The Wasteland is heavy on my mind just now, I can’t decide if I’m really crossing it or if that’s just another trick of the light. There isn’t much in the wasteland: there is cracked earth, there is dust and sand, there are starless skies — skies without guidance — and there is madness. Mainly there is madness.
I am mad with dust, lust, thirst, loss, rage; I am afraid. I don’t know who I am nor how I got here nor where I’m going or why. That is the wasteland.
Then there is the light. By day the sun is muddy and only sand pours from my canteen. In the gathering of hills the mud-sun conjures false hopes wherever shadows pool. In withering peaks it strips away my flesh and skin until I am as cracked and blistered as the earth which cannot hide from it. Light — light itself is a mirage. Don’t follow the light.
But the night is empty and hot and, void of the muddy sun’s rage, filled with my own madness.
Please, I am begging in the night but I don’t know for what nor to whom.
Is the wasteland all there is? Am I all there is? Which of us begat the other? Is the crossing all there is? Certainly I do not now believe I can cross it but neither that I can stop.
This is a first post and maybe it is too heavy as such. Those who know me, though, know that I wander and — as one of my closest friends once reminded me — not all those who wander are lost. If I can get to a working news-source keep an eye here for my once-fabled news ticker, no longer filling everyone’s text message boxes. I’m gonna try and get elected to be Jon Stuart when his term limit is up.
Send me love and come see me if you know me. As you all know I’m not often emotional but this press will hopefully become a way to convey more emotion to you all.