Too Rare To Live: Chapter I

We were on our way to New Hampshire, to buy a car, when I suddenly thought about the immense journey ahead. First we were going to drive a pickup from Dallas to Oklahoma City. Then catch a plane to the outskirts of New York, have a man with two first names pick us up, and carpool us back to his home in Auburn to buy his car. My good friend, Jack was to join me on my quest. He always knew what to say, when to say, how to imply it, and who to. He knew his literacy like a Shark knows its prey.
The airport was gigantic. Difficult to find your way anywhere. We were lost. The song on the radio rang a bell, but I had swallowed a few vicadin when we got to the metal detector line on the way in. I hate airports. The last time I was in an airport, I and the group I was in were searched rigorously, because we had been put on the “chosen” list. Anyway, Jack and I were in fear of missing our flight.
“We haven’t missed a flight, yet,” said Jack, speaking the truth. I was lost somewhere in my mind thinking about that damn flight. I replied with a, “yeah, I agree.”
People in the lobby eyed us intently, waiting for us to make a move. What that move was now, I have no idea. But I followed along pretending as if it was the odd guy standing next to me they were laughing at or something. But deep down I knew the truth. I checked my pocket for the hashpipe. It was still there. Good. The pill was in full throttle – if that would be a
rightful term for it – and people weren’t speaking English, except for root words like “have” and “Enjoy.” It was very strange the way I was feeling. The airplane, stagnant. Fat couple next to me. Smelly. Hightowered water spread like jungle weed. Lord flies and hypocritical monkies laughed and jeered at prisoners of lust and marriage. What life is a man’s revolver?
“How much for the piece,” I said. “It looks like a god damned bubble.”
“Well it has AC, and all the electronics work, the interiors nice and cup holders…”
All I heard was squat. Just like a salesman to add superfluous things and get me interested into paying out a wad of cash for his problems. If it was so state of the art, why was he selling the damned thing?
“What’s the mileage like?” Jack eyed him intently.
“Uh, well it’s good, it’s good. You know I really don’t know that stuff,” He seemed phased by the question, but it would not hit him like this stone.
“It’s crap,” I said. “It’ll never do what we intend for it to. Do you think it could off-road, travel upside-down, and hit water as if it were a pedestrian? I didn’t think so.”
“But you said you would buy-“
“Forget what I said, I lie viciously. Don’t listen to a word I say. Except now, because I said so…swine.”
Jack pulled me to the side, saying, “Get a hold of yourself, man. We need this ride. What are we going to do, walk away? Civilization is at least twenty miles away. We can trade it in for a Bronco, don’t worry. I’ll handle this, brother, just examine.” So I did.
That is why I like him. He’s a Virgo, and Virgos always think ahead. Leos speak just to speak. Sometimes I wonder if what I am saying even exists. Sitting alone, in my apartment, I will randomly yell and talk to myself aloud, saying things like, “the motor is running,” or “How do you do, sir of tangerine eyeballs?”
I don’t really know why. Maybe just to hear myself and make myself aware that the human mind isn’t the only existing factor of reality. That there is a world full of people and difference and goodness, right past my 8ft high wall. Am I crazy? Do my neighbors hear me and secretly have a vendetta against the crazy Hippie scum next door? Or am I really all alone on this big massive revolving rock we call a reality?
Next thing I knew we were at Forest Eagle Hills Auto Traders: World Renowned for Service and Servitude. I wondered if that were true. I’d never heard of them on the West Coast, or Texas, or in Canada. They were lying to us. You can’t trust anybody these days. Not even the President. That started with Nixon. Anyway, we found a Bronco. A very nice blue and white Bronco with all-wheel drive and a CB radio, so we could talk with truck drivers and pretend we were that kind of crowd. Jack chuckled at the idea. It’s always nice to make a good friend laugh, especially Jack. Making him laugh is like breaking a code created by da Vinci himself. I was always proud of making him laugh.
We pulled out of the Dealership parking lot going about seventy-five, Jack driving. The world was suddenly purple and green. The people wore clown suits and danced to a rumba beat. I was shocked at the sudden change and heard a voice screaming, “My God, we’ve entered the 7th dimension! Deadly and gone. Hit the gas, man, before we’re infected.”
Asphalt hit the earth in a strange tone, I felt I was lost in the Sun. Jack kept a lookout in the Cockpit. I hopped into the backseat to lay down, I was feeling a bit loose-eyed. Normal, I thought, just a sobriety trip, I think, did I take something? The thoughts running through my head were strange. Mexican tornadoes filled the air. Leaves blew on the car, and then all was calm. And the tide slipped back into the ominous sea of curiosity. That flicker, the spark of vision beyond sight. I dozed into a dream.
I awoke in a strange Mongolian restaurant in Vermont. The aura of the place was very psychedelic. I swear I saw Genghis Khan on the ceiling. Bricks were showing through the paint on the wall. The air said it was many, many years old. The Cafeteria was too loud, though. Groups of friends screaming and bickering and moving, just for the fuck of it. The motion was getting to me. Not too groovy a thing to wake up to. I cupped my hands firmly against my ears, but it was no use. The sound was getting wretched. Screeching babies with red hair and Gang bangers filled the Arena. I was trapped by brainless motives, teaming rampidly like bacteria on meat in a dumpster. There were high-pitched blasts from a playful bunch. A good song was playing on the loud speaker, or whatever you call that thing. I had wild mood swings in action, and now I was feeling incredibly groovy. “How long have we been here,” I said. The food was half eaten, and the crowd was staring at Jack, lost in a dancing revolution. He felt the music, it wasn’t his fault. Pounding his feet in rhythm, clapping his hands and singing in a bluesy timbre, “don’t bring me down, you can’t bring me down, I’ll walk long and low and sing low and mean, you can’t take my soul away from me.” Feeling enlightened, I hopped up and danced with him, singin’ away. Smiling like the ocean mist, he looked at me and sang, “Thanks for believin’, believin’ in me.”
The people stared intently, scary at us, as if we had just eaten the heart out of some innocent monkey who worked at a circus. Did we eat the heart out of some innocent circus monkey? The bad vibrations were getting to me. Especially after a dancing revolution as powerful as that one.
“Jesus, what’s with you fucking people? I can’t think a God damned thing with eyes like that. Look away, swine, lest you be punished by the laws of…Discrimination and un-openheartedness.” The air was negative, and Jack and I swiftly glided to the Bronco, dine and dash style. It was time to get into the Salvia. Jack pulled out the pipe and proceeded to load it while I drove the beast into a proper alley way that would protect our intake from the public eye. He finished and we hit the holy pipe. Inhale, exhale, take a break. Inhale, exhale, waft.
Suddenly I was laughing hysterically and swinging my body back and forth. The air was cold and I was flying through a highway made of yellow PBC pipes and black space. At the end of the highway was a tunnel made of a gigantic teapot with a face carved into it, much like that of a wild, acid-crazed Disney movie. Then I flew into a giant ocean of yellow rubber and latex. I was drowning in this liquid-like substance of nasty chemicals and food coloring from another dimension, and I couldn’t talk on account of my intense laughter, but finally got out the words, “Help me,” and went back to the trip. And soon after, the wildly extensive hallucinations ceased and I gently rolled back into reality, a little clumsy, but soon got over that. I turned up the volume on the radio and lit a cigarette. The song was Axis: Bold as Love, Jimi Hendrix. Jacks favorite artist. I dig him myself.
I pulled out of the alley way and went into gear. The road was wide, and open. I turned out of the parking lot of Ceasers’ Palace and got the Beast running down the street.
After causing plenty of trouble by night time, like unscrewing a fire hydrant, and stealing street signs and toking in public, we decided to flee. The drapes of the diner got too hot, and delivered the wrong groceries. It was getting tiresome and closed in, and eventually I could hardly breathe that incredibly bland New Hampshire air of the rather large Northeast. We got on the open road.

-Jon Rockefeller