Road Trip

Posted in Answers, Cool shit, Rants, Reality, Stupid-heads by waldopaper on June 23, 2012

4000 Miles

Talking about my ggggeneration.


From Duckburg to Payson to Pocatello and back… we are still here.  Not for long maybe, but that dont matter now.  Patrick waldo and Hannah grin back at you through a window in time straight from 1968.  They got a place in Kansas that will blow your mind.  Josephine and Paul are up there in the high desert whoppin steel on down in professional prime.  Salt Lake City is a spiritual center whether we want to admit it or not.  Community is spreading along  continental spine and they see it coming.  Monkey born on the Serengeti cum bubbling thru Europe and Heidi child of the mountains all the way to Pocahontas.  He just wanted her.  High hoe its gardening we go.

He could have loved her and maybe he did.  But in a century it was all over 80 mph farting diesels down cobby interstates past lines of cheap-bean mutant monoculture stuffing industrial corn oil fuckheads.  Blapping butt lips and greenhouse gas on cell phones round the beltway 90 miles per Rush hour.  You get the feeling most would not last an hour out there in Bleeding Kansas or westward Civil War splatter.  In the west she rises like an angry queen… the land does… and She is filled with vengeance for children who have forgotten Her.  That would be the fuckheads.  They never call.  They never write.  Have a fucking volcano.  Thanks, fuckheads, for pissing off Mom.

We casually start food forest feeding grandchildren in a thousand years.  We smile at you grandchildren from beyond.  It is Solstice now and we knew what we were doing planting peace in the wilderness forty long years.  Today outside Duckburg rain came down and ended drought so earth mother goddess smiled.  Meanwhile in Payson they are building prairie schooner of the future.  The ’05 Prius was capable of 42 mpg in the worst conditions and usually averaged around 50.  She carries 10 gal. usable and have pumped 13 into her on many occasions.  She has 500-mile legs.  She would know how to use them better if profit-motive fuckheads stopped shitting in the skillet.

That is how sweet incense and peppermint peace and love became blighted with scorched-earth urban sprawl fuckhead shit flame over since Summer of Love run out of town for dancing naked in the fountain.   Stupid-heads dump metatoxapheneyergene in trenches behind strip malls.  Fuckheads pay them to do it “for a living” so as not to get Verdun on they nice clean fuckhead spats.  We are young and old alike who saw them do it and we are scattered all over the internet.   We slept on prairies and swept in lofts and now we take to the road to put faces in places with our cyber siblings.  The railroad is coming back and there will be depots of food and friendship to spread the Occupy.

They might be fuckheads and we vanish before their blind eye.  “Conservatives?”  Fuckheads.  “Patriots?”  Fuckheads.  “Pro-life?”  Fuckheads.  “Christians?”  Fuckheads… but not always.  There is a lot of space out there to go where the fuckheads aint.  We turn off their wet-fart radio and their fat-blat teevee.  Fuck em… but not really.  They have already fucked themselves and a bunch of us too.  But we will outlive them… even if we catch the next die-off out of here and join the Shoshone people below Pocatello. “Obama is a Communist?”  Fuckheads.  “Deficit reduction?”  “Entitlement reform?”  Fuckheads, fuckheads.  The show goes on, and we were born in a trunk in Pocatello Idaho.

It is a diminutive term of endearment:  fuckhead.  Like saying, “…don’t set the cat on fire, honey.”  Instead, “…well– you made a mistake, fuckhead.”  “Global warming is a hoax?”  Well, you made a mistake, fuckhead. Everybody is a “fiscal conservative,” fuckhead.  It is a form of address that should join our lexicon just like “son” or “young lady.”  We must speak to them like children… because they are; confused little stupid-heads raised by assholes who aspired to be fuckheads.  Their children are the apple of their red-eye rosebud.  So be nice to them.  If you want some adult conversation, try meeting some of the folk who have been monitoring the fuckheads right along with you for the past decade or so.

We happy few… we band of bothers! 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: