Christmas in DC / Rain in Philadelphia

It’s near 7PM in Philadelphia and bad weather’s finally caught up to me. This morning I’d received a message in DC commenting on how nice the weather was looking, I’d replied that I’ve been trying to chase the good weather, and up to this point I had. Erie, Cleveland, Pittsburg all had the rains come after I had left, in fact it was even a little hot in DC today, I had to carry around my coat. But now it feels I’ve reached a turning point in my trip, even though so far it’s been a relatively smooth ride. I can tell that this pile I have won’t really be able to handle bad weather so right now everything is gonna be real touch and go.

But it is fitting that all the sudden this bad weather should hit, I just got some bad news from a friend.

Now normally I reserve this type of writing for my journal, I still keep a written log that in many ways I prefer. Even though this is something I like to do, it’s still vetted, edited, combed over, methodical, scripted, written, and rewritten. In my actual journal it’s all the raw and uncut stream of consciousness. At times it makes it over to this but overall the two I keep somewhat separated. I’d written this morning, once during the day, but right now I feel the need to free form this.

Christmas Day I checked out of my room and spent time out at Arlington National Cemetery, quite a way to spend xmas day, in a cemetery, any cemetery for that matter, but still a place of historical significance. I’d long thought of “the tomb of the unknown soldier.” Though I’d never looked it up or even knew exactly what it looked like, something about it that drew me to it, the thought of what it means to all those that fought and died, maybe never knowing why, a soldier just follows orders, but serves a purpose to something larger than himself, though that purpose may be unclear. I wrote a bit, sat in it’s reverence, even wept. Something overcame me being there, maybe something I don’t fully understand. On the other side was a guard on patrol, 21 steps, 21 seconds to about face, again and again on repeat, every hour of every day since 1942. A little boy watched on, interesting the dynamic, boy, man, tomb.

I stopped by JFK’s gravestone, saw the light of the eternal flame, there’s volumes I can go on about him but a lot’s already been said. He was the last president to really go against the what goes on in Washington and paid the ultimate price for it, something I can be a little braver about. What he said about secret societies, secret oaths, what he contributed to the sciences and the arts, the youthful vigor in which he executed everything made it feel possible that real changes could happen in this country, but his was a terrible end and part of the “Kennedy curse.” I saw RFK’s grave stone, I remembered I once worked at the prison that housed sirhan sirhan, the man who murdered him. Interesting it all coming back around, feeling connected in some way.

I saw The Arlington House belonging to Robert E Lee and the slave quarters behind it. All I can say is that I’m sure they didn’t look that way when they were in use, It’s amazing how American history is so romanticized, it’s plain as day that a lot of the bullshit they try to present is all doctored up and made to be something that it wasn’t, they were all just men. I looked around at the people walking around next to gravestones, I had this thought that all these people in the ground used to be the same people walking around, that maybe we’re just walking gravestones. Then I had the thought that all these things, these buildings, these memorials, these monuments, they were made by mere men. I myself am a Journeyman wireman, I construct things year in and year out, they’ll long stand after I am gone, but still, I’m only a man.

I’d meant to go to the pentagon next, but completely spaced on it, felt I had a long drive ahead of me anyways and wanted to hit the road, so there I was tired, driving, not really hungover, just in need of sleep. I made it to my room, going over my footage, but already it feels burdensome to be playing this game, constantly having to update or on some phony bullshit, at this point it’s more of a drag. Sitting in my room, I get the news, my friend just passed away, Christmas Eve. I’m totally besides myself.

We had made plans, he had purchased a property out in the Yucca Valley, I was going to help him update his solar array. Him and another friend were in talks of starting up a new musical act. Even his last post was from the night we were all together just a few weeks ago, made up of some of the pics and videos I had sent him. That was a very special night. You can look back at a post from a few weeks ago I wrote called “Transceiver” that was based upon one of the many conversations he and I had that night. I really wrote that as sort of a book marker I was going to come back to because a lot of profound things happened that night, for both of us. I had brought up an ounce of mushrooms and we ate pretty much the whole thing, stayed up together the entire night to the sunrise, laughing, talking, working things out, looking to the future, though I hadn’t seen him in many years up to that point I felt that we were forging a bond, something we could build upon. The three of us were all parts of a whole, he a carpenter, me an electrician, my buddy a plumber, together we were this full force of craftsmen that could do or build anything we wanted, we had time, we had freedom, now suddenly a piece of that’s taken away just at the start, and I feel torn up about it, far from home in a crumby motel (by far the worst i’ve stayed in on this run (but i’ve been in worse)) in Philadelphia, and it started to rain.

So yeah, I can say that this has marked a turning point on this trip, everything else seems so trivial and so mundane, who fucking cares. Guy goes on vacation once and has to post every stupid twist and turn, meanwhile the world turns, and our brothers get left behind. So why should I make myself to feel i’m anything set apart or different, I’m not.

I’m sure I’m not done writing about that night, I’m sure I’m not done feeling tore up about it, I’m sure the rest of the trip will have this strange tinge to it while I’m supposed to be enjoying myself, but I’m also sure that he’d have wanted me to enjoy myself. The very last message he sent me was to tell me how baddass he thought it was for me to be doing this solo road trip, he was the wild sort and I know that he admired that same wild spirit. Still I’ve all types of compounding effects happening to me all at once, dealing with my consciousness under these circumstance, all social, political, economic, while i’m just a person, flesh and bone, bio, chemical, electrical impulse, my psyche made of all these things and realizing that sometimes can be such a drag. Maybe i’m not making sense, but it’s the reason sometimes I need to exorcise it out or just shut it off.

For now, Miles away, I think i’ll leave it at that. I hope to get some rest, try again tomorrow, the stories not yet done, and neither am I.