eCache |
Yesterday I dropped by and saw this one doing the same.
39.42585 -75.085733
Inspiration!
move me brightly
light the song with sense and color,
hold away despair
More than this I will not ask
faced with mysteries dark and vast
statements just seem vain at last
some rise, some fall, some climb
to get to Terrapin
Moments that lift a body to transcend this earthly rigor. Art nailed it!
Life needs episodes. As long as we are filling in the blocks of time, let it be enjoyable. Perhaps not at all costs, but to cut the nose to spite the face is oh so . . . cliché. Hey!
Spring has the Dead; autumn the pines. There’s that aura . . . a smell. Troubles float away as softly as the cedar-brown coolness will take it. It may linger for it is in no hurry, but alas, it will sail on, Silvergirl.
Cros has been with me all day. I’m telling you, somewhere out there is a trail blazed with peyote. Time stands still and yet it doesn’t. Seeming opposites are the truth. What other explanation is there? I half expect Craig to chime in and send me sailing onward. In another time’s forgotten space . . .
Late. Late again. Just like before and the next time. It is what we do. It’s in the creed, I suppose. I’ve never actually read the book (even if it was voted the best).
Let this ease your mind . . .
Na som.
39.436267 -75.098183
And I left his dead ass there by the side of the road
Sigh . . . it’s all coming back to me now. Memory is a strange thing. What was once lost is now found.
We took the train down to Sante Fe. We had a purpose, but I am not certain what it was. Probably up to no good. Y’know how hustlers are. Anyhow, we got off (deboarded or perhaps detrained these days) and headed for the inn. It was dusty. Went right to the bar, bypassing the check-in altogether. Rye. Straight. And another. Repeat.
We never did check in. Bags in the corner, we plopped down at the table early afternoon. Sometime after midnight, long after sloppy, is when it went down.
Jack had been cheatin’ the game all night. Under dealing. Spotting the ace. He could rip a deck in his day, but his day had come and gone, and with drinks in him, well, he wasn’t smooth. He dealt me a mother of a hand. It was wrong, but I raked in the pot and eyed him down.
Do you know what he did then? He dealt me the same four bullets again. Really, aces back to back? The locals had caught on. Sensing danger, I folded. It didn’t ruffle them, although Jack was miffed. Even so, he sat there with a loaded boat ready to pick up where I let go.
Upon the show, the men got angry losing yet another hand. The deputy spoke up. Jack, full of brass shot back that he didn’t even have the best hand. Uh . . . and with that, they turned over my folded hand.
The table was tossed, the money went flying. Before the shots began flying, I noted the drink girl ducking behind the bar. She had seen this before.
Jack and I were hit pretty badly, but we held our own. The deputy was down. The cowboy equally so. The others raced their wounds out the door. Jack swirled in the winnings and we darted out the back. We found a wagon there and headed off south into the black night.
A day later, safely away, we headed for the border. That Jack couldn’t stop boasting about his cunning. He was high on gin to keep the pain from his wounds at bay. He couldn’t see what I could; he was dying.
How long he could have held on, I do not know. Late that evening, hearing for the thousandth time how he pulled first, I shared my opinion.
His body hit hard as he dropped on the hardpack below. With the load lighter, the coach picked up speed bringing Tijuana closer still.
Misaotra.
39.44585 -75.079767
Did you find a directing sign
on the straight and narrow highway?
Would you mind a reflecting sign
Just let it shine within your mind
And show you the colours that are real
Trying to escape one’s mind is scitzophrenic. Snowballed. Stretching. Pushing. Oblong. Let me out!
The flashback tour rides again. Tonto is somewhere holed up with Mommy and Daddy. Ran away. Coward! Just me, Rocky, and Silver these days. Sporticus too, but not today.
Bang bang bang . . .
It’s moving too fast. Time. Got no time. Breathe.
Man, I need it now. Is this addiction? Mother’s little helper on ‘roids. The Rocket would know. Who am I, Billy Joel? Ha!
Come and let me show you my tattoo
Sulpáy.
39.4318 -75.0642
Compass card is spinning, helm is swinging to and fro
Oh, where is the dog star, oh, where’s the moon.
You’re a lost sailor, been away too long at sea.
Perhaps it was the Wild Turkey I consumed. Perhaps it was the big orange mushroom that filled my face. Whatever it was had me stumbling aimlessly as though Gonzo and I were taking in Vegas again.
Crosby still haunting my mind . . .
If I had ever been here before on another time around the wheel
But then flashes of Freshman year and Yes! The walls pushed in and there was a fallen tree in my path. Bizarre. Hunter, make it stop.
Serenity now. Peacefulness. It wasn’t college but four years ago. Time cannot be confined, only quantified. Backing up is problematic. It takes forever. And looking over your shoulder is never a good thing; it is too easy to lose one’s way. But even that can have its glory . . . accepting what comes, even if it has all been posted before. But a back way in to once was . . . but will it be accepted?
there is a price for being free . . .
Misaotra.
Welcome to eCache @ RDOwens.net. This blog represents my ramblings about politics, GPS games, New Jersey, education, cooking, and other topics.
Enjoy your visit. I encourage you to participate. I don't bite.
My politics are conservative, but I am an independent. I like reasoned discourse. More
