The Dissolute Paperback The grey and/or blue hotels and/or trucks and/or the green and/or red taxis and/or the tiny ravens whispering of the long and/or short autumn where everything is finally cataloged by degree of culpability in the loss of rail service. It is easy to locate a specific locomotive in this pleasant vale using the ordinary appetites system. There were once small fast boats stored beneath the trees near the river that ran parallel with the tracks but a hundred feet below. It was a new way of knowing and recalling the names of places along the tracks above and also transported forced passengers in safe disregard. After the rain we sat high in the dining car amphitheater satcheled in darkness to watch the ghosts of the unemployed wrestle in native dress with the collectors of souvenir salt-shakers ritual ashtrays and the odd puppy paperweight. The railroad rosebushes are no longer considered to belong to the dubious category of “delights” by managers who several decades ago stopped resisting materialism. Now we wonder if the readers are upset by the earnest plot. We turn to a later description of the Station in the vanity of enhancing the reader’s pleasure. All the critical narrative events shall pass in the distant semi-circle of pines outside the sea-port town and/or a toy castle window shall burst into flames upon the very page you are reading and you say you love a good western but this really isn’t that and never was. If you dream of those small fast boats stored beneath the tracks a sufficient rapport will have been established between creator and reader and we can hold off the secret police for one more season although we might miss their fawning affections and the way they caress the sentences of lesser criminals.
Posted on: Sat, 27 Jul 2013 19:57:10 +0000
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