Planes and Trains

Written on the plane. June 29, 2007.
I can't begin to describe the beauty of the skies.above the blackening pollution, it's all so spectacular. Looking down from the window seat on the left side of the plane in the fourth row. The window in front. I look out of it.and get confused for a minute. It's like you're looking into a mirror below the plane and it's reflecting the skies, but in reality... You are floating on top ob the mountain ranges of skies. Forty thousand feet above civilization. The window to my immediate left show the following: Wing. Engine. Southwest.com. Blue on top of yellow on top of red all behind grey. Just as Chuck Palahniuk wrote it, "Single-serving everything.: That's all a plane flight is. The person next to the aisle. You won't know her long, because she's getting off in New Mexico. The "Byte-sized Fares: honey roasted peanuts. The plastic cup of Dr. Pepper. It's all single-serving. I'm looking out at the horizon and the prettiest blues collide with the whitest clouds. The creator this world, he (or she if you are going to get on religious on me) is the greatest artist. The mountains are jaw dropping. As we sit at the gate in New Mexico, half the people get off the plane. Then more come on. Full flight. The next single-serving friend is a math genius. Asian. He has his laptop with a powerpoint on his next project about everything he needs to know. He taught me a lot. The sun is hot now as it is rising over the morning. Then you land in LAX.

Written at the airport and on the plane July 15, 2007.
It's dark out. Hour and half to sunrise. Because the news is pointless, I sit listening to my music. I look up every so often. At one point I look up at the screen and I see Bin Laden. I haven't heard his name in a while and it isn't a friendly face when I am sitting alone in terminal E34 at DFW. All types of people. Business men and women. Pilots and flight attendants. Families big and small. Black. White. Old. Young. Cute. Ugly. Handicapped-- you get the idea. Everything is starting to pick up now. I'm scared but I don't know why. All I can do is think. About what?...I honestly don't have a clue. The iPod vending machine is quite... expensive. I have figured out that if you start to head bang and play air instruments, no one wants too sit near you. I wish something interesting would happen. Also, I want a friend. I feel so...alone and left out. Everyone around me knows someone, but I haven't a clue at who any of these people are. Something slightly entertaining, yet disturbing just occurred. Two elderly people racing on the motor scooters. That's great. I can't wait. Especially when I find something to do with my life.
Later-- During takeoff.
The sky glistens with the sun rising in the east. I suppose it's about 6:30 or so. Lyrics will be written but not released. And rewritten as well. I want to be far away. I want that smile to be real. I want everything to be understood. Everyone to understand. Meeting people for the first time is very...revealing. Sometimes, the could write a novel about how much you tell them. They find your sweet spot and you won't shut up. Are they really interested or are the just putting on an act so they can blab about there crappy lives.
A poem from a plane.
Turbulence.
Shaking uncontrollably.
Hovering over the lands we know so well.
Up and down as if you are
Sleeping on a trampoline
Full of children.
You are bound to hit the ground,
You know it.
Now he's illuminated the fasten seat belt sign.
Hold on.

Written on the train July 19, 2007.
I sit here with no one even remotely close to someone I recognize. I think about our generation. At that moment, I look at the seat to my right with all my belongings. All I see is technology. Sanyo digital camera. iPod shuffle. Motorola RAZR. We strive off of technology. The lady up one row and across the aisle has some crazy Dell laptop. In front of her is this strangely annoying woman. Phone in one ear, iPod headphone in her other. She won't shut up. It's getting dark. Imagine that. With technology, the lights illuminate the car. Don't get me wrong, I love technology, but how much do we really need. We... We are consumers. Nothing else. We just continue to consume everything consumable.

A poem from a train.
Mountain Range.
Looking out the window,
I see the mountains.
Some with a little snow.
The twinkling lights,
Off in the night,
You guessed it...
Oh so bright.
Everything slips away.
Only because I cannot stay
Awake.