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Saturday, 30 August 2014 00:58

Black City

By 


Caffeine, codeine, and
Benzedrine. American Gothic and dharma desolation. We'd all been outsourced to the North. Doing long hall for 2-4. She had been burning good and long in this cold of September. The dark-side of morning moving aside he comes up on me at top speed over the shoulder. Full rack and healthy stag clipping alongside my speed. He makes a delicate wink at me and feels like childhood. This crisis was sleep deprived.


No choice but to push on a little further down, another 50. Knows there a stop ahead, 100 outside limit of Black City, the shortest route to what things will become anyways. I am full of deer and the altitude, I tell ya pardner, that mind, she's a hard one to tame, it's so despairing. The inevitable doom, the inevitable gloom, of Black City up ahead. I pulls her back and she bounds and brakes kind of soft into her knees.

The stop was a regular banality. The only place to go on holiday between the horizon line and Black City. It was a non-functional joint that doesn't really do anything. It was a kind of longing that starts the process and then someone comes out and asks what you need.

Last time I was through I left my hat behind.

"Check the lost and found shed by the tree."

Something was telling me to stay away from that tree. The only one for a distance. Damn, I was attached to that hat...mbeen holding onto that thing like my testicles. It had my spirit.

I opens the shed and I finds this little girl smiling in the lost and found. She mustn’t had very many friends and she was a tapping away at her little belly. God forlorn the child was wearing my hat.

Has the nerve to says to me, "I am going to put you in your cage when you get in, you're a very naughty, very bad man. This ain't no popularity contest here."

Kinda out of the ordinary.

She says: "....I have lost the will to sadness... I will come with you for free... a runaway needs latitudes." This is one miserable and complex... I don't quite know if I can run this trip together... I just don't want to fuck it too badly... theorising on misery with this little rimpoche.

So I says: "I ain't down with this North scene. I'm with the States, you dig?"

"Don't try and make it fit driving man... that is all of it to stop the brains... society without measure... mystery... the beauty is in our contradictions, our embracement, our absurd embracement. Imagination is inside the rainbow. My spine is a solid Smith-sewn book. My lungs the pages. My mind the dust."

"What are you going to do when the Winter comes?" I says.

When she smacked her belly it was like a crackling fire. Her instincts were despairing.

She had climbed into the truck, stills wearing my hat. That cute kid.

"What you hauling here?" she asks kinda like a man.

The workers for the NEXt factory.

How's many workers here?

Maybe 50. Maybe 100.

How's old is they?

They gots do be no older than 7, maybe 6 or 5.

Are's they all boys?

No... they be both boys and girls.

Where you bring them from?

They come from Taiwan. But I think they originally Tibetan.

Can I see them?

They are all asleep. They are all asleep when I pick 'em up and asleep when I drop 'em off.

So I goes around and opens the back and she crawls over the roof of the caravan hangs over the open cargo door hanging a red train lantern... swinging it sideways and that and some light shines over soft over some of them and there is some moths and mothball smells... and the childrens' eyes is still closed and with them big eyelashes and soft white cheeks a little rosy and there some blue in there some-wheres.

Girl crawls in with the other childrens' and blows out the lantern, goes to sleep I think.

Then she sings:

"The fox in the clouds. The white fox in the clouds. Sits and puts his claws on the ground. Makes a sound... makes a sound... once you know that little sound... you know he's sittin' put... sittin' put..."

So I close the cargo and make haste up in the cab. Me hat's on the seat and I puts her on and it brings her back into me real self and I starts her strong and rumbles on and pulls his wheel this way and pull and chugs her up onto the freeway. My mind's not right. Wack ass town.

Black City limits. Black is my favourite colour. And the anguish starts in and all the readings start on. I thinks the children are getting anxious. I am doubtless that I am detected and come to hear a calling and its just the closer speakers pumping out "Action-Action"... I feel we all hear it... And the first post is up... the screen reader comes up.=

1st Question:

Where are you going?

Answer:

NEXt factory.

2nd Question:

What are you going to do about it?

Answer:

Nothing.

3rd Question:

Please do something about it.

Answer:

I am apathetic, apathetic.

Trying hards not to panic, panic and I sweat a lot as usual (enough answers already, enough questions... my mind is angry and I stuff it down and bring up depression, self hate and boredom sets in slowly and I think that something is working cause their centre line starts to glow and then some speed bumps start up to slow her down and I starts sipping again on the juice... it's soft, bed like and boring.)
 
The truck stops @ NEXt and a queer mob gathers round... I think again about exposure and what are they going to do when the winter comes? And what about my little friend in the back. I stop myself from human sense, stop myself from human mind. It's miserable and complex here in Black City, and I have a runaway attitude. "I just don't want to fuck it up too badly."

I think I am going to get through it, cause I beat this thing before....I am impatient for things to change....I want to be where they are not waiting for me.

The childrens are walking in a line now up the way and I sees my little girl she has a bag in her hand. What's in the contents of the turquoise bag? The life is an apocalypse. And she drops the bag and all these marbles roll out and burst into life patterns... a ballast... Hosanna me a lantern, it's Yokohama. It's Nagasaki again in Black City. All nights end when the sun rises. Society without measure. Snow goose poesy. Nuclear winter. Cold children frozen into photographic shadows.

Black city.














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