Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

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I had a job planting trees in B.C. that spring and ran in to trouble with my foreman. She was the daughter of the company owner and one of those new-age hippy rave no-brained wenches and I got mad one time when she was bitching me out about missing places I could of planted trees and I had to tell her to fuck off and that she was a bitch. I got fired that day.

After that I hitch-hiked across the country in 4 days to Ottawa City from Prince George B.C. Some might think that writers like Kerouac's book "on the road" is good because of the hitch hiking sections, but I have never really had any one be all that interesting (Like some of kerouac's better sections, but some lick shit -most of them are so boring that that is probably the reason they pick you up in the first place (The people that pick you up hitch hiking). Truck drivers any-way are annoying to talk to but drive you a long way. This time was somewhat different. A girl picked me up in Dryden, Ontario and drove me all the way to Ottawa City, and I thought I fell in love with her.

She had a big red van and played trance and trip hop the whole way, but I don't know shit about that music, and don't particularly like it either. She was french and around 25 years old. She had black rimmed intellectual glasses and looked cute in them. She was picking me up in her van so-aside from the glasses (or even with the Glasses) she could not be too pretentious as might be expected from girls like this. She talked and talked. About B.C. and all the crazy Parties she had been to and about her father who was dieing and that's why she was on her way back to some miscellaneous french city which I forget the name of, it was in Quebec?

Any way even that trip is not really worth writing about. It took us two nights to get across to Ottawa and I slept in a tent the whole time-out side her van-shit! One of the most interesting times on the road with her was when she told me about her father and mother when they were still together and running a hotel across the street from a strip club. One of the strippers worked out a deal to stay in the hotel and became a family friend. One day she and her sister (The girl who owned the van-she was still a child of 7 or found out that Suzy (the stripper) was really a man. She was okay with it, but her sister was angry, and I am sure this was difference between the sisters, as always one of them is the prude. Another time we stop on the side of the high way and both of us ran down the side of the road to look at a road killed deer. She took a close up picture of it's eye. Maggots were eating the thing to hell she thought it was beautiful. She marked down the mile of high way it was near to so that she could come back and pick up the bones after her father was dead and the maggots had done their thing and she was on her way back to B.C. She made art out of bones.

I got a big huge from her in Ottawa. I should of went in for a kiss some time over those 2000 miles, she was vulnerable and it would of been easy to fuck her, but what ever-she would of gotten annoying after a week or two.

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OK there, I thought you were being a gentleman the whole time, I remember once or twice, hey I remember three times I didn't make babies with ladies when I coulda done it, hell I just remembered a fourth, OK and I suppose I'd been rejected by many more ladies than that, you know, close but no cigar, or the friendship thing, hell, I even had one young lady come into my dorm room and shave her legs with an electro shaver, and I never even tried, wierd, but hey, I was surrounded by girls, ten to one ratio on the mountain top, Crotched Mountain Rehabilitation Center, Greenfield, New Hampshire, I sat down at the breakfast table in the staff cafeteria with four young ladies and suddenly realised I had been in the sack with all of them, was I kookoo or what? 1973 I remember Debbie forever, red hair, we went canoeing on July 4th, Independence Day, then walked through this Norman Rockwell little town with their flags and ribbons and celebration with patriotic band in the gazebo at the village park, we walking through, I had a safari hat, my fatigue shirt, I loved her, she lived in a tent that summer then got a place at a farm, a cider house, wow, big brass bed, we'd smoke grass drink Moulson's ale, listen to Zappa, she drove an old VW Beetle, did I say red hair, she was tomboyish, naturally pretty without makeup, and I was a sad sack, angry, sad beyond tears, visions of despair and destruction in my brain, scorched earth, moved away, down to New Orleans where I got mugged and thrown into the drunk tank. Goodbye Debbie Possun, I remember you.

I have also hitchhiked and man you don't wanna mess up a ride, jobs that is another matter, i gotta job it's good, but it took me a lifetime to get here. Like your shorter stuff, broken down like this.

jimboloco wrote:OK there, I thought you were being a gentleman the whole time, I remember once or twice, hey I remember three times I didn't make babies with ladies when I coulda done it, hell I just remembered a fourth, OK and I suppose I'd been rejected by many more ladies than that, you know, close but no cigar, or the friendship thing, hell, I even had one young lady come into my dorm room and shave her legs with an electro shaver, and I never even tried, wierd, but hey, I was surrounded by girls, ten to one ratio on the mountain top, Crotched Mountain Rehabilitation Center, Greenfield, New Hampshire, I sat down at the breakfast table in the staff cafeteria with four young ladies and suddenly realised I had been in the sack with all of them, was I kookoo or what? 1973 I remember Debbie forever, red hair, we went canoeing on July 4th, Independence Day, then walked through this Norman Rockwell little town with their flags and ribbons and celebration with patriotic band in the gazebo at the village park, we walking through, I had a safari hat, my fatigue shirt, I loved her, she lived in a tent that summer then got a place at a farm, a cider house, wow, big brass bed, we'd smoke grass drink Moulson's ale, listen to Zappa, she drove an old VW Beetle, did I say red hair, she was tomboyish, naturally pretty without makeup, and I was a sad sack, angry, sad beyond tears, visions of despair and destruction in my brain, scorched earth, moved away, down to New Orleans where I got mugged and thrown into the drunk tank. Goodbye Debbie Possun, I remember you.

I have also hitchhiked and man you don't wanna mess up a ride, jobs that is another matter, i gotta job it's good, but it took me a lifetime to get here. Like your shorter stuff, broken down like this.

I know no messing up rides, but I could off gotten her or done somthing when she droppped off and gave me a huge hug, an email adress at least. I don't think of those thing enough, I have to step up my game in that department or I won't get to have enough sex and I need more-it is almost a pain...

Getting old is such a drag.
Hey, it's all good!