Jim,
Maybe I ranted too much and too long about The Lost Highway, because all my friends - here and IRL - went ahead and got on it, and I haven't seen them since. I mean, I've heard the screams and the howling of engines and the horrible noises as some of them pile up on the median, but I haven't seen the people I used to know in weeks.
It takes a special kind of mindset to survive that road, Jim, and having that mindset isn't necessarily a good thing. People with a little more sense tend to go to pieces. Some get drunk to deal with it, some turn to drugs...and some get a look at the speed limit sign and get The Fear, and then sit in front of a computer all day long, completely paralyzed by what they saw, or lock themselves in their homes and work feverishly on projects to try to block it all out.
Some speed up to try to find an exit ramp, and wind up smacking into that median I mentioned at 120MPH, and they meet the sausage creature. You DO know about the sausage creature, right Jim? It's got no teeth and no face and it's limbs just flop around, and what skin it has left is all blotchy and bruised. Once you meet the sausage creature, you'll never be the same again.
The thing about The Lost Highway, Jim, is that there are no pleasing lies. All the scenery is as presented, and the billboards say things that most decent people won't even bring up. It's a huge wasteland of scrub trees and broken dreams, kind of like when you take I10 East from Tucson, into the badlands past Davidson Canyon. In all honesty, I can't see any rational reason why anyone would go on that road, because there's nothing out there but The Truth, and a lot of people really aren't prepared for that.
The Lost Highway isn't a pleasant drive, certainly not one to take the kids on, and if you lose your nerve, you're done for. The curves and strange loops and twisted logic require an iron grip on your fear, and the moment you give in - just for a second - POW! You meet the sausage creature. This is no century for nervous types, man. Not at all.
I'd get the hell off myself, but Curly said he saw something important out here, and I at least owe it to him to find out what that was. But I never should have encouraged my friends to come, too. Now they've all gone crazy, and I am to blame.
Or Kill Me.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 04:49:45 PM
Jim,
Maybe I ranted too much and too long about The Lost Highway, because all my friends - here and IRL - went ahead and got on it, and I haven't seen them since. I mean, I've heard the screams and the howling of engines and the horrible noises as some of them pile up on the median, but I haven't seen the people I used to know in weeks.
It takes a special kind of mindset to survive that road, Jim, and having that mindset isn't necessarily a good thing. People with a little more sense tend to go to pieces. Some get drunk to deal with it, some turn to drugs...and some get a look at the speed limit sign and get The Fear, and then sit in front of a computer all day long, completely paralyzed by what they saw, or lock themselves in their homes and work feverishly on projects to try to block it all out.
Some speed up to try to find an exit ramp, and wind up smacking into that median I mentioned at 120MPH, and they meet the sausage creature. You DO know about the sausage creature, right Jim? It's got no teeth and no face and it's limbs just flop around, and what skin it has left is all blotchy and bruised. Once you meet the sausage creature, you'll never be the same again.
The thing about The Lost Highway, Jim, is that there are no pleasing lies. All the scenery is as presented, and the billboards say things that most decent people won't even bring up. It's a huge wasteland of scrub trees and broken dreams, kind of like when you take I10 East from Tucson, into the badlands past Davidson Canyon. In all honesty, I can't see any rational reason why anyone would go on that road, because there's nothing out there but The Truth, and a lot of people really aren't prepared for that.
The Lost Highway isn't a pleasant drive, certainly not one to take the kids on, and if you lose your nerve, you're done for. The curves and strange loops and twisted logic require an iron grip on your fear, and the moment you give in - just for a second - POW! You meet the sausage creature. This is no century for nervous types, man. Not at all.
I'd get the hell off myself, but Curly said he saw something important out here, and I at least owe it to him to find out what that was. But I never should have encouraged my friends to come, too. Now they've all gone crazy, and I am to blame.
Or Kill Me.
Do Nevar Go Without A Designated Driver.
this was good, Rog -- It spoke to me very personally. I think I am hiding in my house these days, out of fear.
this must end.
Quote from: Cramulus on January 11, 2010, 04:52:15 PM
this was good, Rog -- It spoke to me very personally. I think I am hiding in my house these days, out of fear.
this must end.
You were actually one of the dozen or so people I had in mind, Cram. You were a little manic over the last few weeks...a little too over the top (Remmington's pics come to mind...Brilliant, but the overall impression was a little wild-eyed).
What I forgot to mention in my last rant about this is that there's two ends to every tunnel, and if you're just as far in as you can stand - and you can't see the light at the end - turn around. Curly didn't believe that, and he did some great things, but in the end he was mashed flat. Just more roadkill in the fast lane of the tunnel, and hardly anyone remembers who he was, now.
Personally, I haven't seen enough yet, but I am a fairly unpleasant person. I
have to see how bad it all gets, and maybe you were right when you said "blah blah gaze upon monsters blah blah become a monster" (or words to that effect). I have a high pain threshhold, and I can smile through the agony, but I keep forgetting that not everyone is wired that way. Some people like their weirdness light-hearted, and some like it as an occasional thing, and I feel really bad about encouraging people to go
too far out of their comfort zone, into the weird and depraved places where the freaks will get you if the pressure doesn't.
I said there was some neat shit down here, but I forgot to mention that crush depths may vary by person.
It really wasn't that bad, you know, the first few miles. It deceives you into thinking you're on the scenic route. It's when it gets dark that the scenery becomes the stuff of your night terrors.
I've driven past the remains of so many I knew. I really want to stop. My heart tells me to stop, but my brain currently has full control and there is no stopping when it is in charge. So I keep driving. Every once in a while you'll see a family pulled over at one of the "picnic areas". You almost think they really are sitting there enjoying their fried chicken and potato salad. But if you slow down you'll see the maggots working their way out of their eyes.
My biggest thing is the people who are coming towards me. Their cars look like they've driven through a blow 'em up scene from Terminator. Their faces, locked in absolute terror, they don't scare me as much as they fascinate me. What made them go down this highway, what did they see, who were they chasing? They don't look left or right, just straight ahead, always staring. Where do they come from Roger? Did they turn around somewhere midpoint?
Don't they understand that once they start down this highway, there is really no going back? And even if they could, would they want to?
Crap I posted before you finished, sorry Roger.... :?
Personally, I think I'm doing fine. I can see other people getting a little frentic or frayed at the edges, but hey, I've been there before, I don't feel it would be right to jump in and point that out.
This too shall pass.
Quote from: Khara on January 11, 2010, 05:08:54 PM
It really wasn't that bad, you know, the first few miles. It deceives you into thinking you're on the scenic route. It's when it gets dark that the scenery becomes the stuff of your night terrors.
I've driven past the remains of so many I knew. I really want to stop. My heart tells me to stop, but my brain currently has full control and there is no stopping when it is in charge. So I keep driving. Every once in a while you'll see a family pulled over at one of the "picnic areas". You almost think they really are sitting there enjoying their fried chicken and potato salad. But if you slow down you'll see the maggots working their way out of their eyes.
My biggest thing is the people who are coming towards me. Their cars look like they've driven through a blow 'em up scene from Terminator. Their faces, locked in absolute terror, they don't scare me as much as they fascinate me. What made them go down this highway, what did they see, who were they chasing? They don't look left or right, just straight ahead, always staring. Where do they come from Roger? Did they turn around somewhere midpoint?
Don't they understand that once they start down this highway, there is really no going back? And even if they could, would they want to?
The people you saw "picnicing" were those who thought this was a novelty.
The ones in the oncoming lane are the ones who were smart enough to ignore the "Emergency Vehicles Only" signs (the ones peppered by the most buckshot), and turned around. Curly didn't turn around, and look what happened to him.
And me? I can't remember what the regular highway looks like. I can't stay with anyone for more than a few months before they freak out, I can't be trusted at parties, and I laugh too much at things that aren't really all that funny. 911? Ha ha! Auschwitz? Ho ho! Worldwide desertification?
HAHAHAHA stop it, you're killing me!.
Vroom vroom!
Quote from: Cain on January 11, 2010, 05:10:46 PM
Personally, I think I'm doing fine. I can see other people getting a little frentic or frayed at the edges, but hey, I've been there before, I don't feel it would be right to jump in and point that out.
This too shall pass.
Same here, Cain, but has it occurred to you that this isn't necessarily a ringing endorsement of our mental state?
Truth vs the capacity to function around other primates
and enjoy their company. Choose.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:16:34 PM
Quote from: Cain on January 11, 2010, 05:10:46 PM
Personally, I think I'm doing fine. I can see other people getting a little frentic or frayed at the edges, but hey, I've been there before, I don't feel it would be right to jump in and point that out.
This too shall pass.
Same here, Cain, but has it occurred to you that this isn't necessarily a ringing endorsement of our mental state?
Truth vs the capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company. Choose.
The capacity to function around other primates
and enjoy their company vs the capacity to function around other primates
and NOT enjoy their company vs the inability to function around other primates without resorting to flinging shit at them. I don't think Truth enters into it.
Quote from: Doctor Rat Bastard on January 11, 2010, 05:18:40 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:16:34 PM
Quote from: Cain on January 11, 2010, 05:10:46 PM
Personally, I think I'm doing fine. I can see other people getting a little frentic or frayed at the edges, but hey, I've been there before, I don't feel it would be right to jump in and point that out.
This too shall pass.
Same here, Cain, but has it occurred to you that this isn't necessarily a ringing endorsement of our mental state?
Truth vs the capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company. Choose.
The capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company vs the capacity to function around other primates and NOT enjoy their company vs the inability to function around other primates without resorting to flinging shit at them. I don't think Truth enters into it.
Of course it does. If you are willing to accept a few social fictions, you are much more likely to wind up surrounded by primates that want to be around you, and less likely to wind up bitter and lonely in your old age (or not so old age).
Hemmingway saw that choice, and opted out entirely.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:14:57 PM
Quote from: Khara on January 11, 2010, 05:08:54 PM
It really wasn't that bad, you know, the first few miles. It deceives you into thinking you're on the scenic route. It's when it gets dark that the scenery becomes the stuff of your night terrors.
I've driven past the remains of so many I knew. I really want to stop. My heart tells me to stop, but my brain currently has full control and there is no stopping when it is in charge. So I keep driving. Every once in a while you'll see a family pulled over at one of the "picnic areas". You almost think they really are sitting there enjoying their fried chicken and potato salad. But if you slow down you'll see the maggots working their way out of their eyes.
My biggest thing is the people who are coming towards me. Their cars look like they've driven through a blow 'em up scene from Terminator. Their faces, locked in absolute terror, they don't scare me as much as they fascinate me. What made them go down this highway, what did they see, who were they chasing? They don't look left or right, just straight ahead, always staring. Where do they come from Roger? Did they turn around somewhere midpoint?
Don't they understand that once they start down this highway, there is really no going back? And even if they could, would they want to?
The people you saw "picnicing" were those who thought this was a novelty.
The ones in the oncoming lane are the ones who were smart enough to ignore the "Emergency Vehicles Only" signs (the ones peppered by the most buckshot), and turned around. Curly didn't turn around, and look what happened to him.
And me? I can't remember what the regular highway looks like. I can't stay with anyone for more than a few months before they freak out, I can't be trusted at parties, and I laugh too much at things that aren't really all that funny. 911? Ha ha! Auschwitz? Ho ho! Worldwide desertification? HAHAHAHA stop it, you're killing me!.
Vroom vroom!
Do you regret taking that entrance ramp? I mean do you really? I don't anymore. I would rather travel this highway than the one they painted all the unicorns and fairies over the graffiti. You know which one I'm talking about. The air even smells like cotton candy the whole thing is so sickly sweet and cloying it gags you and forces you to keep the windows tightly rolled up.
I think I'm better off alone in reality than with someone in their fantasy. Because I'll fuck up their fantasy sure as shit. As for the tragedy being my amusement, that was there all along, I was just ashamed to admit it until recently. So if I'm broken, I don't know that I want to be fixed.
I keep looking for the highway, but I can't get off this damn ring-road. The only thing I can see out of the window are the blur of the signs which I'm sure I would find significant if I wasn't always going just a little shade too fast to read, as I spot them too late. Then just as I think it'll never end, I find myself right back where I started.
Meh.
Maybe I should just stop looking and just get out for a bit to stretch my legs.
Quote from: Khara on January 11, 2010, 05:27:14 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:14:57 PM
Quote from: Khara on January 11, 2010, 05:08:54 PM
It really wasn't that bad, you know, the first few miles. It deceives you into thinking you're on the scenic route. It's when it gets dark that the scenery becomes the stuff of your night terrors.
I've driven past the remains of so many I knew. I really want to stop. My heart tells me to stop, but my brain currently has full control and there is no stopping when it is in charge. So I keep driving. Every once in a while you'll see a family pulled over at one of the "picnic areas". You almost think they really are sitting there enjoying their fried chicken and potato salad. But if you slow down you'll see the maggots working their way out of their eyes.
My biggest thing is the people who are coming towards me. Their cars look like they've driven through a blow 'em up scene from Terminator. Their faces, locked in absolute terror, they don't scare me as much as they fascinate me. What made them go down this highway, what did they see, who were they chasing? They don't look left or right, just straight ahead, always staring. Where do they come from Roger? Did they turn around somewhere midpoint?
Don't they understand that once they start down this highway, there is really no going back? And even if they could, would they want to?
The people you saw "picnicing" were those who thought this was a novelty.
The ones in the oncoming lane are the ones who were smart enough to ignore the "Emergency Vehicles Only" signs (the ones peppered by the most buckshot), and turned around. Curly didn't turn around, and look what happened to him.
And me? I can't remember what the regular highway looks like. I can't stay with anyone for more than a few months before they freak out, I can't be trusted at parties, and I laugh too much at things that aren't really all that funny. 911? Ha ha! Auschwitz? Ho ho! Worldwide desertification? HAHAHAHA stop it, you're killing me!.
Vroom vroom!
Do you regret taking that entrance ramp? I mean do you really? I don't anymore. I would rather travel this highway than the one they painted all the unicorns and fairies over the graffiti. You know which one I'm talking about. The air even smells like cotton candy the whole thing is so sickly sweet and cloying it gags you and forces you to keep the windows tightly rolled up.
I think I'm better off alone in reality than with someone in their fantasy. Because I'll fuck up their fantasy sure as shit. As for the tragedy being my amusement, that was there all along, I was just ashamed to admit it until recently. So if I'm broken, I don't know that I want to be fixed.
Likewise, but not everyone is a misanthrope.
Quote from: FP on January 11, 2010, 05:28:05 PM
I keep looking for the highway, but I can't get off this damn ring-road. The only thing I can see out of the window are the blur of the signs which I'm sure I would find significant if I wasn't always going just a little shade too fast to read, as I spot them too late. Then just as I think it'll never end, I find myself right back where I started.
Meh.
Maybe I should just stop looking and just get out for a bit to stretch my legs.
Yeah. And maybe you should forget the highway for a while and raise your kid. Like I said, this is no place to go driving with the family...Kids can use the comforting half-truths for a while. They'll learn the horrible facts soon enough, and there's no harm in letting them be children for a while.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:20:26 PM
Quote from: Doctor Rat Bastard on January 11, 2010, 05:18:40 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:16:34 PM
Quote from: Cain on January 11, 2010, 05:10:46 PM
Personally, I think I'm doing fine. I can see other people getting a little frentic or frayed at the edges, but hey, I've been there before, I don't feel it would be right to jump in and point that out.
This too shall pass.
Same here, Cain, but has it occurred to you that this isn't necessarily a ringing endorsement of our mental state?
Truth vs the capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company. Choose.
The capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company vs the capacity to function around other primates and NOT enjoy their company vs the inability to function around other primates without resorting to flinging shit at them. I don't think Truth enters into it.
Of course it does. If you are willing to accept a few social fictions, you are much more likely to wind up surrounded by primates that want to be around you, and less likely to wind up bitter and lonely in your old age (or not so old age).
Hemmingway saw that choice, and opted out entirely.
I think they just choose different delusions, not truth. I mean, we can look at humanity and see the genocide, murder, rape, stupidity, groupthink, etc. which is one delusion... or we can see the art, creativity, self-sacrifice, imagination and progress of humans which is a different delusion.
The only 'true' thing would be that humans are human and have incredibly awesome moments and horrifically terrible moments... and that just kinda leaves me 'meh' rather than being bitter, lonely or specifically accepting social fictions... I think.
The Lost Highway may be bad, but it may not be the only highway... and even there' its likely that some flowers are growing in the Median. ;-)
You seem to be on a different highway. The only plants out here are mesquite trees and cacti.
Fuck it. Thread is all hippied up now.
May as well staple it to the Magic threads.
Fucking done.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:37:01 PM
You seem to be on a different highway. The only plants out here are mesquite trees and cacti.
Hrmmm, I see...
Well, maybe that's it... different highway. Sjaantze used to be on the Humans are Horrible highway. I dunno what exit ramp she took...
Quote from: Doctor Rat Bastard on January 11, 2010, 05:34:39 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:20:26 PM
Quote from: Doctor Rat Bastard on January 11, 2010, 05:18:40 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:16:34 PM
Quote from: Cain on January 11, 2010, 05:10:46 PM
Personally, I think I'm doing fine. I can see other people getting a little frentic or frayed at the edges, but hey, I've been there before, I don't feel it would be right to jump in and point that out.
This too shall pass.
Same here, Cain, but has it occurred to you that this isn't necessarily a ringing endorsement of our mental state?
Truth vs the capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company. Choose.
The capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company vs the capacity to function around other primates and NOT enjoy their company vs the inability to function around other primates without resorting to flinging shit at them. I don't think Truth enters into it.
Of course it does. If you are willing to accept a few social fictions, you are much more likely to wind up surrounded by primates that want to be around you, and less likely to wind up bitter and lonely in your old age (or not so old age).
Hemmingway saw that choice, and opted out entirely.
I think they just choose different delusions, not truth. I mean, we can look at humanity and see the genocide, murder, rape, stupidity, groupthink, etc. which is one delusion... or we can see the art, creativity, self-sacrifice, imagination and progress of humans which is a different delusion.
The only 'true' thing would be that humans are human and have incredibly awesome moments and horrifically terrible moments... and that just kinda leaves me 'meh' rather than being bitter, lonely or specifically accepting social fictions... I think.
The Lost Highway may be bad, but it may not be the only highway... and even there' its likely that some flowers are growing in the Median. ;-)
Those aren't random flowers, they're grave markings.
Quote from: Doctor Rat Bastard on January 11, 2010, 05:39:23 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:37:01 PM
You seem to be on a different highway. The only plants out here are mesquite trees and cacti.
Hrmmm, I see...
Well, maybe that's it... different highway. Sjaantze used to be on the Humans are Horrible highway. I dunno what exit ramp she took...
Where the fuck did you get "Humans are Horrible"?
Goddammit.
Should I just rename this YET ANOTHER HIPPIE FUCKING MAGIC THREAD? Should we do that with every fucking thread in this goddamn forum? Son of a fucking bitch.
I think I'm done with these threads. There's no fucking point.
Quote from: Khara on January 11, 2010, 05:41:34 PM
Quote from: Doctor Rat Bastard on January 11, 2010, 05:34:39 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:20:26 PM
Quote from: Doctor Rat Bastard on January 11, 2010, 05:18:40 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:16:34 PM
Quote from: Cain on January 11, 2010, 05:10:46 PM
Personally, I think I'm doing fine. I can see other people getting a little frentic or frayed at the edges, but hey, I've been there before, I don't feel it would be right to jump in and point that out.
This too shall pass.
Same here, Cain, but has it occurred to you that this isn't necessarily a ringing endorsement of our mental state?
Truth vs the capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company. Choose.
The capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company vs the capacity to function around other primates and NOT enjoy their company vs the inability to function around other primates without resorting to flinging shit at them. I don't think Truth enters into it.
Of course it does. If you are willing to accept a few social fictions, you are much more likely to wind up surrounded by primates that want to be around you, and less likely to wind up bitter and lonely in your old age (or not so old age).
Hemmingway saw that choice, and opted out entirely.
I think they just choose different delusions, not truth. I mean, we can look at humanity and see the genocide, murder, rape, stupidity, groupthink, etc. which is one delusion... or we can see the art, creativity, self-sacrifice, imagination and progress of humans which is a different delusion.
The only 'true' thing would be that humans are human and have incredibly awesome moments and horrifically terrible moments... and that just kinda leaves me 'meh' rather than being bitter, lonely or specifically accepting social fictions... I think.
The Lost Highway may be bad, but it may not be the only highway... and even there' its likely that some flowers are growing in the Median. ;-)
Those aren't random flowers, they're grave markings.
Don't fucking bother, Khara. This thread is now another "Nothing is true, everything is permitted" abortion.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:45:38 PM
Quote from: Khara on January 11, 2010, 05:41:34 PM
Quote from: Doctor Rat Bastard on January 11, 2010, 05:34:39 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:20:26 PM
Quote from: Doctor Rat Bastard on January 11, 2010, 05:18:40 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:16:34 PM
Quote from: Cain on January 11, 2010, 05:10:46 PM
Personally, I think I'm doing fine. I can see other people getting a little frentic or frayed at the edges, but hey, I've been there before, I don't feel it would be right to jump in and point that out.
This too shall pass.
Same here, Cain, but has it occurred to you that this isn't necessarily a ringing endorsement of our mental state?
Truth vs the capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company. Choose.
The capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company vs the capacity to function around other primates and NOT enjoy their company vs the inability to function around other primates without resorting to flinging shit at them. I don't think Truth enters into it.
Of course it does. If you are willing to accept a few social fictions, you are much more likely to wind up surrounded by primates that want to be around you, and less likely to wind up bitter and lonely in your old age (or not so old age).
Hemmingway saw that choice, and opted out entirely.
I think they just choose different delusions, not truth. I mean, we can look at humanity and see the genocide, murder, rape, stupidity, groupthink, etc. which is one delusion... or we can see the art, creativity, self-sacrifice, imagination and progress of humans which is a different delusion.
The only 'true' thing would be that humans are human and have incredibly awesome moments and horrifically terrible moments... and that just kinda leaves me 'meh' rather than being bitter, lonely or specifically accepting social fictions... I think.
The Lost Highway may be bad, but it may not be the only highway... and even there' its likely that some flowers are growing in the Median. ;-)
Those aren't random flowers, they're grave markings.
Don't fucking bother, Khara. This thread is now another "Nothing is true, everything is permitted" abortion.
I didn't say that...
Quote from: Doctor Rat Bastard on January 11, 2010, 05:34:39 PM
The Lost Highway may be bad, but it may not be the only highway... and even there' its likely that some flowers are growing in the Median. ;-)
Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it considered bad form to contradict/challenge the central concepts of a psycho letter, at least before it's all played out?
I've been looking for the place forever, you know but I'm blinded. Like the rich can't see the social decay about them, like the zealous can't see the repercussions of their extremity. It's winter up here and that means my feet aren't viable modes of transportation, the sidewalk is cruel with frost and hard enough to shatter your knees if you use it too much. The roads are always white, if not with Aput's will then with enough road salt to turn the Great Lakes into the Dead Sea. It cakes on your windshield and you can't see but directly ahead and something tells me this highway is just slightly off to one side or another.
I need this fucking highway. I need to test the limits of my car like any good American and burn the motherfucker down to nothing. This other place is packed with gibbering fools and bloodsuckers that seek to claim the pavement with the relative anonymity of their pointless steel wills. I know it's no escape down there and it might lead to my demise and to the shock therapy of that which I hold dear but at least it's stimulation and not atrophy. At least the deep red along the median will be splattered from glorious impact instead of leaking slowly from my skull to congeal sickly beside where only flesh remains. I'd be the sausage creature then.
I probably won't make it far, I mean this is the fucking big game hunt where I'd only ever trapped squirrels and rodents. But I'm about to get on the road and shift up to fifth and just lay on the gas, let go of the steering wheel and close my eyes and that's no way to travel. There are glimpses to be had on the drive worth more than the destination. Even if I did at any rate I'd probably find myself on the Lost Highway, and I'd rather arrive deliberately with my wits about me than surprise myself on top of the horror I'm soon to witness.
I either go mad here or there, the way I see it. I'd prefer it be under my own terms.
And damn it all I just saw what happened while I was writing that.
Quote from: FP on January 11, 2010, 05:53:19 PM
Quote from: Doctor Rat Bastard on January 11, 2010, 05:34:39 PM
The Lost Highway may be bad, but it may not be the only highway... and even there' its likely that some flowers are growing in the Median. ;-)
Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it considered bad form to contradict/challenge the central concepts of a psycho letter, at least before it's all played out?
Not if you're a self-proclaimed hippie mahdgjickqual guru. Then
everything is about how nothing is true and it's all fucking fluffy white clouds and pink monkeys and shit and things are only true if you believe them and never mind that shadow forming around you, it's not a big fucking boot coming down, someone is just "drawing down the moon" or some bullshit.
Goddammit, to hell with it. We should just rename this board Mystic Wicks II and talk about "sending energy" to anyone who notices that the pleasant meadows we're dancing in is really a conveyor belt, heading for the whirling blades. That will solve everything. For a while.
:mittens: to TOG
Quote from: The Omnipotent Grinner on January 11, 2010, 05:55:05 PM
And damn it all I just saw what happened while I was writing that.
I'd advise ignoring it - pretend the corpse was a speedbump, and the blood on the windshield is just mud.
Quote from: FP on January 11, 2010, 05:58:59 PM
:mittens: to TOG
Quote from: The Omnipotent Grinner on January 11, 2010, 05:55:05 PM
And damn it all I just saw what happened while I was writing that.
I'd advise ignoring it - pretend the corpse was a speedbump, and the blood on the windshield is just mud.
I'm gonna respond to TOG when I'm not so fucking pissed off.
ETA: I just wanted to write about my concern for some of my friends that seem to be, you know, dancing a little too fast and a little too close to the edge, so maybe I'd feel a bit better about it and maybe clue them in to how close to the edge they actually are. Blow off a little steam with some allegory, so to speak.
But now I'm worried AND pissed off, and I really wish to God I hadn't started this thread. I can't fucking stand it anymore.
Yeah, I took the onramp to have a joyride on the highway (that's what I thought at least), mostly because I don't like to get left behind if something sounds like fun. And I saw a few things, and I started veering a bit. I ended up turning around pretty quick, though, because I wasn't sure if I ought to keep going or not, and Monkey needed me. Or maybe I haven't got off yet, and I'm fooling myself. Either way, I'm wandering around trying to find out where to go. I haven't got a lot of experience being behind the wheel, ya know?
P.S. I hope this thread doesn't die yet...
Re to OP:
I wonder about the highway sometimes. At work, at home, or out witlessing, am I speeding along, or am I just another crazy roadside attraction? Some people just seem to fly down that highway without a clue, recklessly pursuing ruin. I pass by others who seem to be coasing along, equally oblivious, but as if all the crap they pass by can't touch them.
In real life I drive a box. It's an old box, made back when cars were still metal that was worth a damn, and I'm comfortable I could walk away from it if things go bad. Not so on the highway, we're all on motorcycles, all going WAY too fast. Stop, and you might be someone else's speed bump. Even slowing down is letting mean passing back through that weird shaky point where the machine just DOESN'T like you, and I'm not about to risk that on top of the other crap. Turning around would require some combination of the two, so that's right out. So I barrel along, wondering if it's practicality or cowardice keeping the throttle held down.
I've got a monkey too, did I mention that? A weird, hermaphrodite schizo monkey in the sidecar. I knew the monkey, or the two or the people the monkey was. Old buddies picked up along the way. (Hey, better to take them along and keep them engaged than let them off themselves in the dust. They are my buddies and all.) Only now, they become the monkey sometimes. They lean over and fuck around with the carbeurator, try to disconnect the sidecar, or egg on pallet trucks full of cannibal mutations heading to Disney.
Of course, I try to stop them, but I get the sense this is a loosing proposition. Do I keep slapping them monkey hands away? Do I disconnect them, and watch them spiral off to crash, turning that monkey I knew into some twitching gore - thing, bleeding on the pavement? (That doesn't sit right, not going there.) If I let them unhook themselves, they could invent a few more wheels and a motor and keep on their own way. I could be an optimistic fool, but they might. it is awfully hard to crash some days. As fast and horrific as it is, pardoxically you have to WORK for it. Here's the thing that REALLY fucks with my head; am I on any highway at all in the first place? That teeth clenched, "Get it done or we're FUCKED." might not be anything at all. I might just be a pedestrian, screaming into the wind. Whether I'm measuring my progress in RPM and MPH, or counting steps and sliding another bead down a chord, I don't think it would make a difference, as long as I keep on moving.
Quote from: The Omnipotent Grinner on January 11, 2010, 05:53:47 PM
I either go mad here or there, the way I see it. I'd prefer it be under my own terms.
That's the only reason to get on this road.
Quote from: Mistress Freeky on January 11, 2010, 06:12:28 PM
Or maybe I haven't got off yet, and I'm fooling myself.
Is there a screaming noise in the distance?
Quote from: Richter on January 11, 2010, 06:15:09 PM
I've got a monkey too, did I mention that? A weird, hermaphrodite schizo monkey in the sidecar. I knew the monkey, or the two or the people the monkey was. Old buddies picked up along the way. (Hey, better to take them along and keep them engaged than let them off themselves in the dust. They are my buddies and all.) Only now, they become the monkey sometimes. They lean over and fuck around with the carbeurator, try to disconnect the sidecar, or egg on pallet trucks full of cannibal mutations heading to Disney.
I know that monkey. I know him well. I call him "Self-Destructo the Wonder Chimp", and sometimes I let him drive.
All the way to Disneyland.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 06:17:04 PM
Quote from: Mistress Freeky on January 11, 2010, 06:12:28 PM
Or maybe I haven't got off yet, and I'm fooling myself.
Is there a screaming noise in the distance?
I hear SOME screaming, or maybe laughing, but I'm not sure if it's distance or just hidden under the wind blowing.
Quote from: Mistress Freeky on January 11, 2010, 06:21:24 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 06:17:04 PM
Quote from: Mistress Freeky on January 11, 2010, 06:12:28 PM
Or maybe I haven't got off yet, and I'm fooling myself.
Is there a screaming noise in the distance?
I hear SOME screaming, or maybe laughing, but I'm not sure if it's distance or just hidden under the wind blowing.
Then you're on the frontage road. If you were on The Lost Highway, you'd hear it clear as day. The wind sounds like an 85 year old man that just learned that his retirement plan was wiped out by greedy bankers, and that nobody will hire a man his age.
And sometimes it sounds like a woman who learned that the ER will see her kid, but will only stabilize the child. The long term treatment that will allow her kid to live a normal life is only available if she has health insurance, and she doesn't even have a job.
And sometimes it sounds like "patriots" screaming that rights are limited, not to all humans, but only to the chosen 301,000,000...and only then if the people involved have the right values.
And
sometimes...sometimes it almost sounds like Curly, and he's trying to tell you something. But then the wind whips it away, and it's gone again.
Roger, It's been coming at me for a while. I've been seeing the lines on the highway blur into a single stripe, and I have to keep looking away, because I swear that they converge in front of me and then veer left-- if I let them take me where they want to go, I'll just slam into the jersey barrier. And then, last week, I looked around, and couldn't see the car. But I felt it, in my head. Like I was the car. Not like I had wheels for feet or anything, but the engine was in my skull, and my eyes could feel the wind tearing at them, filling them with dust, grit, and dead insects. Can't blink, gotta stay awake, you don't know what's out there. Keep pushing that needle into the red. The whole fusilage is shuddering, and there's a shrieking noise starting in the base of my skull, pushing it's way forward through the soft parts of my brain, filling the whole thing with a high-pitched whine of insistence and desperation, pushing on, just over the next rise, through the shimmering heat, it's just over the next one--
And this morning, someone just jammed the clutch to the floor, without letting up on the gas. Everything is spinning loose, cranked up to above the limit for anything closely resembling "normal tolerance". And I can feel the graceful drift of the whole thing starting to fishtail. When it all goes perpendicular to the road, the motherfucker's gonna barrel roll. I'm not sure I care anymore.
Quote from: LMNO on January 11, 2010, 06:38:43 PM
Roger, It's been coming at me for a while. I've been seeing the lines on the highway blur into a single stripe, and I have to keep looking away, because I swear that they converge in front of me and then veer left-- if I let them take me where they want to go, I'll just slam into the jersey barrier. And then, last week, I looked around, and couldn't see the car. But I felt it, in my head. Like I was the car. Not like I had wheels for feet or anything, but the engine was in my skull, and my eyes could feel the wind tearing at them, filling them with dust, grit, and dead insects. Can't blink, gotta stay awake, you don't know what's out there. Keep pushing that needle into the red. The whole fusilage is shuddering, and there's a shrieking noise starting in the base of my skull, pushing it's way forward through the soft parts of my brain, filling the whole thing with a high-pitched whine of insistence and desperation, pushing on, just over the next rise, through the shimmering heat, it's just over the next one--
And this morning, someone just jammed the clutch to the floor, without letting up on the gas. Everything is spinning loose, cranked up to above the limit for anything closely resembling "normal tolerance". And I can feel the graceful drift of the whole thing starting to fishtail. When it all goes perpendicular to the road, the motherfucker's gonna barrel roll. I'm not sure I care anymore.
Even Elvis and Hank Sr wrecked, LMNO. It's not a question of "if", but "when". Like TOG said, it's gonna happen, either on The Lost Highway or at an intersection downtown. The only question is, did you do things on your own terms, or were you just along for the ride? Hemmingway understood that, as did Thompson and Mencken.
Interesting fact: 2 of those 3 ate a gun...But not Mencken. He was 10' tall and made of carbon steel.
I'm not one for driving, though I'm not sure if walking's a fair trade off for stepping in so much shit. Your lucky if your driving fast enough to miss the blur that is the every-day road-side freak-show mass-suicide side-show. Just today I woke up screaming about right-meets-wrong and remembered shortly after that it doesn't matter here. One of these days the smell of gasoline will get to me.
In the end your always under your own power even if your driving in one of the predetermined 'lanes' painted years ago by fathers fathers and mothers daughters. The choice is always there, to hit that jersey barrier and spiral off the road, hit unbroken earth and slip into a new territory. Sure its a 'crash' but what important thing has ever happened without a little bit of a bump? Hey if your going fast enough you wont even feel it. Though that's not really the point. I don't see the point, its too far off, too clouded by the shit, smog, and exhaust.
Its like a wake-up-call on repeat, I know I'm missing the point but the background noise helps me think...
Quote from: Ratssinis on January 11, 2010, 07:49:06 PM
I'm not one for driving, though I'm not sure if walking's a fair trade off for stepping in so much shit. Your lucky if your driving fast enough to miss the blur that is the every-day road-side freak-show mass-suicide side-show. Just today I woke up screaming about right-meets-wrong and remembered shortly after that it doesn't matter here. One of these days the smell of gasoline will get to me.
In the end your always under your own power even if your driving in one of the predetermined 'lanes' painted years ago by fathers fathers and mothers daughters. The choice is always there, to hit that jersey barrier and spiral off the road, hit unbroken earth and slip into a new territory. Sure its a 'crash' but what important thing has ever happened without a little bit of a bump? Hey if your going fast enough you wont even feel it. Though that's not really the point. I don't see the point, its too far off, too clouded by the shit, smog, and exhaust.
Its like a wake-up-call on repeat, I know I'm missing the point but the background noise helps me think...
Um...
:mittens:
Noob Win. I think I'm gonna like having you around.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 07:51:37 PM
Quote from: Ratssinis on January 11, 2010, 07:49:06 PM
I'm not one for driving, though I'm not sure if walking's a fair trade off for stepping in so much shit. Your lucky if your driving fast enough to miss the blur that is the every-day road-side freak-show mass-suicide side-show. Just today I woke up screaming about right-meets-wrong and remembered shortly after that it doesn't matter here. One of these days the smell of gasoline will get to me.
In the end your always under your own power even if your driving in one of the predetermined 'lanes' painted years ago by fathers fathers and mothers daughters. The choice is always there, to hit that jersey barrier and spiral off the road, hit unbroken earth and slip into a new territory. Sure its a 'crash' but what important thing has ever happened without a little bit of a bump? Hey if your going fast enough you wont even feel it. Though that's not really the point. I don't see the point, its too far off, too clouded by the shit, smog, and exhaust.
Its like a wake-up-call on repeat, I know I'm missing the point but the background noise helps me think...
Um...
:mittens:
Noob Win. I think I'm gonna like having you around.
Thank you sir. :lulz:
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:44:36 PM
Quote from: Doctor Rat Bastard on January 11, 2010, 05:39:23 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 05:37:01 PM
You seem to be on a different highway. The only plants out here are mesquite trees and cacti.
Hrmmm, I see...
Well, maybe that's it... different highway. Sjaantze used to be on the Humans are Horrible highway. I dunno what exit ramp she took...
Where the fuck did you get "Humans are Horrible"?
Goddammit.
Should I just rename this YET ANOTHER HIPPIE FUCKING MAGIC THREAD? Should we do that with every fucking thread in this goddamn forum? Son of a fucking bitch.
I think I'm done with these threads. There's no fucking point.
I'm laughing, but tears are rolling out of my eyes.
I can't get off the highway, TGRR. The exits are all on the wrong side of the road, and I'm doing 70 but almost out of gas. I just want to make it to the tip of the peninsula. I thought I was just going to the Wall, but the Wall disappeared, Roger.
Last night my friends fed me and tucked me into bed. I made a good decision for once, Roger. I woke up before dawn and the highway called me, so I stumbled out and opened my car door. I didn't put my boots on until I was on the front porch, Roger. So as not to wake them. And St. John's was my highway this morning, St. John's is duly decorated.
And then I smoked my last cigarette in the dawn, had a shot of whiskey, and fell asleep on my couch, speeding down the highway.
My heart won't beat right, and I'm dizzy.
Quote from: The Right Reverend Nigel on January 11, 2010, 08:27:25 PM
And then I smoked my last cigarette in the dawn, had a shot of whiskey, and fell asleep on my couch, speeding down the highway.
My heart won't beat right, and I'm dizzy.
Hank Sr would have approved, or at least understood. Of course, the same thing killed him, so you have to weigh your options.
I have
The Bartender Song running through my head, now. Sure, it's all sordid and dirty, but you'll never see anything worth mentioning at the Ritz Carlton, right?
That's why I'm looking for the bottom. Just to see what's there...you can tell a lot about a house by how the foundation behaves...and I think our foundation is cracked and covered in fungus, with bugs and lizards and big fucking rats running all through it.
Really, really big fucking rats.
Roger, I've been living in the ditch for about six months now. The box I've been sleeping in has an arrow which screams "THIS WAY UP", and points, but it doesn't seem to point to anything. And up is a relative term anyway... "up" to me might be down to, say, Archduke Ferdinand, who knows... and is it really screaming at me, or does it just seem that way? To be honest, in the beginning it seemed to whisper, but is becoming more frantic as time passes. Time IS passing, right? I'm not just sitting here, contemplating my Chuck Taylors and wondering what Nike owning the company means to my feet, right? Jesus, I hope so.
I live under a billboard with a rather amateur drawing of a fetus, captioned "A Person Is A Person, No Matter How Small", and while I observe the illustration and consider its artistic merit, remembering that "amateur" means 'for the love of', and trying not to saunter down that road without good boots I begin to wonder whether this particular baby group gives any of its money to Theodore Geisel's family? After all, a bank account is a bank account, no matter how full...
I'm living off the refuse tossed from passing cars, and have been living surprisingly well. It's an odd feeling to be eating ciagers and sipping from a mostly empty McDonalds paper cups, while realizing that I'm still eating better than 60% of the world population... Norman Borlaug, we hardly knew ye...
Quote from: Hoopla on January 11, 2010, 08:48:53 PM
and trying not to saunter down that road without good boots I begin to wonder whether this particular baby group gives any of its money to Theodore Geisel's family?
That man had more useful things to say than any 1000 "philosophers" you could name, all put together.
Needless to say, he's out of style, along with Dr Spock and Jim Henson and C Everett Coop and anyone else who gave a damn about kids, even if they weren't always right.
Really not trying to derail but this thread is fucking AWESOME!!!!
Quote from: Cramulus on January 11, 2010, 04:52:15 PM
this was good, Rog -- It spoke to me very personally. I think I am hiding in my house these days, out of fear.
this must end.
Same for me. I'm hiding, possibly in fear, in my house, in front of the computer all day, feverishly working on "projects" that are supposed to finally fix things. Except I start three new ones before I finish the first and it never gets done. Something ought to be changed, but I don't know how, or what. Everything I try seems to wind up down the same road. But I'll never give up, I promised myself that much.
Thanks for writing that Roger. Oh and I finally looked up Curly on wikipedia--I may lack the gland for that kind of thing, but I think I finally get the reference somewhat.
Quote from: Triple Zero on January 11, 2010, 09:48:59 PM
Quote from: Cramulus on January 11, 2010, 04:52:15 PM
this was good, Rog -- It spoke to me very personally. I think I am hiding in my house these days, out of fear.
this must end.
Same for me. I'm hiding, possibly in fear, in my house, in front of the computer all day, feverishly working on "projects" that are supposed to finally fix things. Except I start three new ones before I finish the first and it never gets done. Something ought to be changed, but I don't know how, or what. Everything I try seems to wind up down the same road. But I'll never give up, I promised myself that much.
Thanks for writing that Roger. Oh and I finally looked up Curly on wikipedia--I may lack the gland for that kind of thing, but I think I finally get the reference somewhat.
One very common fear is fear of success. If you never finish anything, you never have to confront that fear, right?
For me it seems more like a fear of change, and success would make quite the change. I think this closeted adoration of the status quo makes me a good monkey.
But why the fear of change? What is it that is holing you back? Have you found a comfort zone and you just want to stay there? I know nothing of your life so obviously I can't say anything.
-- who ever wants this to apply to them
I'm not on that highway yet. In fact, I'm not on any highway right now. Right now, I'm chilling out at the truck stop. It's a nice big one, and all of my friends and I are here, biding our time before we finally have to get in the car and choose which road out of here we're going to take. There's a long road trip ahead of us, and we're bumming around here to stock up on snacks and buy the relevant road maps (hoping they're still up-to-date) and check out the brochures they have next to the door.
The lost highway is only one of the ways out of here, but it's an interesting one to look at. Funny thing is, they make it look like you're not supposed to go that way, as if it's not a real road. Some days they have orange traffic cones set up just so that it preserves this impression, but I know better. People will honk at you and make a fuss, but there's always a way to maneuver your car and get on that highway, despite all the shiny road signs that will draw your attention away.
Still, it's not like I have to get on that highway now, or whenever I choose to leave the truck stop. I hear it crosses all the other highways at one point or another. And in any case, I don't feel like leaving yet.
It's kinda nice here, really. There's a distinct sense of temporary hospitality. You can claim a table and a few chairs to set your bag down and have a bite to eat from the slightly overpriced food joint, taking it in turns with your buddies to guard the table and keep the seats while you stretch your legs and procrastinate. Maybe take your car to the car wash before putting it back in the paring lot; gotta get on that highway looking nice and clean, after all. I get nervous while navigating, so I spend a lot of time here studying the maps of the region, plotting possible routes... but there's that one route I can't quite figure out. That lost highway always seems to be in the corner of the maps, only ever showing a few bits of it, like the cartographers went out of their way to plot as little of it as possible. It makes me curious, and fearful at the same time. Do I dare take a road when I don't know where it will lead me?
I don't know yet. Besides, I gotta hit the toilet and read a few more pages of this paperback before getting back in the car. I'm in no rush. Not yet.
Many skeletons are found in truck stop diners.
Fact.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 10:23:57 PM
Many skeletons are found in truck stop diners.
Fact.
Well shit. That doesn't make me feel any better about the quality of the bathrooms here.
Quote from: Cainad on January 11, 2010, 10:25:21 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 10:23:57 PM
Many skeletons are found in truck stop diners.
Fact.
Well shit. That doesn't make me feel any better about the quality of the bathrooms here.
Hey, carniverous roach swarms have to eat, too.
We have a truck stop 2 miles from the refinery. It IS America, all wrapped up in one horrible, horrible facility.
I stand on an overpass, slightly drunk. tons of metal and rubber and meat rush by underneath me all going in one direction. As I lean on the guard rail that stops the little people jumping off I smoke a cigarette and the oily foulness of its smoke caresses my throat and lungs as it slides down down down.
There are others here, but we don't see each other caught as we are by the mythic highway that rolls beneath us - a terrible river that harks back to the ancient dry Nile that once failed to flow past the necropolises of the ancient Egyptians. Dry, it was, but it would flow again and the Egyptians would make entire religions from this fact.
The highway is worse. It flows, but is dry. It never floods and never changes. Straight as a spear with, one can only presume, a wicked barbed point that buries itself in the heart of the horizon. In a very real sense, the curvature of the Earth means the only way is down. You can follow it all the way around and end up back where you started, but you've fallen a long way in the meantime and by the time you make it back there is only one direction that matters anymore. Onward, ever onward.
I can hear the screams as others climb down from the overpass to join the highway, overcome as they are by curiosity (or as some would have it - a death wish). Some of them make it onto the cracked and faded and blood stained tarmac and join the exodus of the damned, and they become mere spectacles for us, the audience. I can see them now, when before they climbed down I could not, but now they are one of many. A detail. Some will perhaps be random elements, changing everything, but their world is not ours yet.
From behind, you can only tell that they are determined, leaning into the opposing wind of their own better sense their heads are bowed, shoulders bunched. I want to see their faces. I want to know what terrible scars they carry, what the troubles of the highway have imparted upon them. So I cross back across the overpass, suddenly I am rooted to the spot in the middle of the road, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide as an 18 wheeler bears down on me...
Quote from: Payne on January 11, 2010, 11:27:52 PM
I stand on an overpass, slightly drunk. tons of metal and rubber and meat rush by underneath me all going in one direction. As I lean on the guard rail that stops the little people jumping off I smoke a cigarette and the oily foulness of its smoke caresses my throat and lungs as it slides down down down.
There are others here, but we don't see each other caught as we are by the mythic highway that rolls beneath us - a terrible river that harks back to the ancient dry Nile that once failed to flow past the necropolises of the ancient Egyptians. Dry, it was, but it would flow again and the Egyptians would make entire religions from this fact.
The highway is worse. It flows, but is dry. It never floods and never changes. Straight as a spear with, one can only presume, a wicked barbed point that buries itself in the heart of the horizon. In a very real sense, the curvature of the Earth means the only way is down. You can follow it all the way around and end up back where you started, but you've fallen a long way in the meantime and by the time you make it back there is only one direction that matters anymore. Onward, ever onward.
I can hear the screams as others climb down from the overpass to join the highway, overcome as they are by curiosity (or as some would have it - a death wish). Some of them make it onto the cracked and faded and blood stained tarmac and join the exodus of the damned, and they become mere spectacles for us, the audience. I can see them now, when before they climbed down I could not, but now they are one of many. A detail. Some will perhaps be random elements, changing everything, but their world is not ours yet.
From behind, you can only tell that they are determined, leaning into the opposing wind of their own better sense their heads are bowed, shoulders bunched. I want to see their faces. I want to know what terrible scars they carry, what the troubles of the highway have imparted upon them. So I cross back across the overpass, suddenly I am rooted to the spot in the middle of the road, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide as an 18 wheeler bears down on me...
:mittens:
Wow.
this fread is :mittens:
I sometimes think I was kidnapped and dragged onto this infamous highway, captive to a madman behind the wheel. But each time I look in the rearview mirror, it's my eyes I see looking back. And there's a twinkle in one and a sad, depressed drag to the corner of the other. As I travel at breakneck speed, I remember here and there that I don't know where I'm going and neither do I know how to get there. The signs have tagging on them I can't make out, and the sky is dark and threatening. I don't want to stop because there's nowhere TO stop. And each time I think about doing so, my foot presses down and I go faster than ever before.
I try not to take passengers, but somehow they end up behind me anyway. They don't like my driving style, they think I go too fast and change lanes without thinking or looking. They're wrong, I just have a long and shortview of what's behind and really can't care much about what's ahead.
Because each time I try to care about what's ahead, it changes so drastically I would just as well as have not bothered in the first place.
I'm waiting for a dead end that never comes, if you want to know the truth. I have the constant conundrum of dying of thirst and yet desperately needing to go pee, having tons of cash but nowhere to spend it, nauseous to the point that I really just need to eat something comforting to my stomach.
Driving at fast speeds also tends to soothe me for some strange reason. This highway is both my salvation and my doom.
I came here to escape, I saw something horrible and fled for the nearest freeway.
At least, I *thought* I saw something horrible. It would be downright pleasant and comforting to have it back right now. In the meantime there's a pileup in front of me keeping me from going any farther, and I've seen to much to ever turn back, so I shout at the people driving on the frontage road, trying to get them to take the next onramp.
It occurs to me that that's rather horrible thing to do, but I can only laugh at the thought.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 11, 2010, 08:53:44 PM
Quote from: Hoopla on January 11, 2010, 08:48:53 PM
and trying not to saunter down that road without good boots I begin to wonder whether this particular baby group gives any of its money to Theodore Geisel's family?
That man had more useful things to say than any 1000 "philosophers" you could name, all put together.
Needless to say, he's out of style, along with Dr Spock and Jim Henson and C Everett Coop and anyone else who gave a damn about kids, even if they weren't always right.
:mittens:
Payne and Jenne: :mittens:
Wow.
:mittens: everyone
I'm not in a place to empathize with the Road, but I can appreciate it intellectually. Liked reading this, it gave me some insight into the mental lives of posters here.
Stuff like this seems to really resonate deeply with a lot of you guys, but it puts me in a thoughtful mood.
/$0.02
Quote from: Felix on January 12, 2010, 04:53:27 AM
I'm not in a place to empathize with the Road, but I can appreciate it intellectually. Liked reading this, it gave me some insight into the mental lives of posters here.
Stuff like this seems to really resonate deeply with a lot of you guys, but it puts me in a thoughtful mood.
/$0.02
So great. Now we're lab rats. Or a novelty. A freak show.
WATCH THE FUNNY MONKEYS DANCE. ONLY $5, FOLKS!
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 12, 2010, 04:54:52 AM
Quote from: Felix on January 12, 2010, 04:53:27 AM
I'm not in a place to empathize with the Road, but I can appreciate it intellectually. Liked reading this, it gave me some insight into the mental lives of posters here.
Stuff like this seems to really resonate deeply with a lot of you guys, but it puts me in a thoughtful mood.
/$0.02
So great. Now we're lab rats. Or a novelty. A freak show.
WATCH THE FUNNY MONKEYS DANCE. ONLY $5, FOLKS!
You know I didn't mean it like that. Just sharing my take on it, since it is apparently so unlike everyone else's, and maybe further discussion would prove fruitful.
Quote from: Felix on January 12, 2010, 04:57:27 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 12, 2010, 04:54:52 AM
Quote from: Felix on January 12, 2010, 04:53:27 AM
I'm not in a place to empathize with the Road, but I can appreciate it intellectually. Liked reading this, it gave me some insight into the mental lives of posters here.
Stuff like this seems to really resonate deeply with a lot of you guys, but it puts me in a thoughtful mood.
/$0.02
So great. Now we're lab rats. Or a novelty. A freak show.
WATCH THE FUNNY MONKEYS DANCE. ONLY $5, FOLKS!
You know I didn't mean it like that. Just sharing my take on it, since it is apparently so unlike everyone else's, and maybe further discussion would prove fruitful.
The "insight into our mental lives" bit sounded a little fucked up, Felix. Just saying.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 12, 2010, 04:59:00 AM
Quote from: Felix on January 12, 2010, 04:57:27 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 12, 2010, 04:54:52 AM
Quote from: Felix on January 12, 2010, 04:53:27 AM
I'm not in a place to empathize with the Road, but I can appreciate it intellectually. Liked reading this, it gave me some insight into the mental lives of posters here.
Stuff like this seems to really resonate deeply with a lot of you guys, but it puts me in a thoughtful mood.
/$0.02
So great. Now we're lab rats. Or a novelty. A freak show.
WATCH THE FUNNY MONKEYS DANCE. ONLY $5, FOLKS!
You know I didn't mean it like that. Just sharing my take on it, since it is apparently so unlike everyone else's, and maybe further discussion would prove fruitful.
The "insight into our mental lives" bit sounded a little fucked up, Felix. Just saying.
Poorly phrased, came across wrong. The meaning was that by reading this I better understand the way some of you see the world. It didn't sound good, but it comes from a place of compassion. Reading this made me stare at the rift between the way I see life, and the way others do.
I'm genuinely interested in the Road. To me it seemed like a poetic description of the path of truth that so many of us seek to follow, but my conception of that path is/was not so fraught with cosmic horror, and I'm thinking about revising.
Quote from: Felix on January 12, 2010, 05:04:13 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 12, 2010, 04:59:00 AM
Quote from: Felix on January 12, 2010, 04:57:27 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on January 12, 2010, 04:54:52 AM
Quote from: Felix on January 12, 2010, 04:53:27 AM
I'm not in a place to empathize with the Road, but I can appreciate it intellectually. Liked reading this, it gave me some insight into the mental lives of posters here.
Stuff like this seems to really resonate deeply with a lot of you guys, but it puts me in a thoughtful mood.
/$0.02
So great. Now we're lab rats. Or a novelty. A freak show.
WATCH THE FUNNY MONKEYS DANCE. ONLY $5, FOLKS!
You know I didn't mean it like that. Just sharing my take on it, since it is apparently so unlike everyone else's, and maybe further discussion would prove fruitful.
The "insight into our mental lives" bit sounded a little fucked up, Felix. Just saying.
Poorly phrased, came across wrong. The meaning was that by reading this I better understand the way some of you see the world. It didn't sound good, but it comes from a place of compassion. Reading this made me stare at the rift between the way I see life, and the way others do.
I'm genuinely interested in the Road. To me it seemed like a poetic description of the path of truth that so many of us seek to follow, but my conception of that path is/was not so fraught with cosmic horror, and I'm thinking about revising.
Compassion? For what?
Anyway, it isn't cosmic horror, it's the regular kind. See my reply to Mistress Freeky. It's actually pretty prosaic, everyday horror.
Just generalized humanistic compassion.
I used 'cosmic' because of allusions to sausage monsters, which sounded Lovecraftian. I think the connection was erroneous though.
Part of my way of seeing the way of truth is that it is the hardest road to walk, and it is often uglier than most can stomach, and it requires an accurate moral compass to not get lost, and other valuable psychological resources. However I don't see it as 'just' ugly, and in fact I sense that this path contains enough beauty to make the effort worthwhile, despite the hardships, and I find it disingenuous to omit the sheer hugeness of its redeeming aspects.
Quote from: Felix on January 12, 2010, 05:12:16 AM
Just generalized humanistic compassion.
I used 'cosmic' because of allusions to sausage monsters, which sounded Lovecraftian. I think the connection was erroneous though.
Part of my way of seeing the way of truth is that it is the hardest road to walk, and it is often uglier than most can stomach, and it requires an accurate moral compass to not get lost, and other valuable psychological resources. However I don't see it as 'just' ugly, and in fact I sense that this path contains enough beauty to make the effort worthwhile, despite the hardships, and I find it disingenuous to omit the sheer hugeness of its redeeming aspects.
The sausage creature is what you turn into when you hit pavement or a windshield at 60MPH or so. Just so ya know.
Ohh. :lol:
...
:( Ohh.
I can't drive. I have a visual disability that means I can still see, almost as well as everyone else but not quite well enough to operate a heavy chunk of machinery travelling down the highway at 60 miles per hour. This means that if I am on the highway I am a passenger, or a pedestrian. Pedestrians aren't supposed to be there, it's a divided highway after all, and they are probably right to keep us off, people drive like maniacs there, the cars go flying by and they don't expect anyone walking along the shoulder. That doesn't change the fact that sometimes I have to walk along it anyways. Sometimes I can't bear being taken along at terrible speeds by someone else, knowing that they are making horrible mistakes that are going to get us all squashed, and knowing I can't scream about it because that will only make us all get squashed that much sooner.
You find a lot of interesting things walking along a highway though, it was designed to be experienced at 60 miles per hour or more, things are spread out and all look the same from a car, more or less, but walking along it you see each thing by itself, you realize that this family looks like they are playing with their dog from a car, but down on the ground you see that no, it's not their dog, and that friendly game of chase me isn't a game, and those looks are not playful mockeries of terror. You could go take part in their game too, if you really wanted to, but I wouldn't suggest it.
Even the rest areas are different, and if you can't take being down in it walking any longer you can always try to get a ride there. That means you are out of control again though, even if you do get to whizz by with the world safely behind glass once more, and the driver really doesn't want to hear you telling him how much fun those people reaqlly aren't having, he has his own shit to worry about anyways, and if you keep telling him things he doesn't want to hear he's going to let you off at the next rest stop, and you know that's not where you want to be, that one doesn't have any access to anything, and the truckers who stop there are always giving you funny looks, and this one time one asked if you wanted a ride and you could tell that being in the cab with him, alone, would be even worse than being out on that highway in the dark walking past the wrecks of cars where people whine and beg you to pull them out.
WOW!!
To everyone this is some great writing!!!!
:mittens:
I never considered being mentally examined while writing one of these. Hrm.
Something to consider while writing the next one, I guess.
Quote from: Hoopla on January 12, 2010, 08:54:55 PM
I never considered being mentally examined while writing one of these. Hrm.
Something to consider while writing the next one, I guess.
Run in kicking and screaming next time give them what they want!
Quote from: Hoopla on January 12, 2010, 08:54:55 PM
I never considered being mentally examined while writing one of these. Hrm.
Something to consider while writing the next one, I guess.
Yeah, you gotta love amateur psychology.
I wouldn't presume to do any serious psychological analysis. Closer to Internet ethnography. Resume all unselfconscious behavior.
Quote from: Felix on January 13, 2010, 01:51:43 AM
I wouldn't presume to do any serious psychological analysis. Closer to Internet ethnography. Resume all unselfconscious behavior.
You cant spell analysis without anal.
:rimshot:
:lulz: my favourite
I haven't learnt how to drive yet, I am learning but very slowly. The high way looks really long and far and from here I am happy where ever I end up. I enjoy hitching around for a ride. Its always fun seeing new faces, sometimes we share stories, I get a chance to learn, and sometimes help where I can. I don't even know what brought me to this highway, I guess the only thing to do is keep looking and I'll know when I find it.
All in all - I just want to have a good time and get to know what the other persons trip is like, all the life experiences always fascinate me.
My own trip has been confusing, I enjoy hitch hiking alot - but I'm never around the same crowd for long, but this is what it means to be a hitch hiker. The crowd doesn't always go in the same direction as yourself, sometimes I end up in the wrong place - but I have always bounced back in the past. It gets easier everytime, if I didn't hitchhike I would just walk myself - I don't know maybe I will learn to drive one day.
Nothing really phases me anymore - I don't know if it should or not, I'm happy to face a sandstorm when I'm just walking .. it might sound foolish, but it does not bother me. Though I'm not stupid that I am out to get myself hurt, I would rather not risk hurting myself - because if I can't move then how can I continue? I just always wonder what it feels like after being sheltered.
I realise if I were to go alone it would be foolish - sometimes I think it'd be a wise choice, from time to time I have bumped into different crowds and they have their problems... Sometimes the engine fails, or because they pull over to pick me up the engine just won't start again - whether its my fault or inconvenient timing, I'll never know.
The one thing I do know is I have myself, and I'm happy to of met the people I have - as long as they don't tell me what direction to walk in, I'll be happy to know them. Guess I'm a bit of a user, but whats a hitch hiker to do? All I can say is - I love it.
I never thought I'd end up on the highway. I spent my time exploring out in the woods, chasing wildlife, and splashing around in the cool, fresh water of the creek. One day a girl sat beside me. She pulled her shoes off and we giggled while kicking water at each other. I loved her with her hearty laugh and brightly painted eyes, like a peacock. My Birdie.
She started to run and I chased behind her until we came to a clearing I'd never been to before. The ground was hard and flat. I'd heard about this thing before. She hop into the car and beckoned me to follow her. I did it without asking. She drove me through my mountains and onto the main road. We picked up some passengers and sped around in the night, darting off the road to run down campaign signs. It was all a game and the light from the lamp posts kept making her teeth sparkle when she laughed.
Then she went farther than she'd ever been before. The passengers got out one by one and we were alone. She wanted to explore more (She said that's what everyone told her we were supposed to do.) but was too afraid to drive any longer. She asked me to take the wheel. This was new. This was fun. I liked the way the wind pulled at my hair, pulling the curls straight then roll against my bare shoulders until they sprung back into place along my temples and cheeks. Feeling the car respond to my touch was exhilarating.
She was getting a little anxious. She said she kept thinking she saw things by the roadside, just glimpses. She got quiet. She rolled up the window to a crack and lit a clove cigarette to calm her. I loved the way she smelled, sweet from the cloves. The way the rag top thrummed all around us excited me and made me feel more alive than I'd ever felt before. She didn't like it. It frightened her. She turned on the radio to drown out the noise. For a little while she was back to her old self. We sang along with the music at the top of our lungs.
The song ended but she was still singing. No, not singing. Screaming. I looked at her. Her face was drawn and her eye makeup had settled into the creases. The tears were dripping off her jawline. She'd seen things. She wanted to stop but not here. I told her I'd pull over at the next gas station. She sprawled out in the back seat, muttering to herself. I called back to her every few minutes to see if she was alright, trying to figure out what the hell she was saying. Eventually she stopped responding. I pulled into the gas station and went in to get some water for us. When I came out she was gone.
I was alone in the car and the traffic was picking up. I wanted to go on because that's what I'm supposed to do, right? And I wanted to know. I think Birdie found out. I put the windows back down to feel the wind pull my hair. I was a little scared and I didn't know why.
Horns blared and I started to get anxious. Cars started getting more aggressive. A car passing me from the shoulder clipped my front bumper and I swerved a bit. As I correct I see them, the people on the side of the road in the distance. A man stands by a woman about to change a tire. As I passed I think I saw him bring the tire iron down on her head. No, it can't be.
I saw her pack of cloves and rolled the window up to a crack to light one. The smell was calming and the tinge of pain in my lungs felt good. I ran over something in the road. I looked in the mirror. A body. It must've been a dog, a large dog, wearing a pink shi FUCK what's that douchebag doing riding up on my ass like that?!? He passed me up and I could've sworn there was something wrong with his face. The thrum of the rag top started to get to me. I turned the music up.
I don't like being on this road anymore. I'm tired of driving and my ass is sore from sitting so long. I wanted off before but the other cars wouldn't let me into the right lane. The cars behind me keep pressing in on me and the ones to the side want over. I keep accelerating to keep up the pace. I'm going so fast now, too fast. My Jeep is rattling. Or maybe that's me with the caffeine jitters. I can't tell. I'm sucking down those cigarettes like candy, humming along to the tunes between puffs. It dawns on me that I'm separated from the hard concrete by nothing more than a thin sheet of metal and some carpet. The music on the radio isn't sounding like music anymore. That's not the radio. It's me screaming.
I can't get off now. I'm dedicated to it. I'll be damned if I don't find out what is out there.
:mittens:
That was an amazing read Gin!
I got paranoid about the wall o'text.
No, it was really good.
:mittens:
Quote from: gin on January 15, 2010, 04:33:47 AM
I got paranoid about the wall o'text.
No, that was fucking awesome. Holy crap.
WOW Gin! That was great!
:)
shitfuckdamncraptastic!
gin, that was great. i still dont get alot about this metafore but many bits of your bit hit home.
Quote from: gin on January 15, 2010, 03:37:51 AM
I never thought I'd end up on the highway. I spent my time exploring out in the woods, chasing wildlife, and splashing around in the cool, fresh water of the creek. One day a girl sat beside me. She pulled her shoes off and we giggled while kicking water at each other. I loved her with her hearty laugh and brightly painted eyes, like a peacock. My Birdie.
She started to run and I chased behind her until we came to a clearing I'd never been to before. The ground was hard and flat. I'd heard about this thing before. She hop into the car and beckoned me to follow her. I did it without asking. She drove me through my mountains and onto the main road. We picked up some passengers and sped around in the night, darting off the road to run down campaign signs. It was all a game and the light from the lamp posts kept making her teeth sparkle when she laughed.
Then she went farther than she'd ever been before. The passengers got out one by one and we were alone. She wanted to explore more (She said that's what everyone told her we were supposed to do.) but was too afraid to drive any longer. She asked me to take the wheel. This was new. This was fun. I liked the way the wind pulled at my hair, pulling the curls straight then roll against my bare shoulders until they sprung back into place along my temples and cheeks. Feeling the car respond to my touch was exhilarating.
She was getting a little anxious. She said she kept thinking she saw things by the roadside, just glimpses. She got quiet. She rolled up the window to a crack and lit a clove cigarette to calm her. I loved the way she smelled, sweet from the cloves. The way the rag top thrummed all around us excited me and made me feel more alive than I'd ever felt before. She didn't like it. It frightened her. She turned on the radio to drown out the noise. For a little while she was back to her old self. We sang along with the music at the top of our lungs.
The song ended but she was still singing. No, not singing. Screaming. I looked at her. Her face was drawn and her eye makeup had settled into the creases. The tears were dripping off her jawline. She'd seen things. She wanted to stop but not here. I told her I'd pull over at the next gas station. She sprawled out in the back seat, muttering to herself. I called back to her every few minutes to see if she was alright, trying to figure out what the hell she was saying. Eventually she stopped responding. I pulled into the gas station and went in to get some water for us. When I came out she was gone.
I was alone in the car and the traffic was picking up. I wanted to go on because that's what I'm supposed to do, right? And I wanted to know. I think Birdie found out. I put the windows back down to feel the wind pull my hair. I was a little scared and I didn't know why.
Horns blared and I started to get anxious. Cars started getting more aggressive. A car passing me from the shoulder clipped my front bumper and I swerved a bit. As I correct I see them, the people on the side of the road in the distance. A man stands by a woman about to change a tire. As I passed I think I saw him bring the tire iron down on her head. No, it can't be.
I saw her pack of cloves and rolled the window up to a crack to light one. The smell was calming and the tinge of pain in my lungs felt good. I ran over something in the road. I looked in the mirror. A body. It must've been a dog, a large dog, wearing a pink shi FUCK what's that douchebag doing riding up on my ass like that?!? He passed me up and I could've sworn there was something wrong with his face. The thrum of the rag top started to get to me. I turned the music up.
I don't like being on this road anymore. I'm tired of driving and my ass is sore from sitting so long. I wanted off before but the other cars wouldn't let me into the right lane. The cars behind me keep pressing in on me and the ones to the side want over. I keep accelerating to keep up the pace. I'm going so fast now, too fast. My Jeep is rattling. Or maybe that's me with the caffeine jitters. I can't tell. I'm sucking down those cigarettes like candy, humming along to the tunes between puffs. It dawns on me that I'm separated from the hard concrete by nothing more than a thin sheet of metal and some carpet. The music on the radio isn't sounding like music anymore. That's not the radio. It's me screaming.
I can't get off now. I'm dedicated to it. I'll be damned if I don't find out what is out there.
Took me a couple of days before I found the peace to read this but, DAMN :mittens: Good stuff, gin! Apart from describing the general topic of this thread really well, there's something extra about it, I can't quite put my finger on it.
Bump
Well said, but I'm not sure what to say to it myself. It's I've had a sudden attack of life. Something always keep taking me in some other direction. I get the sense this ISN'T quite "real life" anymore.
In "real life" everyone has nice produtive jobs that they steadily advance in, nice creativeand interesting friends, and nice cleanplaces full of furniture that matches. Maybe they play gold or soccer or some shit,go to parties, clubs, and drink.
My time is spent howling horrible shit at my job, and somehow getting PRAISE for it. I put hundreds of miles under the wheels of an ancient station wagon full of nasty apparatus heading to different corners of the state to practice an odd blend of armed sports that like to mix up aikido with swords and knives. I make bizzare arts and crafts projects,or reading strange assortment of books while playing two radio stations at once because there jsut isn't enough NOISE.
My friends encourage all this. They are, each one of them terrible, but all in the right way. I realize I cannot stomach anyone who isn't anymore. The whole time I'mcnvinced I'm not on the highway but I really SHOULD be. The I pass what could only be a cross dressing Big Bird with a sign offering odd avian actions for a ride. I suddenly don't feel like decelerating.
Well Dok, I've seen the highway. When I did it made me turn off the road, lock up the 4 wheel drive and head into the wilderness. In the wilderness you know the rule, eat or be eaten. Now I know this has to be the same rule as found on The Lost Highway, but somehow in the wilderness it just seem more natural.
You can't drive fast in the wilderness either, there is no escape in hurling past something terrible so fast you can't really see exactly what it is. No, you have to creep along, so slow that every detail is etched forever into the mind.
The crazy part is you can still become a sausage, rolling down a mountain end over end can do horrible things to you. And then there are the animals that may just not be animals, at least the kind of animals one would want to see. Once in a while teeth gnashing together can have a terrible metallic sound.
You can't really enjoy the view from the wilderness either, caution and self preservation demand that your attention remains on the immediate surroundings. No telling what will try to leap through the windows if you're not paying close attention.
Once in a while I come to a high place and I can look down on the Lost Highway, it is never empty, but always bumper to bumper with the mostly dead. Their white knuckled grip on the steering wheels can be seen from a mile away. The dead stare of their eyes shine with an eerie glow that shouldn't be there. Many have traces of spittle on their chins, and the never seem to look left or right, but always dead eyed straight ahead.
I never stay in those places for long, they pull my attention away from what is right around me, and that is far too dangerous. So I drive away, looking neither left nor right, white gripped on the steering wheel.....