Poetic observations

The world is on fire, like you didn't know
Forgiveness has transpired, its time to go
And for all our bitterness and greed
Nothing can save us in our time of need

The world is on fire, its been that way for a time
Look to whatever happiness while its still left to find
For all the arrogance, and all the posturing
Doesn't give meaning in time of catastrophe

The world is on fire, but that doesn't mean the end
We can be immortal and posthumously transcend
For all the axes and bombs we blow
The roots go deeper than we seem to know

The world is on fire, close your eyes now
And I will see you again

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Welcome to my gray world
No true light, night or day
Nothing is to be distinguished or told
And there is no hell to pay

Welcome to this life of gray
Lost in a non intoxicating haze
Its all the same to what its worth
Sad fact we get less than what we deserve

Paying exorbitant and high fees
For our lack of belief
Seems what is best for all
Caries the very highest toll

Welcome to this life of gray

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So many people with half open ears
Wanting to be told but they don't want to hear
In quiet hours weeping for their defeats
But never having the fortitude to stand on their feet

So many people bewildered and dismayed
Wishing their problems would all just go away
Crying at god and pissing in the wind
Inventing truths just so they can fit in

Tired wills and apathetic avenues
Life is hard but what are going to do?
Piss and moan and stomp your feet
Make demons and gremlins of people on the street

Wasting away in shallow pools of regret
Ask your doctor if its right for you just so you can forget
So many people living in fear
But will never change if if the chance is near

Why I will never be part of "heartland" America

I went to eat lunch at the local diner today, to get out of the house for a bit and the like. It was a horrifying scene. As I sat there looking at the cheese and chest beating displays of patriotism in front of me, I simply thought it was stupid and pathetic. American flags, Jesus loves you lighted word messages, ceramic bald eagles on dear antlers, a "united we stand" banner; the whole nine yards of gross Americana, easy rhetoric for simple minds. That's when I spotted something that really pissed me off.

Just over my shoulder was another ceramic bald eagle but this one was perched atop a confederate flag. It gave me a bad shock, like seeing your fat and old neighbor walk out the door to get his morning paper, but he is only wearing his robe (open) and nothing else. The kind that sends shivers of revulsion and acute agony screaming up your spine and slamming into your brain; permanently scarring the tissue of ones psyche. I wanted to point out what an idiotic display it was, how it made no sense or how it was just such hypocrisy. Do they not understand that the United States actually fought a war with the Confederate States, and that that war left over half a million Americans dead? United we stand? A bald eagle, a symbol of the Union, proudly perched on the rebel saltire proudly displayed (and on sale for $30) amidst all the bullshit propaganda and Jesus Loves Me greetings. It was just too much for an innocent young man such as myself who just wanted a sandwich and some coffee.

I felt something must be said, someone should be made to understand. Like a rock thrown in the dark, the sad reality hit me. Looking around at the fattened and geriatric heard, the slack jawed employees praying for their shift to end, the sad reality was that they do not and would not ever understand such seemingly complex yet simple truisms. This is their reality. This is small town values. Patriotism, jesus, and the greatest symbol of hatred and intolerance this country has known, all rolled into one. Well fuck me, isn't this sweet. These are the kind of people who say gays and liberals are ruining this country. Gee-sonny-boy, they have convinced me that I am wrong. I should learn to live in fear, hate the unknown, and place my trust and faith in dogmatic axioms.

To prop these "god fearing" grassfuckers up as the moral core of this country is an insult to the rest of us us heathens with half a brain. No wonder we have problems. I would say god's mercy on those swine, but if he is on their side, I want nothing to do with him either.

Riding the Rails: Mean tales and majestic landscapes

Rain, goddamn. Seems like every time I travel its pouring rain. I don't know if that is true or not, but it seems that way. The only life stirring at the Amtrak station at four am on a Tuesday morning was a homeless man hustling for cigarettes and loose dollars. Which he claims are for White Castles, but who knows and further more, who cares? Perhaps an explanation is in order on my choice of means for this trip.

When choosing my mode of transportation for a recent trip I had many things to consider. Time, cost, and most importantly; which is the most booze friendly. Given these parameters I chose to take the train. No baggage search, no yuppie fuck head businessman cocksucker sitting beside me. People who take the train are not working on Power Point presentations. They don't check the stock market or the political columns of the paper. These are generally are either the dregs of society or crusty old bastards trying to relive the glory days of their youth. The perfect means of travel if you have plenty of time to kill and wish to stay under the radar of all sorts of mean bastards that regulate interstate travel. With a rucksack loaded with a few changes of clothes and liquor, I awaited my departure time.


"You may use either restroom at the back but I suggest you close the door, unless you want someone to help you out." The commuter train to Chicago was the most foul and heinous of the lot. Delays and slow speeds we toiled the few hundred miles suffering stalled cars on the tracks, dreary skies, and the sight of dozens of grimy small towns in Middle America. More bleak and depressing than the drizzle and cold weather could ever possibly be. This went on for five rotten hours, only slightly rising above the pleasantries of visiting the dentist. No wonder this savage tube was nearly empty.

The wait in Chicago was a rather strange scene. An Amish family gathered in a basement waiting room below one of America's largest city. Like some bizarre invasion of the place by a bunch of country bumpkins from a century past.

The first day pasted quietly and without fanfare, much to my chagrin. Time was spent sitting in the geriatric ward, sipping smuggled whiskey and chewing on beef jerky. It was at an early morning smoke stop on the second day, I discovered where the action was. I was told that in the the evenings the most surly of passengers gathered in the lounge car to trade stories and drinks of smuggled liquor. Fine way to spend an evening, its either that or listen to some shriveled old retiree in front of me snore for 200 miles before I finally knock off to sleep. So I decided to check the place out, get a feel for the action, what's going on. The crowd I was traveling with started in on the beer at about 10am to 12pm. Given the fact we were all hostages in an aluminum torpedo, what else is there to do on a Wednesday? Seeing that I am a civilized individual (read poor) I decided to wait till after my lunch to begin boozing. Unfortunately that meant I missed the glories of drinking in North Dakota; but I was determined to make up for it in Montana.

As the sun began to set, simple conversation began to change its tone. No longer where the awkward utterances of formalities standing in the way. The stowaway booze was beginning to surface. Anticipating the expensive prices of the service car, the savage drunks had planned ahead and in solid abundance (some even making liquor store runs at an extended stop in Havre, Montana). I was one of this crowd. I had packed my own whiskey in a 20oz bottle of tea, using this packaging disguise to throw off the over zealous and over pious. A whole assortment of booze was produced, from beer to bourbon, to vodka and gin; no liver went without punishment of a more refined character. Many gin-soaked stories where traded. From the down on your luck stories to the common "just visiting" tale. Oddly enough, most of this lousy lot was unemployed. My kind of people.

These were the drunken times that would make most of middle America wilt in shame. But what they don't understand is that these are the situations where people from all over in all sorts of walks of life are made equals. Various age groups and backgrounds, gathered around the tables to suck down drinks and enjoy life. All lost in the underworld of booze and free flowing idea exchange.

To marginalize the loss of the majestic view from the windows, we pacified ourselves with spirits. Drinking well into the night, sympathizing with the down trodden, celebrating winnings in poker. Passing various bottles of liquor to appease our appetites. This behavior carried on for some hours. Relaxing in the lounge car with fellow booze hounds and freaks of various natures. Late into this degenerated night the drugs were broken out. Half a dozen people were now both drunk and high from various means of self-medicating. Fortunately for myself, I was of this lot because one woman at the table decided to go on and on in a most depressing fashion. If I was not thoroughly medicated I might have gone insane from such wailing. But I was above all this bad noise, floating comfortably upon the fog that had settled in my head. Time lost meaning in this decadent haze, it is hard to say how long this behavior lasted. Eventually it was time to retire for the night.

Upon waking I was greeted by the sunrise on the Columbia River Gorge. As I stumbled to the lounge car for my morning coffee, the landscape rolled by. The cast once again gathered; re acclimating our senses for the day ahead. In a few short hours Portland, OR was reached. Here we had a few hours of layover, what better time to get drunk?

Ten am we departed from the train. As seeing that I use to live in this city, my knowledge of the local geography was called upon to find a nearby bar that met our criteria; i.e. cheap and where no one notices if you are slamming beers before noon. The Ash Street Saloon fit this bill nicely. Sitting down to round after round, we discussed our ends to this savage journey. My drinking companion was traveling to California to help his sons build a log cabin. Of course this meant he still had more than a day on the train, why not get good and sauced? Nothing better to do anyway. By this time the beer was beginning to have its desired effect, owing to the fact that I had skipped breakfast (and now lunch came in a liquid form).

The tab was paid and we stepped into the bright light of the day. With forty minutes left before the next train was scheduled to leave, it was time to run an errand. Before embarking on the train it was imperative that the liquor stash be replenished. Once again calling on my familiarity with the city we quickly found a liquor store where the goods were to be found. Five minutes later we were well supplied once again, my friend with vodka and me with whiskey.

Still with 20 minutes before boarding time, we stopped over at the bar in the train station. Our orders placed and drinks received, we sucked them down in time to join the line to board the train. Finding my seat, I stowed the old luggage and headed once again to the lounge car. As soon as the service bar was open a few rounds of beer were bought as we continued through the Oregon in lands. I was not going as far as the other heathens that I had been drinking with for the last few days, my stop was only a couple of hours off; but the most was made of the time.

Vodka was promptly produced and many shots were consumed along with our overpriced lounge beers. Very soon all were in the exalted glory of full blown drunkenness. Eye brows were raised at our somewhat unruly behavior, but fuck those uptight bastards. There is life to live and clearly they do not understand that. As the sunset my destination was reached and I swayed back to my seat to collect my belongings . (Is that the movement of the train, or am I just having difficulties walking?) At the station we said our final goodbyes while smoking on the platform.

As they boarded the train I made my way into town to meet up with friends long forgotten. Though beer and whiskey flowed like so much water, it wasn't quite the same as barreling along in a drunken madness through Americas vistas and wastelands. The good times were spelled out by the extent of my stumble and disavowing the obstacle of the walk I had ahead of me. Off to sail the gravy boat down yet another river of whiskey.

Holiday Ramblings

Redneckistan, USA
January 1, 2007

Dear Jesus Christ man, this holiday stuff is beginning to annoy me. All the stupid materialisms and bullshit wrapping paper, tinsel, and all the other cardboard trappings. I tell you, its enough to make any man's , with two feet on the ground, head spin. Serious fear manifested. This year was probably the worst; not enough money to stay throughly drunk, various terrors of family gatherings spread over 3 days, bad food and bad vibes.

I think Rickey got it right in the Trailer Park Boys Christmas Special. To wit- "Christmas isn't about presents and all this other bullshit, its about getting drunk and stoned with your family and loved ones."

Fucking A right, of course. I think that is one of the things that seems so amiss this year: no getting drunk with the family, let alone the possibility of getting stoned. Shit, even when we both had booze my brother just locked himself in his room and played video games; as is his increasing want now days. In my opinion it would have been better times if we sat around getting drunk, smoking the hookah and watching comedy. Perhaps I am just a disillusioned pie in the sky motherfucker, but what can you do? Its a sad scene man, something that surely speaks the degradations of the traditional family holiday. I bet you back in 1500 people were more concerned with getting drunk and feasting than receiving gift cards from Ye Ol' Mutton Shoppe. Its in our blood, the tradition of it all. Seeing my niece react like a little plastic consumer was despicable; doling out her love and attention based solely on the price of the gift. Its sad to see the youth of tomorrow sliding into such a shallow grave. The best Christmas' I have had have been spent getting completely hammered on Christmas Eve, even though we had to get up in four hours after drinking heavily all night.

Sadly New Years this year has been no better. Given my limited liquor budget doesn't help much as well. All friends were out of town or unreachable, liquor stores were closed in this god forsaken state, and there wasn't much food in the pantry. Certainly the new year can only get better from here. But atleast its a holiday that centers around getting hammered and enjoying life, just unfortunate there is none of that in this tired little town. So here I am, sitting at the old computer listening to people call into Art Bell making all sorts of predictions. Gross madness from a wide cross section of the country. Dear Christ, can't these people hear themselves? All kinds of fear and terror being spouted by the masses. Doom and gloom and righteous indignation. Its heavy shit to have laid on you at this time of year and night. But fuck it, what can you do?

Enough of this off balanced rambling, hope all is well there. All the best to you in the new day and new year.

Sincerely,
Citizen Parker