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Jul. 25th, 2006 09:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
destruction1_0This is not the Winnemucca road.
Reno, Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota, Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow, Sarasota, Wichita, Tulsa, Ottawa, Oklahoma, Tampa, Panama, Mattawa, La Paloma, Bangor, Baltimore, Salvador, Amarillo, Tocopilla, Barranquilla, and Padilla, I'm a killer
Just as well. There's not enough in his pack to justify the verb 'to tote'.
Boston, Charleston, Dayton, Louisiana, Washington, Houston, Kingston, Texarkana, Monterey, Ferriday, Santa Fe, Tallapoosa, Glen Rock, Black Rock, Little Rock, Oskaloosa, Tennessee, Hennessey, Chicopee, Spirit Lake, Grand Lake, Devil's Lake, Crater Lake, for Pete's sake
It's pretty dusty, though.
Start asking yourself a couple of questions about entropy and things get a little overwhelming. Better to just stop paying attention. The world has moved on. Is still moving on.
He whistles, and bootheels clock on hardpan hellground. He's a tall man, an ageless stranger in faded, pegged jeans and a denim jacket and a Boy Scout knapsack. He's a walking dude.
This isn't Highway 51, though. Not even
(God said to Abraham, kill me a son)
Highway 61.
Not even some two-bit two-lane highway.
There are highways in hiding that are traveled by the poor and the mad, by the professional revolutionaries and by those who have been taught to hate so well that their hate shows on their faces like harelips and they are unwanted except by others like them, who welcome them to cheap rooms with slogans and posters on the walls, to basements where lengths of sawed-off pipe are held in padded vises while they are stuffed with high explosives, to back rooms where lunatic plans are laid: to kill a Cabinet member, to kidnap the child of a visiting dignitary, or to break into a boardroom meeting of Standard Oil --
Or maybe Citgo.
-- with grenades and machine guns and murder in the name of the people.
Louisville, Nashville, Knoxville, Ombabika, Shefferville, Jacksonville, Waterville, Costa Rica, Pittsfield, Springfield, Bakersfield, Shreveport, Hackensack, Cadillac, Fond Du Lac, Davenport, Idaho, Jellicoe, Argentina, Diamontina, Pasadena, Catalina, see what I mean
Mid-World is right up his alley.
He strides on at a steady, ground-eating pace, and there's something in the air: something is coming. It's a sooty hot taste that comes from
Pittsburgh, Parkersburg, Gravellburg, Colorado, Ellensburg, Rexburg, Vicksburg, Eldorado, Larrimore, Atmore, Haverstraw, Chattanika, Chaska, Nebraska, Alaska, Opelika, Baraboo, Waterloo, Kalamazoo, Kansas City, Sioux City, Cedar City, Dodge City, what a pity
everywhere, as if God is planning a cookout and all of civilization is going to be the barbecue.
The land's time of transfiguration is almost at hand, and he's on hand. He always is.
Everywhere.
He's been everywhere.
Reno, Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota, Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow, Sarasota, Wichita, Tulsa, Ottawa, Oklahoma, Tampa, Panama, Mattawa, La Paloma, Bangor, Baltimore, Salvador, Amarillo, Tocopilla, Barranquilla, and Padilla, I'm a killer
Just as well. There's not enough in his pack to justify the verb 'to tote'.
Boston, Charleston, Dayton, Louisiana, Washington, Houston, Kingston, Texarkana, Monterey, Ferriday, Santa Fe, Tallapoosa, Glen Rock, Black Rock, Little Rock, Oskaloosa, Tennessee, Hennessey, Chicopee, Spirit Lake, Grand Lake, Devil's Lake, Crater Lake, for Pete's sake
It's pretty dusty, though.
Start asking yourself a couple of questions about entropy and things get a little overwhelming. Better to just stop paying attention. The world has moved on. Is still moving on.
He whistles, and bootheels clock on hardpan hellground. He's a tall man, an ageless stranger in faded, pegged jeans and a denim jacket and a Boy Scout knapsack. He's a walking dude.
This isn't Highway 51, though. Not even
(God said to Abraham, kill me a son)
Highway 61.
Not even some two-bit two-lane highway.
There are highways in hiding that are traveled by the poor and the mad, by the professional revolutionaries and by those who have been taught to hate so well that their hate shows on their faces like harelips and they are unwanted except by others like them, who welcome them to cheap rooms with slogans and posters on the walls, to basements where lengths of sawed-off pipe are held in padded vises while they are stuffed with high explosives, to back rooms where lunatic plans are laid: to kill a Cabinet member, to kidnap the child of a visiting dignitary, or to break into a boardroom meeting of Standard Oil --
Or maybe Citgo.
-- with grenades and machine guns and murder in the name of the people.
Louisville, Nashville, Knoxville, Ombabika, Shefferville, Jacksonville, Waterville, Costa Rica, Pittsfield, Springfield, Bakersfield, Shreveport, Hackensack, Cadillac, Fond Du Lac, Davenport, Idaho, Jellicoe, Argentina, Diamontina, Pasadena, Catalina, see what I mean
Mid-World is right up his alley.
He strides on at a steady, ground-eating pace, and there's something in the air: something is coming. It's a sooty hot taste that comes from
Pittsburgh, Parkersburg, Gravellburg, Colorado, Ellensburg, Rexburg, Vicksburg, Eldorado, Larrimore, Atmore, Haverstraw, Chattanika, Chaska, Nebraska, Alaska, Opelika, Baraboo, Waterloo, Kalamazoo, Kansas City, Sioux City, Cedar City, Dodge City, what a pity
everywhere, as if God is planning a cookout and all of civilization is going to be the barbecue.
The land's time of transfiguration is almost at hand, and he's on hand. He always is.
Everywhere.
He's been everywhere.
