The rain is falling. The melody of his decent permeates everything around. He pours down hard, with urgency, spilling into the earth, diving towards the ground, as if the two of them were epic lovers reunited after long separation. Long it has been. The desert has not seen her rain all summer, but there was another suitor. The sun has courted her without relief. At first he brought her light, then warmth, at last he gave her heat, then only grief, for he was not the one she yearned for. Scorned was the sun and scorching was his fury. Deaf to her pleas, he burned her flesh and did not spare her beauty. His final gift to her was death. Critters, birds, frogs scattered across her plains, all dead, bitter reminders of all that is unrequited in this world, all that we dread.
When earlier tonight the air grew still and thick, I knew rain had come back to her and readied for a flood. For hours nothing stirred. There was no wind or movement in the night, even the stars had hushed their glow while all the rest laid low in quiet anticipation.
At last he had arrived. He swept her up into his arms, as if no time had passed between them. He spilled across her body with abandon, covering every inch of her and leaving none exposed.
He told her of his love and of his sadness, b egged she forgive his absence, eased her pain, then pulled her back to life and clear of madness. He kissed her face, caressed her skin, nourished her wounds and wiped away the death, then he made promises again he would not keep and hushed her with the sweetness of his breath.
This most recent trip was one for the books for sure, regrettably not only for good reasons. It all started rather well, the 300 mile drive was unexpectedly nice with the route being scenic and weather sunny. The sky was blue and covered throughout in a tread of white cotton ball clouds. I found myself driving mostly along the desert while weaving through and past small towns the rest of the time. Eyes rested comfortably on open desert terrains, expansive, grand and, in their own way, kind of magical. There were strange vertical assemblages of stones, peculiarly stacked as if to mock the laws of gravity. They stood crooked and hunched over like ancient arthritics but still somehow defiantly erect. The incredibly perfect geometric earth formations limned themselves in the horizon further boggling sight and imagination. I wondered how such flawless symmetry and straightness was even possible. The only plausible explanation was that under cover of night, when no one was looking, a meticulous giant laid an enormous ruler to the land, attempting to landscape the world as if it were but a sandbox. The cacti presented as far as the the eye could see like an obdurate army of sentinels scattered across desert planes. When I drove by them, they seemed to salute me with their prickly upstretched arms & in my mind I saluted back. Hopefully you get the picture, it was beautiful, a kind of wondrous drive perfectly suited for road (or acid) trips.
I stopped in one area for gas and, of course, candy, but really felt like much of the candy there was incredibly expensive, at least 100% the usual markup. I griped about it to the store attendant who enlightened me as to the reasons for this literal highway candy robbery. The “town” is called Wikieup and it is home to 307 residents across 22 square miles, he informed me rather professorially. “Mail doesn’t even come here” he raised his finger in front of my face “Amazon…. won’t even deliver here!” the finger was now angrily waving through the air. For this reasons and others, they have to buy some of the candy from other gas stations up the road at retail price and mark it up in their own shop. I asked if they all knew each other in this town, since the population was so very small. “Know each other?” He said laughing. “Why we are mostly related one way or another!’ Then he pointed to some buildings and structures within our view and rattled of the ways in which he was related, sometimes doubly or even triply, to the people associated with those businesses and lodgings. I asked him where they go for entertainment like movies etc, he laughed again, “Movies? Darling, we dig a hole, light a bonfire, drink some Vodka, who needs movies, we got Vodka!”. The whole thing was amazing, particularly because a variance in lifestyle this stark shouldn’t, it seems, be found only 200 miles out of the major metropolis where I dwell, yet there it was, in all of its charming enviable simplicity. These people don’t have much, and I don’t imagine myself capable of measuring their level of satisfaction with life or anything like that, but I wager they count themselves quite happy out there in their tiny candyless town of Wikieup.
Anyways, I’ll skip over much of the other boring details, except to say that it turned out my car gets 400 miles on the highway out of her 40$ gas tank, downright amazing! Anyways, SLS is a cool hotel, it has a real contemporary flavor and is very technologically modern. Yoohoo and I prefer edgy boutique hotels with an emphasis on design much more than large, opulent center strip hotels,
so it suited us perfectly. As is his usual custom,Yoohoo insisted we take this selfy. He is so vain. —————————————->>>
I got coffee in the lobby cafe and it was GOOD. Good coffee makes for half of my happiness equation, the other half varies significantly but usually boils down to chocolate. I wandered over to the very chill, well laid out pool space and found a massive white husky sprawled out on one of the loungers with a woman and a man languidly draped over it and each othee. My wondering, frozen stare was met with an invitation to pet the dog, so I did, at which point I realized that its human companions were bothvery beautiful and quite high. While I made small talk with one of them, the other slipped off of the recliner and floated herself to the back of the cabana. Once there she crouched down and, quite in full view, took a hit of something or other before returning to us and mellowly weaving her body back into the lounger and its occupants. Welcome to Las Vegas, I thought, I have definitely arrived.
Although everyone in my group agreed to start the night by meeting in the lobby at 10:30 pm sharp, two of the girls (the two I had only just met) were very late, keeping me and my other friends waiting for them at the hotel bar for well over a ridiculous hour. Now throughout my social life I have to regularly (constantly) interface with these women-friends who for some reason feel that lateness is a special female entitlement. They shortly learn that I take great, huge, major issue with this and, as per my custom, do not attempt to in any way quell my irritation. Does my strong negative, vocal and verbal reaction usually make for an awkward, uncomfortable transition into evening festivities, it surely does, do I care? No. Why should I care when I take only two things from rampant lateness: 1) either the offending parties have no respect whatsoever for my person or 2) are too stupid to manage their time and thusly too stupid for the likes of me. It is simple, and I know I am being a little redundant here, either a person doesn’t attempt to make it to places on time and there is a clear issue of respect and consideration for those others involved. On the other hand, if an adult woman truly cannot manage her time, then I must consider her an idiot and my regard for her plummets accordingly, making a sincerely amiable relationship between us a virtual impossibility. In conclusion, let me say, that all those chronically late, no matter how otherwise wonderful, quickly find themselves quite dead to me and beyond resurrection.
My friends poured some drinks down me while we waited which did to some extent mellow out my ire. Still, to my mind, the night had a bit of rough start…and it only got rougher from there.
It’s 3 am and rain is falling. The melody of his decent permeates everything around. He pours down hard, with urgency, diving into the earth as if the two of them were epic lovers, reunited after long separation. Long it has been. The desert has not seen her rain all summer, but there was another suitor. The sun has courted her without relief. At first he brought her light, then warmth, at last he gave her heat, still he was not the one she yearned for. Scorned was the sun and scorching was his fury. Deaf to her pleas, he burned her flesh and did not spare her beauty. His final gift to her was death. Critters, birds, frogs scattered across her plains, all dead, bitter reminders of all that is unrequited in this world. When earlier tonight the air grew still and thick, I knew rain had come back for her and readied for the flood. For hours nothing stirred. There was no wind or movement in the night, even the stars had hushed their glow and all the rest laid quiet in parched anticipation. At last rain had arrive. He swept her up into his arms, as if no time had passed between them. He spilled across her body with abandon, covering every inch of her and leaving none exposed. He told her of his love and of his sadness, he begged that she forgive his passing madness. He kissed her face, caressed her skin, nourished her wounds and wiped away the death, then he made promises again he would not keep and swayed her with the sweetness of the breath.