Hit the road Jack placing your thumb up and legs crossed packing a whopping life that left so young.

I can’t wait to pick up your book again and read it halfway through along with all the others on the shelf that I have been meaning to get back to.

The comfort of letting it linger and knowing I have all the time in the world to find out how the story ends has been an anchor of contrast to the rush that was my constant chaos.

Each sentence pulls out of me what Alan Watts paints but in a picture I can more easily recognize.

I can see his tone in your words and the depth of thought which goes into every piece of jazz.

The influence can’t help but rub my skin lifting the matching energy from my own pocket of dwelling questions put to paper.

Still the soundtrack in the car and not even worth pretending.

Multiple dimensions in an instant of 100 or so pages and a 20 minute set.

A guru down to earth with mud and dust in the pig pen wrestling with fate.

An outside view

aware experience

no difference to the mundane transactions

but

butt

catching us off guard in non sequesters

making you think

not

too hard

but

butt

caging it in the mind to unravel a puzzle that can’t be explained.

On the road Jack

at the rest stop

chewing on sugar cane in the wrong neighborhood

hoping to catch a ride to the next

with no destination

but

butt

the quest.