dispatches from the railroad

...or on descending into the inferno
well i believe the bastard is starting to take on the grey pallor of his fellow travellers. and i don't mena those fellow travellers that have sought to overthrow the government since the sixties. well maybe some of these people i ride with were once. but, then they grew up, stopped taking LSD, got married, got jobs that they didn't want because a philosophy and a buck fifty will just get you a crappy cup of coffee, had kids, moved out to the island, and somewhere along the way, the lights went out. probably on the morning that they realized that they had become exactly like their parents. then something just died inside of them. my only saving grace is that i don't think i've turned into what they seem to be. i've noticed that i'm seeing the same hapburgs every morning now.

maybe the whole weblog thing is what's keeping me off of the deep end of the pool. or maybe it's because i haven't bought "the swimmer" on dvd yet. damn that's a great movie. burt lancaster's finest hour as an actor.

or maybe it's that i still have some fire left in my belly. or maybe it was that magic burrito i had for lunch. hmmmmmm, who knows. maybe it's just simply that i still get outraged when some fucking fat lady passes wind next to me on the train and pretends like it didn't happen but i can still smell 20 years of bad eating habits offending my nostrils when i know for shit sure that it wasn't the well pressed arab gentleman sitting across from me who looks like he's in shape. can't be him.

all in all the bastard feels weirdest because you truly can't go home again because when you get back there you find out that anything that you liked has long since gone from here. i think that there's a drink for me in the near future. cheers and get on with your weekend shiteyes.

—the bastard