The Psychedelic Clown Cop pulled me over soon after I had passed the state border. My watch had no hands anymore and the numbers had disappeared. It must have been about now.
Tick, tock, tick-k-k-k...
The desert is blooming in the most beautiful colours and the sky reflects on the windshield. I check the map on the passenger seat and find it to have turned blank. I am pretty sure that I still am on route 420. I hadn't taken any turns. In fact there never had been any. On the wheel is a sticker that says "California sunshine". I suddenly realise that I don't even hold the thing, turning on its own. I have a cigarette in one hand and a note in the other. It just reads: "meet me at the beach, let's go surfing. Lucy". I am still a little confused as the grotesquely inappropriate caricature of a highway Marshall leans into my window and asks me where I am going. I answer that I can't even tell where I came from. And while he slowly reaches for his blunt he asks me for my ID. "I am sorry officer, I have to admit that I have no proof to even have an own identity. I am pretty sure that I am supposed to be on some kind of journey. Isn't this the beach of San Francisco Bay?" Weirdly grinning he takes off his mushroom shaped sunglasses in which I had stared into the reflection of my blank smile and I get to see childish eyes filled out by giant hazel pupils. He laughs as he answers: "look boy, this is the valley of death. You are far out. I don't know what you are looking for. But I seem to be the best answer you could come up with as it seems. You're tripping in the desert, son. Identify yourself." Even though I have no idea what to say I start off trying to appear as innocent and harmless as possible, answering: "Yes sir, I guess that's exactly what I came for. But I can't. Somewhere on the way I seem to have lost me..." suddenly I hear a voice talking from the backseat. As I look in the mirror i see my ten years old self sitting there, glaring at the officer and saying calmly: "I'm not sure what that means, but I think it's not me, it's you who is wrong. You are my fear of being free. Go back to your car, drive back to town. Tell them that I am dead. No, better tell them I never was. I will be surfing officer. You lost, you don't even know who you are trying to arrest. You ask for my identity? I don't have any that you haven't written yourself. You can't remember it yourself right? Do you even remember who you are? Where you came from and who sent you? Your values don't have any meaning out here and your culture is a lie. You are a fraud. You don't even exist..." as he slowly dissolves to Nothingness, gradually melting into the background. He's angrily belting at me, reaching out screaming "citizen, you're under arrest. I will..." that's when I knew where I lost my identity. He had it all the time in his pocket. As he vanishes it sinks circling to the dusty floor. I see the picture. A children's drawing of a flower. Attached is a search warrant. I had been sentenced to death by living for high treason and heresy against the paper king and for arson in the halls of sanity. That's not of meaning any further. The only one who knew where I went had been a pale hallucination. I blew out the smoke of my cigarette and floored the pedal. I have nothing to worry or look back to. For i never was anything else than the deserts dream of the ocean itself. I am the highway. I have a date with the now in the sunset.
Why did I write this? STUPID!
