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November 24, 2002 I pull off I-90 at the Marfa Mystery Lights viewing area despite a sense of urgency to get back to Alpine from Marfa and get this art thing under way, get out of my head. But I have to stop. I've got The Fear. And yehzeus knows you don't want to show up in a small town in West Texas with a head full of The Fear, despite the fact that you're to be an honored guest and they're going to pay you good money just for being weird. No. Haven't met them yet. Need to calm down first, shake off this panic, most probably the residual effects of last night's muffin high. "The Marfa Mystery Lights are visible on many I turn the key toward me. The engine stops on a dime. Silence. The last sound is that of the tiny movements of the keys tinkling to a stop. I listen for whistle of the wind, the cry of a bird. Nothing. Silence. The kind of dead air silence you hear when the DJ forgets his post, or in a good film, those rare brave moments when a good director knows that the best sound effect for that moment is no sound at all. "Robert Reed Ellison, a young cowboy, reported I close my eyes and look down on myself from 10, maybe 20 feet above the car. I am Benicio del Toro in Gilliam's "Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas" in that precious moment after he and Depp have cracked the amyls and gone quiet. Dead silence. Then the crunch of the leather seats under load. And del Toro says, "What the fuck are we doing out here in the middle of this goddamn desert?" Powerful. That's me. Right now. Right here. An odd semi-rest stop of sorts where at night the mysterious Marfa Lights dance and entrance logical man. Indescribable. Beautiful. "Apache Indians believed these eerie lights I go inside and use the bathroom. Not one fond of potty talk, I gotta say the toilet here warrants mention. The "hole" shall we say, is enormous. If it's a pit toilet, it is one helluva deep pit. I feel a twinge of vertigo just standing by it. If I had a small child, I wouldn't let them near it for fear of the gaping hole. And there's this sound, this barely audible whirring sound, like the hiss of a propane heater, emanating from far below. A sign on the stall wall announces that it is a composting toilet, Made by Clavis, Inc., Lawrence Mass. The word "recycling" is in there, too, and I think, huh? Very strange. "Many viewers have theories ranging from A self-sustaining waste disposal unit in THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. I like it. Here's a place, a spot on the map where, lemme tell ya, there ain't a lot of spots on the map, a place where you could erect a log cabin, mud hut, teepee, a mansion (the 1956 film Giant was filmed here), whatever, and with a couple of horses and a few actors in period clothing, bamm! You got a Western movie. Add some pasta, and you got a Spaghetti Western. (Sorry, it couldn't be helped.) Anyway, stand on the roof of this high-tech pit stop and turn around 360 degrees, and you will see nothing but God's country. Desert. Distant mountains. Nothin. Except at night, when you'll see the lights, they say. "Some believe the lights are an electrostatic It's about an hour later when, feeling better, I hop back in the Chevy, fire it up, and run the 25 miles to Alpine to join Tank Girl, S. & M., Nod, a few other art car artists and a gathering of local painters, sculptors and cowboy artists of the Big Bend for a weekend of open galleries, libations, a parade, all in celebration of this thing called art. And as I drive that beautifully empty stretch of highway, I can't help but smirk at the thought of, well.. of how small the world is, my world anyway. Both big and small. It's as big as the Marfa Lights composting toilet hole, and as big as the distance between Marfa, Texas and Lawrence, Mass. But here I am! Here, in wide open Texas, driving a car I only weeks ago rescued from the strict inspection laws of Massachusetts, laws that would have sent it to the crusher. And did I not also rescue myself from that place, escaping the crusher of winter? And how did a toilet from Lawrence, Mass travel so far to land here, square under my ass, in this weird spot in the desert where James Dean was a Giant and the horizon dances with atmospheric oddities deserving of an X-files episode? "An explanation as to why the lights cannot be located Thank God it is a small world after all, a world full of ironies and mysteries, a world where friends from every far flung place can meet face to face, for a celebration of art. Art: like it or not a symptom of love. And they say we are at war again, a war without end. I'll take art over war any day. And if there comes a day when this war as yet seen only from afar should violate the mystery of the Marfa Lights and show itself up close, I will melt into this desert and vanish by day, visible perhaps only at night, myself a skittish light, conquistador of nothing, artist escaped, lost lover a thing of legend. "The mystery of the lights -His Lordship RSM the Duke of Gratitude for What Peace We Have Left
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