The apprehension set in just upon seeing it in the distance.
Then the entrance.
Then the gate
Then the wire
As I entered, They searched the truck. Then me. Then they took my laptop, phone, and camera.
Then they made me sign this form and that saying yes and no and of course I understand the consequences.
By the time I was within the razor wire, I felt like one of them. Not the guards, they had guns. And my pocket knife.
It's strange how being in intense environments can make you part of it.
The same thing happened the other day in the underground of Kansas City.
It took more than one song and some distance to cure me both times.
I wondered if it's always so.
That feeling when we go underwater, is it of drowning or as becoming a fish?
Men in space-do they feel as little planets? Or the bolts of their ships?
It's not always so.
I've been to fairs and carnivals and felt anything but the joy they dupe and sell.
I think there are environments too weak to alter moods we already lay claim to. But the ones that fall like a shadow from the sky and convince us we can be had, like love, and bitterness and captivity-have a power to take us into the bosom of its fire and make us its very fuel, in order to consume itself in a greater conflagration.
I wish no part in a larger whole.
Anyway, I've escaped and find myself in Russellville Arkansas on a Friday night wishing to be anywhere else except El Reno.
Gonna shoot across I-40 on my way to North Carolina. Don't forget to wave as I pass by.
