Saturday, April 29, 2006

These Tracks are Magnetic

I’ve rolled through so many towns that I cant even remember. It must be the soda and rubbing alcohol. Some have even called me a criminal, even a semi-league extortionist. But I say to you, so what! I’m not a hero, not even in my own mind.

Only a war hero can be a prick part of the time and I fall sort of even that. My life screams something out of Nabokov. If only I could get my voice back. It’s been eight days since I’ve seen anyone along these tracks.

I once saw a man beat another hobo to the brink os death outside of Denver. He looked at me and I looked at him. I’ll admit I said what any other student of Darwin would say. “If you don’t want those socks, I’ll take’em.”

Monday, April 24, 2006

Loose Shadows

I want her; a little daughter of my own. Not to keep of course.

I want to tell her that everything was once good. I want to tell her that there was a time when fear was the only thing to fear; now we have each other to fear. Not just each other, but our own mind.

I would be well off, maybe. How would I explain to her the last five years, let alone the last five minutes?

I might just let her figure it out for herself. That’s what I did after all. I might try to explain that there are things not to be understood for two hundred years. Maybe then a loose gray haired man will write a book about me. He will have the answers. Unfortunately I will be dead, so will my daughter.

I’d like to tell her that there’s fact and truth in this world, nothing more. Facts are only that. Loose numbers and quotations on a page, right they are but their also lifeless. Truth is was we choose to be fact, merely shadows in the back of our mind.

Fact is; I don’t have a daughter.

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