I wanna live in a small town, yeah a hick town. I want the cold pure sun to come up over some mountain. Enough of this spray-painted derby. I spent so much time on this grid that my eyes are stenciled. And you can't climb up the damn thing, it gets too steep. I want a meadow, maybe crickets, maybe a flag flapping somewhere like soft noise. Maybe some cattle and dust devils on the road from town. Maybe a pancake house, tack shack on the tracks and bacon and eggs. I want some peace for a change. Damn it's been a while.
Well technically anywhere the road may go is on the grid, but that will be our little secret. I believe I can leave, and shut off the engine. But I noticed the wires seem to follow. In fact a glowing screen followed me when I first ran off to the strange ranges. Imagine pulling up to the great divide only to find it backlit by some lurching broadcast.
If I had time on my hands I might need lurching shadows on strange ranges too. I don't have anything against them, since they drove me there to begin with. The farther out I go the further it looks in. Cowboy poetry and rocks are intensely solo. The road always seems to end there, beneath the peak in a pile of rocks. Only a few odd prospectors and hands know the place, and if they don't then the animals know. Poetry only sniffs at it, or perhaps a soft ferocity of mountain rain. I wanna live there. I can picture it.
I wanna live in a hick town
One day I heard some people accusing each other of living in "hick towns", and I thought, "what's the point of that? It couldn't be that different, could it?" But when I had to get away, it needed to be different, you know, out there. Yes, the country folk must have thrown off the yolk of glow-screen cable noise and spoke only fluent Earth. Yes, that's how I pictured it, barreling down the road. Imagine that.
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hester_prynne
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