All One High Iron Mainway

The saddest fear is the secret wish of your enemies' success. Thus of our dreams we make relics from the scraps of fools that we might avoid our own fate.
If you look hard enough within, you can see Achilles dancing on the oars still. Refusing to join in on any madness but his own.
Warn the hero inide yourself - make not war for another man's desire or the false entertainment of the gods.
Attack instead the lies, as many as the leaves, that fall round your head before the first signs of snow.
They whisper us to their murders, to count the bodies like so many coins and print their notes with the blood ink of innocents and pawns.
Rather die grasping at the wind than in the yoke of their death carriage that moves in their parade that profits a few men
and leaves the rest in mounds...


As a boy he swallowed his magic decoder ring. He did not tell anyone, preferring not to risk the inevitable opprobrium that would follow the how and why. And so it was that the daily inspection of his own feces began that led to his life saving discovery, a grand romantic episode, a deeply abiding love for Mozart and an iron clad conviction that had he never swallowed the ring, he would never have realized who was controlling him.

 There are things outside, there are things inside. Some are mere relics, others are more invasive. You try to put something out of the house, but somehow it comes back in. Oh, you must only have thought you took it out and it converted to memory without action.

It is like waking up one day, your face in pancakes, somewhere you have never been. You know if you ask the waitress, "where am I? How did I get here?" you will disturb whatever balance in effect that allowed you to be there for however long with your face in what you must presume are your pancakes. You stumble outside and look for the memory of what was your car and find it in a lot a block away. You have travelled 175 miles south without any memory of it, you realize, as you recognize the bridges.

Who knows what happened to you? Who knows what you did?

***

 As Kerouack said of Denver and Butte, "all one high iron mainway". Some things you get without all the epistemology.

Like standing in SeaTac 1999, taking a Cambodian friend toward his first flight back home since year zero and finding yourself in a flock of monks as they circle about him, each one stuffing an envelope with cash inside his jacket.

Butte magic of ignorance is no Butte
All one high iron mainway
Denver is the same
-JK

***

Years ago in a fugue state of sorts I wandered on campus with a ghostly pale schizpophrenic fellow who had clothes hangers wired upside down to his cowboy hat and the shoulders of his hunting vest with bits of multi colored cloth streaming in the breeze. I had picked him up on the side of the road where he said he was waiting for the transportellemutation occurence. I asked him if he was hungry and he said only for a happy meal. He told me the real place of the transportellemtation was in the apex zone (which turned out to be the AF Academy campus).
So around a walkway we went and saw a woman with a small crowd gathered round her. She was waving a bible in the air. I could only assume the young men around her were cadets. She was saying something about the everlasting forgiveness for our never ending sins. This sparked outrage in my fellow traveller and he screamed.
"What's your name!"
She stopped, she had on a sexy white dress with a pattern of red roses and small hearts. She looked like (and I later learned was) an ex stripper.
"Why," she answered, "I am known as sister Cindy."
"Well, Cindy, I am known as Tot Four Ninety and your spoutin off a load of shit."
Some of the lads looked at him, their pecs quivering.
"Jesus loves you, ' she said.
"Yeah, well your mother sucks cock in hell!"
It wasn't quite a life flash before your eyes moment, but for an instant I wondered how I would escape the fury of the twelve oclock high brigade. But to my great relief, after an awkward moment of silence, they all burst out laughing and the good sister went off in search of another perch.
I left Tot Four Ninety there to search for his time warp.
This was before the poison set in to the very marrow, I suppose, for later in the day I had a flat and got a free Tibetan eye chart from the guy who fixed it and shared a cigarrette rolled with hash oil with him.
Can't imagine what it's like there now.