Fat, Sugar, and Salt

What was notable was that my brain had ceased to function. I got caught in the middle trying to pick a lane to drive through or remembering what time of day it was or juggling more than one task, such as packing and eating and dressing. What became difficult was the deprivation of context, so all that existed existed in this endless stream of the present, but this was not only not detrimental to activities such as reading, editing, and thought, but to that tuning toward the inner ear that I had been missing for a very long time.

I waited under the giant head of Charlie Parker, addict and practitioner of a dense and self-reflective midwestern modernism. America convulses in these reaches, geologic tidal waves and the infinite horizon. What is replicated is the human technology of building roads through inhospitable territory and moving cars through them. 

The rainbows themselves were indicators of turbulence. It was sharp and fresh and clear and temperate, the large land green, shot through with water. It was a crisp summer night in a dumpy mountain resort, a little bohemian, still rock ‘n’ roll, teenagers bent over vintage arcade cabinets, phones sticking out their back pockets, the salty-mineral tasting spring water streaming out of the ground beneath their feet.

As temperatures topped out at 105, cows made their way down into watering holes to cool off. Night arrived with cicadas blasting from the trees. I was not able to process more than one thing at a time, but it was a very large one. Afterwards I had my carne asada burrito alone in my hotel room. More fat, sugar, and salt.