True Stories from PA, Part One
So I am inside of you. I am inside the storm. People ask me why I'm so quiet, it's because I'm inside. You talk, I talk. (plus I'm not quiet, I'm soft-spoken).
talLjon78: i have a surprise for you
kristycottonly: whats that
talLjon78: im writing human day
talLjon78: but im not writing it to send to you
talLjon78: im writing it already signed into your blog
talLjon78: under your name
talLjon78: as you
There was a man drinking from a giant guitar-shaped glass beer mug yelling into a field with his arms out for awhile facing away from everyone. The guy is like 60. I asked what he was doing, someone said "oh he's calling Indian spirits". I've seen him a few times since then at dive bars and he's always screaming in my face and laughing, and I can't understand a single word he says so I just smile and look at him awkwardly and he smiles and leaves me alone after a couple minutes.
But at that field that day I was feeling some sort of free-ness. From what I dont know. Everyone I knew told me to come to this field party in the country in PA. One of those days in the summer on the weekend when your friends call you totally drunk at like 3:00pm. Friends were passing around their phones to people I didn't even know who were giving me directions to a field I knew nothing about. But I could hear magic in stranger's voices. I drove to three different towns before I made it there due to drunken directions. No big, no big. Was it big? No. I made it there. There was a giant refrigerated trailer that was nothing but free flowing beer taps on the outside with gawd knows how many kegs inside. It always feels like you can go forever. Doesn't it. (I'm not asking).
So I'm watching this guy yelling at the fields for Indian spirits. I'm also watching this fellow I know stomp the hood of his 80s Jeep in while blaring hardcore metal from it. I'm watching people wreck four wheelers off of 6 foot jumps over fire. Theres a one-eyed stripper trying to get my number. Yeah, I gave it to her. There were acres and acres of nothing around but open land and woods. I was watching a hundred people screaming just because they could. People chugging liquors. The weather was absolutely perfect and everyone was having a perfect time, which is exactly when the pendulum swings the other way. And I'm glad I had something to do with it.
So this guy is starting a fight with me because he's an asshole and apparently I am too at the moment. He's saying I flicked a cigarette at his friend. We both know I didn't but let's just go with it. Yeah. Yeah. Feels good. Fine then. A guy gets in between us to break it up before something happens which is good because I would have gotten my ass kicked by this dude, but sometimes you're ready to die even when you're not. He's telling me he's gonna throw my "skinny ass right up that hill" but I was all like no you won't. Then the guy starts hitting the guys in the face who are in between him and I, which is when I started to feel some dread. Tally dread dread. Another guy who's like 45 years old came out of nowhere to pull people apart. Then I heard something that sounded like all three Rice Crispies characters at once, and the 45 year old literally landed at my feet screaming that his leg is broken. Theres something about the voice of despair thats unmistakable. People quickly drag him into the nearby garage which had its door wide open, and I looked up to see a frantic free-for-all with dozens of people for no reason whatsoever.
Now, there is something about this moment that's somehow beautiful. Whether you are fighting or trying to stop the fighting, you're grabbing ahold of people and you need to, the same way you need hugs. I like to think most of the beauty came from the fact that words had escaped everyones minds and what you saw was an extension of a part of the brain which was truer and deeper than normal. I put on my waterwings, that's how deep. And somehow the grass and trees and air are as involved as you, and there's no separation anywhere, and this fight was truly a moment as pure as something like dance, like the way the smile is natures afterthought of baring ones teeth. Same source, different direction. Follow? Good. Like it or love it.
This past week I was at a bar and the old guy who calls Indian spirits was there and someone said he's deaf, which explains why he's so hard to understand. And I've never really said anything to him before but I saw him glance at me across the barroom, and I mouthed the words "Indian spirits" to him, and he got a very serious look on his face and started nodding slowly.