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rwxFive hours from now in a Kansas truckstop, the guy from American Gothic will jump when the wind whips the door out of his hand and slams it into the doorjam. We are not in a jam but it is lound and startling.
One hour ago it was safe to eat baked potatoes again, being out of Ireland and references to Odysseus, so I sat eating a baked potato at the welcome to colorado stop. A welcoming place, colorado and full of many excellent protuberances that you can see front ranging around no matter where you go. But now I am in a land accursed of omeletes preconsidered.
Nine days ago I'm in Salt Lake and my wire-honed NYC instincts are taking over in traffic, but now is the start of the rush hour, the time between now and then when what matters is speed. Because of the nature of the vehicle (something borrowed, something blue, something new) no trading of the laws of the road for physics is possible. It's 5 over, my friend, 5 over unless the orange flag flies and then we slow for the respect of the quick and the dead.
Kansas is flat and the motels are thinly spaced. You can't get there from here. but in a straight line from there you'll meet a straight line to there. The rest stations are laid out funny, and the farm report is on the radio, more than three bullets is too much for a kill and if you till, you dig out your ditches.
If you don't till but sew you reap and do not dig. Or at least the digging is just a casual tractoring around and not fit for the burying of the dead. Irony dies here or at least falls flat as everything else.
but it rises on the edges like a pizza. specifically in this case a vegetable pizza with occasional pre-sausage motile units. as you might expect, though, the crust is made out of wheat.
aunty em, aunty em, where is that dog it has gone all awhirl but with coffee we will triumph Hays Hays we are stopping and austin tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
One hour ago it was safe to eat baked potatoes again, being out of Ireland and references to Odysseus, so I sat eating a baked potato at the welcome to colorado stop. A welcoming place, colorado and full of many excellent protuberances that you can see front ranging around no matter where you go. But now I am in a land accursed of omeletes preconsidered.
Nine days ago I'm in Salt Lake and my wire-honed NYC instincts are taking over in traffic, but now is the start of the rush hour, the time between now and then when what matters is speed. Because of the nature of the vehicle (something borrowed, something blue, something new) no trading of the laws of the road for physics is possible. It's 5 over, my friend, 5 over unless the orange flag flies and then we slow for the respect of the quick and the dead.
Kansas is flat and the motels are thinly spaced. You can't get there from here. but in a straight line from there you'll meet a straight line to there. The rest stations are laid out funny, and the farm report is on the radio, more than three bullets is too much for a kill and if you till, you dig out your ditches.
If you don't till but sew you reap and do not dig. Or at least the digging is just a casual tractoring around and not fit for the burying of the dead. Irony dies here or at least falls flat as everything else.
but it rises on the edges like a pizza. specifically in this case a vegetable pizza with occasional pre-sausage motile units. as you might expect, though, the crust is made out of wheat.
aunty em, aunty em, where is that dog it has gone all awhirl but with coffee we will triumph Hays Hays we are stopping and austin tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
