A Shadow Beyond Midnight: Sketches of Los Angeles

A Shadow Beyond Midnight

by Armando Ortiz

There are times when things get jumbled up and one loses track of chronological time. We reach a point where time becomes a vast plane of unwinding events that seem to flow through us at a speed that is undecipherable to the human mind. At other times mundane tasks take on a life of their own, washing the dishes that have accumulated in the sink, brushing your teeth before and after sleep. Time seems to fly right past us, and the daily grind of repetition seems to become a necessary evil. We all become that boxer that after being knocked down gets up and goes back to that same fighting position. Training most of his life for these battles has made his skills become second nature. Sometimes the fighter ends up prevailing but sometimes he goes down again. For Will, it was supposed to be like any other night, but things transpired so fast that now it is hard to tell what is and isn’t real.

He was down to his last pair of jeans, and needed to get ready for the coming week. Most of the dirty clothes were piled up making a smelly mountain. With arms crossed, he stood beside it and stared at the small mound. Putting the dirty clothes in a sack brought back memories of things he had done the week before, wine that he’d drank, tomato stains from the pasta he’d had with his date, and numerous chili bean stains from the countless lunch breaks that were enjoyed at Tommy Burgers. Bright reds and dirt browns seemed to be the variants of the soiled laundry.

He had decided to do his laundry at the usual time-past midnight. The 24 hour Laundromat down the street would be somewhat empty at night, and he wouldn’t have to worry about the crowds or the eye contacts. Being in a place where many strangers gathered, especially in a public facility, where different characters always came in and out made him a bit uncomfortable. You never knew what would happen in a place like that.

He packed his stuff in the car and returned to his apartment to get some loose change and a bottle of detergent. The golden yellow detergent was hidden in between his plastic file cabinet and his drawer. He got back to his little four door sedan, turned it on, and pulled out of the parking garage. As he drove out of the building and attempted to turn on the radio, someone yelled, “Hey Will!” He stopped the car and rolled down the window to see who was hollering. At a distance he saw the dark silhouette of a heavy set woman walking her dog. He resumed his driving, and the steady metallic riding of the hi-hat beat came from the speakers, “Footsteps in the Dark,” by The Isley Brothers began to play. As the car slowly accelerated, he noticed a rusty substance smeared on the ground a few feet in front of the vehicle.

After making a left at the corner, he noticed that while changing lanes the streaks were still there. The headlights lit a path that was only several feet ahead which added to the confusion as to what was beyond the lights. This particular evening was extraordinarily dark. He turned on the high beams, but the streaks seemed to move further up ahead to where the light merged with the darkness resembling the long shadows that late September sunsets make. The funky slide base of the chords coming from the speaker created a soothing box of safety within. Once again a voice pierced through his thoughts, “Hey Will, look!”

Stopping at an intersection, he saw a crowd of people on the opposite side of the street. For Will, the voices sounded familiar, but he couldn’t make a visual connection with the faces. Then out of nowhere, he heard a voice say, “Looks alive.”

Inhaling deeply into his lungs, he heard himself say, “Keep calm. Relax. Stay focused, and don’t slow down or swerve around the thing.” He tried focusing on the steady bass drum that seemed to beat a bit faster than his heart.

He’d never noticed the neon signs that decorated the streets of Los Angeles by night, but today the lights were magically iridescent purples, shimmering in crimson reds, incandescent yellows, and metallic steel blues. It was as if things were moving slowly and now he had time to see the signs that he’d driven past so many evenings. The night air felt cool and crisp. A voice once again spoke and calmly said, “Breathe in, breathe out. Relax. Get some air.”

He drove a bit further passing some old shops and a couple of residential areas. Reaching an intersection, Will swerved to the left hoping to outwit the thing that was ahead, but it was useless. He once again heard the unknown voice say, “Turn slowly with your arms at an angle. Imagine yourself carrying a heavy log.” Will’s conceptual reality was melting into a dream, and he couldn’t quite tell if the thing that he was following was talking to him or if it was the voice of some other being.

He reached the intersection and the traffic light shone incandescent red. At a stop light, another car pulled up to his left. His vision was becoming a blur and his mind unfocused. The passenger looked at him, and covered their mouth in horror. Their look made him feel dizzy and nauseous, transforming everything around into a dizzying haze. He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. He wanted to take another look at the face inside the other car, but thought twice about it. Making eye contact with the wrong person in Los Angeles was always a tricky thing and most of the time opened the gates to a river of curses and threats. “Ah fuck it, take a look again,” he thought. As his eyes opened and turned to see, the traffic light simultaneously lit its green light and the car sped off.

Adjusting the rear view mirror he only saw his own pair of obsidian eyes staring back at him. A cold breeze began crawling up his leg, like an ant that’d just come into a cozy home from the outside. A cold invisible fog kept creeping up his body gathering at his torso. He felt he had cotton balls inside his throat, and the pounding of his heart radiated in all directions. Breathing was becoming abnormal, and the car kept moving to an unknown destination, lights began flashing all around him. For a moment he thought he was lying in the middle of a carnival. He heard childish chatter, and the yells of unseen women, light bulbs seemed to circle all around. Then, out of nowhere, the profile of a deer appeared that made eye contact with Will. Its hazel eyes connected with Will’s volcanic eyes, and for a moment it seemed that both vehicle and wild mammal were on the same lane about to slam into each other. Yet, all that was happening was too overwhelming. The body was now trembling, and a sudden sound of black rubber and asphalt was heard.

The car rolled into the parking lot of the Laundromat, and suddenly a crowd of people emerged. The car wildly came to a screeching stop. There was a bundle of flesh and hair on top of a puddle of red liquid. A frightened human circle absorbed the car. Someone in the crowd yelled, “I think he’s alive!” “Someone clean him up!” There were countless eyes surrounding him, so he closed his eyes. He hated going to the Laundromat. A stranger ran up, and while checking for a heartbeat searched his pockets for a wallet. The hazel eyes now had a sweaty human face that seemed to look at Will with determined emptiness, and as soon his leather pouch was found, took off running like a wild deer, disappearing into the midnight.

“Will wake up! Will! We’re gonna be late!,” he was shaken awake. 

“Wha….wha,” he sat up, “What’s going on!” 

“Dude, you were deep asleep, but we have to go, remember that we need to be in Amboy before noon. So get up and start taking down your tent.”

Beijing Winters

Beijing Winters 

by Armando Ortiz

Winter evenings in Beijing are frigid, and nights bring freezing winds.

Though at noon the skies are clear and sunny, you don’t want to be outside for too long.

Peddlers abound during this time, selling crab apple sticks that are sealed fresh inside, and hardened with caramel sugar or offer piping hot yams warmed inside coal heated barrels.

Seasonal preparations for the New Year begin, bringing red pasted banners and signs on the sides of doors welcoming another prosperous year, because to live is to see the magic of life unfold.

Though the eye is blind during these months the flavors that season the soul are many, and are an excuse to engage in endless conversations over hot black tea.

Handmade noodles made to order are at hand and served on steaming white bowls that are topped with thin slices of beef and for an extra five cents topped with a fried egg.

Who knows if it’s still there, but when I was there you could feast on street huoguo on random corners, where you sat on tiny chairs and miniature tables.

It’s also the time when one takes liberal servings of dumplings of all kinds; cabbage and pork,

pork and chives, mutton and onions or the veggie and egg kind.

Artificial lakes become frozen, and children along with students rent ice skates, and glide over these ancient bodies of waters that were once meant for the Emperor’s pleasure.

It’s during the night that the dry steppe air of the North passes through the city, which is further depleted of its humidity by the centralized heating.

Miles of hot tubes connect to a network of pipes that pump hot oil and water from a coal furnace that keeps blocks and blocks of people warm and with severely dry throats.

When those nights of lonesomeness get intertwined with nightmares it’s as if one were being choked by the devil’s hand and one awakens desperately reaching for water.

Yet in the mornings you stand huddled beside the radiator, thinking twice of walking to the bathroom and showering your sleep away.

Winters in Beijing also bring into focus the celebration of the Winter Solstice, which I did once, outside a pub, while eating grilled chicken wings and drinking Yanjing.

This is the celebration of the longest night and the conception of spring, when the worst has already passed, and preparations for Chunjie begin to appear.

People bundled up in layers and layers of thick cotton and synthetic wool slowly start to go back to their hometowns, and the looooooong lines at train stations become the norm.

It’s the sign of optimism that we all have survived the terrible winter and begin to celebrate, buying rolls and rolls of firecrackers and rockets, and stocking up on food.

For a week, fireworks will light up the midnight sky, and all the ghosts that crept into our lives and are fast asleep, will awaken and are scared to go back to where they belong.

For days on end, streets are closed and food stalls appear, with caramel artisans making ancient Chinese mythical characters,

And tamed birds fly high in the sky at a whistle or with the waving of a dollar bill come to you and with their tiny beaks take hold of your money and fly back to their master.

We triumphantly declare to spring to open up and begin forth the colors of life and the blossoms of spring.

The first snowfall that blanketed benches, and topped the pine trees melt from the memory as the changing jet stream shifts from Northwesterly to Southeasterly direction

Winters in Beijing are long, but now they seem short and distant, like an old recurring dream that disappears with every waking moment.

Mullholland Memorial Fountain: Short Piece

Mulholland Memorial Fountain 

by Armando Ortiz

He walked past the fountain

and childhood chatter

got intertwined with the white noise

that came from there.

In summers past,

children jumped inside

and stood under giant spigots,

dancing and celebrating the sun.

They played

in fresh waters

brought by invisible

channels.

Time got lost

in rushing waters

that in days past

cooled his body.

Laughter

joined the twang of the air

that awoke those memories

from its slumber.

Instances- forgotten,

mostly ignored,

but still there, out there,

everywhere-

were remembered.

He was soaked

in work and worries,

but that place-

the fountain

where he played,

where time lasted longer

than it does today,

was still there

that day.

Midwest Journey: A Reflection

Midwest Journey: A Reflection

by Armando Ortiz

            Yesterday I recalled driving around Kansas City, MO. It was a few years ago that I was selling books over there, in the middle of the US. It was during the autumn of 2009, and the landscape was unreal, but what could a guy from Los Angeles expect and how could he interpret what he saw? Coming from Southern California, where the sun is always out, and it seems that I never gets more than ten days of rain in throughout the whole year. Anyhow, walking past a giant oak tree brought back some memories of the fall colors in Kansas and Missouri, in fact I drove through other states, so I will say that most of the American Midwest.

            I’ve spent time in South Korea and China during autumn; this was different because it was many more times more colorful and much more magical. Trees seemed to contain the sun’s warmth in all its varying hues, even though the weather was rainy and cool. Some trees seemed to radiate pumpkin orange, and some leaves appeared to be made up of individual amber droplets that fell to the ground. The scenery here in the states was so much more vast, untamed and compelling. Trees, during the late months in East Asia seemed more like shrubs and controlled by man.

            Now I reflect and wonder, how much different is Fall in other places?

Beijing, China

Eres Mia: Spanish Piece

Eres Mia

by Armando Ortiz

Eres mi sol de mermelada

en las mañanas y una taza

de luna en las noches,

Te conviertes

en agua helada

en el desierto

de mi mente,

Revives mi alma

y calmas las tormentas

del cuerpo sin calma,

Tus sorbetes son de fresa

que derriten en mis labios

cubriendo mi ser con sabana.

Madvillainy: MF Doom and Madlib

Madvillainy: MF Doom and Madlib

by Armando Ortiz

I remember when I first heard the initial track. My friends and I were walking into Pennylane Records, a store in Alhambra, which is no longer there, and as we were looking through the cd stacks, some hypnotizing beats, with some gnarly lyrics began flowing out of the speakers. I went directly to the salesperson behind the counter, and asked who it was that was rapping, and he directed my attention to the record, Madvillainy. It was the first time seeing a rapper with a metal mask, which wasn’t the typical image I had of hiphop artists. This experience opened to the door to a diversity within a genre that I believed only had gangster and mainstream rap/hip hop.

No questions were asked about who it was or where he or they hailed from; the music resonated immediately, making me buy the cd. I wanted the album and wanted to take it home and listen to the entire thing. The comic book like lyrics, but clever word play triggered curiosity. In all honesty, this happened ten years ago, so to really gauge that moment is difficult. The cd came with the music video, ALL CAPPS, a comic book like video where the main character, who also wears a metal mask, breaks through the scenes onto other scenes.

Up to that point in my life only a handful of hiphop records had been purchased, and most of them were bootleg. I was in grad school at the time, so I had some loose cash, and enough to splurge on a cd. This happened sometime between March when the album came out and September of 2004, when I moved to East Asia. I do not clearly remember the date of when I bought the cd, but I took it with me to Beijing. I was on my way to study Chinese at Peking University. Preparing to live in China for a year, so a humble collection of music was packed which would be enough tangible things to take from the US to somehow manage to live in a foreign country, so Madvillainy, El Primer Instinto by Jaguares, Morrison Hotel and other albums by The Doors, and some heavy metal albums by Anthrax, and Megadeth’s Countdown to Extinction were put inside the suitcase. I couldn’t leave the US without Jimi Hendrix’s Life at the Fillmore East. Mp3 players already existed, but that technology had yet to make its way into my life, but that is another story.

The whole time living in Beijing, the music blasted from the speakers, inside my little apartment while sitting behind the desk, spending hours trying to decipher Chinese characters, and writing characters over and over and over and over again till I had memorized them. The symbols became internalized in my being in the same manner that the beats made me reach that level of energy of focus and creativity. The numerous tracks on the album helped me navigate through the labyrinth of Mandarin, helping to stay focused, giving a musical adventure that I never tired to re-experience.

At the end of the day I was just a consumer, and bought what I liked and never did read on the magnitude of Madvillainy till years later and hours of listening. There was no clue that it was a critically acclaimed production. The purchase had prompted me to find out more about the artists behind the album, but that happened two years later. I discovered that Madlib had produced the beats, and had his own Jazz band, Yesterdays New Quintet, where he played different instruments. MF Doom was the guy rapping and had a wide variety of other albums, such Mm.. Food.  They joined forces, and became Madvillain and produced one of the most critically acclaimed albums of the 21^st century.

Not only did Madlib have stacks of beats on his CV, and to top it off back in 2006 when I was teaching English in Korea, I heard his beats on an aspirin commercial that would reappear every 45-60 minutes on the television.  MF Doom had other alter egos which manifested themselves in King Geedorah, Vikto Vaughn. Since then, Doom always appeared mysterious to me, so whenever I came across anything that was written about him I’d devour the words only to leave me with more questions about the artist. Madvillainy is and remains one of my favorite albums, and was key to exposing me to many other artists, and also became a door from where two prolific artist have served as templates of what inspiration, commitment, creativity and hard work produce. In addition they functioned as doors that led to a variety of musical knowledge.

Xochil: Spanish Piece

Xochil

by Armando Ortiz

Xochil siempre será morena,

piel de chocolate caliente

y piernas que tocan la tierra.

Princesa con cuerpo de sirena

y ojos de diamantes-

sonrisa de ceresa.

Deshaciendo corazones de infancia,

derrite tu alma como un pequeño molcajete,

que se calienta sobre un fuego que quema.

Sus manos son de tierra

con corazón de madre

labios naturales que besan mi cachete

y su recuerdo sigue en mi mente.

Sublime Madness and Vortex of Loss

Sublime Madness and Vortex of Loss

by Armando Ortiz

It’s a religious experience

to lose it all.

A home up in flames,

being emotionally swindled,

everything disintegrating

turning into glowing

charcoal embers.

To be brought

to the edge

of madness

and with delirious steps

fall onto the ground-

tiny sand pebbles

inside a thirsty mouth

and between teeth grinding.

Though you have

the strength

of a lioness,

and the heart

of cotton candy.

Despite your delicate hand

being rough,

and the bones within

fragile-

your silence is dread.

And when you smile,

inside you cry,

and when you get angry

it’s because you hurt.

And even if you flow

like dancing willows

with a wicked wind

that make branches sway,

And thought it feeds

fires and burning hills

it all passes through you

like a blooming blossom.

Men get lost

in the echo chamber

of their voice,

but you left me

wandering in a maze

of silence.

You were my

soothing song

that opened the door

to dreams.

You demanded affection

and all I had were words.

I fed you iced grapes

that popped within lips,

while I drank your red wine-

but all that is past.

Now, I just stare

at what is before me

crumbling and black,

up in flames

and with sudden

shivers of fright.

Memories

turning into ash

At what love

does to us all

when it takes flight.

Antemasque and Le Butcherettes: At the Observatory

Antemasque and Le Butcherettes: At the Observatory

by Armando Ortiz

Two weeks ago, I went to The Observatory, a venue located in Santa Ana, CA, to see Antemasque. The show was off the hook, but reasons for that were unexpected, more on that later. Before I start talking about the show, I will briefly describe what happened before that. I woke up and went to the event being held by the writing club I belong to, Zzyzx Writerz, who for this month are hosting poetry readings across the city. I had no idea it was an early show, so when I got a text from my friend, asking if I wanted to carpool, I figured it was not a bad idea. For this day, Poetrypalooza would be held at DiPiazza’s Italian restaurant, located in Long Beach, CA. I quickly showered, and ate some toast with Nutella and left the house. I wasn’t able to drink coffee so I had a slight headache. The reading event was really good and a lot of poets from Long Beach, CA were there to read. In addition to poetry readings there was a really good artist there showcasing his ink and watercolor portraits, Fernando Gallegos.

By 6 in the afternoon, I was already on 405 freeway and on my way to Santa Ana. I got to the venue, parked my car and walked to the wooden structure that lay hidden behind low lying office buildings/warehouses. I entered the place and was impressed by the lay out of the venue. The floor level was good, but decided to check out the upstairs balcony area, and chose to stay there for the rest of the time. Teresa Suares aka Teri Gender Bender, lead singer of the band Le Butcherettes put on a solid performance. I had seen her last year when she was on tour as a member of the Bosnian Rainbows, and in that instance she was solely doing vocals, but this time I got to see another side of her showmanship, where she used a synthesizer and a guitar.

 

The music had a different beat; it was faster, and though the long wails from the Bosnian Rainbows debut album were missing, traces were still there. The drummer of the band, Lia Braswell, was also in the pocket the whole time. I recall thinking, “wow, those drum beats are really good and could be looped for hip hop beats.” The fact that the drum set was not in the center towards the back was a bit odd, but it definitively made me look at her and her drumming skills. Lia is certainly very talented. The bassist put on quite a performance by keeping pace and maintaining a tempo.

Le butcherettes

Le Butcherettes sounded very good, and the crowd was visibly pleased to see the great performance. One aspect that makes this band unique is that their sound is very unusually experimental, and hard to describe, yet when you hear it there are traces of many influences that one can call familiar, it made me think of My Morning Jacket, Elevator and various other punk bands. They really blew me away, it was a great performance. Geri Bender was cool and takes control of the stage. With the change of light hues it made the show even more preternatural in the manner they performed different songs creating an atmosphere that blended well with the different hues that were radiating from the flood lights.

The band I’d gone to see finally took the stage, Antemasque. They began their set, and one couldn’t help but feel the raw energy that emanated not only from the instruments, but from the bandmates themselves as they began performing. It might have been the huge fan that was next to the drummer David Elitch, but it certainly could not explain his rapid drumming and hypnotizing beats that blended with the bass player and Omar Rodriguez-Lopez guitars. Cedric Bixler-Zavala’s vocals made the whole show seem as if one was in the different world with vocals that were eerily high pitched, but at the same time short enough to make you want to hear more. At times I felt that their performance was like drinking beer and the more you drank the more intoxicated one became. Their versatility with their music and their ability to produce a wide variety of rock and roll melodies certainly left you feeling that they were one of the best groups you’d ever seen perform.

Antemasque

I’d never seen The Mars Volta so for me, seeing any manifestation of any off-shoot bands from members of that band have always interested me, and for this band it certainly was one that triggered curiosity because most of them had been in The Mars Volta previously. The pace at which they played and the variety of music as pointed out earlier really was pleasing to my ears and definitively made the trip to Santa Ana, CA worth the drive. The show in Los Angeles had already sold out.

The two bands that performed and every single member of those groups really gave me inspiration. They inspired to me to keep working on my passions and interests, and to let my self be carried by the flow of time but also of creativity. They certainly are living a life that most people dream of having, but who is to say that one cannot find the same success in whatever we put our hearts and minds to and that the work and time put in our creativity will not give us the same results.  Hopefully one day, I do get to see The Mars Volta live and that is as pleasing as what I saw on this Sunday evening.

Reflections on a Music Filled Weekend

Reflections on a Music Filled Weekend

by Armando Ortiz

A few weeks back I went to see different performers and bands that played in and around LA back to back. It all started on Thursday July 24^th when I went to see Kevin Gates perform at The Roxy and ended my Sunday at the Silverlake Lounge where The Cotton Jones band performed. It was a memorable weekend for me, and hopefully I get to do this again in the future.

That Thursday I drove to The Roxy Theater to see Kevin Gates aka Luca Brasi, who was promoting his album By Any Means. He is a Southern rapper from the roughest part of the US. I was the odd man out, not wearing the right clothes for the event wearing slacks, dress shoes and a dress shirt. Everyone was hip-hoped out, wearing jerseys or shirts with strange start up names of record labels and cliques.

There were two artists before him, the first was King Menz and he was cool. He used a beat from one of Kanye West’s most recent album, keeping it honest and real, showing signs of a good future. Then it was another rapper, Chevy Woods. His beats were too loud for the room, so I had to step out of the venue and chill outside, smoking a bit for a while. I went back inside to listen to his music, but now he was making threats to someone in the crowd - that’s when I decided that I was not ready for his music.

Kevin Gates put on a really good show. He looked like a menacing tiger with the grills that he wore, singing various songs that most of the crowd knew well, and towards the end of his set jumped from the stage, to the ground area and finished his performance in the middle of the crowd that cheered him on. For a moment I feared that he would move towards my direction so I stepped back as everyone else rushed to shake his hand. I met some really cool people there, like the two ladies that were teachers who took photos with him at the meet and greet. It seems that the ladies were smitten by his words.

Santa Barbara Bowl

The next day took me to Santa Barbara. I left Los Angeles at eleven thirty and got there at four thirty in the afternoon, but not before stopping at the Camarillo outlets to buy a pair of jeans and have some lunch. The Santa Barbara Bowl was awesome with stairs made of stone and the amphitheater being intimate, though some would complain about the walking and climbing, but the overall vibe was good and chill. The show started at around six in the afternoon, the audience side of the hill cast a shadow on the ground floor where the fans were, and slowly crawled to the stage, where Stephen Marley, Cypress Hill and finally Slightly Stoopid performed. They put on a great show, giving fans a taste of their music and their versatility in creating punk, rock, and reggae styled beats. It was my first time seeing all those that performed live. One of the highlights of the night was when Damian Marley came out and performed with Stephen. In addition, Slightly Stoopid’s set was diverse and included some really good grooves.

Missing Persons

Saturday I met up with friends in Downtown Los Angeles' Pershing Square. That was where an 80s band the Missing Persons performed a full set of hits and singles like, Destination Unknown. They performed for about an hour, and after their set we went to the beer garden where the booze and other drinks were sold we chilled there, where I tried to talk to some ladies that were in lounge chairs but alas they were in another dimension of thoughts.

Cotton Jones Performing

Sunday took me to the Silverlake Lounge a local spot in Silverlake, Los Angeles there is saw the Cotton Jones band, made up of Michael Nau guitarist and song writer, Whitney McGraw organ and electric piano, and Greg Bender who was on bass, and opened up with his own band. They performed to a packed audience. I was walking to the bar and saw Michael Nau from far away, but thought why bother going talking to him, let him be, but then 20 minutes later he walked into the bar from the front door, so I said hello to him and told him that his music and lyrics were excellent. Later some friends, Ismael and Roxy, showed up and mentioned that they had seen him outside in the parking lot, and that they wanted to take a photo with him, I tagged along and also got a picture with him.

Michael Nau and I

Highways and Roads: Quasi Poem and Sketch

Highways and Roads: Quasi Poem and Sketch

by Armando Ortiz

He was a desperado bumping gangster rap

down a deserted road.

Playing it loud, smoking sacred tobacco,

he rode waves of heavens old.

Coasting at 80 miles per hour

the dribble of the tom drums

became an acoustic ba-boom.

Wagner melodies spoke

through the synthesizers,

telling of Percival’s epic journey.

He stepped on the pedal

trying to outrace the sun,

sweat beads gathered on skin.

Houston screw overtook the beating

Of his heart and became

one with the blue.

Driving faster,

as the sun set

and the car neared

the evening orange.

He was a desperado driving fast down a deserted Sonoran road. Tobacco smoke and gangster rap dissipated with the desert air. The dried up leaves being handed to him by an old Navajo shaman. The car rolled fast on the petrified ancient road that once was a Paiute path. A landscape of jagged, sun weathered mountains that resembled dried up pumpkin pie could be seen at a distance.

The gas pedal held the humming motor at 80 miles per hour, the dribble of the tom drums blasting from the speakers immediately became a single boom at the distance. To the lizards and snakes on the ground, the Cadillac was an object that was hard to detect. For the vulture and black crow the quick moving creature was an alien on the ground that traced the earth’s contours. In an instant the car was there, and was gone, only the wind that shook everything was evidence of the chariot of fire that seemed to be blasting some otherworldly music.

Antonio, while driving these long distances put on Wagner’s epic symphony, Parsifal and his journey through life. He wondered if he could outpace the sun. How fast did he have to drive to momentarily beat the sun, and see time paused for an instant was a question he always wondered about while lying on his cot, and looking out at the horizon.

The heat was unavoidable, and that is what he preferred. He carried a cooler on the passenger’s side, and there he kept ice water, and some juicy oranges that refreshed his body, and crispy apples that were crushed with every pressing bite. Cool snacks made the sun bearable at times. Nonetheless, sweat beads gathered on his skin. The shimmer made his brown skin look like polished bronze. His was usually like an old weathered penny, but at times like these, it seemed that it had been born that day, fresh off the metal press.

Symphonies of the old German composer became beats from Houston, the slow and half asleep bass gave him a nauseous feeling, but also blended well with the dry oven heat of these areas. At times it felt that he was becoming one with the wind and the emptiness of the blue.

He drove faster, adding a few digits to the steady speed he had kept the last few hours. He felt he was nearing the cool brown mountains of the north, and slowly merging with the evening orange. Night was fast approaching and this is where he would make a bee line to next city. In the darkness is where he felt the car pulled the fastest, and the chill of midnight helped it hum without a problem. At night only he was alive and his flicker gave life to everything from music and to all the thoughts and desires that came to his mind.