This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
FIRST LOVE COSMIC VISION
—Inspired from H. Eugene Bradford’s “Peter Max Redux” I have seen the future, Melinda, and you are in it. We’re barreling down the freeway like it’s the first time all over again in this half-ton Deluxe long-bed, sunlight glinting off the chrome grill. Dear God, Melinda but it was like a re-take of 1951, and all over again we’re young and dumb and wild to be wreckage. This time, it’s more than a six-pack, it’s love urging us onto the open road, the wind snapping your hair. This time when you ask what GMC stands for instead of General Motors Company, I say, Gentle Mammals Co-exist. Great Moments Calcify, you shoot right back. I should’ve laid my life down for you, should’ve clung to you as you laid back across the two seats, sidling your hips to the side of the stick shift, the California heat bearing in like sin on the sticky vinyl. In my dream, there is no yesterday, just Highway 61, just the life I never would’ve known. If that’s not God’s truth, I don’t know what is. Melinda, I’m writing to tell you, the past drives through us. You can’t just abandon it and sell it for parts. Gorgeous Memories Coagulate. I wish I’d come up with that all those years back. Maybe I did. Maybe they do. Maybe it doesn’t matter what I said, or you. But what if the GMC letters in my dream mean Giant Molecular Clouds like the ones I let you paint on the shotgun door? GMCs are the birthplace of stars. That’s the truth, too. Once upon a time you’d have loved that one—a literal fact launching a million miles away just like GMCs, full of molecular gas and a little dust. Just like us. Just like this metal shell rotting in my lot. Melinda, a vision is only a dead battery if you don’t jumpstart some life into it. Let’s restore what was lost. Let’s get drunk on the wind.