My Findings in the Wrong Desert

I have this mental block recently. I thought I should go to the desert. That seemed symbolic of my barren imagination. I hoped to see something beautiful in that desolation, maybe find something hidden, secretive. I can’t say there wasn’t any beauty to my wandering around. There were moments oddly picturesque as I sat outside the shit hotel, smoking cigarettes. I remember the half-lit sign, the empty parking lot, the few cars that sped along that cracked highway because they knew nothing was worth staying for where I was at. We found chairs lined with plush outside, strewn about as if the previous tenants dragged them out and decided that the owners wouldn’t mind. Of course, they were right in their assumption because the chairs had a film of sand over them. I remember the grittiness that brushed against my bare back. The night had been quiet. There was this silence I had not been accustomed to. I remember thinking why would anyone want to live out there, and I still think that way; but to say the least, it was an experience I didn’t regret having. The moon had this iridescent glow and a few clouds sat strangely in the sky. The entire night had this feeling of unnaturalness to it. And it was pretty great because of that strange, alien feeling. Sure, it sucked staying there in the intense heat. But truthfully, I don’t remember the heat. I just remember those oddly picturesque images that I’ve burned into my memory. We chased the sunrise across this almost ghost town, and we found it in endless fields. Clearly, there was some sort of beauty there, for a couple was having their pregnancy photos taken there… This seems to be a theme with me; of making the best of a situation and coming short. We ultimately did not go to the actual national park, which had been the goal of this spontaneous trip. Thinking back, I should’ve fought for it. I mean I barely wanted to anymore… but I think I should’ve pushed myself to. After all why did we drive out there?

 

I just remember this terrible feeling of impotence; that I had this vision of what I wanted to experience, yet nothing came close to what I had envisioned. I don’t know where this pressure came from, or why I would subjugate myself to it. But there was this need, this hunger for something amazing or beautiful. Of course nothing of the sort happened. It was a mundane night. The shrooms did not work –our fault. I think what I learned from this is there are little moments of beauty scattered throughout any moment, and that I should probably plan better before I embark on one of my overly spontaneous trips. Lessons learned, and it was overall a new experience!

 

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alanwrites

I'm writing a novel, but this is for my other projects. Thanks for reading!

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