It started with a crucial choice to eliminate the Needle of Misleading Security from my arm, get some distance from the Medusa of Schedule, part the Cover of Counterfeit Certifications and pass on into that fundamental spot where, no matter what the inquiry, you should simply say yes.
It started with the Insight of Silliness, a guarantee to stay liquid, open, in process, part of the Layer of Things as I struck out on that profound Highway 66, the, still up in the air to follow it as far as possible. It started with me unexpectedly failing to act naturally and becoming another person, expecting in the squint of an “I” the job of a wanderer, a drifter, a rebellious sailor solitary and visionary on the High Oceans of Possibility and Probability.
In reality, it started with a difficult Trail ways transport trip since that was all I could bear with the cash I’d presumably taken — three forgettable, sweat-soaked, malnourished, backbreaking days and evenings west from any place across the drawn-out highways of America. Feeling greasier than a Microwavable meal, I wound up in California in a town called New Age City, which appeared to be a fitting beginning stage, a promising start for what I considered the unfolding of my own “new age.”
New Age City was a colorful pastiche of engineering plans that all the while pleased and stupefied
Gothic towers and pioneer tall structures overshadowed straw-parcel houses, adobes, log lodges, lean-tos, earth ships and yurts, close to which Buddhist sanctuaries, dojos, mosques and glossy Bauhaus buildings vied for space, while the retail facades highlighted everything from extravagant exteriors and stained-glass craftsmanship nouveau shades to middle age bulletins and blazing neon signs.
My impression, bearing my dependable old bison cowhide gym bag (containing the basics: toothbrush, toothpaste, antiperspirant, spare clothing and Swiss armed force blade) — I say, my impression venturing down from the transport and squinting into the brilliant daylight that initially May morning was that the driver had gone astray at Albuquerque and dropped me off on Mars. What’s more, I wasn’t too distant imprint, as I before long wound up whistling along Mercury Road into the core of downtown.
The best way to pass my underlying response on to New Progress in Years City is to contrast it with that squeeze me mistrust a youngster feels visiting Disneyland the initial time. There was no soil in New Age City. No wrongdoing. No medications. No spray painting. No young groups since there were no adolescents. No class issues since there were no classes. No bigoted slurs, chauvinist jokes, conservative mottos or homophobic misleading publicity.
Any place you looked everything was in flawless condition
the parks were protected and clean, and every one of the vehicles were late-model imports, and every one individuals were white and north of forty and lavishly dressed in any event, when dressed down, and the eateries (however over the top) highlighted multicultural menus on reused paper, and you could continuously get a decaf mocha latte even in an odds and ends people who drank with some restraint, and the people who smoked just American Spirits, and the actual police were paragons of ecological cognizance as they rode favoring glossy trail blazing bicycles all over dazzlingly kept up with roads.
Furthermore, the phenomenal administrations! New Age City was a cornucopia of Transgender Breath work, Colonic Hypnotherapy, Insane Readings, Ladies’ Foot Back rub Circles, Men’s Feminine Organizations, Nymphomaniac Seepage, Applied Redundancy, Body Puncturing for the Internal identity, Elective Ungirthing, Soul Commotion, Previous existence Diversions … To not express anything of the unprecedented items accessible through free wholesalers of organization promoting organizations: Confidence Creams, Mystic Gels, Visionary Eye drops, Native Aphrodisiacs, Ostrich Quill Energy Bars, Illuminated Recuperating Muds, Chai Douches …
I didn’t have the foggiest idea where to begin
I pondered my internal identity. I was grieved, truth be told. Did I at any point have an internal identity, I asked myself, considering that, fundamentally, and I’d recently been conceived? Then again I figured it very well may be fascinating to attempt an enhanced purification or have my nasal septum penetrated.
Confounding as my choices were, it before long became perfectly clear the little money I had on me wouldn’t keep going long where a pack of peanuts cost ten bucks. So imagine a scenario where they were natural. My most memorable intuition was to find a new line of work — a thought promptly followed by a devastating rush of queasiness. I in a real sense regurgitated in a garbage bin on the walkway where I’d been wonderfully window-shopping. I considered the possibility of a task horrible. Life was excessively short to squander being a useful citizen. My occupation was my nonexistent life, and I felt profoundly I ought to be paid to live it.