "moutains" in this area which always is just a pile of dirt and rocks (they're like this even at Palo Duro, but there they are cool for some reason). Cell phone service also still eludes me, so I cannot call my dad to remind him to water my plant as I wanted to before. Damn, kill all hippies. Shoot all these parents who can never give positive messages to their kids and worry much more about their attractiveness also. In an ideal world (Malaysia's like this), after marriage, people could stop worrying about how well they fit the idea of beauty. They let themselves go, although they still worry about the opinions of others, they do not worry about losing the eye of their spouse. Maybe the muslims have it right and we should take a quick and hardy lesson from them. YES, but scrap the religion part, just tear that page off.
Ah, so here it is 12:15 and I have been typing for over 30 minutes. I know that I have little to say, but I have less to do. Nevermind.

3:32am (transcribed from hand-written note, Texico) :: A rainstorm on the high plains at night makes one feel especially vulnerable. You become extremely conscious of the tragic possibilities: lightning, flood, car crash, which can so easily suck in the body and spit out just the soul. However, overcoming fears of catastrophe and the faltering of an imperfect physical or mental self is truly a triumph; a cause for a silent celebration, not out of gluttany or relief, but with a small sigh and quick smirk. With this, you are self-conscious of fragility, but are aware that we must move on to more unknown pastures so that we may at least see for ourselves how green they really are. The rain is unstoppable. Straight through the night, although the electric symphony has ceased. In dry areas like this, it seems that a large amount of rain changes mindsets in all animals. In the millions of frogs, almost like toys, hopping deserpately across the road to escape a certain, crushing death. In the thousands of people, watching the rain with a weary eye and recognizing it as he mixed blessing which it is.
At this point I can't return. The promise of a job, which I thought I had been desperate for, seems like a silent resignation to the idea that I will never escape from the hole, just run up the sides over and over until my will to escape is dead. I suppose most people must reach this point, but I am not nearly ready for it. I'd like to give Houston, not as a city, nor as a people, but as a concept, a big, hairy middle finger. Fuck Houston. That easy way out and plan for life is no longer an option to me. Texas lies roughly 3 miles (from where I am) to the east, and I wish not to return for some time, and when I do so, I will ride high on the knowledge that I did in fact get out, and have not become that which I mock and despise. I am not a kid filled with silly, unfeasible aspirations, but rather a man with a clear sense of direction, only without a way to step safely towards it. Fuck Houston, and fuck Texas.
Just 20 minutes after I arrived in this parking lot, I awoke to find another car now parked behind me. When did I become a leader? Is a leader just an individual not afraid of the dark, lonely unknown? Or must he also be willing to lead those who he loves into it fearlessly and without reproach? It suppose is simply a trend-setter, while both is a true leader. If this makes me a trend-setting, I will take what I can get.

12:49pm (Tucumcari) :: Aside from the traditional interpretation of the phrase "the West was won," I believe that there is a more suitably modern way to look at it. The West is no longer this deserted layer of parched earth, where roughnecks battle nature with a fierce eye, but rather it has become what Tucumcari truly is. This city's voice, just barely resonant from its 1950's peak, is strangled by the voices of helpless tourists attempting to show their offspring the West of their own childhood dreams in a Ford Explorer and Polo shorts pulled up way too high, and those on the fast food drive-thrus ordering the same homogenized meal to be found in every city in the country from an indifferent clerk. So this West is won. It was won by the true entrepreneurs: men with cigars and penthouse offices in Chicago and New York. They have sold this part of the country on an ideal sense of Americana which thrives across the nation. The black and white signs are replaced with thousands of blue and green ones, hurrying you along to the next drop-off point, identified only by its exit number. In this case, its is Santa Rosa. Truth be told, Tucumcari is dull. There is very little here, and very little to do. Besides a movie theater in what is called the "Old Downtown," there are also several illegal gambling establishments guised by their fraternal lodge status. The city itself seems to reflect its history: a settlement set up by the railroad and originally carrying a name referring to violent shoot-outs, only to be renamed using the local Indian term for "woman's breast" after a near-by mountain. The rotting store-fronts, transients and all-around 'get the hell out of here' feel to this town make me unsympathetic to its demise. I honestly hope that eventually this town becomes nothing but an all too familiar interstate town, surrounded by nothing but a few trailer parks and a decaying civic life. The desert should simply retake this place, and I doubt many people, even locals, would put up much of a fight.

9:02am (Lubbock) :: I am suddenly craving Burger King. Advertising works, especially when aimed directly at my generation. Lubbock is bad, but could be much worse. Dilapidated or abandoned buildings, desolation, ugly college students and an unexplicable and unfocused eagerness. This place is killing my ability to put useless adjectives into sentences. It's obvious I must leave, to find a burger king. shower:

9:21am (Lubbock) :: New idea: Soaps with generic American names printed on them, and maybe common foreign names also, like "Mohd." Damn it. It's just liquor stores, shampoo bottles and fresh bushels of corn, whenever you need them they are impossible to find. I'm beginning to think that not only are these computers designed for certain versions of Windows, but people are as well. Part of the greater Microsoft conspiracy. I believe I was designed for Windows 2000. It's MY windows. I do wish now that I could travel into Colorado, and I suppose there's nothing to prohibit me from doing so. I would like to use the internet though. Damn hippies. An Accor hotel. (PS - There is an ashtray in the room turned upside down with a universal no smoking sign: seems counter-intuitive)

7:54pm (Austin) :: I think if I can ever find the heart to work again, it should be at a Home Depot where I can wear an orange vest and jeans and clear my throat to discuss hammers. Although I have no real reason to worry of it now, I am stressing over the post-odyssey events. I am still not certain where I will go, nor what I will do, for money or sanity. However unimportant, it seems to easily seep into my mind. Maybe having nothing else to stress over has made this rise to the surface.

The Sentra accelerates. It jumps forward, but then sputters and eases to an ant's crawl only to regain its meager strength and suddenly reach 3k rpms. Minding the ants, I saw several pick up a dead moth yesterday behind a toilet. The moth was huge, and I was perplexed as to how these little things evolved to lift so much if they were born so small. I suppose that there is not much smaller than an ant that's worth eating.

i don't know why i feel so tongue-tied
A sort of depressing beginning I suppose. Maybe self-pity will just erase itself and will write "Have Fun" in its place. I would like to see these emotions make themselves tangible and fight each other. I imagine happiness, or rather enjoyment, as a sausage-type embodiment. No explanation. Palo Duro will involve senseless hill-climbing as it did during the cold March. Lubbock will most likely not last long, although it could never be as bad as Amarillo. enough

9:21pm :: Computer. Music for airports is really George Clinton's "We Want the Funk" in superfly disguise. Damn. Things fell into place and everything seems set. Many strings remain untied at this point. My Henry Miller book will arrive on Thursday or Friday. I'm thinking of having it shipped to that silly little hostel in Santa Fe where I plan to spend at least 2 nights. With no purpose, no design. Damn, this computer rocks.

I've come to think that there is some correlation between our society's dependence on Christianity and the influence and power of the Santa Claus myth on our children. Maybe I'm growing older and out of the crux of youth culture, but Santa just doesn't seem as big as he was when I was a kid. Who here can say otherwise? These fish are truly insane. I suppose it's this caged environment, just slowly drives them through life although wrecklessly. BOOM

6:02pm :: A mad rush to leave and a stomach full of stuborness and quality fast food products. Forgive me, but I can't help but feel that this is a testimony to the kind of dreams free men and women can dream here in America. Reagan.

In the thoughts of the upcoming odyssey, it has become obvious that my largest problem will not be money nor accomodations, but food. I plan to train myself to eat one large meal a day, surrounded by 2-3 snacks and maybe several shots of alcohol. A bottle of Jack will surely accompany me on my trip. After all, what's funnier than watching a drunk trying to set up a tent in the middle of the desert? Bongos are a necessity but I may have to lower my standards somewhat. All kinds of unknown excretions from these fish, always in front of me. I think I now understand them: they now know that none of us will eat them, so they feel brazen enough to shit while looking right at me and making smug movements with their mouths. Screw these fish, I don't want involvement with anything which sleeps with its eyes open and swims around in its own waste. Something smells awful here, and I just hope that it's not me. I need lots of drugs and a good sleep. Also, a cigarette. Constantly thwarted by our species' fear of fire: "FIRE BAD!" said the tall man. I'll have to work on this as fire is still necessaray. Now, I sit up and read my various books on New Mexico, imagining the state's obscurities which the pretentious man with the typewriter admonishes on. everything that's keeping us together is falling apart

10:07pm :: Sour cream n' onion flavored jesus. Nothing goes on in the land of the lost, nor in the land of the giants, for both were cancelled long ago. We laugh in mockery at pieces of our society's past with which we're not familiar, but yet we laugh in nostalgia at those with which we are. I realize now that most of what I type here is self-evident, and does not need to be stated. Counter-intuitive instructions for setting up a tent on a mosquito-infested backyard patio. A lively sense of satisfaction from seeing paper fast food drink cups slowly wet themselves. This all sucks and I have to wonder how close we all are to giving up, or at least growing up. Ever thought what a shit-slow typer Doogie Howser was? The American viewing public had to watch the camera as it followed those little green words across his screen, reciting whatever cheesy bullshit the ABC writer had come up with for that week. Whatever happened to morality? Surely the Christian bookstores should be burgeoning! Shit, there should be one of every corner. But alas! Each corner has a heathen-operated gas station, dispensing American vice at a hefty profit. This American dream is often built on our vices, our weaknesses. And this money, which has come to represent our individuality, builds itself a model humanity. whatever, sleep early. maybe not.

9:56pm :: Sure, the economy sucks and the Chinese pronounce 'Bush' in a way that roughly translates to "Is Not" in Mandarin. Otherwise, these sideways vaginas are getting in the way. In fact, they're everywhere, laughing. Several inappropriate knee-pad jokes and depressing emails later, I'm in The Woodlands. Florida will be this weekend, and the sun will slowly rise to the sound of the Flaming Lips, if only in my head. Modest Mouse is being played on an ad for a Nissan mini-van, and the best song the Postal Service has is not in fact on their album. Kill whitey. The battery is back in my smoke detector and now it goes "BEEEEEEEEP!!!!" Figure that out.