Road Runnin’ Blues

The all too familiar boulders, a landscape of regret and a winding desert road that has seen so many props to futility, including cacti.

By the side of that road, he flicks through the Coyote Digest, featuring a special about a gun-toting tree hugger who cuts a convincing figure for personal depth.

He has done some reading since the last attempt, which was meant to be the last, some old

Chinese texts about chance and convergence, and a couple of others about mindfulness, then a few more, French ones.

He learned that the bird was his objet petit a, and that all this time they both have been stuck on the very first level of their différance,

which could be reconciled, if only he knew how to pull it off by the seat of his pants.