He knew this from the start: small towns force one into what ever psychic resources you have no matter how meager. You can’t run out to get lost in the crowd, the traffic, the Trifeds (sic), the whatevers the whomevers…what you have is what you get, a place for ET the extraterrestrial not to get lost..or to GET lost, I forget which. All hope streams from the past here, a make-do plan at best, make-do until you die with proper unction nothing left but double handfulls of words to toss in the ground, hopeing to seed the carcass…BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME JOE! Except for those who have had good luck this time and this time and this time and continually this time never THAT time “where am i, where am i?! ( Cranes)
But no matter. no place. no time New York Mississippi back black hole back door back and gone, crying to Lazarus mr bowie. rip
pli selon pli