TRAIN HOPPING STORY

OF COURSE THERE WAS NO HESITIATION. The eight ball of life had spoken, it spat “all signs point to yes.” And So at this time we migrate from our randovu place at union station, down town Los Angeles in the good heat of Almedia street. The berrings of skateboards delt and felt the gruff ground that carried us away to find “our train” somewhere in the out skirts of the rail yard.

Came to be I met Olaf Anderson somewhere in the cosmos, some how our paths came closer and closer like comets with out our knoege untill at last we did cross entilry.

Theres more to this but now we need our wits about us. The getto projects north east up Almedea street are known as the Dogtown Flats. It has little to do with skateboarding and does not see waves. We stick out as bad plad, were woven in just of place. Gabe is unsure and increasing unfamiliar to the visible locations. We are infact looking for a bridge that overs the LA river and lies next to the train tracks. “This may be the wrong road.” Faces that pass us are of older women of hard experience, they are not looking for more fear. We are avoided with eyes.

The moon above razor wire, creeps low large and yellow. Then something of a voice like a territorial terrier aggressive in it’s front expresses in english. “Yo! Wher da Fuck you goin paleys!?” This is haulting and brings our attention in the direction of the inquiring abrasion. A young thug Jimmy and some side by bitches lie layed in bling on the doorstep of the tree encroached domicile. The proch light cut by the trees casts there shadows straight at us. Observant I view Gabe as he steps up to friendly bat. “were looking for the footbridge over the river.” silence… Just in the dark the pupils and gold hanging articles all bling at the same time. This due to a car pulling in to park. The male with thin shoulders under a thick coat could not be more than 17, his hooker clad cocumbines couldn’t be much more either. We know were in the lions den. I linger and listen hard to the silence that is growing too long. In that tension I can‘t help but grin , hopefully just on the inside. Fear is of the possibility but - “do you know if it’s down here?” quickly Dog barks back “theres nothing like that here, you better get the fuck out!”

With a brief moment to concure we dicide to face an about face, for we know a houl form that young hound would bring all the Dogs down like a violent catroon death Thanxginivng. Our foot steps make the same noise as before but backwards. “wise kid, wiser than us.” Without much words we carry ourselves back passing the childrens school, the walls are thick with graffitti the razor wire enclosed campus, there is no way of knowing what lies beyond the walls, as I walk I hope the sun shines brighter in there than out side but I doubt it. I think of the lives that make this immediate world run and give respect with a silent nod.




Back on Alemedea we kep moving hoping Gabe will find something more familiar. We do. The skateboard is one of the most nessary tools I own. With out it my life would be a very different thing and not for the side og good. This plank with wheels is not only transportation in a portable way but is a seat, a lunch table, a dolly. The convex side of the bottom cradles a neck nicely when sleeping. Very importantly it is a visible wepon and get away car. Someone is less likely to mug a baceball player when he is carring a bat. But a skateboard is a respected walking stick and immediately an opnion is added to your first empressions, and that opnion can go either way, and the best people will smile. It’s a holy thing that’s no shit.

Once over the river and thorugh the jungle we sit on the other side we then drop down out of sight under the street light. It’s a nice scenic bit in front of us, the Alemedea bridge crosses to the right, the slanted spray canned cement shoreline gleams down the left forever in the man light. We sit comphertably on debries and rocks. The jorney has begun. We are weary of silent footsteps that cross above us on the bridge. We spend sometime there, contemplation intoxicates us or vice versa.

If one chooses , I choose, one can streach over the cement supports in crossing. Straight down is a vacant bed weged between walls. It’s a 15 foot drop. Blankets reselembing the ragged and a coat no body. I wonder the dreams. For a reason I do not question, Gabe uses the last of a can of shaving cream to write on the bridge. It is a dripping “Olaf Cares” An hour or so later I accidently lean aginst it. The first of the muck is on me now, so is a smile. By the end of this trip I know I will be a good collection of messes.

Gabe is the professor of the “train hopping hobos 101” class of witch I am attending. He scratches his long chin, and wears thick black rimmed glasses. He is not a full time teacher however was contracted as part of the agreement to teach when he enrolled. To most a most unusual subject in the world of humans, to me from minute one was familiar.

The packs are good and light by instruction, one change of clothes mild grub and our individual extras. With contionual joking of abstract takes us for two hours or so. It must be 11pm +. Good times but there is now a restlessness. We rise and move down the way, along the rails walk the length of the river. The no trespassing sign is clearly only a suggestion. I have always had a hard time akonloeging written “do not do” signs. It’s never completely dark in Los Angeles at least in the last 20 years. The clouds reflect the city light like a borad soft light. The moon throws her glow in in full contrubition. The rocks I will find are always the same from here to every state under the trax. Black no longer molten lava that dried quickly. Steps from obsidion but spirit is near. The quicker lava dries the denser the texture.

The Graffiti lies thick and Gabe points out some ones “roll“. Rolls are large tags using paint rollers. This requires balls speed and equipment.
I feel the paint on occasion of walls who have been painted and I like the smooth texture covering coating and calming the contours of the wall.
Gabe knows of graffitti to deeper than most of my circle. I enjyo the unknown fingers and I find the feness of the spray can art a wonderful expression in true art with anonymity.
While in a yard there are many things to watch out for. One, watch for moving trains. Two, beware of the bull. The point is here to look around and not get spotted. The one known as “the bull” is clean and white buffed by turtle wax. Like most anmial bulls he can usallly be seen very visibly, it‘s horns act as a yellow spinning light. Usally and fitting there is one per yard. If he sees you he could charg you, and if you are got, you will bleed with a trespass and do not pass ticket, possibly some other wounds. Point is look around and “look whose looking around, wrap around that.” But still the attuide is one of correctness and ignorance. Surley we have done nothing wrong. Really? Oh sorry. It’s familiar. Gabe has never rode out of LA and we walk examining. Different ways of guessing were cars are going are like this: Typically blue and green cars are eat eastbound. Lumber full loads are most likely continuing south from north. Crate carriers stacked 2 high are empty and mostly going toward the closest port. Single stacks are likely full and leading away from port. Tracks extending out of the yard point hopefully in the direction. If you walk far enough you might know, and ya might not know. Being open to both sides of the coin toss is an important trait to have and devlope or you might loose your mind. Later in the travel we see scrawled on a train “first trip total bust wanted San Deigo ended up in Chicago” poor bastard.

After more confusion, Gabe is reading the trains, we find we if we use a useful vantage on the hill top we could more easily view everything. Leading the way the weeds my path gives way to a camper in these low woods. Unsure exactly of his head and tail enclosed under covers, I notice his bag and bicycle. He may be asleep but I’m sure he heard us coming. He may be in wait under the fabric sweating like a posionus snake, poised with a pistol or pericing object. We do not disturb the nesting grounds and retreat our footsteps. There are risks to be weighed or one might loose everything. There is so much life to gain.

We observe the watch tower hopiong no one is watching our observation. We get further into the dizzy maze of the trains tightly packed. I am completely confused where these things may or may not go or why they are here. I have no idea of his mind business until he clues me in then I get one. Faith exists here. Hopping over staying low we move through many canyons of carriers to a now noisy beast and climb in a gondola carrign a semi truck trailer.


The noises are talking to him, I hear them and attempt disection to fathom it’s birth. My imagnation takes it to comical elephant places. These cars are commonly called tetnis boxes They are designed to house objects that come from port, anything from full size metal boat boxes to semi trailers, scrap, metal piping, cement toubing, what ever they want they scoop into the hull. In this one the ground is not complete. There is this risk of falling to dead danger. We stand on planks of metal 10 or so inches wide. We stand at the front of the moving vessle like kings, the elbow elbow wrist wirst thing feels appropealte. It is not too much wider than my skateboard that lie and rocks in this space with me. Our bags are shoved back farther. There are flat beams that connect across. To talk to each other we must cross these beams in vital footsteps. A solid smile expands as we chuga choo with greater speeds over the land that is Glendale, the linear crosshatched backgorund blurs by. 6 falgs is soon to be passed. The land grows natural. It is dark with bright moonlight. Mother nature shapes the glow around everything. We are now defined in large common space. The moon has creeped higher proving itself as a nightlight. Gabe has gone to bed without word. He crawled under the truck trailer and went to sleep. I breathed the air forced in my lungs and thumbs feel the rusty box with my fingertips. A feeling of freedom exists here. The mini moments along the way. Each click of the track gives me reason. A great spirit is here, the US America was built on the railroad. These are those rails. A rarely celbrated track into histoy. The spirit of the men who pounded spikes and rode as passangers to a new world, bandits they were all here at a point. There atoms here still in shadows. The morales could go either way and mistakes were made but the passion of raw and old freedom grows here.

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Another hour or more we slide under clouds and I take the que to sleep. This was the dirtiest train the rust was not dusty to the eyes but not afraid to stain your hands and clothes. This made touching near your eyes a touchy subject. I liked the grime that rubbed into the cloth, postcards, souvenirs. I hope to never be too clean for too many extended periods of my life. A minor condition in my back does raise concerns as I do love the soft lofty lovely bed that is mine. This is rust metal shooting down tracks at hightened speeds, as the rythem is tribal tonight and raw and I feel as if falling asleep I am in front of green jungle with a holy chant and a fire. This world of rails is new to me. Some how it is natural too.

I dream hard of something fast, I do not know the shape but the color is fast. It moves so quickly like a wrapping blur, exiting and very much apart of my conciouness. It is not something to be feared but to scream a frim hold of, and become it. This dream is not secuencial though I experienced it that way. An idea way too fast for emotion, no too fast for emotion, and very pure. I think I experienced this in an awe for many hours and I woke to the loving five-sopmething morning light that I see between the bouncing white colored semi trailer and rust colored railroad car.

Between that and the walls on the rail, car soft morning sky lies on the other side, it‘s aspect ratio changing with the rythem. I pop my head and see the city sign of Delano. My mind wishes to stock reserve rest and Olaf is still a bed. I have found a grove in the metal where the tilt meets the wall and floor. Mind you I am minding the large open holes that lead to speeding hand laid railroad ties below. A glass bottom boat with sharks of splinter and no glass. “hands and legs inside the unit at all times please” well most times.

Perches are taken very much in the A.M. on the crest of the still speeding train. I don’t guess for the time because it has little use to me. This wind this ride it holds immediate and true value here. My eyes hold the wind with feirceness. The hair. The world is so fucked up. In a perfectly natural line it goes. And where it stops, hell no body but no body knows. Crops and farm land push by. The pink changes to yellow and later that day into sunburn red.

Less than later that day my shutter is finding it’s way into this world. Seenry is unforgettable or so I wish. I hope to capture sets of atoms still as proof of the structure. We exist.

Not to sound cheezy but I have a romance with the lense and I have found a new love. This 28 - 300 lens. I can reach strong or wade wide in the weeds. Also love and props to the K-1000. I find myself viewing the world thourgh enveloped in soft focus and fstops of the super zoom. Eyes and existence exists and I find my self securely bloked off the side with the background of mountains in the frame.

The long train’s tail move constant behind me. My frame is of the sky and mountain with the top of the choo choo in side. With a bump my frame finds the ground and also finds the white truck that loiters not overly far. I snap as I duck inside. “oops shit I took a shot at em”, authority doesn’t like any kind of shooting in there direction. Gabe has the serious eyes with the second yet, naturally secure with the world that presists. “I shot them and they are not dead.“ At that reaction that I had found the menace, I had found the face of literal and immediate consern. The deer better move when it sees the headlights matter of factly faster when first identifying it. Else you’re a deer. The train trax right along uncaring. We have no choice but to follow suit. Our eyes eye the town and eye a full caliber cop shop. Chalk one more chip on the oh shit list. We hope the train will keep us moving on though the town. The train stops. We deside to move cars because we know they know. We make down the tracks. To our right is the high barbarbed fence. The left the train. The right, on the road is an officer of the law. His u-turn tells us he wishes to tell us something. He idles near us. His hokey silver glasses reflect spherically the whole sceen from his side. “you guys, what are you doing?” I make no noise as I wish to see the professors predicate. “Just moving through, looking at the trains.” His words are loud enough to not question meaning and some how flat as if too bland to continue the conversation. “Just stay away from my fence.” no more words or visual dealings he leaves a modest cloud behind his exit.

The ground moved as rocks near the long thunder ship of our jorney. The sun is still light and early as we move in the gravity of the train. No sign or thoughts becides the predesary visual threats that lay behind us. We move quickly with sacrificed speed for noise, we know that, it is unspoken. To our right is a high fence with razor wire, it is apperent we should not be sitting much less moving like vagabonds along it’s interior. I know they saw me, most they saw a fool waving the long lense around until after sometime realized the enemy’s postion and reclused into the train. Foul as they were they stopped us. We tried to keep moving and I think successfully kept a forward momentium as the white chevy four door with yellow workbench truckbed assembly arrived on the oppsite side of “our” train. The thick amn with size proportionent beard may as well have belted a fog horn as his voice traveled thick but with soft aspects of friendly at our immideate direction. “Hey kids, what’s going on?” I let Gabe field the questionare as he did so eloquently with the officer extraordinare. “just passing on, looking at the trains.” My eyes could not but look and observe both parties almost in unison. Gabe wsith his face fowread straight ahead, the harry guy thick with riders, workers of the rail, each was different this I know but it was the face of brother thick that my face stuick to like clumbsy peanut better. There was years in his face there was wild and calm, like a man familiar with barfights. His scope oif harmony had traveled far and not forgotton humor. I keow this as my face sees the head. Not his, but of the doll now massastacted in paint or some shit stuck like twisted on the attenna of there vessle. “I dig you doll!” this was off guard. Questions of faces looked apon me. I remind with a nod and “up top… nice”. With little but still appreciated pacing the next question of business is addressed. “you guys shooting the pictures? Gabe calls “yeah we were shooting.” Me: I was yes.” Impressed the wigged momster reacts “ What size lense is that?” “300” I say with a bit of instinctual pride. “shit man that’s huge” “yeah” and that was it. “be safe” he calls and the fellas moved on. The cop had only told us to stay away form the fence. These guys did gave us the OK. A little dumbfounded at our good luck I thank the heavens with a nod and we find an end of a flat car with a port box on it and the train moved out of Doge, or wherever.

Not was I scared but observant. When the cop had made his entinions clear I muttered to Gabe, “um looks fun, what now?”. “walk and ignore as long as possible, play dumb.” Great plan feels right, philophsys trancend even in Rome. Moving on. We stop again, now very exposed on the car that would hold lumber or piping. The ends expose to air at the “where should be a wall” but there is no wall. Only us and our waves to small town crossings the red lights and “ding dings” old model pickups wait with farmer faces and such behind the wheel of there own life. Prespective seems key here. Different things form different points of life. What is the cell creation to the muscle? A soul to the globe? But then I find my self thinking too hard. There must be something with that “non thought” Gabe mentions it too. I agree. The dream, somethings that are of this world are too fast for this world… anyway back to facts.

Gma sutter

Good God Holy! This bastard doesn’t stop. Mad trucker. Peter poppin. Jimmy get goin. Mans on a mad mission. Most trains stop ever four or so, so as to take a leek get a sixpack, something. No this anmial rammed on continuing our direct journy form LA to present moving point. The hours grew angry the day blasted on. The car we obtained was maybe a step down in abisibility to hide and ability to provide shade. When we thought of moving back the long chain reaction of jolt set us into motion. One car aginst each other, snap. Our car sat on the flat where a boat box also sat leaving about nine feet of flat. A grove introduced to my skateboard very well. The ground around grew more uneven and ever greener. The growth here is the majority, open landscape closterphobicitized. Green organic mesh with brown sideswipes slide by.

The water ran out, Gabe had lost his supplies somewhere huring the night, the food was bleek. Shade on this steel unobservant servant was minimal. Only when the angle was correct the shade would exist. Even then you had to squeeze your face into it. The call to wear the hoodie was close and constantly changing. I wish I had a tee shirt to make a tent with. As the wind would rip by for two hours or so one of us had to yell, had to release the toxins that welled in our frustration. We could release a chunk for each other, with a long raw hwoowhhwwhhwhowo! Or a swear, plead or shouted prayer. And then the hours marched on. At a point I was sitting in a spot near the connection clasp. This is not smart. It was too hot to care. Gabe was swung around the corner into oncoming air for cool refreshing elements. His hat blew, I wonder how I caught it. My mental mess was not quick now. Still filtered through this the bueaty hit me all over and I could not and did not want to shut it out by misery. I actually find the good in misery, because its mostly tempery. The busty rivers and sweet creeks below us taunted us like nothing else. The lucid suspussuion of a jump was mentally discussed in our selves and quickly dismissed due to death and camera damage. The water in the larger bodies had suitable depth but a nasty timing would have to be ultra perfect to jump between the wishing by trussles. On the light creeks. Hope a thorn bush catches you because you’d miss the water and if you did hit wet the rocks were not far below. Nope, the only thing is to ride this thing till the machine is done. I try to eat peanut butter and it wont go down. It keeps as a dry stubborn ball tacking around in my mouth and it won’t go. I spit it out. I watch as it falls and hits unwanted and changing shapes. I’ve needed to make the golden arch for a while now, but I feel “the more liquid in me the better.” It’s hour 6, I hold out growing a darker yellow inside and let the roar go out instead. Oh the madness drags on and on and on an don . To blither states as my eyes hang over the corner holding to the grip I got. The blasting keeps me going, it’s the equipped luxury air-conditioning. The ride smashed into our faces. It was a most smiling piece of hell. We knew also at first with out words, it is starving us, testing us, and pushing us only to reward us. But for how long. I’m glad for the times of tourture, it lets you know you’re decitated to a great vacation. If the hero dosent bleed a little what fun is his jorney? It has been known that there was a town with magic water. A good stop to stop at.

An hour before dusk is where he dropped us. In the tender town of Densmor CA. About six miles form Mt Shasta. This total of trek from LA a solid 21 hours. With typhoid be dammned our train stopped and we walked or rolled toward the creek gitty and idiotic with a grateful madness. Our once dulled conversation due to battery drain was over, recharged by the unmoving ground below us we blabbed and sang stupid.

On the road reaching the creek, a gas poppin engine is heard making racket. It rides around the corner revealing a fullsized trike with a light engine attached. Beards are the theme here. Big ones. He wears crazy goggles and zips by inspiring us. “in this town your everyday anarachrist has time to tinker”. Just around the bend a solid cement bridge rolls under. I do not enjoy or practicality pay attention to all the no trespassing signs that lay on the river properity. With out thought we toss ourselves under the bridge. It step stones and under the bridge the rocks drop off fast into the power of the current. Before anything our heads go in. Under the gargle I hear my mouth open and water is forced downstream into my throat. My dirty hair freed from gravity and brushed by the current. We wet our shirts and take a standing bath.

Food is next and immediate. I want eggs, toast umm I want breakfast. We find pizza. Best pizza in the world, or so it seems after the train. A pitcher, and some streaching. A big screen plays news in the dining area. I try not to see it. I watch as families see it instead of talking. The employees have a rude to each other catch phrase that I took to be offencive to eachoterh until I see it’s just shit talking. “some time today!“ they let loose at each other. The girl taking our order is a heafty still lovely lady of 16 or 17. I joke with her and everything seems easy. I am half drunk off the 21 hour endurance. They have Canadian bacon, LA does not. The melting goodness squashes into our molars and extracts the well needed nutrients. We eat all but 2 pieces each, those reserved for a wholesome breakfast, packed in tinfoil. We loiter unbothered in the pizza shop enjoying a second round of suds. Our bodies are feeling the regunivation of cheese bread and beer. We dicide to find a place to stash our belongings. To then explore this godsend town. First we don’t make it far. Out side the pizza parlor a drinking fountain made of rock some many a lot of years ago and is pumping water constantly. When I drink from it, it almost takes hold as if some strong energy exchange. It’s powerful and like a glutten vampier I take as much as I can hold. I look my gaze to unhidden footsteps to a man with the great smile. He does not smile because of us, I’m sure he was smiling way before this corner and way before he woke today. He dresses to youdel. Red nontraditional with white trim. He weilds a walking stick, my guess his age of 65 but the water has held his youth. “best water in the world” this he says with out awaiting a reaction, just wanted us to know what we were into. And with that, his state of this union address he looked again forward so strong, we couldn’t react. We watched the most of his exit untill he was small down the long street.

Gabe and I just sat and were content for the time. Our skateboards under our asses provided a familiar chair. Few people in number milled around, size proportionate I suppose. Town of about 2000. There are no stoplights that blink and dictate. We are free to skate with out too much traffic in the streets. In our wandering we notice the slope of the town and take in it’s old archatcher. The novel holesome goodness of the shops. A relastate company on the main drag has a banner printed in dot matrix the font large and printed on seprate sheets of computer paper and taped together. The desks are a mess there is a soulness in there. The dentist office has a large window, a skeleton sits in a chair. A fly fishing store. Gabe likes to fish. He finds a lot of value in living off the land surviving alone.

Off the main drag we spy a rooftop easily accessible, but very visible. There are smaller roofletts that jut out and it is decided that if we set up behind it we will not be seen from the road. The building is on a tremendous hill infact our postion on top of the hill is higher in elevation than is the roof. We place our properity in the decided spot and roll out our bags. We lie ontop and ponder the expancive galixy above our foreheads. The view of the stars is infinite and beyond humbling. Those small dots we see existing are in actuality massive beyond comphrention and eternally burning with all enthusium.

A ten minute rest does us well. We decide to cover the town again. This time we a different route and as we had before. The curbs are highter. We do some skating. A building is open and we tend toward the roof top. We find it’s not a wise choice to go out. The timeing isn’t right and we had been spotted. Plus the exit is a small window. Out again we are near the rr tracks. The rail gave birth to this town. Before roads, before cement, before light bulbs, and strcco the rails sang here. Here they are respected here, and celebrated.

We climb through areas of dark and boards, we try little alleys and then the strip again. We cross and up some old cement stairs with galvanized piping as handrails, for a reason the stairs took me. I was absorbed in the cracks and the life around that it seemed to have seen. The well placed use of plumbing tube. The joints that held it. I pictured a hot day and the hands wearing overalls that put this togheter. Gabe has hone ahead. I take my time. The goal here is to bomb to the bottom of town via the rolling boards. The first hill section is a doozy it’s dark and the road is clumbsy. Down past we continue and after 3 streets the town diminishes toward the road to the river. With no great speed our skates send us unto the datkness.

The road is completely swallowed. For kicks and for faith we let gravity roll us slowly. Our eyes do not adjust quickly to the near pitch dark. Gravity will push us no longer so we walk into the presents of light by a trickel waterfall. The silence must be nice but Gabe is on some kick. I enjoy our conversations but he needs as well as I do to listen to the stream. He does. We find keester residents on the great stone wall that shapes the powerful river. Later do I find out that the water melts off Shasta and sinks through volcanic rock for 500 years before splooshing out, this is what I am told. But there is something magic about this water. Closing my eyes I make a conscious attempt to hear the shape of the river. I breath deep and open my self up. We see lights in the wather after some moments and we see them the same. The rest of what I felt and saw is personal.

Gabe is spooked by the strangness of it all, and it is thick with strangness. We go. I want to skate the town once more. Gabe says he’ll meet me at the drinking fountain. I marvel on the stairs a moment. Perhaps I took too long for I find no Gabe at the fountain. I drink deeply. I figure he is in the bar up the way and deciding that I must not miss that seen I go in for a drink.

The door opens in front of me. The five people in the bar turn and look holding the moment. First one foot then the other then stop. The moment is not to move with out some action. “Pleasant evening” I say this with enthusium to combat there shock and awe approach to me. Still there is a pause. The old man of the bar. “well I guess” he says this with the thickest of sarcasim. This is the realses for the folk to turn aournd. The bartender takes his sweet time moving toward me. Oh I love it. The misservice, quite a complmaint that I could make such an impact. “jack and coke”. There are two girls and a guy, they cmae together. I figure the man was hoping to just take one girl out. I figure as he destroys all hope of tonights loving in saying “I didn’t realize I’d have to spend 4 dollars on each of ya”. This is priceless and the girls want to go home, the man does not want to leave with claims he is too drunk. I make some what I thought to be comicial comment to one of the girls. She is discusted I might even address her. She says “As If”, ohooo I love it, she wishes she was valley bread. My mere presents off kilters there whole existence. With out words I am a serious force. The guy keeps complaining and the girls make him leave. I nurse my drink. I can’t stamd the fun. I must be a grinning. The two stare at me, but not at me as they never look at me, this would address the fact I exist. But clearly I do not, I am invisible. I enjoy. I see this blanket I’ve laid. They, especially the old one, they twist and cringe and ignore. After a forever silence the old one breaks it. “Guess I’m gonna go home an watch TV.” he says setting his beer to the bar top. This is a very lonely statement and I feel for him. Immediately I imagine his home ridden with no signs of a womans touch. The is more silence. “why don’t ya just watch the TV here? You can change the channel.” “well I can’t fall asleep hereI picture his wirey face propped aginst his fist, the beer still in his other hand. The light of the tube blinking on him. He will probly die this way. Silence… the barkeep polishes some glasses. They keep close. The keep tells of his closing chores that “take about as long to do as say em, GUESS I’LL BE OUT EARLY! This last sentence is aimed like a scatter gun not directly at me but close enough to catch the shrapnal. I finish my drink still slowly and let the silence drag on. I leave before they get to into leaving. I don’t want them to spot my sleep spot.

I do sleep and deep and full of peace and comphert. I do not rember my dreams existing but I am sure they did. I feel the sun before I see it. I keep my eyes closed absorbing the unseen. I feel my sunburnt face skin under the lamp. I almost open my eyes but decide not to. No instead I pull my sleeping bag over my face and let the sanua effect carry me back to slumber. Again I awake. I am now awake. I sit up and view the rail yard from our view. I am restricted to movement less I be exposed to the public eye of Densmier. I get into some streaching very slowly and breath in the seenery. Gabe is on the nap still. The world I am realizing is not as small as they say. Gabe arises and is tall. He quickly shrinks, laying down a comment of the cop car confounding our exit.

“Hey!” we know the voice. It is Mr. Unhappy, but we do not react to it. The footsteps climb a latter and are heavy. On the roof they clomp smoothly with a gerth. The shadow is behind him as I see his paint splattered shoes and extra clean socks. His pants ride a touch high and I tilt my head all the way back making eyes with the heavy handy man. He wears dark glasses and is drinking a pepsi cola very early in this day. “Hey!, What the hell are you guys doing up here?” We are quiet. “Don’t you understand this is private properity?” Looking regretful I say “we didn’t mean any trouble”. His gurad lowers and he looks around. “yer lucky my borther isn’t here, he’d be irate.” We give out sorrys and contunue packing. “you better hurry.” he leaves but not too far, his footsteps tell me he is at the ladder but not down it. I could see him if I looked. I don’t. Bags packed we stroll to our drop point to meet the brother. He has just exited his big red pickup truck. He is leaner than the other brother and a little more quick paced. He comes on us before I can jump down. We are slow moving and polite. He reads a speech. “what the hell are you doing on my roof?” his hands are on his hips. The unoccupied cop car is behind him. He is waiting a response. “we just slept up there so we would be safe.” “we met your borther he said you’d be pretty mad.” “we didn’t damage anything.” His face softens. “I’m not mad, just we had a lot of problems with kids going up there. That’s why we put up the bars.” In fact those bars made it slightly eaiser, I didn’t tell him. “yeah sorry” “didn’t you guys know that is a police station?” The building that the cop car is in front of, the building that looms over us and that we were in plain view the whole time, yeah that was a police station. To our surprise we react. The look of “oh shit” is all over our faces. The gentleman believes this look to be punishment enough. “you guys come in on the train?” “yeah,” “where from?” “sothern calfornia, were headed up to Protland.” it’s always important not to say Los Angeles, it can give you a big city wrap you don’t want. It is also important to tell him you have a location of desire and that that location is not at the time Densmier. They know you’ll blow through and be gone.

We find a place behind a woodstack to stash our belongings. We have little fear they will be tampered with. Very few people harbor ill will. Those who do will leave the higher impact. None is felt here and we walk to find a peaceful spot.

Off the side of any road here is bueaty found. We step only 11 feet into the brush and the landscape drops with immediate fashion. Vines and bush, pine trees and spider webs decorate the fall. At the bottom we see the beloved tracks. Some morning philophsy and mental connections are drawn, some pizza in tinfoil is eaten. The spider web is similar is symbol to life, we create an extention out on wich we feel vibrations that mean a number of things. Food, fear, wind, what ever. We can build up and have it destroyed. Usaly but not always do we bask in the middle of our safety. It is a small and to most a meaningless comparison, the way most bits of philophsy effect peoples travels. In quiet we listen to the sunlight that falls in chunks through the trees and know the magic river creek is close at hand. Mindless wander allows for the finest finds. We walk down a steep road feeling good about things. At the bottom we cross the trax and onto the bridge. Then under the bridge. I go immediately to the water where I find the water over flows a shallow bit on a flat rock. My toes exposed I stamp into feeling the water surface devide allowing the submersion of my skin. The water contracts my skin cells tighting them due to the cold cold cold. I sit on a rock and drop a deep thought into the well. Gabe is on other missions. He has found treasure under the bridge. A bounty of Hobo markings and discarded tin. Scribed into the wall are dates and figures and words of advice. The ground has a train blanket and a campfire existed some time before. Some of the letters are crude in shape others could be the safitication of collagerify. Skull and crossbones, Jesus. Everyone is here. This collection points out that this is a “safe spot” and in a good likely hood a good spot to hop. We pop back towards the town.

In this day Gabe enjoys coffee from a coffee cart set up under an abandoned gas station awning. The tip jar is letting us know it is for college. Small trinkets and the glowing smile of both the mother and son let us know these are the good Christians. Apon inquery it is known the lad wishes to become a priest. This is honorable we suppose and Gabe clangs some change in the bucket. I need juice. They had none. With their direction we head continuous up the drag to where the residential areana begins. On the cusp is the genral store. Inside we find good vibes. People are happy to see us and obliged to assist even in idle conversation. The man stocking is singing. “keep that music” I say and he smiles unwavering from his tune. I find an apple and some orange juice. Gabe some crackers and something else. Gabe enjoys random litature more than my self. He is a quick reader and will pick up most anything and give me the skinny of what he read. I pick up some when he does and give it a once over. But these here, these are good hearted political speaking runs, speaking about the blasphemy our Bush has brought to demoracy and to freedom. They are almost all this way. Good people. One talks of nature and jibberish and politics, pretty much in that order. Laced through the mumbo are finely detailed drawings of different creatures, mostly residing in the crustation family. Some we know to be real and some so fantastic we wonder about, but the all mighty does have quite the imaganation. We sit for a spell enjoying our harvest. A fat goth natured boy is walking with leather bracelet and cigarette he looks sick of town. He approaches us. “what’s up?, you guys riding the train?“ it’s obvious to all in the town. We nod and make friendly for a few seconds. Gabe wishes for a smoke, he gives us two assuming I want one. We bid him well and off he goes. Next from his direction a father and three daughters dottle down. He lets them roam free, a quality not always found in socity. Many a men and women will try to control the point of distance and manner of walk. Bravo to this man. These girls each possess a personality of their complete own. This is the obvious. Observating them the oldest holds a responsibility of maturity and walks hand and hand with father. The furthest little girl out fornt is the middle one. She spins about and is a princess. The youngest lags behind and is none too happy of the trip. Her “ho hum” approach makes me smile more than the rest. Her shoulders fallen so low with dispair. Her feet pourposuly drag creating the “shlup” sound. Like a good Dad he does not scold her for scuffing her shoes nor does he try too hard to comphert her for her inconvience. The father and oldest daughter must have been speaking of something but in our prestets had halted dialogue all together, to smile at us. They move across, down and across the intersection. A scruffy lanky boy with huge headphones stops near the family and removes the headset to speak with a light minute. Hand gestures make a vauge sentence sturcture that continues until the customary wave and send off. Then Lankey Mr. strolls, his cord beginning from his head it longs-winds its way past his knees before sliding up to 1989 Magnavox CD player he carries in hand. He walks slowly I imagine to the relation of some intent rythem. He arrives at the electrical box myself and Mr Olaf have set up on. “can I get one of those cigarettes?” asks Lanky Mr. The extra we had just gotten changes hands again. With a thank and brief inquiry of our destanation he travels off.

We again walk on. More wandering but it becomes apperent to ourselves that we would like to leave. Toward the trains the early afternoon is taking place. A great wooden building abaned grows old across the tracks. One of the window frames is drooping out of the structure. The screen is a wild design of aged wisdom it’s checker boards have a natural no longer man made look. It is not long before a slow moving train mellows through we throw our belongings on and hop. Success and we pick up speed.

And the country changed, and I saw it, and it mattered not to anyone under the sky but us. As blurs we zipped by the sprigs bearly noticed. And the flats became quick into forest, the hills rose out of the ground of god, and the church of the trax humbled me. The long ever panning landscape moves like a mansurcript today boxcar view left to right. Gabe and I are our own, he puts to work with shoe polisg writing “Olaf Cares” on the walls. He also leaves note of the greatness of Densmier. This is his art. With out it we wouldn’t have met.

Apon moving to Los Angeles I was taken back by the amount of art scribed on cement walls, immovable tempory canvasas. Some to me was solid art even if I could not desypher the dilect or letters or intention. Still unknown fingers had it that much inside them to blast with writable reasourses illeagilly on the walls of the world forcing people to look. Billboards should be illeagle. A name stuck out for me most magestigly. “olaf cares” this message to me was that of love and true carring. To me it was “Jesus loves you” recycled to make sence of some modern day. Many days passed and his work came from small corners of street wanderings supporting my psyche. I wondered from behind what being these came. I knew with confidence that a day would come where we would cross paths. And in a way a few years ago we did.

My heart. I met when I was 20. Too young say the wise. My own father and mother met this demise. Too young too earily. My soul knew we could go down this road to the end, that with this soul I could some day grow old with. But as it was at 22 we were too young too earily. I had to break it off. I took a major hack and tried. We had never execpt only for one breif stupid moment had argued. We stayed together. My mind knew and it tortured my heart and there was a heavy war. And it did end. And I loved her. My factual mind has never fathomed a rainstorm on this earth that could match the downpour in my heart. She wished with delicate wishes I could sign a form of some type to say I would be back for her. Inside my self the paper had been notarized long ago. A horrific roar I let shaking my brain physically and I climbed to a roof top leaving her below. And she was gone. With a marker fit for a battle I wrote a poem or prayer or annomyus expression addressed Olaf on the radio transmitter at the top. It was delivered when went to the roof to unknownly collect it. But we did not meet that year.

Still I saw his works and the clouds moved across the Venice sky. It was not a topic on the fore front of my existence to meet him, nor was it that important that I would. It was something I knew. There was no question, it was only filed back inside me and left. That was then. Now he is oppsite on the raised flats of a gondola mezmorized by god, while I am here.

The morning I was sure to meet him, I did not. I felt like a tracker in this urban jungle. Out of all the chances that this would happen I caught it. After a graveyard shift I return appling the gear selector into park and exiting. Curbside there scribed was a wonderful dripped paint peice that read, “Olaf Cares”. The paint dripped down to the puddle swirling like a universe. I was later to appricate that it held both our attentions. If it swirls… yes it was wet. I stuck my finger into the day glow and felt the hunt was near. Immediately as prrof I created a smiley face next to his name in paint. “OOOLLLAAAFFF!!!!” at 6 am from the back of my throat I rythed with my fists neatherandraling in the air. People, civilized people were walking their dogs. I ran like a lost lunatic to there faces. “Are you OOLLAAFF?!?”. The shock was enough to let me no longer waste my time with them, and off I went. Very confident I went to sleep knowing are time would come.

On a day of no importance, my self and a friedn walked the trash alleys in Venice. We had been previously to the graffiti walls and I had saught intrest with a few heads about documenting the street antics. This may have dialed the universal phone number, I don’t know. But we were in fact, completely on time and in the direct place on this sphere. A long armed figure I saw illuding the function of a chainlink fence that guarded a closed and completely taken over building. Vigalantie posters and stickers spray to all ends streached. He had chosen a highth on the pole and he streached. And with timing we passed his friend and rounded the corner. Mild intrest wished to see the writings of the figure. Go figure it was him. I didn’t know it would come today, and it hit me all at once. 20 seconds before or after in this city of multi millions and the walk would just kept on going. Out of my skin I nearly attack him. My long lens on my camera is a threat to them. I am not to be trusted. But explatnation and a slowing of my enthusium regain a copeable scope on the meeting. It is decided by fates. This was not completely expressed or the extent even known for some time. The first kick it was at my house. There was still a consern mostly from the friends whom he trusted that I was in fact, “the man”, “the fuzz” some funkey 21 jump street dective. I showed them some of my work. This cooled that intrest.

Next we met at Julians house. We talked as talkers do over fine smoke and drink. Books were a subject that moved me into telling them about “You Cant Win” by Jack Black. It is an auto-biographal about a theif, train hopping hobo. This was of course a gift from that one who introduced me to my heart, who now resides in Portland. Well it is fact that Gabe has ridden trains a number of times. Immeaditly I tell him he has to take me. By the code of his train mentor that ment he did have to take me and teach me. To keep this spirit alive. I could have said this as a unpresuable action but I was prescient. We only talked a few times after our meeting via some phone somewhere. The dates were locked down and moved. Proper purchases were made arrangements met. Once more we collected at the brewery downtown for a giant art display. We were mad and rose amounts of laughter hell. From the rooftops we dissussed the train yard, one was convently located with in very good view. A short time later we are here. This is how I met Olaf Anderson, AKA Gabe.

The train’s thunder shoots into the ground causing grains of dirt to wiggle and spin. The tracks kalck kalak. Today I find a intergetic beat in it. There are several seprate happenings and the long bridge shoots us over a lake. I can see into the depths it looks very clean. There are forms of green and deep pits of brown. Imagine how many life cells are down there. Birds fly there magnificence.

Towns roll by we on display. Ding ding ding. I love it. Oops we see a cop car, and workers saw a while back. Shrugs are our best defence. We pass the two mile and are nearing the exit of what ever small town this is. On the way out the train stops and we are blocking a road. This is highly uncommon. Nothing appens for a spell. The engine when ready lets off a bit of steam in “tiss tiss tiss” the breaks have not sighed a spit of relief. We are near the road but past it a short distance. We are between 6 or 8 houses. Soon attention is drawn to the dormant train. An old Mexican carries his bycicle past us and rounds the front of the train. People see us and we become a highlight to the center piece. We look at them as they look at us. A young boy with his younger brother on his shoulders dare to get colser than the parents. They pretend not to be looking at us. A great amount of time passes and we see the conductor walking our way. “it is doubtful they would hold up an intersection for us.” the conductor contnues forward. We see him see us. I see he is wearing jeans in egg fashion as his waist is boistris, a dark green shirt traveles up to his round pot face his conductor hat shades his eyes and he mimics a cooking pot with a handle. He pretends we do not exist and continues directly past with out a reaction. That’s the best reaction you can expect in the situation. Fiddling is done to some cars behind us and the croud continues to stare. One man take a what he thinks is sneaky digital photo of us. I don’t shoot back for I am fresh on this game and don’t want to aggraviate. For some reason photos are a strong antagisiner. It is a pernmant article of evidence. People don’t enjoy this much. It’s much like poking them with sticks, so I don’t. The large Mexican family stands by there pickups on one side. The white 2.5 family stands by there pickups on the other side. I enjoy the symitry of diversity I see. America is on the way to unity, finally, were not there but for the most part I like what I see. I enjoy the respect amongst everything now at this moment. Everything seems to complment like an Avedo picture I saw once. First us, we are here and now the focal attraction on this sideshow obstical, where as on the street hobos are typically ignored like air. We have a respect at the situation we may be in, being that we don’t know with who and for what reason the conductor will return with. The perfect amount of black rocks lines the equal sides of the RR. An equal amount of grass grows toward equal distance roads. Pickup trucks and people stand on the equalited dirt roads appropriate in with. The same notion of curiosity behind both sides of eyes. From there houses of similar sizing. Trees and other blobs of matter are equaled. Cars on either side of the tracks are off numbered, but I credit the bicycling Mexican that crossed in front of the train a extra point in that regards. The sky the shadows it’s a nature mirror, deep enough were all the same. Then I realize we are the only ones at this visual point who could visually experience this. The train is tall no one on either side can see in this equasion. They see there own. My mind stops, reality is walking in the form of footsteps, they curnch in the sun. He makes no effort to muffle. He continues knowing but not technically knowing and we stay quiet thanking him. The things found in the still moments of this ride shoot around in me. The conductor walks back from his mantance and were of again.

The train after the 45 minutes pulls off again, the world spins the same. Further down an hour and a half the train stops at a 2 mile. “Too bad the blackberry bushes aren’t ready yet.” Gabe tells me of the guy who taught him _____________ and how when they went at the stops they could eat the berries and they were oh so good. The silver speeding Amtrak flies past us I see the people’s faces in the booth and realize that my view is much better. Our train pulls off again. Another 2 hours we stop outside a town. Our man walks across to a store. “porbly his regular stop.” we can see him and he appears to be carring a case of silver beer. “good times”. There is windmills in this world and farms and cows. Crops grow the nations food. We saw a crop duster fly circles and I covered my self to avoid the nasty things he sprayed. Now we move thourgh that town past a operationing grainery. Now into the mountain range. All goes dark and the smoke makes me retreat into my hoodie. I like the pitch black with my eyes open but figure I would enjoy just as much with them closed. When the train pops out smoke does too. “Cool.” wilderness is the landscape now. Completely changed. The animals of the wild live on this side. The sun was going down on that side. It has already sank on this side. Bueaty was in the dusk. Stringy bushes and branches stood thick as the terrain atop the rocky and thwarting landscape. Puddles went by some lakes did as well. Our eyes grew weary and sleeping commenced.

We awoke to the ceasing of the rythem. An anti alarm clock. We observe. This is more audio than visual. Tic tic tic the train engine unit pops. All the breaks on the line release at once. We know this one is no longer “our train” We move to a box car on the next higest track. We hold fort there for a while and we could use some alternative forms of food. The darkness is almost complete. A train 2 trains over is on the move. We scatter for it and hop into a “grainer” they hold grain but have a platform in the front and back. There is also a stash hole where one can climb into if nessary. We move forward without speed. The train stops. Those foot steps approach nothing can be done wxecpt to stay as low as possible and hope to be invisible. The flashlight is coming closer. It appears on me. I do not look I ignore. The man says “hey” then he moves away. He appears immediately back. “it’s ok I ain’t gonna say nothing” I look at him, his full beard possesses a smile somewhere. “where ya guys headin?“ “Portland” I say. “any heading there soon?“ “this one yer on now but that’s not going for another hour.“ We thank him and he wishes us luck.

It’s time now to venture with the quickness. Beer is needed. Food is needed. We break for the bridge behind us. We take note of the styles of graff. Gabe tells me of a friend that lives now in DC painting 5 frights a night for 5 nights a week. He is hopeing to see one. He recognizes different people form different places. We have ducked our packs in the grainer so there is need to be back on that one on time. The tags help indivisualize a train. Those who do not see them have a harder time if the trains are dancing in the yard. We forge up the hill, it’s comical the ground quickly breaks away, it’s like were on a mound of abondanded xmas trees. The grass grows tall making it impossible to regard the ground in any visual cense. We clammer thourgh taking the hill. At the top our view is dismil. There are no lighted signs advertising the things we need. We roll down the hill in light traffic. We continue a ways and our consern for the timeliness of the train is gowing. Then we see a bar. We make a break for it and dive in.

In this small time dive everyone looks at us with an open and friendly mind. They like our skateboards and one threatens us “if your not wearing vans were kicking you out the door.” he means well and is very drunk. We get the message of love but he somewhere turns beligerent in his own mind he becomes two clicks toward serious. He demands to see out shoes better. I find it a lark and show him. He can’t tell if they are or aren’t, a comicality faced woman becide him nudges with a reminding elbow bringing him back to humor humility. He finds his own drunk again comical and we laugh with him. Microwave food is on the menu. We have a beer and wait for the beep. The bar surface was nothing more than laqured particleboard. The glasses were slightly ditry, the way I like dive bar glasses. I use the restroom to wash the nitty gritty off my fingers and face. We down the beers and grab some tall cans to go. The elbow lady makes us take some pizza that they are eating, it’s vegreratin and delicious. I catch a falling olive as I push on my skateboard away form the bar that was old and attractive to the dive collection.

We rush as there is “our train” out there with our wordly possessions. Gabe is less conserned about possessions, he does not have the best set up and it pisses him off. I know he would be an angry one had he lost his art supplies and brain book. But I would go insane had I lost all those rolls and my k-1000. It’s an uphill sk8 battle here. We are triumphant. We visit the familiar tags of “our train”, as long as we are on some part of this traveling caravan we can collect our goods at the get off. We admire the mobile gallery. Gabe talks of cronies of the can. Different kinds of brains behind the bold sometimes meek meanderings of mark. Some say names those proud of there letters they have assigned themselves, others display messages like “beer!“, some draw. A reptious character that displayed it self along the way was a rendition of the bull drawn with a badge, a hat, horns, and steam coming out of a snout. One guy out of Portland just draws trees. I’ve seen his work near LeBrea in LA. There is true passion here. Not one of fame and fortiune but of the moment of making the art and the joy of the art show they may never see again. Bra-fuckin-vo to these true artists. They may die in the gutters and alone in there insanity, and there work will be painted over. But there soul will not have traveled this earth with out bueatful expression and a pernmant influence in art and cultrue.

We see a good box and snach our stuff form the grainer hole and insert our selves behind the empty frame. Boxes are the best for many reasons. The wind the rain (if any) are obvious but the angles in here make hiding very effective. Do the math inside a yard and the chances one out side will be looking at just the right interacting moment of the world as you are tucked into the corners are slim. Much more slim than sitting sunny exposed atop a lumber flat. With in minutes the world shakes a slam into motion. The night sky is a head of us. Gabe has already gone to work on a wall spreading his most respected word. In the dim yellow light of the yard I watch him scribe. We feel Eugene must be our destanation now.

The tall cans go down the train pulls out of port. Something about the sillouttes that danced across the walls of the box. Lines moving in different directions, Gabe’s shadow, my shadow. Moving like the sun, steady natural conforming to the form of the molded metal. Something about this just felt right. I knew I’d sleep well tonight.

We are on the side of a enormous lake that drifts forever into the empty of night. A thin calm mist floats there. The door behind us is welded closed and only thourgh a peep hole do we know there is hillside that side. Gabe has gone to work and is retiring for bed. I scribble gibberish-ly on my pad. Then I am caught Indian style hypnotized by Gods world moving by me. I don’t claim to know God, but his hand has surley has got my attention. The metal on wheels below me. This freedom must be felt. I feel higher and so peacefully lost, but I know I am home in my body. I know around the world there are billions of lives and I’d rather be no where else than this moment infrount of me. I find the magnum 44 pernmant marker on the ground. A message I write of this feeling, I write it for those who it may consern. I unroll my roll and do enjoy a most perfect sleep.

We awake and find ourselves approaching Eugene in perfect a.m. timing. We come in the train alleys of mills and molten trash, bushes and hobos sleeping, chain link is prevalent here. The smell of heat on boxcars interests my nose. Faces of the stopped cars. Many do not see us we are not to ever be a part of their life. We are an obstruction not to be mentoned as they fool with the radio knob to pass the time between A and B. We do catch some eyes and mostly when we meet there is mutual intrest in the line between the both of us. The atoms inside me feel gitty. While hitchhiking I passed too quickly through here. Many had told me of the good underbelly here in this town.

We had a mild mission here. Dr. Gaberial and associate had been sometime ago picked up by a good man of this village by the name of Rasama Baraka. We know only the description of the domicile this dead head did dwell. No address, no nationhood. But now was not the time and we were not in the place. We were hungry soldiers.

Our train did stop. We were the exitors. Gabe had unkown frustrations, he thought of deserting all his possessions on many occasions of this jorney. He discovered he had lost a shoe. Not so much one that he had been wearing so much as well, see Mr. Gabe traveled with “Velcro retard shoes” as were his words and he also adorned the shoes that were as of present on his feet that were commonly regarded as house slippers. Brown cordery with the fake lambs wool innerds. But these lambs wool walkabouts were not fit entirely for the world we were in. The retard shoes held special value both in ascetics as well as function as well as that he had carried in one a special card, a card of unwritten symbolic spiritual value. A value that of this moment had maybe lost it’s marks in faith. But for me was the meaning of it’s dissappearence a symbolic of that very spirtiual teachings? I must feel that his urge to disban all articles of ownership were on the pathe of such teachings. Noble as they are I enjoy by backpack filled with film, the rest can go to hell. Regardless this brought a small layer of saddness to him. In trubuite of the lost marker he, Mr Olaf scribed “olaf cares” on the remainding shoe and was placed curbside for the world to recive as it might.

On our rambled travel would. On these streets I saw the light of a.m. and the cracks of cement with the ever nature grass pushing with the passion of the repressed to the glory that is morning. We walk in search of our nerushiment the sun hidden behind overhanging non-forest trees. Why the sun makes so much sence to me at this hour I will repeaditly not know, nor dwell apon. Point is we find our place of food.

It is made of wood. Long horziontal slats of such that lead us to a creeky screen door. Opening this door takes us into a walk way with a greeting sign hand made and warm with spirit. Gay publications of a cute nature lay to our left on the publacition table. Also the Portland weekly and a Eugene press paper. The fag mags are not volgure and while I do not sucribe to there pratics I do enjoy there selbrated expression. I boldly and with no shame take one to the table outside under the canopy of the old trees. How long ago I think were these saplings discovering air and water intake? I think this as I attempt to read the printed works in front of me. This is the problem I discover with reading. Wandering me. I enjoy Gabes’ regutration commentary of the works he has red. In this philophsy I belive the indans approach of story telling has significant advance on our tex books. But behind us sitting behind thick thin rimmed glasses, of the age of 57 and acting an unadulterated fool is the man sitting with the timid and eger to follow suit woman in the long and complete flowered dress of blue. This one he rants and rants tangetnst I only wish I could fling onto this sheet. He riddled facts of his political views that Jello B. would be proud of. “if elected mayer of Eugene I promice to exploit funds for prostitutes for my self.” he spouts “J edger hoover was a vaccume” irradic fantastic spastic things. His rythem was of a rything schizo on speed but with an intelect far dug into the trenches of sarcasim sent there by the generals of distrust and betrayl.

The morning egg compilation was terrific, also there was flap jacks. A mighty breakfast. The cook and servant was of a portly figure, I guessed him happily gay. His roots showed in respect and of servitude. But he was not about to take shit. This was his house of pancakes and clearly he was lion and lamb. I knew this by his footsteps and of his polite consepts in communtion. Power is having it and not showing. He was the acting his own solid pillar. His mustashe and receeding brown hari showed no remorse for any actions he has led. He was a responsible business owner on his own terms. The air showed respect here. He was the most modest. A bold dick form the 80s would have seeped apon him to take the advantage, to step above and make known his seniority. But would have been shut down in a manner unconceivable to that dick. A fly would not buzz his head. All this could be drawn from the two brief interactions of meal conduct.

The political renagade never stopped spewing the whole time execpt between timed bites and breaths, where in witch his timid tulip would take opportunity to tally remarks of support. They ate as we ate only us more in silence, next trip a voice recorder is in my company. Our meals finished with the last drops of surip soacked into the breaded business and the yoke consumed. We sat full fools of the establishmet. At this time little girls with prental support ran loosly creating childish misham. I was in full support of the fantastic radience. Both the spewer and the parents appoloigesed for there own presents. This is a common occerance of the owartward exploders and I think it needs to stop! No one should make apology for anything unless an occerence commited pruly by accident. But this is also beside the point. I’m sorry.

We leave the establishemnt after two nice sessions of washing in the toliet. Olafs marks inspire my small remark of non importance. We continue along the way. But where do we go? We don’t ask, just walk. We find our way through a park that might be fimiliar. We move further into a downtown setting. We ask all the good people what they think of our discription of this strange house with faes carved in front and nightclubbing houses. Therse descriptions turn us toward the “HIPPY DISTRICT” must be we think. We move towards the suggestion. And do find the cultuire change. There is a TV painted in tall weeds in front of a tall mural dealing in astrolo=gy and groth. Further a rusted bed spring has been recyked into a vine growng gu9ide. Frtherwe walk. We ind the tre.the faces are of soft Indians and peace. Below it is a free box. For those un accostmed these free boxtes are carboard consistency and contan articles o use to the pulic. Today I find a blue shirt I pick it up and present it’s full body to my self. “Better smell that first!” this booms a voice. And approaches the body of, “yeah better smell that thing.” I do it’s washd. “names Dirthead.” the story translates of our buddy mission. Dirthead knows the man, not well but is fimilar with his person in the area and knows as wll as Gabe where the room number is. But this is now 1030 11 in the morning, far too early for some one as the caliber of braka to be alive. It is a quick disision that we including the great Dirthead to depart to the local park to poke smot and converse of the conditoiopn of the world as of present. Dirthead talks of his son with the pride any father should have. Like all fathers he prides himself on the ability to guide his offspring into a more proper direction of thought. His oldest son is 16 and has a punk band in there garage. Of course Dirthead supports it fully and will not hesitate to mosh up the carport. This story, the one Dirthead is telling is about just earlier in the week where the boys make a song called “burn all the books“. Dirthead remarks the story as it happened in side his head. “I stand out there listening for a minute, good song. I hear my boy open up and scream “BURN ALL THE BOOKS, BURN ALL THE BOOKS, BURN ALL THE BOOKS, BURN ALL THE BOOKS!” Dirthead bounces enthustically. He waits for the song to finish. “so I tell the kids, “you wanna burn all the books?” “YEAH” they say, “BURN ALL THE MATH BOOKS BURN ALL THE ENGLISH BOOKS!” “All the books?” “YEAH” “you know Hitler was into burning books.” “WHAT!?” “yeah, well what about your comic books?” “WELL NOT THOSE BOOKS” “well what about the books your teachers don’t want you to read?” “NOT THOSE BOOKS EITHER” “well then you can’t want to burn all the books. Don’t take away the freedom of the writers to voice them selves. If you write your songs down they might get burned too.” “AW FUCK THAT” “LETS PLAY IT AGAIN GUYS!” “now the words go - “BURN ALL THE MATH BOOKS, BURN ALL THE RULE BOOKS, BURN ALL THE SCHOOL BOOKS!” I see Dirthead feels the funk of the foul music.

Blah blah becomes the topic of the new birth in Dirt’s life. 17 days to this one Mr. Maxmius Thunderhead was born. The last name was omitted. I reel back in appreacatino for the news I have taken in. Please know that in Eugene Oregon Earth somewhere in the hippy district exists a man who calls himself Dirthead, and he has a baby son that is growing into this world forming thoughts, learning on a daily basis, forming opnions that matter if only to him, who will grow a citzen of this great nation and his name on all legal documents and to his family and to the world is Maximus Thunderhead. Good God that’s great. I show my wide smiling teeth in appreation. After something as profound as this there has to be silence for a small spell…

Dirthead opens a plastic lunch case. “You guys wanna buy a pipe?” Dirthead exposes some bueatful glass pieces filled with flowing color and abstract shapes. These of course are for tobbaco use only. This is his craft. We do not wish to possess these things less be charged with possession. But admration for the art we give because he has earned it. We would come to find out Eugene is filled with these skilled subhumans. But for now I lie back on the grass and feel myself inside myself. I don’t have much to say, I wish to listen I am content existing almost as if I don’t here in this world I was not scedualed to be in. No one knows my where abouts but me. Puff puff give seems to be the theme here. I pass not puffing.

People in the park number in 4 then a group of 4 comes. The orginal mostly stay here at least for the bulk of the day. One big black man holding a baceball bat wants to sell some cigaretts, were not buying. Then he just wants money. He is a threating presents but does not linger long and we are prepped with skateboards. And serious looks. Had his approach been that of a friendly our reactions may had been much better. As it was he grunts and leaves. He also has a stringy strung out sweetheart she is so thin and pale as the moon. It’s a heart warming thing I see as she shivvers toward him and leans on him sharing the cigarette. He wraps his mighty trunk of an arm aournd her. There is love in all places, under every rock. I try not to get my hopes to high. Moments capture myself and the big one catches me capturing his moment. Caught I smile and nod. He nods in return with respect.

Next an Indian man and woman sit next together growing old together in there poverty. There faces don’t speak nor do there mouths. Pigons coo and circle near them with out breadcrumbs. Neither watch them. Neither seem to be seeing anything. They consentrate on the air two feet infornt of them. They are absorbing slowly into the way the atoms spin. Someday they will dematerlize completely into the great spirit. Not today. Today they are still of this world, and the man asks for a cigarette. Faster than I Dirthead has given them 2. The other group of four sport the all american gothic clothes and sit in a circle as we are departing.

We as 3 walk to the Barakas house. It is 11am and we debate on getting the bottle first but decide against it and rap a few times on the door. A moment the handle turns just slightly as the interior owner holds the knob and uses the eye piece. In one movement the door opens and the man is outside with a handlebar mustashe. He wears boxer shorts and not much more. “what do you want?” he speaks offensively polite. We state our claim on our knolege of the previous occipuant. “well he’s not here.” “That’s fair.” were gone.

Dirthead knows someone who may know the whereabouts of the Baraka. Jody and Jypsy. We retreat back near to the park only on the oppsite side of a fence that used not to be there. Gabe rembers the yard walking in. Round back we stand at another doorway and Dirthead knocks. The door swings wide to the two hens cackling. They exit smelling of the pachuli hippy. They smile in there long flower dress. Barefoot with toe rings they dance as old as 45 out to the dormant fire circle. We sit on stumps and lumps of abondaned obsticals. A large metal wheel made of bars and maybe at one time supported the water scoops of a windmill sits agiants a tree. Gabe inquisitive asks the question but is itehr heard or ignored. Here it is an uncomphertable iceloated feel. The women barley care that we are here and bearly refrence us with there eyes. They wish for pot and Gabe freely gives the last of his. They don’t even say a thank you and smoke it all not even passing to Gabe. They do offer the whereabotus of our man, he is far far away.

A moment of moments where there conversation spins without us Gabe sees a kettle on a stool in the bushes and calls it black. It is a small humor break. The tree that towers hangs of a weeping way. Fragments of the sun fall down creating the silly little shapes that shimmer changing constantly. The dirt and suit merge with no distinct rock encroachment. A wooden covered carport holds 4 cars of old an unfunction fashion. A motercycle sits with rust. A dog is in the distance and keeps that way. The house is dirty and white and 2 stroys. I wished we could explore the essence but of course to even mention it would be a rude thing as we are the traveling guests here. With time we travel out.

Now the mission to be is beer for Gabe. My film has gotten low. I buy out the grocery stores supply that wasent much. I also need algery meds. I rarely rarely take any sort of FDA approved substances, as a result when I do they actaluuly work. My sneezing is overwhelming. My head swells with the increased influx of oxygen. The curb seems to me the perfect hight. The shade in the heat feels nice. The heat is very warm low 90s I imagine. I watch ants all in a line. I place a finger in the middle not crushing but disturbing intensely the traffic of there scaled down interstate. Influence.

Dirthead is at a wheel chaired weed dealers we are to wait. “I can trust him cause he can’t run.” On the walk thourgh alleys, I love alleys. The local graffiti is less graceful to my approval. One is very comical in it’s facial façade. The floor is pitted dirt and chunky. A discarded art project lies in wait for the junk man. It is made of wood paint and metal strips. Someone had put forth at least 4 hours of work now for what ever reason discarded. In this setting I see more art in it. Gabe refrains from drawing until Dirthead is out of the seen. When I emerge form the lot on the curb next to me is his mark.

I organize the film speeds in labled socks. This and Dirthead approaches and we raise our masts to the winds of wherever. I by some Jack D. The gentalman behind the register is an unamused had it to here sort who does not enjoy my antics what ever they may be. To this I smile. I enjoy the unpolite expression of true mood. This mood I poke with a friendly stick. Someone told me it says in the bible that being kind to your foes (in this case the foe was a bad attitude not the man himself) is like putting burning rocks on there head. Damn I think the bible is vindictive today. It’s not something I can help.

Streets are passed into the “downtown district” this is where we find it. A corner. It has cement sitting spaces and metal charater sculptures. Scenic views of the adjacent joints including a coffee squat and a parking structure. We find slightly used coffee cups to contain our bubbly brew. There is a dome camera right on the side of the building. I pick my nose at it. The beer has a coffee hint. Bold rich steel reserve. People pass. Girls at the coffee shop are loud and we loud back at them. It’s all in fun. More youth move about, very few almost none exist today over 30. Conversation comes on easy. It is not inquisitive of our names or nature. “whats up” “got a cigarette” a conversation strikes on jokes. We exchange some. One lad tells a lot, none are very funny. One girl catches my eye. Pretty hippy blue, eyes and a smile of “oh my”. I don’t long for advance, that passion lies in something more pure somewhere else. She tells a really dirty joke. This is attractive. Her boyfriend becomes on the scene. I can tell there relation has heart and my thoughts turn inward and I am quiet for a spell. I see the mass of mutants interact much like I saw the ants. There paths stop and they dance at an interface for a moment and they move on. I feel nothing from the beer, and I don’t usally drink beer. Today on the heat of the unkonown road it feels right, this out of a old coffee cup. I put my self incharge of reloading the cups. Wraping my arms in an oddly fashinon aournd my legs behind my bent knee pours the sudsy stuff. Just as I rise I see a what could be cops driving a 4runner that is decaled in such that it resembles more a ceral box than a law authority. There are streamers painted and “Eugene Police” in unofficial font scrawled acorss the paneling. Threr are lights on top but I have to laugh. They just aren’t in this form frightening. Come time they exit and draw clubs that could change. But they don’t they continue there trajectory. Rumor round the walking world here is that there nasty and not to be fucked with.

I’m digging the common gorunds we stand on. No history no future seems to be the theme here. Here the sun moves with out notice. Idle time is the worshiped idel. Beer from coffee buzzin litter cups and dirty cigaretts. Dirthead is a respected member of this kind of counter coulture. He is something to be placed on the mantle. Mankind at a personal triumph. The value systems are always wrong form another angle.

My eyes close and I retreat inside for a small spell. Inside I listen to the surroundings, the small scratches of converse chucks with a piece of stuck gravel. The cursing inserted pointlessly in poetic street dilect. The distant car moter waiting the green light. The click click click of a ten speed approaches. This and the voice pushing it. Here she shines her voice in reptious syllabals. This is the story of the bike that does not belong, how this guy she dosent know gave her 6 bucks to watch it for an afternoon. How she stayed here 7 hours. How she dosent know where he is, how he never came back, how- I try to picture her face. It’s round, that of a sweets addicted child. Her shirt is pink, her hair, I don’t see her hair. Probly brown.

I listen to the world. Clouds move in a randomly mathematical point and everywhere the world continues to spin, I wonder what a street corner in a small city is doing in Singapore right now in the dark. The cement must have human spit on it too. I am nuged into the present by Gabe. No words just a check in. I see the attention has shifted to the sidewalk to my right.

Down a spell swinging a purse that matches her clothing comes a mini skirt so clean and a titty top to match. Her hair has just stepped out of a salon and it is apperent the world of Eugene has not held her long. The youth of Euegene is on the type of drugs that make you pick your skin. Scabs can be found fairly frequent on forearms. Not on her. Not yet I think. She enters the croud much to the lust of the males, the females feline hair stands slightly. I don’t speak to her or refrence her until it so happens we are in conversation. I find I was right she hails form Honolulu, six months in. Gabe thinks she must be a prostutute, jury’s out on my end. Dirthead has business with her she pulls form her purse a palm of paper money. When the transaction is complete she walks off but not with out a hesitant embrace of the Dirt.

When Dirthead returns I conclude he has to turn that cash around somehow somewhere so he promices a return. Gabe says he will buy some wheelcahir weed when that happens. The world carries on. A boy on a bike finds friends here. He inqieres apon the tall hill in the immediate distance. He has lived here 4 years and never has he approached the top of the hill. Today is his day and he has inspired and intreged me. I too wish to take the hill. I make this obvious to Gabe, he wants to wait a little longer. I will. Normally in this world from the high class to the under belly “I’ll be right back” from a relative stranger really measn “maybe I’ll see ya later maybe I won’t.” We don’t. We leave. On the way the gravity of the heat grows apon us and we must stop in a grassy nub between sidewalk and street secluded in shade. I streach on the horzintal reclaine and we view the vehicles that view the vagabonds veggin. Gabe suggests we find some salvia sold in head shops before we find the top of the hill. We try, this envloves blocks to walk. The heat is taxing, the two we try yields no results. The hill is over. We spend time as sultry students.

A man exit’s the health food store we are unwittingly outside of he offers us some gurbin. We accept with appreacation. We did not ask he asked us. I am a people like this, to offer is to offer the world your good will. When it accepts it is a reward. The man is bearded and tall. His truck is red and his smile is wide. His efforts will not go unrewarded. He gives us health juices bannas and rice cakes. We thank him with heaps of sincerity and immediately go about dismantling the bannans. We sit near the transit center. The buses come and go. People of all kinds here. The food and juice do good for my energy intake. I am feeling movement needed. I spy with my eye a hackysack in the sky. Gabe declines the invite I make. I don’t think anyone in the history of things has ever been turned away from the circle in witch the small round bean filled bag is kicked. It is customary to ask to join and is customary to be accepted without question. No names are dissussed in genral and is not nessary to the kicking task. Genrally humor is approached in the diouluoge and there is edicuate in the sport. In most circles it is a “foul” for better words sport fans to serve the sack to your self. Courtesy is a common. To shine is fine but you better get the pass off. If you suck it’s no thing. But par your self with the players. In the circle I learn that the river is good this time of year but there was a funk spill at a certain point and it is strongly advised against to inhabit beyond certain street. The swim sounds good and I take this in to advice. The boy telling me is young 15 and still wet his hat fashion shows his rebellion. It’s wet and ragged his pants bag below all others. The other boys in the business seem school bound beyond high school. They refrence party but is apparently vauge and I understand it is not my point to pratude it’s where abouts. I am of a different counter and a fornier in there country. This sport like most makes me sweat. Once I am good and dripping I pass the wave and walk back to being relaxed Gabe. He tells me to look at the ones in the red hats.

Secreate police undercover citizens are not doing well in discuize wearing the red hats. They have been watching Gabe and conversing with bike cops. Sure enough there they are with the stare. I wave and they both look at the samely oppsite digonal corners away form us in an unsuspecting manner. Oh this is a comical conspiracy. We wait in defiance of there shitty authority, not because we want to stay but we have a point to prove. We are citizens of this red blooded nation and hold our gorund form the new wave british bastards. The theme here is “this land is our land”. We wait till the would be repressers retreat.

We think it is due time to depart. We return to the yard. The walk is long and but with out problem. But not with out break. Gabe is still a bent cookie about his shoes. And should be. I’d be too if my house slippers were my sole support for this sort of adventure. The rocks that line form one side of the world to the other along the tracks penratrate with form into the bottoms of Gabe. The sun is still singing loudly and we find the yard. A hissing boxcar seems to be the ticket and we setup shop there. We don’t have much food but are not that conserned. We wait in the car that seems about to move. The tissing of the unit continues the minutes tick into hours maybe 2. Furstration is finding it’s way rather quickly into our pulse. We climb outside. Gabe is a puzzled person. We seem to be on the next train out of town, we are as it seems on the highest track. That is usally the priority track. Workers are thick in this area so we stay near the walls when the footsteps are near. Mostly they have work that does not involve inspecting each car for us. Math is huge here “if a train leaves Eugene at mph” your high school teacher wasn’t completely full of it.

The car is like a suna and the day passes into night. The train does not budge. It sounds charged and enthustic but does not have the will to roll. Gabe lies out on his bag more with frustration than sleepy eyes. As far as I am conserned it’s part of the ride. Him too, he is just a touch more touchy on the matter. Are car is scattered with “Olafs”, we every now and again proclaim the name “Maximus Thunderhead” it brings our morale up. This until we lie down for the last time. We hope it will leave sometime into the hours of nap.

My dreams were slow and of calm water. My breath was heavy and full. I felt the effects Densmier had on my psyche. The flat of the wooden floor held my sleep well. It was a perfect sleep. I wondered where we would be when I awoke my eyes. To the morning I find we are in exactly the same place. A dissappointment yes. The grumpy is distrupt by the customary jolt aginst the steel. We feel this is it. We pass a personal who does not see us. We move out on the single track out of the yard. The open mountains are a head. Then we stop. And reamin stopped.

I can tell you the hours of this day were baked inside the boxcar oven. Sleep was inspired intermittently out of bordeom spent sweating enegry. The day seemed delusional and had to be embraced as such, else insanity would be very real. Rarly words would fill the car. My thoughts trotted to sweat lodges of the peyote Indians. I sat in the style and meditated on the moment of moment. I felt my own skin pours expand to allow passage of the drops gentrated by my human coolant. The skin opened an orfius an ejected to complete a task. My heart I delved into as a organ and attempted to realize the properitys of the motors slowed state. I rember the functions of hydrologic pumps and the cause and effect of push and pull. This to the point on non frustration completely. I am enjoying with colpleteness. My artries there own organisms. Working in conjuction. I feel a common movement in the world, time is measured in rotation of things. On a common level the sun and moon, seasons, aged skin, the molecules and atoms spinning constantly in the rock. The amount of this spinning that takes the train’s wheels A to B. My journey of the globe into death, my red blood cells sailing the ship to and from my heart. The revolution of matter, it’s all natural. Deacay birth and everything in the middle. I think this as I feel the sweat on my horziontal chest secreate and everoprate. My lungs rise inflation and oppsite exaust. Different possisions I take and see. I do not have full consept of the days passing. Inbetween the mind travel we look outside.

Sometimes the unit would disconnect and we would follow where it went. Or attempt to. My furstration was relieved in part because I was not incharge of the travel arrangements. Gabe was trying to solve while I was just existing. We walked on top to the traveling non-travling trains. The view showed us 7 parrellall trax with hunks of cars on many. The units seemed to be shuffling and stacking the deck. Sometimes this sort of thing can go on for a full day. The ballet of the business to account for the order of drops and postion of services from here to everywhere.

Were back inside the box and the string becides us begins moving. This is it. It’s moving out and we need it. A lumber barge is coming up we throw our bags and jump. We land and roll with the will of the train smoothly. Confidence is killed when we stop and no longer move. Insanity is moving in on a bad ship. We are hungry and nearly mad to hair pulling. The frustrating is spreading. The tension is thick, uncertainty themes on. We stand on the ground with the question of quitting for the moment. He asks me. We leave and were sure not to catch any train. We stay and we might go irreversibly into a nut tree. The sure fire fate souloution of stupid superstition is in the air, “heads we head out tails we sit on.” I the reality of the world odds will never make this happen but the silver coin flickers the light as it spins and stops sticking into the rocks a perfect edge. It is vertical and not laying on one side more that the other. Well this was the fantastic straw that broke the serious camles back and we break into bewildered laughter. Not even Newton himself could help. We stare around this thing of freakish unworldly occerance for a spell. It is decided to flip again and this time we trek out. We travel up the bridge the sun is sinking. We are stinking. We find nothing at the bottom of the hill becides rundown industryal dwellings. My back is of a cranky nature as of slight so I place my pack on my board and push it resembling a scooter. The road takes us remarkably back to the area of the park and Barakas and the bar that Gabe had spoke of before. The Mexican restraunt has retired to our frowns on faces. The bar has beer and bad food, we go there. The meatloaf sandwich is bland and with out spirtit. The beer is beer but just makes me sleepy. A open mic night was here when Gabe was here last but according to the funny female bar keep a creep who was on repeat would take most of the time singing the same bad business. He drove everyone off, so rather than the battenders putitng up with this blah they closed the mic. The tap was open and another was poured. A patron passing through went by the name of Free Eagle. He was one of the rambow people. Those who don’t know they are a culture of travlers who confrence at different parts of the country. Usally in the forest they collect and conversate on what have you, barter is big and love is a must. Free Eagle had a very familiar smile, this smile like I know form a dog I loved. His spirit was in tune. Gabe was more into harmonizing with him than I. I found the cold brass of the bar to be a close friend. My soul was sleepy. Gabes was more rested and really rejuvenated by Free Eagles. Free had a little Dotson dog. I sat outside with them and Free Eagle played for us. I lay upside down on the steps watching. The barlight light him well. With a beer buzz and the delierum still in full swing I enjoyed the show, but was long ready to go.

Finally the time came to do so. The bar closed, we rose and waved good bye to Free Eagle who was enroute to Seattle area for a consert and gathering. We walked back to the trains that confused us before but now confused us further as we were shure the layout was different here before. No matter we see what should be a shallow bit of brush exist and begin to cross. Gabe is to my right in the night but I see him stumble and stagger forward sinking as he goes down deep into the bryar blueberry patch. The thorns engluf him intriely and the only that part that is visible is the screaming. He sounds like a small goat caught and bleeding. He can’t move for the thorns have him and his arm postion is not allowning removal. With uncontrolled laughter I lung in after him. The pain I feel is nothing ontop of the fangs that bite my poor MR Gaberial. The goat screams envoked laughter for a long time, much aftrer the moment resolv ewd/ . I felt a little bad about it but there was nothing I could do. Gabe was pretty good humored about the whole thing. Bloody soaked in drunk munlight. It was a frightful but i9f you wre there it wo0uld b worth it. No matter after the clatter we waited with out that route we find our way around to a grassy nole untill we do, we do find passage toward near the trax. I unroll and wait on grass uncaring. I know I will find sleep and hope the train or Gabe wakes me. With my eyes closed I see with my ears Gabe talks to a guy riding his bike on the gravel. His name is Oz and tells something of our best chance is further up the way, something about are being in a switching yard. I don’t care to move and hope for sleep now, though if our train came I’m ready to move.

Morning comes and I see the wounds on Gabe more clearly. They have style. A dead birdwing bones are the shape on his knee. Cleaniness is the goal now. We walk onward back through the big park that witch the freeway passes over the middle of. At the rumors we find the river rests at the end of the long park. We pass the trax and find the plunge. The water is a cold thing that shocks the body and removes the dirt. Under I shake my fingers through my hair letting go the some of the attached grime. It drifts down stream finding it’s way somewhere else. It feels good to be refreshed and open. With the soap I used to wash into the fibre of the fabric. The trail ran green and thick with shrubbery. The plants held our packs on the side the sight of a blueberry bush sends Gabe into a mocking terror. He shreaks like only he can, the sound echoing across the river. This throat chiking in flesh of each other. Gabe and myself then did finish, ring out and pack up and move on out, where as we encounterd some friende-cans who rode bikes and sat in the grasses and ate a groceries deli chickjen meal while taking in the rolling ri8ver trhat was rolling. We encountered the two and with polite smiles aknoleged our eyes. The mood was a bright shiny day. The food had the value smell and taste and my yerning in my churning brought me to conclusion of “where can you get those?”. Being that I could not speak Spanish and he no habla engles interperated my asking as meaning “can I have some of your food?” to thie he immediately offered me some chichen or potato jo jos. To this I made it very clear of my apperation and in strange sign languge jester that I “only want to know where the store is to obtain some. We got a vauge clue and walked on by with another smile.

The grass and structure I must identify to you as an unusual type and shape. As near as I could finally tell a while from now it was a giant L shaped place that ran with a freeway over the top and heavily watered grasses weilding concrete from here to there. The cement pulled up to form a constant or almost constant thin roof of traveling everyone in there automobiles. This L runs long until in fact it runs smack into the river where the cars move on with out us. This type of feel with a loud as hell drunk with five dirty hound dogs. He had some sort of strange sign. I spoke with him later. But now we roll along having already crossed the trax where we think we might have our train later earlier. This I think is a good thing and walk. After hell in that boxcar I was not impressed by getting on that trip again right now.

We walked to the end of the L and made it a U. our path blazed on though to open fenced fields and then a row of 3 small blocks of nebior hood. It felt lightheartedly different. A woman driving a old hippy tug stops by the stop sign. Being that I think those things are cool as hell I flag out my arm to say hi to her. She immediately no longer sees my direction. This is like staring at someone straight in the face only not facing you. The aknoolged tension is still a present thing. I often find these types humorous to view, but this one made me sad. I guess the good stereotypes aren’t arnt to be true as well. We walk the grass bordered street with 1950’s cracked and old soaked pavement. This did not stop the yellow spots in the grass. The nebrirhood looked as tired as the fields. This led to buildings. The brick laid here was laid by the hands that lived in the homes and drove old cars that were new and the paper was a nikle. I’d never know this first hand of course, but I look back into the time and saw it shineing. I wondered if grapes tasted different then.

Somehow some where in a reasonable blur we recovered ourselves at a subway brand sandwich shop were the claim they art artists of the hogie. Something good and hot were in them. We ate them at a park where we dwindled just over half of the sandwitch and smuggled the rest for a few hours later. Our picknik was needed to dry out laundered clothing. I hung my pattern colered boxer shorts off the side in the breeze. It was my todays flag. The food was gone and with it desired time to digest. The sun was on the over side but high. The bench was littered with messages in writing. Things of song lyrics of glum and dying, rude remarks, and crude tags, also a symbolic picture expression of pot and the leaves of 9 point. Gabe logged a pericing on the table and “Olaf Cared“ in congenction with stench ink permnate, a golden clog. We sat in idle pleasure. Gabe departed to make a deposit in the toliet and my eyes spied two humans in the shade of the park. The voodoo must of hit us for our vision crossed. At this he rose and leaving her after being very close he walked in a direct path towards myself who also rose and walked in the similar path only myself was in the sun. we walked and met where did the shadow met the sun. A handshake and a question of cigaretts came up. Quickly did the question of Herb came up, I knew this would make Gabe happy and it was desided they would meet me at the table. He returned to the girl, I to the table. As I reached it Gabe reached the table as well. “well I think you might have some herb coming over here.” and the boy and girl began to become present.

They were street children. 19 male 17 female. Rejection of the regular way had them today. The lazyiness of the park and hopes of dreams to come danced inside the lovers eyes. The girl was proud of her pack, and it was too a nice pack. Packs are an important addition to your survival. They are your condo. The girl was proud with out her pack. The girl, she saw Gabe drawing on the table and she too wanted to make her mark. Gabe let her use his tool but cautioned her to use it with respect. The crafstman lending freely his brush knowing the inexperienced user may cuase damage. But she is gentle, and something involving a heart comes into play. Gabe tells me to write mine. I came up with a name “Arthur A Blackbooger” to write on the trains as result of the dirty filtration found in my nostril. The boy shows us his pipe and hits it aginst the table to show it’s durability. He then throws the pipe high inot the air sun shining and all that, letting it fall to the soft grass below. “Damn strongest thing ill never break.” His pants are huge the Janco name. Pockets designed for liften fortys form the liquor store. The lad wore a hat that complemented his soft eyes but only as they chose to look at you. The bill consiels them well and it is hard to identify the facil figures there as a result. Aournd his neck fashioned a leather string with a puter gothic symbol. He is proud that he can support his girl. A lot of there relationship centers of there pride both together and as individuals. “that’s what I do, I sell weed, straight slanging, I got a job wherever I go, bout to reup right now. Got $75 then I’ll get some that this guy owes me then I’m going to reup. You guys wanna wait here I’ll be back in like 45 minutes or something.” “sure”

Most times, not all times but most when a new aquantance is met and they mention they will be back, they won’t. This is what I believe as they walk with there packs slung low in unison. I envy there partnership. There hearts are in it together. It makes me think, and they don’t return. We still wait out of relaxed exaution and experienced placid moment. I find the thurst and thrust my movement towards the sandwitch shop that shopped from. Shit if don’t find it closed. Convinelty down the street I seek the beloved 7-11. Also the date of my birth I feel I will obtain what is needed at this place.

With a ping the advertised laden gates of glass glide open allowing the trashy music approved for everyone to spill. The light is a sharp and ugly thing super modeles would refuse to go here for fear of vanity distruction. The dogs spinning they must be at the end of the cleche 2 week rotation. The slurpy machines I find amusing and damn what a artistic engineer had the invent patten. The clear view into the churning of the sugar juice. The folks in here are very quiet. No one can speak in line. They don’t know how. The tension is broken when someone reaches for a alarming cellphone. This creates a noticeable static that is common in most everyday life. They have the stage we can mingle behind the curtains. Well I hate the worlds reality being beaten by the damn technologies that distant the close and idle bortheren and sitster that stand in long lines. No I enjoy to overthrouw this insignificant injustice. Using the Inspectr Gadget technique I raise my pinky and thumb extending out of my skyward thumb my cellphone attenna. I begin to react to the person on the phone as if they were talking to me. We discss our work life and I bring up Jannet in accounting and what a horrific hoe she is to Carl. The timing is perfect in this delievery and the power is back with the people. Many lines miss but the real thrill is when she discovers me. I put my thumb on hold and inform her I am talking to some on the line. She is confused and does not make a seen, the man behind the register he enjoys this too. I hope my small message is convayed. It’s so rude to talk loud to no one. They, well before Regan used to lock up these people. Give a bum a folded piece of sheet metal and people will think he is important. Sometimes I doubt that anyone is on the other side of there yibber yabber. My water is refilled and I am treated with the respect of a celebrity, there is no remark of my appearance witch is not dirty but well we’ll call it a “used” look. The ping popps for me. I open the plastic wrapped cookie they have at the P.O.P. display that’s “point of percahse”. these are impulse buys for the constant consumer and I am hit hook line and all that. They are designed to make kids nag and adults experience buyers remorse. Buyers remorse and I eat part of the sugar cookie and leave the rest on the wall on my way back across the busy street. The dog bum again I see and throw my wave with a kick. He is not near as enthustci as before the alchocal’s energy is now backpedaling. The dogs care as much as he does and this brings the smile of life appreciated to my grove.

Greetings back at the lazy table. I scribble some stuff in a scetch book. Gabe picks at his dirty fingernail. I take a pic.
I lay on the grass though I makes me itch I don’t mind. I let the agony tickle my skin parts. The skinny blades against my arm hair. It is in my opnion impossible to become perfectly still. A slight movement is like so many cricket legs rubbing each hair. The reaction is individual haris sending a emegerency message of disrupt to my thinking spot. Whoa it when isolated apon is very enormous. I let this envlope my entire consoinus. Is this medation? I don’t think so. But I like it. Self tourture for the sake of self tourture. For the sake that I gave legs that I am thankful for. That the body is such a mathematical marvle. My hell I might as well tease the hell out of it. I lay and watch the clouds and do not find my imatnation as quick as 5. But it come and the some kind of clouds are perfect this day for doing this. Ruff funny things inbetween skin itch is found then finally the intrecuit comes into play. With in my little age I never did before contempalte the beauty of the movement of these inbetween heaven god symbols. I imagine there math is linked somehow into mine and with visual I find identifaction. At a glance a cloud is a still thing and a bunny or a funny face of a oboe or a battle ship. But it if the closer scale is watched the morfing and changing and lifecycle is so much infornt of us. It is every moment so siginfant. That is so signafant to the cloud. Well we as individual bodies and minds are the same exact way. We see our friends as still moments of mind and demener. The passing traffic sees us as an unmentioned part of the landscape. Something as real but not real signifant. We are always changing. I imagine mother nature sees us much in the same way. A quick glance on the timeline of things. Changing changing changing. But still if imagination is used an infinite number of possibilities in the mofing may manfiest. Still my arms can not hold still.
With a roll Isee the grass on a small dogs scale and be damned if the grass moves on it’s own too. It twitches not due to the wind. What is this due to what does it effect, what things are sparked form these blades existence. What does it all matter? It dosent I guess were here regardless but why not donate a few brain spirts to it?

This gibber is ended with a full blatter and an empty water bottle. To this hrmoniclay correct I make the treck back. With this I find a new shift face behind the counter. He is less inthrawled with the glory of life and scans in repetation the purchasable items that are avaibale. He is fat and bearded. The professional lazy beard. One of postion and poise. Pointed and dyed black. His hair is old and he refuses to show it. His eyes are immediately judgemental. At this moment the store is moderately empty. I take his knife eyes as a gift and smile in defense. It’s a good defense too and ask for the keys to the bathroom. He says nothing but a point to the sign on the bathroom wall “restrooms are for customers only” of course this brings the bright idea of the shit sugar cookie. With out word but not with out a smile marking my return I exit and return to the wall and obtanin the cookie unwrapped. I bring this thing back in taking a bite and set it on the table. A suitable trade for the premission to pee. This I feel there is insafignte triumph over the hrumph. A constant battle of yin and yang, or is it harmony in the works? I emerge and desire the bottle filled with the clean tap that runs in this part of the world. With restiance he applies a rubber glove before touching my travel jug. I find comical offence in this moment to be rembered. When he gives it back there is discust all over his face. I offer him a sip. Without words he declines and gives me his back. Smile smile smile cannot be helped.

Apon arrival is our departure. Toward the ever loving fright, the afternoon is declining. We wait under the freeway where the trax once crossed before became. We wait and drink the hard A, purchased before. The buzz becomes and feelings of joy are expressed. Gabe is a good man and we are comphertable in the fact that of course we will never understand everything or even each other. It’s a good grorove. The dirt here is so dusty and sticks to all theat touches it. My pack kind of balances by it’s self. That until it falls and then it becomes dirt a plenty. I pour the booze into a plastic container and leave about two shots for some one to find. It’s important in life to give. We get to meeting a woman of the age hovering later than 45. Her pack is huge and she boasts it to weigh 85 pounds. We invte her to sit and drink. She does and immediately I wonder inside her eyes. They do make contact. And they are light brilliant blue. Like a junkie who’s kicked the habit. She sits on her pack and pulls down the juice like a friend. She invites us for a dip in the river pool. She is meeting some others there, that is not our mission, we do not desire Eugene much longer there are other roads ahead. I wonder inside her brilliant blues, what this child was like. I wonder intensely bearly making room for the immideate words she projects form her wide and loud mouth. This woman would be a good complement in a fist fight. I would not find my self cross her line.
She talks and drinks and talks and my eyes won’t leave her eyes. She connects but breaks away not lingering. She looks at the dust she must identify with the contours and pebbles. The grit of the wourld. Rarely do those dancing eyes look upward the road the trail the concrete to stay planted it in the view here. I picture a child in arought and tumble yesterday rolling down hills with dolls made fo yarn. Her world no longer filmed in technocolor. The raw world with no commerical breaks or lemonade. Mothers arms have died and she may be a mother. Before I come to the table to talk she is gone. Her backside and back wave together. I wave skywards for whatever God to help her. She disappears over the hill so to speak. The reflecting light around the sides of our overpass fades and the electric lights rise aound us. The shadows are different and We decide our train must be found further down the line.

We walk and walk and walk on the road past where we walked before. On the long drunken and water deprived route. Then we walk some more. We walked and walked and walked, passing the long long road The way is weary and we feel the fatuige. My guts feels off kilter. We push along the long long mile mile. A couple at least. We know that this is a switching yard. Realizing that there is need for water my guts grow tighter. The food amount was replaced at this time with the hard A. We are on the side of this road during this now night, the road is one of those two lane highways with often a center lane for convenient turning into the suburban homes that occupied the territory across from the RR tracks. The lives inbetween are plenty and the cars drive by. My will to carry a pack has diminished into no will at all and I push my pack on my skate, this in a fashion still rideable. My skate is so fine. It lacks ego where tricks are conserned, but opened up to the grouve that the is pavement it is home in most places. My scoot is smooth with it’s wide ride and gooy rubber wheels. Pushing is a glide. I’m still dog tired of being here. Seems one can grow faturged with the lack of constant exersize, like the muscles of the mind are tired of not traveling. I’ve seen people in places that do the same, maybe with out knowing.

A car swerves toward us and we stand in defiance. Hell if there going to hit us I doubt the’ll miss at sixty miles per. One other tried this and I nearly hit them with my board. Autobullies. My guts seize to needing water I don’t care how, then I know how. The faucets pump tap water witch is a pleasure to drink when not in LA. It’s a sketchy task and it is done while Gabe is in the bushes with the packs. Better to be caught alone in these siturations. At night if two are lurking around on your front porch, well then you have two conspiring master minds, but if it’s one it could more easily dimissed as a hobo in distress, witch is kinder to the intensity respect. I am quiet as can be on a wooden porch. I am directoly quite close to the doorknob as the hose lies next to the stairs and the spicket is down form the doorknob that I imagine might turn for the worse. As I spin the movement of the water is so loud. It serges through the pipes in a low earth embedded scream. The point pushes out. Every noise is exattrated and examined and the eyes keep out for house lights. I point the running water throat toward and guzzle my guts to the brim. I find this to be a relief. The two bottles are being taken full. I am taking outta there. With the proper undoing of my doing of course.

Our course takes us on. Gabe is constantly looking at the yard perhaps for the secreate answer that would give this whole seen away. He doesn’t find it and he finds frustration. I offer to leave my pack with him and skate ahead to look out the looks. We are looking here for signs of other tracks or some prominate action promoting piece of scenery. The intersection is my gamble point. This is where the track has narrowed to one. I feel good on a full skate with out my weight.

We lie in the weeds for a while when I get back. Then we cross and observe the cars closer. We pass the gallery and notice the art. We would like to ride one of these away form here just about now. I think we did.

As we lay distance and metal below and behind us the stock reserve of energy that did not exist before manifested it self here, I am now wide awake. The energy of travel had me, being that the open pastures that blew by opened my channels of the good voodoo I let it come in. I wonder how this fits in the math of things as I look at my arms and feel the neurons or whatever smart people call the life shoooting through, dancing spinning existing with fever. Feels like coffee. I fit here I’m looking at the sparce town that swing on by. We’ve hopped on a tetnis box but the box is full and we streach out on the flats over the wheels. The perfrations are perfect for looking at the smooth metal on metal that makes us mobile. The country is green green and a bit of the blues is in a part of my heart.

On this way to Portland we experience some light rain. It bit down but not hard. Just in spirts. With my face to the holes I saw as the drops pooled on the metal and fell perfectly to the spinning wheel that does not look like it is spinning at all. When the contact was made the droplets reacted apporpatly according to all logic as proved true on every drip. So many worlds coexisting at once. I feel isolated but not and very far from numb. This feeling puzzles me. Though Gabe and I are considered friends, I feel isolated. Little dots on a blank train. Purposeless? I can’t decide. There must be some ego or is it universal? Some sleeping is good at this here and now.

There is a wooden barbed wire fence that sits still to the right of us. Too bad about the unseasoned blackberry bushes that sit dormant. I’m sure Gabe still looks with suspisus eyes. The train has stopped on a 3 mile. It waits for another train to pass. I must make waste. It is done off the train and done well. I realize the train could be on it’s way, I have my spot picked out if it does start moving as well as my backup spot incase I’ve missed the first. The works work through (sorry) and I’m all abored. Good timing too. We are again on the move. This feels like living. Life is so uncertain and reality so fragile, kinda makes me smile large style. We ride this one into and out of the thickness of trees and crossover roads and blast though tunnels. The greatness of the world is apon or eyes and we are the travelers along for the ride. I climb on the box and ride on top of the moving. The wind is powerful and the feeling is full.

The locomotive moves on into industrial land and we feel the Portland near us. We toss mental coins about getting off now as the train is slow moving, now would ensure we would not face the steaming snout of the bull. We figure some leg streaching would be approiate at thios hour. We hop and I roll off my feet in a directed and mildly skilled manner scraping only a little my knee and elbow. To this our feet take us on the movement toward the inbetweens of the tin structures locked tight. The roads do not look promicing in leading us with signs to our desired civilization. Row after row of where house leads us to of course what else but a county fair. Once more it’s premises is soruunded by razor wire. Once more further we find as we forage for the entrance it is on a national guard reserve and there we make entrance. This grows a slight more bizarre when we discover the wonderful tuba music that is the Mexican fashion and is the theme of this festia. Guard folks are all over and one sees my skateboard and recognizes it form “back in the day” I throw it to his feet and tell him to dance. He holds it with twice the respect and I see in his eyes the civalian behind the clothes. Again I tell him to get boogie on the sucker. He hands it back with a remorse. “can’t in uniform” I tell him that it would be good PR with potential recuits. Of course this is as we all know the bullshit. We meet again in the bruuito line and fine burritos are constructed. We joke and laugh with the makers and they forget to charge me, I forget to pay untill I do realize and do go pay. To the camo dressed skater I motion to duck behind a trailer and he floats some freestyle in combat boots. Loaded with burritos we make way to the beer gardens. The military mother is guarding the entrance and is at post to preserve the law of “of age drinking” I am laid down with a pack camera skate and burrito. I tell her I will set these things down inside the paper gate and produce my valid ID. To this she will have none of. The fair I must say at this time is severly under populated. Mostly venders make up the minds here. There is far more non people that people. I count 35 in the whole shebang at least 20 being vendors. I ask if she is afraid I might duck away in the croud. Clearly she is not amused and responds in the driest very official rebuttal of athourty. I don’t buck too hard but let her know I got some. The cheers here are three bucks a pop. The humid is nice and we easdrop one of the angry coordnaters there shooting mad. He is upset at the not so many of people. The radio blasts mucho espaniol. And we offer to buy him a beer. He thanks us but no. He asks us about how we heard of it and our way he is not so pleased with. Hoodlums but paying hoodlums. It was clear we would have to drink plenty of beer to let him break even. We put three away each and sit contented. My burito had the peppers of somewhere and the flavors of something else too. I taste them in my teeth. The grass there is long and the radio man speeks in speed and we here the mention of the event. After a small spell we revert to leaveing but not before I pose ontop of an official army hummer. My triumph. I rember some squrly industrial trash on the walk about though now rual residential plots of land. Near the main road more of this white plastic strips that curlled like as if whittled off.
We cross over a bridge we crossed under and make way to the corner stop. We stop in and I think purchased juice and Gabe attempts to leave some flyers for the fair. The 7-11 gentalman is not getting the idea of what Gabe is trying to accomplish and puts the fliers behind the counter, frustrated Gabe gets them back and we act like stroms on our exiting. We find bus information from the peoples. We draw mustashes on the bus bench. Our thoughts were precisely intune to this. Phase 2 of this mission is coming close.

All signs have pointed yes but some how I know. I walk with a rose in my teeth. My beard is fairly full. I stink of rail metal and some B.O. it’s just perfect. Our bus finds us to the part of Portland we should be in and some walking and more walking finds us to the visible familirty where this is to happen. Gabe strokes love on the walls and we see a marker of “caveman” I have the nervousness. Life changing stakes against all odds. I try then as I try now to distract my self from what is here. So much of my heart is in my hands now and it’s pumping and it’s messy and I hope she will take it form me. I hope that the world will spin together what it once had. But nothing lasts forever. I know this as I knock on the door, I know this as Leslie her roomate answers and is shocked in a mouth drop at the sight of the me before her. I was hoping it would be her that would open but it was not. After a few moments here I motivate the summoning of Tracy and that she does come and is not that surprised of the travels I have made, but I see from the get go inside her eyes I am a dead hero. No longer loved and the storm was suppressed. HER EYES DID NOT LOVE ME!! This we dissussed lying on grass on the cold of the air. Fitting weather. No words of adquet nature could come out.

The night was time for drunkeness. Only wine could be found as the stores do not carry what I desired. But wine was a good servant. The storm was low it was the calm before the distruction. Gabe was an alli but frogin to me. We connected on many levels, many we both admit not often connected on. But even he would not ride the whole night. We walked the hippy district. Faces were seen. We found a couch behind a dumpster to sit, there we drank. We drew things. We walked on. We tried to enter an improv room and they did let us in untill the ass of ourselves was escorted out due to our outgoingness and not-give-a-damness. It was not completely suprising that we find Free Eagle on the streets playing his songs with his dog. I know the great spirit is with us, I know what ever it is knows my sheer. We meet at the same time a man who is wearing a silk Buddha shirt, it is infact the same shirt that my aunt had given me before and I do have a storng attachment to it. Because of this I spoke to the guy. Immidately I do not like him. He is smoking and puffed up like a horney pidgon. His talk yacks and fouls my listen. He shows no respect for Free Eagle and it is not suprising that it is not his shirt. The owner of this shirt is attempting to secure it back, some how this had all happened. The jug is gone and I like like an ass smash it. Gabe is much less drunk and much more responsible he cleans it up to my shame. Free Eagle sees I am now a forigner in my drunkness and pain. I feel this now sepration and I attempt to bridge the gap by showing stillness and attentiaveness to the song witch he throws. Then there is much confusion and good close to violence with the shirt topic and it is logically decided by me that if we would all go to a party that the slease ball knows of then at that juncture would be a reasonable time to return the shirt and we will all be merry. Some how this all makes sence. The owner of shirt leaves to obtain his vechile. I am there as the responsible one to make sure his shirt stays there. The car arrives and it is a geo 2 seater with no roof. It is of logic that we, being Gabe and my self sit on the back of the car with legs fitting into the cab compartment. I have at this time smashed a few things in travel. My hand shows a mark. To this I pay little attention on top of the convertible waving bye to Free Eagle. His smile that was so familiar was not there but his wave and wisdom eyes were with us.

Riding in this fashion will of course lead to officers passing in the oppsite direction they about face and we face the law with flashlights on us turned. We are all out of the car and the slease wearing the shirt tries to leave with the shirt. To this I hold his sleave and say “no”. The driver is taking a fall and were going to be witness and support to this. The cop tells us to move along but I tell him we’d rather wait. Our friend in the car blasts his sterio in rebllion. To this another ticket is added. My self and Gabe offer to take the tickets pleaing that it was of our consent but we are denyed this. We hold till the whole thing is over. The party was not even going on. We were however just outside a strip club.

Strip clubs are not my fancy, no not at all. We are on the inside and I buy the driver a drink, and it is forced the return of the shirt. Here things for me turn more ugly. For me strip clubs are a decriped place. And not in the good way. The feeling that vasline was once everywhere and not completely cleaned up was very here. The exploitation is on both sides. The females exploit the males who eagerly give dollars to dancers they think might fuck them. The males oogle sadly. On 2 occasions the bouncer has to correct me for standing on things and disrupting despite myself. Tattooed punk pierced pussy dances with talent but not with my respect or arousal. I try for a short time to get into it but no. A crazed raw electricity with an anmial soul shreads inside me. The slease tries to talk to me once. That’s it, once. To Gabe I tell something of my dirt honest feeling toward this whole piss house and leave. Gabe stays behind. I stagger to another bar where hicks and corrkie play. I enter in closing time and some how become in dewet on stage. I watch my feet move where they want to. I consern and befriend some and the whole bar closes. Somehow Gabe is there but he is lost again toward the strip club. I climb a roof top. I hope he will come out, there is danger inside me. There is no more in me and I burst away destroying everything I know. Things are thrown and torn down blood is soaking in my sock. I wish to speed these details and I find my self out on a street,looking up the well light street my previous path is clear. Once Gabe walked by and said something and kept walking. He left me alone and I crawl into the bushes for morning.

The next day I walk around Portland unsure of what to do. I keep an eye out for Gabe. I look at the train situation. I consider the hitchhike. Time is dwindling and I am unsure of my disision making certainty. I feel a wreck and a mighty good one at that. I feel unsafe for parniod reasons, I feel those little life beads spinning backward in a death cycle, I feel something among many things are not correct. I see fire the day after and fear they will clear away this wreckage myself to be dead. I feel I will die not on my own accord with these discions. My faith in anything robbed. I decide to Amtrak it back.