I don’t want to sound another alarm, but in the last two weeks I’ve encountered more caves dug into the cliffs on Oregon Coast than in my previous 23 years of living on the Oregon Coast and observing such oddities. Yes, caves. People are hacking them out with sticks, rocks and their bare hands and just sitting in them or spending the night or whatever the new cave dwellers do.
The writing carved into the cliffs has also subtly began to change, although, fortunately, the equations of love still abound, as are, unfortunately, declarations in praise of meth that occasionally still appear.
Love and meth. What a people we are.
In the writing, there are weird formulas that don’t seem to add up: M + M ± 69
There are pro Trump and anti Trump statements. There are people editing each other’s Trump statements.
There are some lines that make no sense whatsoever and aren’t even written in a language I am familiar with.
One simply reads erosion. Was it speaking to the cliff or the country as a whole? If it’s the latter, then it’s the most plain and devastatingly accurate one-word metaphor of graffiti I’ve ever read. In fact, it’s not even a metaphor. It’s our reality.
What is happening? Why are so many people driving around in vehicles with missing windows? In the last month, I have seen more of this strange phenomenon along 101 than ever before.
We’re going somewhere as a nation.
Meanwhile, I’m writing a Western that I like to believe has a shot at helping turn us around, or just pumping some decency into some of the corroded hearts out there who might read it. Do people with corroded hearts even read books?