I’ll trudge back into society, at some point soon, and follow another string of leads to see where the next story is hidden...
The serene sound of the wind as it rustles through the high mountain meadow is a welcome salve on my jangled and frayed nerves after the last few months. The bastards have been nipping at my heels, growing stronger every day with threats of locking me up, even as I’ve had to narrowly avoid being shot through with so many holes as to resemble Swiss cheese. Is it any wonder that I’m not clinically insane? It really shouldn’t be. Oh, they’ve tried to catch me and begin the process of having me committed. Thanks to booze, drugs, a fast car and a healthy dose of luck, I still have my freedom… fleeting as it is.
As I look out upon the majestic vista that is splayed out before me, I wonder if it’s all been worth the aggravation of dealing with the weasels. I mean, how many people in their right mind would willingly subject themselves to such heinous Karma? Why am I not dead yet, a beaten down and tattered corpse of stringy tissue draining into the earth? By all rights, I should have died a hundred times over.
While some may say that I’ve finally gone over the edge; that is patently false. The truth is nothing more than this… I went over the edge many years ago. I think that the late Hunter Thompson said it best, “THE EDGE, there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is, are the ones who have gone over.” That man knew how to LIVE like there was no care in the world. He also knew when his time had come to leave. If only we could all be so completely sure of something so absolute as THE END.
Looking back, I needed the tranquility that a sparsely populated mountain range will bring a man. If only for a few hours, I have escaped the rat race that is this crazy world that we live in. They surely can’t find me out here? Yet, somehow, I’m sure the weasels will find a way to fuck this up, too. How do we go from a thirst for knowledge (twisted and wrought with craziness, for sure), to having a bloodlust based on no logical thought process whatsoever?
I have to ask myself, what is the benefit to me of going after stories about the inhuman nature of humans? Why do I subject myself to the horror of what we do to each other in the name of religion, science or because the voices in our heads tell us to? I find myself asking the age old question… why? Why do people hurt other people? Why can the cycle never end? What, exactly, is the price of tea in China?
It all came down to this. Do I snap? Or, do I get away from everything and essentially drop off the grid? I have the wits to survive out here in the wilderness, alone. While it’s not ideal, by any stretch of the imagination, it does have its’ perks. For one, no one can tell me what to do. As long as I’m not hurting another person or their property, why should anything I do be a crime? Catch me if you can.
The mind is too easily manipulated, of that, I’m certain. Too many people are sheep being led along to the slaughter. I say, think for yourself. Devour books to quench your thirst for knowledge. Don’t be a fucking weasel.
Having traveled the globe in search of the next BIG story, I’ve come to the realization that the stories are all the same. Whether it’s war, bloodshed, metaphorically stabbing someone in the back or spewing forth venom, everything’s the same. You’re all fucking crazy. And that, my friends, is the great shame foisted upon us by our fellow man.
Looking up at the mountains, with their snow-capped peaks, I have to wonder how anyone could not find this a beautiful sight. My little AM radio is pulsating with the sound of Charlie Musselwhite, I have a glass of scotch sitting beside me and all is right in my little corner of the world. The Blues go very nicely with the scene that splays before me. The other thing missing is peyote. Yes, peyote would complete the journey to escape from the heinousness. I’ll have to rectify this, at once.
Oh, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry your pretty little heads about me. I’m a glutton for punishment. I’ll trudge back into society, at some point soon, and follow another string of leads to see where the next story is hidden. I can’t stay away, no matter how hard I try. The adrenaline courses through my veins like gasoline through a motor. When they say “go fast”, I go faster. I won’t stop this headlong rush into the great unknown that is called humanity. It’s too fascinating. Who needs outer space when the world is full of space cadets?
I can hear my Editor bouncing around inside my head. She’s furious at me for dropping off the grid. Tough shit, says I. Decompression beats depression any day of the week. I need another scotch before I let her know I’ll be back. Now, where the hell did I put the bottle?