The Gonzo Wolf

Snow-dumb.

It’s a sensation that overtook me quite a few times as a professional driver. You spend so much time fixated on a field of white rolling along, mile-to-mile, and your brain blurs. I’d forgotten about it until a few minutes ago. Hell hath no career like truck-driving.

I left my truck unlocked and wide-open all night long. Somehow, the city of Dallas must’ve known not to enter my vehicle like one of those “bait” television shows. I had every intention of returning outside before bed, but the situation changed. I can’t believe no one relieved me of its ownership. They must’ve smelled the man who drives it, sneezed, and fled into the snowy darkness in fear of its life. If you know, you know.

As I stood beside her – the truck – doom-scrolling Instagram in the cold while allowing her to warm up (had to recharge the battery a bit since the cab light remained on like a goddamn thief-beacon). I realized that I’d gotten snow-dumb. On the road for the art biz, my truck stayed prepared at all times. I’ve donned chains and driven up horrifying mountain passes at midnight in near white-out conditions, passing by my fellow drivers who “didn’t make it” as I went along. My foot would bounce uncontrollably atop the accelerator when I would do things like that. Some kind of weird fight or flight response unable to perform its intended purpose since I was strapped into a giant-moving coffin full of million-dollar paintings and sculptures. I never took another trip after I remarried. I just couldn’t do that to her. Hell, I didn’t know I was doing it to the previous one until it was too late. Loneliness is a son of a bitch, but a whiny son of a bitch when compared to death-defying feats of logistical insanity.

This time, I handed the tools to younger backs and supervised. Then, I completely forgot to supervise. Something about going indoors where it was warm and stocked with good food; I forgot. Perhaps I was just subliminally airing-out my vehicle? It was getting a little dank in there, after all, and winter air is quite magical. It sucked all the smell-good from my mirror-tree, though. Time to stock up!

I think it’s kind of the same logic when dealing with the American people in the current political climate. We’re used to seeing violence on television, and have been that way since World-War II flooded the cinemas with newsreels before the main flick. After that, Vietnam, The Iraq War, and all skirmishes in-between were piped into our living rooms and kitchens twenty-four-seven. Prayers, right?

Now it’s happening right around the corner, and we can feel the pops of gunfire in our own chests. At first, when it happened to what this country considered to be “minorities”, most turned their heads as they’d done since 1865. Then, the popularity of the personal life recorder (mistakenly and insultingly referred to as a phone) put the government “on-blast”. They got their shit together for a minute or two.

It took them nearly a decade to rewire our brains, polarizing one and all; forcing us to pick sides against neighbors, friends, and family. It all sounds oddly familiar. I could swear I’ve read this story before, but it wasn’t in English class. I think it may’ve been History. Weird. I don’t remember reading fiction in History. Hmmm…

You mean this shit’s real?

Yes, America. The immigration police are executing pale-faced American citizens face down in the snow. We know this, because the tiny box in our hand showed it to us in real time. It must’ve been a case of snow-dumb; engulfing ourselves into as much white as we possibly could, ignoring the colored world passing us by in our peripheral vision; jack-knifed, totaled, and still smoldering.

The dumbest thing in the history of governments would be to let citizens have as many guns as they want, and then incite a fascist takeover regarding the rights you said they all could have in the first place. I mean, last I checked, millions totaled more than thousands. It’s simple mathematics since everyone is allowed to be armed, right?

Oh? You mean pussy Baseball Dads only play the hero on social media? Well, I’ll be. Welp, I guess we need to bend over and stretch-out our Trump-Holes. It’ll take him a while to get to us all. At his age, he can only do 18 a day.

And it’s always televised for some reason.