Victoria makes me want to go. Want to go. And not just Victoria I guess. I can’t give all the credit to the small energetic and contrary. No not all. Some of it goes to Steinbeck too. Yes, to Steinbeck too. They make me want to go. Go.

I’m dreaming of the drive to the West in the summer. I’m dreaming of the time it would take to make my way lazily cross the country, to drive through the desert and the forests and to end up at another coast in another world. I’m thinking about the things I could see and the places I could go and the people I could meet and I’m thinking about the time I would spend, with a foot out the window and my sunglasses on, and my hair the western valley wind. Sun and gold. I feel myself. Feel myself. I want to just Go. Go. It’s calling me.

It makes my skin itch, the feeling. Just go, just go. Young and reckless and in a car driving to bring the horizon to my hands. Young and reckless and working in impossibilities. Just a little bit of money and a thing that hangs in the mind of the young and the old and everyone who doesn’t know themselves. Call. Just go, just go.

It’s the stars that make it happen. It’s the stars that make us want it. It’s the stars because there’s fifty and in that little one, fourth row, third from the left, we’ve been driven and cornered for the lifetime that we’ve had. Driven to the edges edges, and if you walk too far you just might tip off, because the state is flat you know. Yup, the state is flat. And if you try too far you might fall off the edges. Little star, little star. Third from the left and it’s all we know of the world, since the state’s flat you know. Go … just go.

And I thought when I’d escaped that it would be the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. And it was you know, it was. There were blue skies and vistas and rain like a hammer on the windshield of the car that we borrowed to steal. Only for a few days, just a few days. Because we’re all gone, all going, and none of us could go, but with each other. It took the others and the time together and the thoughts together, and the dream together, and the drive together. It was all about the clock and the calling and it just made me want to go. Go. Go.

And I went.

It’ll never be enough you know. Because we tried and we wanted to go and go and go and go. We went. And it was beautiful but it’ll never be enough you know. Because of the stars. They make me want to go. Fifty of ‘em. Fifty stars with just the tips connected since the stars aren’t flat. Nope the stars aren’t flat. They don’t have any edges. No edges just the glow and the promise and the state of being. Calling. Gogo. Gogo. Gogo. They make me want to gogo.

I still want to see Salinas and the grave and the ashes and the truck and the only place in the world I can think of where someone knew himself without knowing himself. I wonder if a genius emanates. I still want to see the tumbleweeds and things that my mother promises aren’t there, only pretty pictures in books, only pretty dreams of books. But I know the road goes goes. Goes goes. Goes goes. And I know the stars call, always have always have. And I know the blood runs. Young and reckless like they call you, growing old and young and reckless never common. Sensibility. But I know.

And they make me want to go. Just go. Ache to see, long to know. Let me go. Let me go.