One from the past: "Trips" 1/6/99

[My old Art Director, Kevin, liked to toss a twist into the game and give me 5 phrases instead of words, or a combination of phrases and words. "Trips" is one such example]

Thin red Line
Deep Blue
Purple Helmet
Redrum is pretty on my wall with lipstick
tow trucks with stars painted on them


The clouds blacken and slide low to the horizon, weighs down the day and turns the afternoon to a thin red line. I starts leavin' the deep blue; the tab's kickin' in. I feels the familiar tingles in my gggut, the almost cramping, almost excitement and hair beginning to rise on the back of my neck. Things grows bright. I throws on my sweater and vikes cap (my purple helmet) and trundles out into the snow. Everything's solid white and people, buildin's and cars are just textured slabs that lifts up and moves around in the blank background. And I watches it all like some sort of weird mmmmovie. People's diggin' out of the snow and tow trucks with stars painted on them and stars on their roofs drives up and down the street chopping up the dusk into wedges of yellow starlight and I'm jus' wanderin' through their moments like a little bit of astrology that goes unnnnnnoticed. I heads out toward the pier, my face hurtin' from the cold. I walks by an old man, hood up on his DeSoto, he – bent over into it. He's wearing a dirty quilted jacket and a sock cap shaped like the receptacle of a dirty woolen condom. I has this insane and uncontrollable urge to slam the heavy hood down on his crooked back. there's just something vulnerable and easy about him. I ppppauses. Begins to edge forward. Then he suddenly lifts up from the engine and says "Redrum looks pretty on my wall in lipstick." I says "Huh?" he says "Oil's running pretty low on my dipstick." I says "oh" and walks on, shaking from hhhhow close I got to slamming his old man back in the engine compartment of a '43 DDDDDeSoto and shakin' from the cold and shakin' from the acid that's definitely tweakin' up the control knobs in my head.