The last time I checked there was no one behind me and I haven’t seen a single car pass by. I’ve been hauling down this old dark road in the middle of the night in an old 60’s cadillac for as long as my mind allows me to remember. I’m comfortable like a captain on his ship, steering with one hand and a light touch, my eyes half closed. Like the hypnotic waves of the sea I watch the center lines run up and slip by in trance. The landscape around me is nothing more than silhouettes racing by as they underline a navy-blue dusk sky. Above me are a blanket of countless stars that are unmoving in the sky even as everything around me seems to go by at a mindless and blurry pace. I forget where I’m even going not to mention where I came from. But I savor this moment when nothing is known and nothing matters. A moment in which I just am. It’s me and the road and I’m driving this motherfucker. On this empty road to nowhere is where I feel at home. Like a migrant bird I travel by instinct, letting my inner compass take me where my soul needs to go. The irony of it all is that where I feel I need to be is in a transient place. No home and no roots, only forever in a changing loop of motion. From one place to the next I travel on this desert planet in a perpetual night, always chasing the dying sunlight on the horizon. It’s on this endless highway that I belong and it is on this endless highway that I will always be. Always moving and ways searching but for what I might never know.