What's ridiculous is this: that so close to a basic completion of the new screenplay, swimming through piles of notes and copies ripped apart by red and black and blue ink, a bruised by accusations driven by mind and fingertips; the fallen original script, a field of shredded character sketches, tiny notebooks with scrawlings of the words of strangers...
All this work, and here I am heading off to California.
My sister is being given a car on the condition that someone "come pick it up." That entails a volunteer (moi) and the desirer (K) and now, we fly to San Francisco and drive back acrossed the country.
Rumination, Contemplation, Numb asses and legs, fatigue, irritability, the desert, the mountains. Inspiration. Intrigue. Strangers. Trust.
I'm driving acrossed America with Flick.
I feel that this could be it's last travel in paper form.
Yet, I know it will keep travelling in all of the new forms it's acquired.
I love Flick.
The word is being spread.
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