The Answer is ~GO!

[jimboloco]

hardy harhar
i was loking for enlightenment in encinidas
was camping on the cliffs
covered with soft vines, padded cushioned
meditating when i was joined by a local resident
who was also an attendee at local ashram
invited me to his home
to his garage
where i slept upon a door
laid out like a shelf above the floor
had shedded my jungle boots
and leather pack
for cloth and plastic
found the ashram less thanfantastic
the minister wore leather shoes
a business suit and short haircut
claimed mcdonalds a model of efficiency
in a sermon by the sea
and so i left that town
with a frown
for halifax
and drunken summer in new hampshire
working as a janitor
where i climbed up a drainpipe to a rooftop gazebo
went down inside the judges chambers into a courtroom
scrawled upon the judges book
vietcong was here
then spied a look out the door
and down the stairs
where the police kept late hours
a lighted door in the dark
and so i left as i had come
down the drain pipe
three stories
and into town
summer
1973
and the buddha's dyin words
be a lamp unto yerselphs
and so i lit a fart for modernity
a hard comedown for a fugitive pilot
but i walked away
as you can see

[jimboloco]

my father's friend's memories
had not heard as yet
still on the shelf in a cd
but his family has all rejected me
and i them

funny i would like to find out about his death
should i write the FAA
he was flying silver luscomb outa welch lousyanna
in jefferson davis county
stalled after takeoff with a student
wondered about foul play
how could he die that day
had been in air races in west texas
out of elpaso
survived bombing missions over germany
and took me flying as a baby
but not thhat day
mercy
grandmaa said the tail fell off
and they went south into rice fields
not a bad place to die
if ya gotta go
so
young

[stilltrucking]

I remember the first thing I read by you, i think it was on the story board at litkicks. Hiking on the west coast, it was good, it was about nature, I remember thinking this son of a bitch can write.
I am not much on the post modernism, or maybe it is the egg heads that right about it jim, I have seen guys that have wrote some java script that makes as much sense as what I have heard elsewhere.
I don't why e-dog won]t come back to me on it. I posted a completely random computer generated article on post modernism that he seemed to think made some sense. Maybe it did, but I posted the script for the java thingy that did it and never heard from him again. e-dog a scholar and a gentleman. Also way better read than I, maybe that is the whole point of it, this delusion of meaning in words. beats me.
I am here because I am addicted to the grind
got to hear the beat
of 18 hammers
an ilusion of GO

wireman got a freind called Charlie
watching over him in the pitch black darkest night
like Brautagans machines of loving grace.

[jimboloco]

futurism came before modernism
and the blue riders died in the great war
no more movements
just bowel manifestos

Wireman's angel
keeping him straight
while he winds his wires
and hums
another raga
while chewing on a bagel

[stilltrucking]

no more movements
just bowel manifestos

something is always dying
poetry, the novel, movements

beats me jim
I read somewhere that Whitggenstein ate ham and cheese sandwhiches on rye for thirty years cause he did not want to waste any of his precious time worrying about what to eat for lunch.

I had his "Blue Book" more like a pamphlet, and not actually written by him but lecture notes by some his his grad students at Cambridge?

I am always stepping on someone's toes
about Jesus, or Einstein, I don't mean to be irreverant,
Man I would have like to walked the streets of Viena before the great war.

You know there was some hip cats wondering those streets.


The Great War indeed.
I still have not seen that Ghandi movie.

movements
oh lordy jimbo
I was in the Mecical Cadre For Human RIghts in the early seventies, mostly returned medics
and college students
and one old fart

good people
truly the salt fo the earth
but the over all umbrella organization was called the New Mobe, as opposed to the old Mobe
I worked the phone banks for a while, raising dough, some people questioned on where the money was going, but I didn't know.
They asked for names and addresses for people on the busses, in case of lost and found they said, but also for mailing list purposes,


ah GO
Political GO's
why not
democracy not pretty
I hold my nose and vote
and listen to old kurt's advice
Listen to the music
Rolling stoned
because
"if you are down on your luck
and you can't harmonize..."

Wireman got a fearless heart
he still believes in true love


mobilization
I'm leary of the bozos on the buss
I suppose

[jimboloco]

don't cuss
call Guss
he will cuss for all of us
time to take out the garbage
clean the front yard
before the afternoon storms
and the next movement
in the shadows
sat at a bar in university town new hamppshire
kid studying philosophy of science
kept saying something about Wittgenstein
seemed unpertuurbed
my sister's godfather's stepdaughter was also there
we shared a beer
she said "you really dig my mom!"
she went into AA
mother and step-daughter
both died of lung cancer
mom the quaker draft and military counselor
i bummed a parliament of two from her
was lost out west at in santa cruz when she went down
daughter followed suit 15 years later
when my friend peter woke up dead on a sunday morn
age fifty
he knew it was coming
let it happen
lost generation blues

[stilltrucking]

baltimore blues
they all there
except for my rose of san antone
still here

time to take out the dog

nothing sadder than a foo dog with fleas.

I gave him a johnny unitas buzz cut.

Before




After



Storm coming here
I have lost a few friends
One to space ailiens
another to an occupational hazard of all musicians.
Never met Gus, but I read his Novel Short Timer's and I feel like I lost a friend there.
but
"all my friends are not dead or in jail"
but it's a happy enchilada

[stilltrucking]

he don't like to get his tootsie's wet

I been fortunate jim
fortuna's wheel
if not for being crazy all those years I would have lost so many more friends

His friends say the law broke Gus's spirit
six months hard time for over due library books

ah well

another generation gets lost in iraq
another generation of vipers rules
all I know is what I read in the newspapers.


I am old but I am happy
I suppose

just singing in the rain

[WIREMAN]

jumpin jack
my dad
my best friend
taught me how
to smack a golf
ball a mile
me & lil bro matty
drawin a crowd
as we'd bash them balls
into the illuminated
black of night......
flash to the seventies
jack got into henry miller
and of course jack and neal
and hunter s. the good doctor
he wrote and wrote his ass
off till the day he died
pretty amazing stuff
he was totally immersed in mexico
the yucatan especially
he and mom also paid there dues in the
welded metal sculpture biz spending much of the
70's traveling around the mid atlantic selling
their cool wares......me too for awhile
till i put down the welder and became WIRED>>>>>>>>>>>>

[stilltrucking]

Crazy Mike totaly immersed in Chess, kept notebooks full of chess notations.

Took me with him to the Pentagon before the cold war broke out.
He playing chess with the Russians via the War Department's radio link up with Moscow.

I went to sleep on a pile of government mail bags


my brother a flight surgeon his security clearance help up because supposed communtist infiltration of the Maryland Chess Club

Mike played chess with the n*zi rocket scientists stationed at aberdeen proving grounds after the war.

He opened a speakeasy during the depression. He made a enough money to buy miami but he pissed it all away on a gambling addiction. Later he switched from poker to chess, still gambled on chess for money but he had better luck. He would sit by himself for hours over a chess board, sometimes one of my friends would ask him who's winning.

I don't know you mark
I don't know who charlie is
I can't remember if you did go to india
or if you have always wanted to go.

Good train day
CSX locamotives
The old Chesapeake and Ohio
and The B & O
beautiful graffiti boxcars
santa fe
southern pacific
union pacific
Canadian North West
Norfolk Southern

trains of the gone world

I thought I heard
Ferlinghetti's train coming

[Doreen Peri]

train ride to the other side....
i remember that.

[WIREMAN]

there was a gorilla driving that
locomotive train and we were all
strapped in for that wild ride to the
other side....................

[jimboloco]

do the locomotion with me
what i sang carowacky
never more

son of travelling artist puts down roots
read all about it
doppler blues
train rolls on thru

i had the coriolis effest
first in a prop job
now with hurricanes

counterclockwise
spin on in
and out the top

[Doreen Peri]

train ride to the other side

so we're all on the train, see,
a big long train with box cars, wild and free,
a far stretching train to a distant star,
a train en route to the other side of somewhere
from another side of some other place
and we can almost see a trace of our own faces
reflected in the glass while the world goes by sideways
and we're riding on the rail, a trail of us behind ourselves
over the hill, and we wonder and wander again and still
will we ever arrive? will we get there alive?
is this the train to heaven? is this the train to hell?
is this the Amtrak or a choo-choo chug on a Lionel?
are we going around a christmas tree in the middle of a room?
are we headed from one lonely town to the next
donning our specs, trying to read the signs?
are we headed past the mountain where
the old leather lady reads us Tarot
and the little lame rocker man plays his banjo?
where did we start? where do we go?

did we all get on at the same junction?
hey, i see the conductor with a computerized display
learning a new function of bits and bytes, just tapping away,
all of us in sway with the bumps, the turns, the yields, the burns,
the woooowoooowoooo of a whistle of inspiration,
and we're facing the absurdities and all our words are free
and we're writing poe tree pieces, hallmark rhymes, treatises,
epistles, love letters, dismissals, releases,
and we're all drinking Pinot Grigio, tappin' our feet
the beat going up and over the Chesapeake,
bridging gaps of minds with the tunnels of reason,
speaking the tongues of distance, hearing our own resistance,
walking fast forward in between the cars, trying not to trip up
but our paper cups can't speak and we try not to spill,
metaphors slung through box cars, you in yours, me in mine
until until until we see a mystery come clear at the top of the hill,
but it's not over still
it's not over
still
still

so still our hearts, so solemn, laughing like a windy day
taking our wit in spite of it, carrying us away
to foreign lands, the sands of the hourglass
drip drip dripping down past our history
into tomorrow, the sorrows, the glees,
and down on our knees we cry the sighs
of lyric, poetry our only friends, joined like a multitude
of siamese twins to the hip! oh god! what a trip!
and there's the C&O canal straight up ahead
and we're making allusions like pillows for a bed
as we're training ourselves to stay far from the dread
of Time as it rumbles, years as they tumble
behind and we are the verse, we are the rhyme
we are the double salt, the spice the thyme laced
in dreams we eat up in the club car,
far away poets drinking a toast,
boasting of nothing but the ride

we're all inside, y'know
we're all inside the flow of a pen
tap tap typing our spirits again
and we're getting our kicks, high on lit,
not knowing the destiny, forgetting the route,
we're figuring all of it out 'cause the train is our gurney,
no fight to the flight of the muse, carrying us fused
the sound of assonance and resonance,
our voices a fountain from our lips,
we're reciting the trip,
the journey the only end
the never cease
the release, the all,
since the call of Poets
riding the rail
can never fail
us now

wooowooooo!!! wooowooo!!!!
umchuggachug we're all here, ain't we?
free as our lines, dining on pain and love,
sweeping the countryside with a soft smooth glove
gathering up the mud from beneath the wheels,
'cause we can feel, y'know? we can feel!

and this is a train ride to the other side

we are the ride
we are the ride!

.
.
.
.
.2.4.2002

[Doreen Peri]

Train ride to the other side spoken word