“Therefore thus saith the Lord, Behold, I will bring evil upon them, which they shall not be able to escape; and though they shall cry unto me, I will not hearken unto them.”

O3/20/20  Friday

I left on a motorcycle late evening, alone, felt like a stray dog, darkness all over the city, fallen already, the temperature just below freezing, whole Midwest affected by a polar vortex and “stay home order” heralded a couple of hours earlier by the media and communicated through all channels by the authority… fat, billionaire, Jewish governor with the last name that sounds more like “Prankster” but I call him ‘fat Joker”, fat pig really, high in the echelons of cabal he just proclaimed the state of Illinois apes being placed in a house zoo.
It is all one big joke to me but the wind, with sudden and unexpected gusts as high as 30 mph. The motorcycle gets hit hard but does heavy sport’s cruiser balancing act as I sit low behind the windscreen, streamlined as much as possible to cut through the annoying cold and limit the friction of the airflow against my body, hugging engine with both thighs hoping to warm myself a little when it gets heated enough.
Focused to a breaking point, tense I am escaping the silhouette of the monstrosity of downtown behind me, still massive and monumental, with its bright towers touching the canvas of synthetic-like, unreal and malevolent, inky sky: the whole scene lit up by the erratic scraps of Moonlight and digital messages on the expressway which flashes from electronic signs, warning commuters to stop the spread of the covid-19 and remain home. I am my home and I take it wherever I go.
Outside of me: a propaganda road map to mass hysteria thus many people do the opposite to instructions, uncertain but clearly not trusting the officials, they leave the city. Swarm of cars impatiently driven south and out of Chicago to Indiana and Michigan. Better be safe than sorry. Better be sane than driven crazy by media spin monkeys.

Looking screens are the devil.

People probably decided to spend the weekend in few neighboring states to let the dust settle in Illinois and see what is going to come out of that almost unreal assault on their freedom by corrupt, criminal politicians. State borders became borders between altered states.
I am the only one on two wheels, exposed to elements, rushed and reckless driving is definitely one of them, in heavy-weather foul gear I only wear when snowboarding or sailing up North with my ski mask under the helmet, intently maneuvering between speeding cars, making others watch me disappear into an avalanche of vanishing tail lights as I sink into the maze of a flickering red labyrinth in front of them. I am thinking of God and Agnes. God is my imaginary friend, Agnes is my real Eve. We just had an argument that forced me to gather few things: a one-person tent, a sleeping bag, few cans of spam, put on three layers of clothes, and jump on a motorcycle. Some flakes and canned milk, power bars.
I am asking God for one favor only. I need a miracle since my lights don’t work. I didn’t have time to look for the solution to that unexpected complication:
fuse? bad connection? burnt bulbs? so I am not really on a motorcycle.
I am riding a shadow of a motorcycle and fast, really fast, to escape the traffic but the meat riding it… is real …and if hit by a semi or some African American texting African poems to its black honey, it will bleed. Because of the argument with Agnes I am a little suicidal but when am I not suicidal?
Somehow, tonight I am not in a mood yet to blow every internal organ from my diaphragm down out of my body. Fortunately, God understands my concerns for me but doesn’t approve of the miracle right away.
Once far from the city and into a forest, He quietly advises me to glue myself to a speeding semi-truck, reasoning that it is better to risk catching rubber shrapnel than hitting a deer. The truck driver realized what I was doing behind him, shadow with mental and mechanical issues, and flashed his beams each time there was a sharp curve ahead of us. Unexpected teamwork from a good Samaritan. Georgia plates.  I exited the highway three hours later, shaking uncontrollably, having no feeling in my arms and hands, and took a cheap room in an Indian-owned motel at the outskirts of civilization, in a scarcely populated area due to remoteness and now frozen cornfields. The place is even called Indiana. If it didn’t have a name it would definitely be known as a major shithole. I knew I would sleep all night like a newborn baby, in a tub, waking up only when the water got too cold for comfort and I needed to warm it up. I didn’t want the reversed boiling frog procedure performed on me. The boiling frog fable though and pandemic paranoia were starting to connect and made me think about the great United States of North America becoming a frog unable to perceive the dystopian danger it is in and beginning to be cooked to death. Was I just jumping out of the pot? And where?
Or was I running away from myself? From my home. From my faults. Only eleven at night. Good call. Not so fast though. I took an off-road shortcut around the motel to my room and dropped the bike ten feet from the door. Number 109.
The ground was too soft, bike too stubborn. It took another half an hour to remove all bags to pick it up by myself. Full tank and still only 29 degrees outside but what a relief, nice room after all, chance to watch idiot box which is Idiot’s Christmas for me. I get to watch TV in hotels and restaurants. That’s plenty. Helps me eat faster and sleep faster and get back quicker on many paths of my life. I already miss Agnes and it is just the beginning of riding away from her. Away is not a helpful direction. I need to fall asleep not to suffer. We both acted in anger, not thinking of the consequences. She was going to move out of our apartment while I was gone. Tomorrow? The next day? I needed to put days and miles between us. Use distance and passage of time as shelter.
I gave her all the space she needed not to be bothered by my presence. Vanishing act to set her free. How long will this wound bleed?
When you want a predictable woman, buy a dog and name it Sarah. You will have your predictable princess. Before I fall asleep I ask God for another miracle: ” let me live in today and today only”.

03/21/20   Saturday

I opened my eyes. The plastic curtain on the floor, I must’ve pulled it down while asleep. The water in the tub was already cold. I stood up, showered, felt drained of strength and emotions but fresh and as transparent as water itself and I talked to it:
-Water, thank you. I love you and I know you love me. I can’t wait to jump into the ocean a thousand miles away. Your salty taste was always spectacular. Amen.
I went to the bedroom, tabula rasa, naked, waiting to be written on again by a new day, foggy morning hanging on the patient line of trees inviting me outside with its sporadic singing of few birds. I slowly ate my first power bar, packed my sack, broke tooth brash in half to make it handy enough to fit into a pocket on my chest, next to the phone. She didn’t call. Forget her, she never happened but somehow it didn’t feel like a new start. Am I too old for it or do I even love her? No. I don’t care.
Skipping English breakfast is easy. Spin monkeys inside idiot box program receiving end of their broadcast with fear so professionally I wouldn’t be able to eat, laughing at them.
–Public Health Officials Announce a record number of COVID-19 cases …mumbling.
Few obese families are glued to the flat-screen TV like chimps to a banana tree. It is a jungle. News is seriously on and always breaking, just in. Fake blondes rule. Worried smiles are highlighted by perfect dental work. I leave.
Time to begin the morning dance and the ocean is waiting. I take a small leather holster from my sack and throw it away into a basket by the entry. My 9 mm gun.
I won’t need it. The engine gets the kick and we ride again with God and two angels on my shoulders. Since NDE a few years earlier I know I have two.
For eight hours straight I gained 600 miles broken into three runs with two stops to get gasoline and hot chocolate. Feels like snowboarding in Utah high in the mountains, just much faster, cruising speed stuck at hundred to hundred ten miles. When faster the motorcycle starts shaking and zigzagging from heavy and sudden crosswinds and then it feels like sailing under herds of random cumulus clouds on a cloudy day during the transition from summer to winter. I am praying to finally get out of the weather too cold to ride so I can enjoy the speed and my body again. For hours no feeling in both hands, no real grip on speed gouge. Life is good but painful. Yesterday, at night I ended up following a semi-truck for a couple of hours, today, during the day I use them as slalom poles sticking out on the expressway.
Besides water, I of course love my bike. Anything lighter would be much more dangerous at those speeds and with this wind.
I keep glancing at the temperature indicator to warm my heart with every single degree extra gained, the temperature very slowly climbing into a paradise of semi-comfortable 50*F.
It was flat 29*F from Chicago till Louisville, Kentucky,. By Nashville, Tennessee I began enjoying not hurting all over my body but one little spot, the result of wardrobe glitch between helmet and jacket. Felt like an ice bag on my throat. Now if stopped they will label me positive for coronavirus and put in a paper suit for cremation according to a common theme of pandemic legends. Albert Camus comes to mind. Stuck in my head just like Joseph Conrad. I liked to read them both as a teen.
Tennessee is paradise. I stop at a first gas station where they have chairs and tables and you can sit down and call everybody that needs to hear my voice. First state where people are normal and friendly. Some lady pets me on the back
-you drink that coffee to warm up, honey.
– thanks, sweetheart.
My mother called from Poland. Now she is not picking up. They have the same circus with clowns and monkeys in uniforms over there. The show must go on: global pandemic has swept over mass media and drowned them in calculated hysteria like a tsunami. You can’t see it on the streets though. I don’t.
Remember to call her back tomorrow. Skies start clearing, turn sunny blue, time to say goodbye to deep gray and depressing scenery. I mistakenly pass the exit where I booked a hotel and stay for the night an hour later in a place I would normally avoid. A car parked next to me has a broken side window with a sheet of plastic taped instead. Masking tape is a marvel of engineering sometimes. I empty my side boxes of valuables and lay down in cloths on the first bed. Before sleep muse comes to remind me of herself. Will I ever see her?
Thoughts flicker and burn, hit my face like warm air before the chute opens up when skydiving. I am falling deep into sleep and past life. Free-fall into desires. Could someone explain why do I have so much of it? Why is it so deep, that life of mine? I love Marloes at this moment. My muse.
A text message from Martin wakes me up. He texted the phone number of Peter and the address of the marina where Peter lives. I can stay on his boat. Still six to eight hours away. Probably eight. When I enjoy the ride I go slower, do frequent stops to enjoy the scenery. Green becomes dominant for the rest of the trip,  the sky is getting bigger and bigger as it should above God’s country and it is the same God I believe in, lucky me. Jesus is his son in the South. I wonder if he died for my future, coming sins or will I behave? I am a stray dog on the loose. I will. Animal Kingdom has a wiser, simpler soul.

.

(Vietnam memorial, Vietnam dreaming, ceiling, demonic)

(to be continued)