Friday, 11/5/21 — Leadville, CO — Burn

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There was about a quarter inch of frost on the outside of my tent when my alarm went off at about 5:30am this morning,

and I crawled out into the dark woods under a supercold and quiet crispy clear sky of stars,

shivering,

to start my car and turn the heater on and boil water for coffee as fast as possible,

and then just sit there in the driver seat,

shivering,

drinking that hot mug of shit instant warming up my fingers,

listening to the sound of Harley Poe's hard acoustic lyrics yelling themselves out of my laptop for some hellish dumb reason,

wondering what in fuck I was doing with my sad and solitary lonely life.

…

Where am I going with this.

I don't know.

…

Maybe I'm going chimney sweeping,

to Eagle, Avon, Eagle-Vail, and Vail.

Maybe I'll spend the day in the passenger seat of Mark's ancient Subaru Outback loaded down with toolboxes and shop vacs and drop cloths and fireplace grates and a full extension ladder and all kinds of random assorted loose crap scattered around just waiting to turn into shrapnel if we get into an accident, wondering if I'm gonna die today as we go screaming down I-70 at 100 miles per hour, Mark ranting nonstop about gas prices and vaccine conspiracies and Biden's secret dystopian agenda and the end of the world, and me sitting there in silent terror.

Maybe on our way we'll stop at Sunrise café in Minturn for breakfast burritos, and maybe I'll buy one of their stickers that say Don't Be A Dick that I've been wanting to put on my car's rooftop cargo box for a while now.

Maybe I'm going to burn myself while trying to clean out a hot woodstove some knucklehead on a muddy horse ranch way up Brush Creek Road made a fire in last night, even though we told him not to because We can't sweep 'em if they're hot, dude.

…

Or maybe I'm just going insane with the cold.

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As I close my eyes to die
I will not fear, I will not cry

As I travel down this road
I gave my all, I took my load

As I lay my head to rest
God you know I did my best

Was it you or I who turned?
Whose fault is it that I must burn?

– Joe Whiteford // Harley Poe

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_{The inspired, inerrant, & authoritative journals of @brandt. Wanderings & thoughts documented on a 3-week delay. PRIVATE. DO NOT READ.}