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dw027 - Datura 1.0 - Guitara Tigerclaw Records - Rodney (c) 2007 The music makes me feel like I'm apart of it when I listen. I always imagine it as a soundtrack to a creative portal of thought. The album GUITARA can be summed up as a soundtrack to the unknown. It got me thinking myself into a short story that unraveled as I listened, and I pictured this... A lenghty drone builds up filling my head with a sci-fi rumble. My mind wonders what is hovering over the building. What could be shacking my cubicle the way this is. I can't shake it from my mind. I get up to investigate if anyone else hears the noise between my ears. As I approach the main area of boxed bodies...I find the room is empty. The coffee still brewing, the faxes still shooting in. I look toward the large portal to the ouside, but instead of me walking toward the window, it glides toward me. The outside sucks me in. I find myself still alone, yet not in a place I would normally find outside of the building I just was. Instead I am on a desert road. I start walking...it seems like days I have walked. The sun stings, and the wind whips dirt upon my stinging skin adding salt to the wound. I can not go on...the distance blured from the heat...I have lost vision of ever finding an out. Yet my ears still shaking...finds the hum of a large engine becoming loader by the second. I stop and turnaround. I see it. Something. It gets closer and I can make it out. It's a truck. It's an old 70's chevy scottsdale. I can see now it's blue with gray stripes along the hood. The truck starts to slow. Can this be...another person out here? The car slows to a stop just in front of me. I walk up to the drivers side. A man is at the wheel. Looks like he's been traveling a while as well. Unshaven and reeks of tequilla. He looks at me but dosn't speak. I'm stunded, I simply walk to the passanger side door and invite myself in. I sit on a blanket that is drapped across his bench seat. The man begins to drive. I run my hand along the window gazing at the landscape. The air is on but the mans fresh cigar causes me to roll down the window to escape the cloud of smoke and smell of his cheap tobaccoo. I wonder why he looks so familiar. His face becomes a search cycle in my mind. I... I try to find answers of who he is. The mans face becomes more clear...I found a thought. I focused in deeper. I found the face in my past. It's my father...but he's dead. He died 3 years ago to a heart attack. But it's him. I softly call to him...dad? He looks at me. He just stares. Then he hands me a hanky. I'm confussed. He nods toward my head. I pull down a visor to acess the mirror. I look into the mirror at an image that makes no sense. I'm bleading. My forehaed gushing with blood. I wipe some of the blood away. I notice a hole. I stick my finger into the hole. I have a hole in my forehead. I'm scared... I look at my father as he calmly drives down the desert road. The thought surfaces...it was her. I look again at my dad...he turns toward me again and starts to laugh. I start screaming. I want the truck to stop. I try to jump out but the lock is hot. The handle too is hot. The car is a burst of flames, a fireball with a mad man laughing at the wheel. I can't see out of the front windshield. It feels like we are falling. She must of found out. She must have done this. She must have known. I smashed out the drivers si de window, but as my fist goes through, it's caught by a figure I can't make out. It pulls my right out of the car. I squeezed through the window being cut by the glass, and into the grasp of a shadow. The shadow wraps chains around me. I try to fight back but I can't move. I'm then tossed into a box. I'm alone...it's quite, I lay there alone...with only my thoughts. I wait...I wait...I wait...I wait...I wait...No one ever comes. I'm stuck here... hungry, thirsty, tired, sick, scared, cold, hot, broken. I can only figure out how but not where. I am inside my own head. Curled up inside my own head. BLANK...
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