„And I got questions
and you got answers.
And I’m not sure
if they’re fact or fiction.
And I got questions
and you got answers.
And I’m not sure
if they’re even worth asking.“
(Middle Kids: Questions. 2022)
Going south this time he left Aberdeen for good. It was as cold and rainy as ever. Knowing he reached the last third of his journey (and after having a rough and dreamless night) the Bearer of Glasses was on his feed, the pedal on the floor and good to go. But even Aberdeen South seemed bleak this summer as if joy was long gone and never once was back again. So nostalgia and desolation took one last stand with him. Finally he was going down the Highway 101. Facing California from the north he was rocking his new Mariners Cap even while driving.
Soon there would no more such mountains, not even the rearviewmirrors would be able to resound any visual echo. But still there were the woods. And his next bigger stop would be at/in the Reds. But first he was getting to know Oregon. There were rumours the ocean is at its most beautiful around here. He passed state border at noon, crossing the Columbia River, landing in Astoria. The Campground in Warrenton was huge, but not able to let him take place just now. So he just drove out to the beach not knowing what awaits. Arriving at the shore line (by feet) he was confused again. Why does almost everything in the US has to look like some kind of movie set? Why was he growlingly unable to capture the beauty of the landscapes because everything already looked just cinematic. And what was the difference between fact, fiction and the factual reproduction of fiction?
Anyways, the beach at Warrenton/Seaside has a very special attraction. A Shipwreck. Apparently very old. Two plates tell the story. High tide waves will wash through this rotten manual of hubris. But for now kids were playing here with their dads, building hopeless sandcastles to fend of the coming enemies. Their were dogs chasing balls, frisbees, volleyballs and kites in the air. But the strangest things? The sand and the fog. Just like yesterday the clouds were actually at sea side, down with the tide. But the sun was already getting through heating up the dark sand so that he was unable to stand barefoot on it for more than just ten seconds, but never felt anything like it when laying down, a white breeze was crossing his face. How much of a dream is too much of a dream?
Thursday night he went to the movies in Astoria to see the latter part of „Barbenheimer“. His third attempt to get to know the US Cinema Culture was proving: This is how movies should be seen: Doors are directly after the ongoing showing so you have to pick your spot early. Blockbuster trailers start on time. Advertising and Entertainment is done by then. The venue is not sold out. The official premiere is tomorrow. The movie is beyond amazing. The Bearer of Glasses sat in awe throughout the credits. For three hours the atmosphere had caught fire. There is no need for nightmares of war anymore when there are these kind of movies.
Afterwards he drove home to the campground where he would stay one more night. The hugest he had seen this far. Just about a made up town made out of even the smallest Bring Your Own Grounds to live for a while. In Peace.
Friday morning, after he did laundry, he sat down and was reading, unable to write.
„There is a campground in the heart of every man. Where the highway begins to dominate the landscape, beyond the limits of a large and duplicating city, near a major point of arrival and departure: this is the most likely where it stands. Postcards of itself on the desk at the office. One hundred hermetic mobile homes. … Despite its great size, the campground seems temporary. This feeling may rise from the knowledge that no one lives here for more than one or two days at a time.“
(stolen and updated from: Don DeLillo: Americana.)
Yesterday was the first day he heard his mothertounge since his departure from home. A receptionist once had an exchange student who is now a doctor in Munich. He barely was able to use it himself while answering. „There aren’t many germans around here.“
Bur everyone else was: Families from all across the state where having a summer at the coast. Dogs were walked like in any other neighborhood. Kids on bikes were riding around faster than any car, grills on every porch. And no lawn to mow.
At 1am the sun was out. And so was the Bearer of Glasses, scratching old skin off his legs. What’s next? Two more weeks to go. He was reading maps of the coast, picking spots for the nights, planning the dream as good as it gets while knowing about this surrealistic-hermetic circle. He was writing (postcards) home. And thought about the afternoon. Another couple of hours at the ocean? Playing ball with the locals? Writing about his life? Or looking for some Rodeo Fair near by? He was imagening his dad. Sitting home alone waiting for his call. Waiting for stories from America, waiting for supplies the Bearer of Glasses would not bring. He had a final dialogue in mind, but was not yet willing to write it down. Something like: His dad expresses his disappointment about him being almost abandoned from this trip and about the missing supply he thought he ordered weeks ago. Having found a shattering reply to that the Bearer of Glasses could let go of all the other questions and answers but this one: „May I tell you what I was disappointed about? No? You bet.“
After this sole bottom of every dream the Bearer of Glasses woke up to a blue sky once again. The clouds were gone by now and the shadows grew darker. He listened around. Then he took a short walk, at times dreaming about a dog next to him. The ballcourt was empty at the time. So he took another look at the map. Fort Stevens was not far, he could walk the three miles, no engine needed. The road was empty most of the time. He walked barefoot on the ground until pine needles told his feet not to do so. The Fort turned out to be a huge bunker once guarding the Columbia River. Now it was a trail destination, a lookout, a wildlife watching area, a campground and above all of that: A Peace Memorial. An eagle was nesting on top of a man made monument, a monolith just above the main bunker. And camping trailers wearing the US Banner. The Bearer of Glasses thought about peace and the price that comes with it.
As the sun was setting once again he was back to his journal reading what he felt weeks ago. About anxiety, expectations and reality. And how he coped. He remembered the question from Berlin, if he had thoughts of cutting the journey short. He remembered saying yes. Now he was asking himself how many of the people that were beginning this kind of trip were cutting it short. For any reasons. Illness. Unexpected homesickness. Too many shocks of paranoia. Fear. Casualties. A dream turned bad forcing them to awake early. Forever missing the last part of it.
Another question was: Are there such things as Bad Days on every such journey? And when was it most likely? Did he crossed these days already? Would California only just become another big dream coming to life? Nothing to be afraid of but to be welcomed to? Could he just made up a happy ending and it would become real too? Was it really just a factual question about his focus? Or was it the fictional answer to his belongings?
To come clean with the reality ahead he turned to his old ways of getting to know California: Music, Hollywood, Sports. And the News: Flea of RHCP had found his way to god – The actors were striking in solidarity with the writers – Austin Reaves would stay a Laker – And Donald Trump would be charged for inciting a riot. Soon the Bearer of Glasses turned away from his old ways of dreaming about California. He was ready for the Kick.
0 Kommentare