Ticker Tape Vision

To whom it may concern,

My internet connection depends on -- fyi -- a wireless USB device rigged up with a frying pan that's aimed at the high rise apartments behind my dumpy dwelling. My dumpy dwelling is a place we refer to as The Center for Revolutionary Studies, though mostly we get drunk with people and chatter a lot. It's an old building and in my eyes, beautiful.

How have I been? Well, I'm still in Macon but more like back in Macon. I had a detour tour in Detroit and returned at Christmas last year. In the time since, I've been banging out some short fiction, writing a column for the local bi-monthly alternative and pushing a writer's guild. It seems I spend a lot of time trying to be a writer, which is what I think I am sometimes.

But I also do other things. For instance, last night, I got off work at midnight-ish and went to a choice watering hole, did several shots of whiskey, had several more beer and some cocktails, too many cigarettes and then one bad idea. An hour after the bar closed and we were being asked nicely to leave, Jewel Daddy said, "Let's go to the Indian Mounds." We'd tried this once but it didn't go well as we'd walked in the wrong direction and ended up at someone else's house. This time, it was colder and I doubted his sincerity so I acted like a boy and dared him.

Then I thought we were walking Uncle Penn to his car but he was tagging along instead.

Let me say this: the Indian Mounds are a sacred place and very far away. It is Federal property, watched over by the Dept of the Interior and such. This was the bad idea. Another joined it: "Let's follow the train tracks there."

Last time I followed Jewel Daddy along the train tracks, I wound up hopping my first train and subsequently jumping off my first train, which left me with my first train-related scars.

"Sure, let's follow the train tracks."

We stopped at a gas station. They tried to buy beer, I wanted an energy drink. The clerk slyly slid the beer off to the side and rang up the rest. It took my pals a moment to realize that they weren't getting alcohol -- it was 3:30am. They settled for something else. For some reason, Penn also bought three beef sticks. He, as far as I know, never shared them either.

Then we were staring up a chunk gravel hill at the tracks above, a chugging choo-choo in the distance. I tried climbing the steep way; they went to an easier location where I'd eventually find purchase. A thin, hollow tree broke off in my hand on the way up and I kept it, my new staff.

The further we walked, the more I wondered about the validity of our sojourn. Specifically, when would we call it a night? Farther along, I knew all about it... there was a fence, chained and locked. Beyond that, a field of large grassy knolls. God had messed up and put the Indian Mounds right where we'd been walking.

It was the first fence we jumped this night. Not the last.

At the top of the tallest mound -- under which, the entire damn city seems to sleep -- the three of us stopped speaking, laid on the moist ground and rested. It wasn't spiritual or awe-inspiring. I think we were just tired. After a spell, we began the walk back.

Disappointed that the Indian Mounds had been so easy to find, I insisted we take a different way back. I insisted we walk down the road that sat opposite of the fence we'd jumped. There'd be two more fences to hop before we found ourselves in the dark, shady streets of the bad part of town. Whoops. Ah, that's an exaggeration because nothing happened, it was just mildy disconcerting for three honkies.

We tried to break into an abandoned church then successfully broke into an abandoned textile mill. The initial entry was the thrill. Inside, there was nothing but old hard wood floors and there, I felt closer with the dead than I had at the mounds. One day, they hope to turn that building into a hotel or office space and if they do, I'll be able to say, "I remember when."

On the return trip home, we passed by another abandoned building and since the fence was tall and topped with razor wire, we chose to crawl under it. The back half of the building was gone and everything else seemed to be under some half-assed restoration. I'd broken my staff along the way and so I stole a rusty, mud-caked shovel. I also pilfered a sign that reads: Thank You for Not Smoking.

It was 5:20am and we were back at the same gas station that wouldn't sell Jewel Daddy and Uncle Pen beer. I smelled fried chicken and hoped breakfast was being served. It was. Hmm... sausage, egg and cheese biscuit. So rapt, I accidently left my shovel, which was by then being referred to as "the murder weapon".

Apparently, they lock the GA Music Hall of Fame at night.

I drive a truck with an extended cab but the extended part is a refuge for whatever I don't feel like carrying up to the apartment and so, my buddies sat awkwardly in the front -- the two trying not to sit in each other's lap. I don't know what happened to them when I got out of the truck because I was intent on passing out in my bed. It looked like someone was sleeping on my couch but I didn't care. It's a nice couch and comfortable too.

It was nearly 6am. I sat a bottle of water near my bed so I could rehydrate in the morning.

This morning, my ass hurts. This morning is actually early afternoon.

All that's to say that I'm finding ways to avoid boredom and it's good. I told my girlfriend about it a little while ago and she was grateful she didn't come out. I reminded her I would have behaved myself if she had.

Ho-hum.