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March 13, 2005

Writings from the 395

I found this the other day in an old notebook.

"8-23-03. 395 S. Olancha

Some roads are imbued with the dreams of those that once traveled them. Full of high ideas and ambitions that whatever destination was sought, held salvation itself. The dilapidated diners and way stations give a dim glimpse into the visions of the weary travelers bounding towards their destiny. It was a much younger, more naive American that sought salvation through geographic means. 'Go west young man.' 'Bright lights big city.' 'Back to the country.' 'On the road...' 'Going somewhere.' Past her prime, one place isn't much different from another. The myth dispelled. Was it true even then? Was there salvation over THERE, or, as today, was it always the journey itself. Flying into the unknown, with blind ambition of better times ahead. Did it work out? How many times has the wanderer been betrayed by reality in the form of necessity?"

It feels unfinished.

Posted by wonko at March 13, 2005 12:13 AM

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Ending in a question always makes it feel unfinished, unless you're expecting someone else to answer it.

Are you?

Posted by: Andrew at April 13, 2005 07:53 AM

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