WORDS FROM KRISTIN:
"A couple of guys spilled off their motorcycle
in front of us and dies instantly, under a full moon. That desert moon that still shines on LA through the light noise. It
actually seemed extra dark right then, even with the neon and the streetlights glaring and that crazy moon. The men crumpled
to the ground and then froze in two homunculus heaps as their motorcycle spun away and crashed on its own against the sidewalk.
When we saw that the cops were gonna
leave the men lying there, we realized they were no longer men, but bodies. All us traffic people who were still alive took
a minute to feel sad and then we drove on. Our car was headed for the real desert, the unspoiled one, the one that gets so
freakishly dark, you can't see your own feet. Sparks and sparklers light up the stuff that really matters there.
And when the sun appears, it opens
everything up to squinting eyeballs. No secrets in the daytime desert. You cook and blister in its expansiveness and freeze
in its contracted shadows. This is rising to an occasion though, so it doesn't hurt.
Keep driving. Cross the bottom of the country and watch the landscape
green up and wet itself down. Rain seeps through everything in the American south, whether it's raining or not. Just the memory of
past rain soaks the trees, whose branches hang heavy and drip mystery moisture. Sparks and sparklers light up the dayhere.
And rising to this landscape's occasion
means clean dreaming, swearing off parody, soaking in wicked memories that drip off the branches like so much forgotten rain.
Love, Kristin"
