E Pubis Bison

Yes. From my crotch, a buffalo... Drunk talk. Enlightened and elevated. Somehow I ended up a little relaxed, leaned back on a retired church pew with a set of taxidermized buffalo horns on my lap. I've come up to the top of the west coast to the Skagit valley to spend some easy time. Buffalo horns, steaks, ribs, beer and good friends capped a good long day on the motorcycle. At times on my ride up, I felt something close to what Kerouac must have felt when he bailed on the tussle and hopped a train to the Cascades. Restless, in motion, bound to poke around for something else that he and I maybe hoped to find in the dust we kicked up along the way.

So, I've landed here in the valley. We all must have some version of this: a place where we feel at home, comfortable to just exist. To sit and enjoy whatever comes by. In this way, I came to the Friday-night-before-the-Saturday-party party. Sometimes a party just needs a good warm-up the night before. Just to make sure the location knows how to interact with the invitees. That the displaced memory soaked into all the cracks and fibers are those of good times. Like a dress rehearsal.

In less than two hours the real party starts and I'm looking forward to it all: The genuine faces smiling, enjoying the sun gazing down on us all, and most of all, just being here, even for just a few hours, able to forget the tussle of the rest of it. It's all a little random, but maybe that's the point--just some good old senseless fun. E Pubis Bison, Cogito Ergo Vroom, Non Intellectum Latine Loqui, and all that jazz...