Helmet Fever

Ah…Alaska.

Sometimes when it rains, it pours.

And sometimes when life gives you lemons…

And sometimes when it rains in Alaska you get drunk in your tent on cheap booze and watch Tango and Cash.  It’s all that you can do really, because  it’s cold and wet outside.

The little DVD player that you’ve been given as a gift and have been carrying for over 10,000 miles has endured many hardships and, as a result, skips at times. You are forced to fill in the elaborate maze-like plot lines and come up with your own witty retorts. An offhanded quip about Cash’s substantial porcelain doll collection? A dis about how Tango wet the bed until he was 15?

Listen, it’s all good because in Alaska no one can hear you scream.

No one but the bears.

I picked up a used copy of Jim Morrison’s biography for 30 cents and have been reading it diligently since yesterday. The future is uncertain people. And the end? The end is always near. And so far that glorious end has eluded me. I’m still here, hanging on, although there is still time aplenty to be mauled and eaten by a grizzly. But not without a fight!

Until then I roam the roads, endlessly searching.

The ruler of the wastelands.

Nothing can escape.

Nothing.

And onwards I trudge, through the wet and through the muck.

I look at the sky. It weeps and I weep with it. I feel its pain and venture on. It is me and I am it.

 

I’ve got helmet fever baby

 

…and there is no cure

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3 responses to “Helmet Fever

  1. May Helios be with you.

  2. Yves Perret: When the one Great Scorer comes to write against your name, he’ll mark… not that you won or lost… but how you played the game. What bullshit!

  3. brandy turnbuckle

    I’ll call the good folks at the DSMV and put in the revision; for the bridge crossing remains open lest till 30.

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