Diary of a Madman

I was somewhere in between Stonington and Taylorville when the Mountain Dew kicked in and slingshot me forward to the sweet oblivion of hyperactivity.

I remember saying to myself: I feel a bit light-headed. I could tell the caffeine was working its magic: my thoughts were coming to me quicker than before, as if they were speeding down some express lane on the superhighway inside my head, my eyes felt like high powered microscopes catching every little fragment of dust on the dash of my truck, my train of thought riding the rails’ edges toward derailment.

The sun bled through a thin sheet of clouds as I made my way towards the megalopolis of mass production and franchises known as Wal-Mart. I was delivering contraband that I had stolen from the World for processing. The contraband was images that I pick pocketed from Nature.

I turn down the rest of Route 48 and opt to drive on a favorite road of mine. The road curves suddenly as in my mind I am laying on a beach of a tropical island. My body is at rest while my truck hurtles down the road at a reasonable speed of sixty-five miles per hour. The image of abandoned cornfields blurs past on both sides of the cab. The guitar solo of some unknown rock band blasts like dynamite in my ears. My eyes, shielded by cheap sunglasses, are not able to see the overwhelming tragedy and beauty that is this World. Drive on, my faithful steed, we have many meaningless tasks to complete before this short day in our lives is over.

What I didn’t realize was that the contraband I was delivering belonged to the World; not just me. As soon as I share these stolen images with others, their essence has been plucked like a petal from a rose or a person from this World. Those images would no longer just exist on paper; their pith would burn forever bright in people’s minds.