James A. Reeves
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Las Vegas

My screens reflected against the sprawl.

As we pulled up to our ninth small tan house of the day, “American Woman” rocked the block.

Las Vegas

Vegas architecture hides from the sun.

As we consider each room, there is much discussion of orientation.

Las Vegas

A dedicated place where I can tack index cards to the wall.

The Pacific Time Zone is turning me into a morning person, and I do not like it.

Las Vegas

Taro puffs the size of your fist.

There’s something so tranquil about an illuminated palm tree. It’s a science-fictional kind of calm.

Interstate

Fireworks in the parking lot of a Chevron station.

Warm Leatherette on repeat as we drive into Vegas.

Colorado

A fingernail moon rose over the Rockies.

Heavy art followed by a fingernail moon over the Rockies as we crossed the Continental Divide.

Interstate

The first Pizza Hut is in Wichita.

A lone tree becomes exciting. A sign for the National Agro-Defense Facility fires the imagination.

Missouri

Movements are a relic of the 20th century.

At Cracker Barrel, C. and I discussed Tristan Tzara, Model 500, Basic Channel, and vaporwave over Grandpa’s Country Fried Breakfast.

Ohio

Synthetic tracks for the motorway.

Making an oldies playlist like it’s 1995 and I’m smoking clove cigarettes while speeding down I-75 to the Packard Plant or Saint Andrew’s Hall.

Journal

Faded graffiti that looked like a vanished wish.

Overpass graffiti, institutional fuckery, and a solid Joy Division cover.

Ohio

The spirit of the information superhighway.

The strike against nefariousness continues. Mastodon feels wholesome. Veronica Vasicka delivers another top-shelf playlist.

Ohio

People behaving poorly in glossy architecture.

Cold running. Twitter might be dying. The Menu was an okay movie. Digital ghosts.

Journal

Another sleepless night for reasons unknown.

Five days until we drive into the desert. Illinois and Indiana look like fangs. I should go to bed.

Journal

Repetition is where things get interesting.

Repetition on a grey November day.

Ohio

A body of water was named after a man who was roasted alive.

It’s nice to have a new place on the map to romanticize. And William Gibson has nothing on the Catholics.

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