June 05, 2004

I crossed the stream and ran through the warm, wet mud where the lake used to be, feeling like the last man on earth. I felt a profound sense of loneliness as my naked feet sunk into the barren soil, leaving deep footprints in mud. The earth beneath me felt like living tissue, and I was surrounded by primordial nothingness and cracked earth, the colour of pain.

The loneliness was overwhelming. I wanted to rip my clothes off in despair.

But instead I turned back and ran towards the shore where my Visionary Indian Friend waited in the shadow of a tree. We biked to the edge of non-existence after spending the morning shopping for books, handle bars, floor mats, and incredibly large knapsacks.

“Running there, I felt like the last man on earth,” I told him, breathless.

He looked at me with melancholy blue eyes — he understood where I’ve been even before I told him, and felt the same way. I dried the mud off my feet and we continued biking along Laurel Creek until we ended up in my backyard, lazing in the sun.

And there I told him how unreal the last few days were, and how wonderful at the same time. He understood that too.