The trip from one town

I love the silent trip from one town to the next. Its the only way to appreciate Arizona's beauty, all that noise just wears down the rocks, it sucks all the color out of the sky. At night, the place dims into a ghost world.

All the sun bleached bushes and sun bleached people seep into the darkness and disappear. They just don't exist anymore, not on the horizon, the sand blends into the sky, they become one, a single picture frame of deepest blue background, cricket symphony.

The 86 Nova breaks through to 80 on the strip, humming, shattering the night into a thousand pieces, traveling from pavement to back roads, short cuts only we would know. Our own personal light parade.

Through the passenger window all the industry along the train tracks light up with bulbs too bright for household comparison, they twinkle close and far, like stars, only brighter. And when we hits the rocks and flow down into the dips it seems like they are flying, and this car we're one of them. Alcyone, Asterope, Electra, Maia, Merope, Taygeta and Celaeno those beautiful sisters shy quietly among us wrapped in the fine blanket of exhaust and night time fog. There, the lost Pliad, as faint as our own visages, so meaningless in the vast night, she whispers something to me, maybe I understand I say.

To live life stuck into place, traversing the universe only in dreams. The turn of watching eyes makes our stagnation seem a journey, rise and descent, the slow fading, sucking into some unknown black hole.

Sometimes you just have to burn out, and lets pretend it hasn't been said before:

You have to burn out,
before you fade away.