8/05/2008
Route 66 West
It is never far to the unfamiliar; at any moment the wild, the eerie,
the mysterious may ruffle the stagnant pool of our mediocre days.
--David Grayson
#
TUESDAY, JUNE 17 / Route 44 West
Route 66 is a chameleon—it changes from state
to state—55, 44, 40.
Here comes the flood--
National Guardsmen
on the side of the road.
Lines of Humvees, trucks, jeeps.
Motel
full of insurance adjusters
in State Farm
t-shirts.
The motel breakfast:
steam table w/ bizarre
analogue “sunnyside up” egg-like objects:
32 exact replicas
of each other, rubbery disks w/ 16 flakes
of pepper on each & a bright
yellow “yolk” dyed in the exact
same spot on every “egg.”
Bio-engineered ¼ inch thick 3x3 patties
of egg anodyne, stacked
on edge in a holder like rubber noveltiesat a joke shop or something cooked up
by Poindexter P. Flubberschmidt
on his Mattel Thing-Maker.
Add some yummy carcinogenic chems
posing as coffee
and I’m all set!
Please—no more road food.
Slimfast & apples.
#
Daddy’s stratagem for morning peace:
I send them all to the van so I
can use the toilet in peace.
“I have to address some
personal issues.”
#
Today
I have T-Bone Burnett’s
hair.
#
18 wheeler flipped
down a gulch,
terrified family
from the mini-van that
cut him off
gathered among cops
firemen
EMTs.
#
Megan calls Joplin, Missouri,“Joe-Plin.”
The GPS says there’s nothing
anywhere
in any direction—
just a lone
skinny line
of road.
#
Favorite local newspaper story:
guy robs convenience store,
but the voices in his head
talk him into calling the cops
to confess.
#
Thought:
Every writer is a haunted house.
Writing is just a séance.
#
Oklahoma.
The kids, as usual, are asleep.
Everything
sneaks by them
like possums
going past
their bedroom
windows.
Eric
Snorts
Sits up
Regards
Oklahoma
Finds it
Wanting
Goes back
To sleep.
Exhausted
From only
Sleeping 16 hours
Yesterday.
#
My eyes are so bad: could swear
that sign over there said
TURKISH INFO STATION.
#
9:30 a.m.
Casino’s parking lots are full.
Already 100 miles, crossing
The many lovely rivers
Of Eastern Oklahoma.
Best place name:
BIG CABIN.
#
GPS says
no Starbuck’s in Okla: CIA
disinformation plot.
#
Between Chicago & Tulsa, 25 signs
w/ plastic cows or horses
standing on them. Only one
plastic elk.
Giant beer bottle:
LIQUID LIFE.
#
Knight
built of roadside crap—
Tulsa.
#
Men’s room sign
is a guy crossing his legs
needing to pee.
It’s real cute.
#
American History Evolves—
We cross the Chisholm Trail.
1,000,000 ghosts
of longhorns & cowboys
rumble thru.
From the back seat, a voice comes forth:
“MOM!
Eric’s not sharing the
PRINGLES!”
#
Cherokee Trading Post.
I find Harleys to park beside.
Chayo runs
and climbs the fiberglass buffalo.
semi-muffler giant
stands watch.
Dressed like a Cherokee.
His indigenous cousin.
#
200 miles: Subway.
Freakish sandwich stop.
One woman complained to us about her REAL BAD DAY,
how she was out of bread and how she had to clean all day
because the health inspectors were coming to inspect &
there wasn’t nobody else to clean the shop & here she was now
out of wheat & she was affronted by our sandwich choices
& walked away, & when we tried to talk to her as she left,
she scolded us & announced, “Only ONE employee
works on a sandwich at a TIME!” w/ her finger up in the air &
I could have told her you don’t put a finger in
Cinderella’s face or else Mama’s inner she-griz will come out
and punch your heart out w/ your own finger, but just as C’s head
started its evil swaying & the strike built up,
the annointed OTHER EMPLOYEE came forth to adopt our sandwiches
& she moved in extreme slo-mo & stared at the bread and fixin’s as if
they could give her an explanation & I thought she might
be sick, no joke, because her lip hung open
and she blinked REAL SLOW and said “Huh?” and “Wha?” and “What kinda
meat
did you want?” &
“What kinda
cheese
was on that?” except
she said it all s-l-o-w-l-y
so it came out
meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet
and it came out
cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez
& she bent way down to look into the pickle bin
& didn’t give evidence she could ever
come back out,
saying
“You
want
pick
les
on
that?
You
want
ummmm
mayooooooooooooooooooooooh
?”
#
If I hear Coldplay on the radio
one more time, I’m going to
take my Swiss Army Knife
& commit ritual suicide.
#
TEXAS.
Don’t
Mess.
Drive
Friendly.
#
Ol’ 66 beside us, the Ghost Road.
Johnny Dillinger, Bonnie
& Clyde, Hank Williams, John
Steinbeck. Killers & poets
cooking in the heat.
#
Ruined, abandoned
gas station on the far side
of 66: Pretty
Boy Floyd’s ghost
is sitting in the office
w/ black widows
& armadillos.
I’d like
to live
there.
#
Lone outlaw biker
riding to Amarillo
flying his colors
like John Wesley Hardin.
#
Oh. That’s not the ocean over there.
That’s Texas.
#
Another sign of True Civilization:
our first dead armadillo.
#
Rest area—
white quartz chips
& chunks of black lava
form inadvertent
yin-yangs.
Playground w/ Chayo.
We go down the slides.
Signs say:
Watch For Rattlesnakes.
#
1,000 miles.
#
The Largest Cross
In the Western Hemisphere!
They need to add a muffler giant
to be John the Baptist.
#
A parade of storm-chaser vehicles
overtakes us, going our way
toward the black clouds.
We all look over at them
& say
OH-OHHH.
#
At last!
Cadillac Ranch!
Vicious hot Texas wind
clearly come up all the way
from Mexico—
an illegal immigrant!
Someone will no doubt
volunteer to shoot it.
We hie on over across the big dead fields.
The Caddies are rotting, no doubt about it.
Chayo finds a spray paint can and the kids go to town.
#
There is an odd food theme at the ranch today.
One Cad says:
I LOVE BELGIAN WAFFLES.
Another says:
I LIKE PIE.
#
As we make the u-turn to leave,
we have the classic WTF
Road Moment.
We pass under a bridge
&
a 10 year old
blonde Texas kid
stands in the shade
& gives us the finger
as we drive away
into the west.
Does he like pie?
that sign over there said
TURKISH INFO STATION.
#
9:30 a.m.
Casino’s parking lots are full.
Already 100 miles, crossing
The many lovely rivers
Of Eastern Oklahoma.
Best place name:
BIG CABIN.
#
GPS says
no Starbuck’s in Okla: CIA
disinformation plot.
#
Between Chicago & Tulsa, 25 signs
w/ plastic cows or horses
standing on them. Only one
plastic elk.
Giant beer bottle:
LIQUID LIFE.
#
Knight
built of roadside crap—
Tulsa.
#
Men’s room sign
is a guy crossing his legs
needing to pee.
It’s real cute.
#
American History Evolves—
We cross the Chisholm Trail.
1,000,000 ghosts
of longhorns & cowboys
rumble thru.
From the back seat, a voice comes forth:
“MOM!
Eric’s not sharing the
PRINGLES!”
#
Cherokee Trading Post.I find Harleys to park beside.
Chayo runs
and climbs the fiberglass buffalo.
semi-muffler giant
stands watch.
Dressed like a Cherokee.
His indigenous cousin.
#
200 miles: Subway.
Freakish sandwich stop.
One woman complained to us about her REAL BAD DAY,
how she was out of bread and how she had to clean all day
because the health inspectors were coming to inspect &
there wasn’t nobody else to clean the shop & here she was now
out of wheat & she was affronted by our sandwich choices
& walked away, & when we tried to talk to her as she left,
she scolded us & announced, “Only ONE employee
works on a sandwich at a TIME!” w/ her finger up in the air &
I could have told her you don’t put a finger in
Cinderella’s face or else Mama’s inner she-griz will come out
and punch your heart out w/ your own finger, but just as C’s head
started its evil swaying & the strike built up,
the annointed OTHER EMPLOYEE came forth to adopt our sandwiches
& she moved in extreme slo-mo & stared at the bread and fixin’s as if
they could give her an explanation & I thought she might
be sick, no joke, because her lip hung open
and she blinked REAL SLOW and said “Huh?” and “Wha?” and “What kinda
meat
did you want?” &
“What kinda
cheese
was on that?” except
she said it all s-l-o-w-l-y
so it came out
meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet
and it came out
cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez
& she bent way down to look into the pickle bin
& didn’t give evidence she could ever
come back out,
saying
“You
want
pick
les
on
that?
You
want
ummmm
mayooooooooooooooooooooooh
?”
#
If I hear Coldplay on the radio
one more time, I’m going to
take my Swiss Army Knife
& commit ritual suicide.
#
TEXAS.
Don’t
Mess.
Drive
Friendly.
#
Ol’ 66 beside us, the Ghost Road.
Johnny Dillinger, Bonnie
& Clyde, Hank Williams, John
Steinbeck. Killers & poets
cooking in the heat.
#
Ruined, abandoned
gas station on the far side
of 66: Pretty
Boy Floyd’s ghost
is sitting in the office
w/ black widows
& armadillos.
I’d like
to live
there.
#
Lone outlaw biker
riding to Amarillo
flying his colors
like John Wesley Hardin.
#
Oh. That’s not the ocean over there.
That’s Texas.
#
Another sign of True Civilization:
our first dead armadillo.
#
Rest area—
white quartz chips
& chunks of black lava
form inadvertent
yin-yangs.
Playground w/ Chayo.
We go down the slides.
Signs say:
Watch For Rattlesnakes.
#
1,000 miles.
#
The Largest Cross
In the Western Hemisphere!
They need to add a muffler giant
to be John the Baptist.
#
A parade of storm-chaser vehicles
overtakes us, going our way
toward the black clouds.
We all look over at them
& say
OH-OHHH.
#
At last!
Cadillac Ranch!
Vicious hot Texas wind
clearly come up all the way
from Mexico—
an illegal immigrant!
Someone will no doubt
volunteer to shoot it.
We hie on over across the big dead fields.
The Caddies are rotting, no doubt about it.
Chayo finds a spray paint can and the kids go to town.
#
There is an odd food theme at the ranch today.
One Cad says:
I LOVE BELGIAN WAFFLES.
Another says:
I LIKE PIE.
#
As we make the u-turn to leave,
we have the classic WTF
Road Moment.
We pass under a bridge
&
a 10 year old
blonde Texas kid
stands in the shade
& gives us the finger
as we drive away
into the west.
Does he like pie?
# posted by Luis @ 5:50 PM 
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