A Medic / A Maniac
A breeze of heavy wind came whistlin through the cracks in the doors and seams of the windows as we steered our slowly failing ship, south, down the asphalt lines, toward Bluffton in the wet, green state of South Carolina. It has been a couple days since we started noticing the strange lack of cooperation with the van, when trying to accelerate. A 75 mph trajectory can quickly turn to 35mph if trying to summit a hill of any size. SOMETHING / SOMEONE needs to fix her. A medic. A maniac. As the whipping wind raised her arms northward we pushed past her temperance and pulled into a town that seemed to rise from the gold that's hidden in coastal swamps of South Carolinas. Bluffton appeared to be a town from a storybook. Dreamy, light green moss hung from the ancient roots that leaned over the cracked highways that led us to The Roasting Room, a quaint listening room positioned above a "locals only" type coffee shop who catered to cats / kids with good tongues / good tastes. We were welcomed with open arms and white teeth, hands that felt firm and sincere, mouths that echoed sentiments of both approval and appreciation for (us) having traveled to a town in which we had never been. We took to our bikes after setting up and headed to the water, the air was thick and touchable, an environment that feels foreign to westerners such as us. Grateful for the sites and sanctity of our surroundings we started the show. Poured onto the pedastal of the stage, we crooned the songs of My Spirit Sister and other songs that, like apendages, hang from our tongues, grateful (eternal) for the connection / kindness / curiosity. As we were passing one piece of musical luggage into the back of our aging van we were approached by Elise, a kind-eyed, cheerful woman, concerned for our post-show sleeping arrangements. With gratitude we followed Elise and her friend, Mikey, back to her house. Elise's beautiful home was tucked neatly inside of a community of country-clubbers and hobbyists. The night sky shone down with effortless pride as we pulled into the drive. For the following 3 hours we danced to reggae music, dressed up in costume (Elise, for many years was a costume designer. Originally from New Zealand, she moved to Los Angeles at the ripe age of 19 to try immersing herself into the well-seasoned world of acting) ate pasta and remembered our presence. So often i swim upstream. I battle against my moment. I kick against a mountain, in search of something that at this point seems unreachable. I position of free-comfort. What is that? Why? Don't take the free lunch. I ain't no lottery ticket. Time on this tour is quickly coming to a close and I am better, more confused, free-er, more inspired, more conflicted than ever before. Direction of water, falling, with an ending unknown and abrupt. joshua
