Notes from Death Valley
The following is the kind of prose that results after driving around Death Valley (pictured above), and then having a few too many drinks in Las Vegas: I woke up this morning, and there was nothing left. Like desert. I was no longer me. I was an empty landscape. Things had to be moved around, boulders and brush and such, to make a something. But the something was inchoate, like a mound of clay waiting to be formed. There was no real shape, just potential shape. All the things
