Mt. Washington and Rest

My knees are hurt again, so I am taking a break, even though I had the time to hike today. Hikes are either with or without any given person. I have plans to hike with many of my friends, and the attitude of each anticipated hike is determined by the kind of friendship we have. Instead of hiking, I think about how a path crosses things out, and I consume.

When my knees hurt I think about my knees, and right now they don't hurt so much. I am thinking about whether or not I manipulated my activity so as to bring on pain, and why I would do that. Why would someone do that? To talk about it? To take a break? To talk about it is not to take a break, but rather to obscure the line. The line is vital. The line crosses unnecessary things out. Other things are happening. It is important to keep reminding the text that other things are happening, but also vital that I never mention them.



I walked last night through Mt. Washington at dusk. All the stray cats in Mt. Washington are black. All the bushes are deep green right now, the air is red. The sky had red in it, too. The city was white, but through the air looked green, as if seen through glass.

I walked with someone last night, and I talked too much. I told too much and now my knees hurt. I am taking a break from telling. Nothing will be told for a little while. I outdid myself. For the next few days, things will only be hinted at.

Echo Mountain

I went by myself, today, to echo mountain. Everybody I passed was going in the opposite direction. It was hot; I sat down. Off the side of the cliff I could see Altadena, Pasadena, the downtown skyline. There was strange land, strange air.



I went at the hottest part of the day. I forgot about the heat. I had to sit down along the side of the mountain under a hedge. I picked up a rock and ate a piece of fruit; I drank water. The temperature was much higher on one side of the switchbacks than on the other. I had to sit down and rest under the shade of some bushes. What kind of bushes are these?



These bushes are staying longer. At the top of echo mountain are ruins. You can call the ruins on the echo phone.



Nobody will answer. The echo phone points nowhere. The train is not coming. The sun is not setting, either. Down by the dance hall, I startle some deer.

Simultaneous to this hike, several things were happening, things that are very important and that regard my personal life. I checked in. On the way up the mountain, my legs grew wobbly as I began to think about the heat. It is difficult to tell which way is directly up. This will reoccur; it is almost impossible to determine which direction constitutes the directly up. Verticality is imperfectly replaced by time, which is mediated by strength. For some people, when the mind kicks in, vision kicks out. For other people, the knees fold in and out without the mind.



At times, I will admit, I did not pay attention. I was startled out of some blankness by the appearance of a sign that indicated a junction. I did not feel lonely until I reached the top and saw my old house and what had become of it.



Seeing the stairs and what had become of them, I was forced to admit that I do nothing without thinking of what I will tell you about it. After all, I met you in order to invite you over. I maintained our relationship so I could fall in love with you, and then I could tell you everything. I maintained our friendship so I could show you this picture of my house. We never sat here, exactly. We never waited for the sun to set, here.

The Leg

The system of the leg, for example, is immediate to the leg. The system of the extension and recoiling of the leg. From the brain comes a netting of leg options that is loosed upon the various land rocks and river rocks. The leg considers the leg options and drops. The leg communicates with the foot. The foot either does or does not find footing. Much of the activity of the leg depends on whether or not anybody is around. Does another person consider your leg? And if so, is that from the inside or the outside? It is rare that I am by myself, says the leg. The leg is not lonely. The leg extends knowing already that it will extend into. No effort is wasted. Don't you want to wait for me? My net blows out into the wind. There is a person I am with. His net blows out into the wind. They brush by each other and both nets land cleaner.

On The Other Side Of The City

A very long time ago, a woman was looking for a room in the perplexed rings of streets. There were no rooms; she found a gate and walked through it. On the other side of the gate was another city with better arches and innovative vertical public transportation. She moved into this new city, put her desk next to the window and plotted her route to the grocery store. She put up curtains next to her windows and put clothes in her closet. Overall, her apartment was spacious and bright. The city was spacious and bright. The buildings were white, and the air never stopped rolling through. After a week, she began to feel lonely, so she went back and invited a primary group of people to join her. These people invited more people, and their friends followed. Eventually, in the old city, only the hotel people stayed. The hotel people stayed up all night, pleased that everything was now useful. A cat lurked by the back door of the hotel. The hotel people kept their name pins on and for a few years they ran the sprinklers. Then the sprinklers stopped running. The ice makers stopped making ice. On the other side of the hotel was a city. One day the hotel people left, too. On the other side of the city is another city. On the other side of a city, is city.