Come share my warm abstract fire –pm ehh eek

Erik Wyse

The teddy bears have their picnic. I have no bread. The hippos are hungry. I have no colored balls to feed them. What I do have are my thoughts, my abstractions, whatever they may be. I don’t find the concrete, not even when I look for it in the early morning hours. What do I believe in? I believe in the open road.
The open road, the main artery of America, the so-called land of freedom. Forget the asphalt jungle, give me the asphalt desert. I’m like Dennis Hopper — may his crazy heart rest in peace — a true warrior of the road beyond Thunderdome. Welcome to the Thunderdome: where titans clash. Bring your yellow poncho because it’s about to rain down like a watermelon at a Gallagher show. Watermelons, mini oases to the rollers of the open road. Bruce Springsteen wrote about the thunder road and we gave him Grammys. James Dean died on the open road and we gave him jeans and breakfast sausages.
I’m trying to push myself to the outer reaches. Human potential bottled up in a ricochet rocket. Lawrence acts for a difference, the crowd yearns for a fighting spirit and looks like I have a little Gatorade in me. Fact: the NBA stars drink Gatorade. My journey is long and hard. I’m looking for my special purpose. My religious studies degree has to be good for something. Truth as a capital T.
The open road challenges, it pushes. Pushes out diamonds shining in the light of motorcycle headlamps. But it’s okay, I got my shine blockers on. I’ll still let you in, though. The open road can be lonely; a deep space pilot I will be. A deep space pilot needs company. When the going gets tough, the tough feel right at home. I’ll have to ask Tim Allen about that, the master of tool time, a genius in the knowledge of man.
Where is language on the open road? Does language flourish on the open road, or does it cease to exist, cease to justify the grandeur beholden? Perhaps the preceding paragraphs are pointless prologues to a scene that can’t be captured by narrative. Maybe my lyrical sendoffs ring empty in the desert night?
We may all need to reexamine language and the open road. Is there an intersection that exists? I don’t know the answer now but when I get there, if there is a there, I’ll let you know. — That’s three times I had “there” in a sentence.
This whole article has been an examination of abstraction and language. I think it’s important to examine abstraction and language, all concerning meaning. I happened to choose the open road, that so-epic canvas. As hyperbole and symbolism as my guides I traversed my imaginary path.
Language and logic are both very useful. I try to use them as often as I have to. I can’t imagine securing a job after Lawrence where I don’t have to rely on language as a means of communicating or on logic. Perhaps the words can be replaced by another form of communication — say interpretive dance — or the infinitely crude but ever direct pelvic thrust. Perhaps your hips are tight and its best to stick with the many come-ons offered by language? With that said, it looks like I have some experimenting to do this weekend.

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