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Hmmm... I feel I need to expound on my previous post. After backing into the dock to be unloaded, I take note that there are three men working the area, all between 40 and 55. The oldest, and i believe the boss, is clearly native american, maybe fully so- small wonder in a town named Waseca. One is bald with a big dent in his head (i guess sometimes it does leave a mark) anyway, I'm thinkin German. The little guy is blonde and definitely of Norwegian descent. All over the walls are cheap pics of bad flea market indian art. Also much viking football shit. Also, nascar, hunting and Vegas crap. None of it worth a nickle. And, the oddest of all, a burl ives album- Decca- unsleeved. Obviously these three individuals spend much time pissing on the same tree. I ask the proud native american what waseca means. He says "haven't got a clue, not from around here." hmm. It's little wonder the gal from Holland is confused. They all have been friendly to me, probably would cook me breakfast if I asked. But they are cold and indifferent to each other. How fucked is that? Am i like that? I now wonder, and wonder why. ...And so it goes, in waseca anyway. And what of that B n W of the Mexican soldiers standing on the train? I didn't see any Mexicans? Probably hiding in the bathroom. We all know they're lazy sneaks, right? Yes, indeed, and so it goes everywhere.

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A beautiful morning in Minnesota. When I get here, I realize how much I miss blue water lakes. They're everywhere here. Where I now live, Kentucky, all the lakes are man made and few there are. I talk to a woman, she is from Holland and says she hates it here. Says people are unfriendly. I tell her I hate KY because people are unfriendly. She says she lived in KY and loves it cuz people are so friendly. She invites me in for coffee but I sense trouble brewin on the stove so I walk to this nearby shoreline n do this instead. She will now think me unfriendly. And so it goes...

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It's a pretty mornin in mid america. In an hour i'll be in Chicago and pretty will be extinct til i come out in Wisconsin on the other end. These giant windmill farms seem so alien on the praire earth. Surreal. Wonder what birds think of em?

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Yes, this is Missouri, but still....

pics

Hi follower(s) guess that's you Amy. Amy?? you there?? hello?? shit.

oh well, here's some pics to go along with my recent ramblings as I don't know how to text pics to post. One will be of my one arm friend that I shamelessly Oprahed but after spending all day with him, I felt OK about it. Some from Manhattan and a peaceful Sat morning driving through Pennsylvania.

South of Nashville hazy thursday. last night I met a young lady, girl really. Angela Jade 25 and she earned every one. A walking talking billboard of fuck up. Bad art from head to toe. A large ring in her lower lip that she says she forgets is there. She likes Lynyrd Skynyrd. She has the names of her three children tat to back. She had her first when she was thirteen, Damon. her next, a girl, when she was fourteen. There is no man, never was. She has long thin scars. Everywhere. Yeah, a cutter, too. She keeps a journal now. Keeps her from the sharp. She smokes Newports. I dont smoke but i took a drag to tell her her lips were fine. clean. She's buyin an old trailer. Her drug infested mom lives with her as Grandma. Laughable, if not so damn sad. Angela Jade is somehow yet pretty. 4'10 Small features as if easier to hide. Hazel eyes that still know light n hope, but i worry. She says everything will be fine and I smile, lying, knowing better. And so it goes. Shamelessly, I took the pic of the one armed trucker. Not so, Angela Jade. She's not for our entertainment. She's just life fucked up.

Tuesday in Montgomery OK, last night I was mesmerized by the feeding frenzy of a swarm of hookers. A plague of Moses' proportion. This morning, and a fine one it is, I am at my drop where there is already one big truck before me. I go up to talk to the driver and discover he has no right arm. At all. No shit. I try to pretend I don't notice-like it's there, but it's hard. I peek in his truck; yep, normal shifter on the right with 10 speeds. I wanna ask him but I know he's been asked a thousand times. How do you do it? How'd you lose it? I wonder equally of these questions and find my thinking perverse but likely the norm. I just talked to him on the CB of dock positions and if I can sneek a pic when he's not looking I will. I'm betting if the moment allows, I'll ask cuz I can't help myself. Wish I could just appreciate it without the manuscript. I being the one who didn't ask. Hope the colours are good in your world. -rick

Mon May 17th (i think) The sun has just gone down and nocturnal creatures have begun to prowl. Parked my truck and decided to take a walk under the sliver of moon patrolling the freeway. Out they came. From bushes, supposed car washes, and a broken burned out building only a rat could love. They actually screamed at me from across 6 lanes of bullshit traffic. I shook my head no and quickened my pace. They surrounded and captured by intimidation but I slipped away when they argued over rights. I wondered if this is how our country was established. I felt like a native that didn't understand the English way. Fortunately, I had chosen to leave the lion's share of my currency in the truck and I think their instincts picked up on my poverty. Somehow, I managed to escape to the relative safety of my truck with my pants still attached, but my door knew the familiar knock of bargain knuckles all night. If ever I feel the need for sexual favor from skinny af-am girls who might be thirteen, I'll know where in Montgomery Alabama to find them. And if ever again I find internet, I'll post a pic or two and post comments from my lone reader, Amy. Goodnite, Amy

Well, Friday in Queens. In the shadow of Shea. Lost, as usual. Swervin, honkin, and ragin back in the spirit of survival. As far as I know, I havent killed anyone yet, but the day is young. Funny to see trees, small n pathetic as they are, but here they are- .hidden, forgotten, not given a shit about, under the canopy of the long island express. Ignored and unnoticed. This I understand. A safe sanity in a crazy as life. A tree grows in Queens. And it winks hello to me.

Happy Wednesday, ye moored ones. I find myself in southern Georgia loading peanuts for northerners what can't grow them themselves. Seems fitting as yesterday I hauled beer south. It's a pretty morning in Georgia. I like the lay of the land, the gentle rolling landscape and I swear I can almost smell the ocean on the breeze. There is a type of tall evergreen here, bark bare mostly to the top-then a grand canopy of long needle pine. Very pretty. I'm not crazy bout all the confederate flags but really, what is it to me what others care to have pride in. I just find solace in the soft breeze n towering trees. A gentle May warmth. Peanuts loaded-time to weigh anchor n sail North. Hope the breeze n trees are good to you in your safe harbour! -rick

Quarter moon in a ten cent world. Closer to a sliver really, beautifully so. A sky beyond yellow, just off the edge of blue- daring red. Just as it should be, on a monday morning in May. I wonder if the world knows how pathetic it looks scurrying about in the shadow of the night's phoenix?

Notes From The Highway

well, sittin here by an almost lake as the sun goes sliding into Indiana. Was thinkin today-not usually a good thing-was thinking, how much bad poetry can a fella put out?
Decided I'd probably gone over my limit.
Bad stories about bad ideas?
Yeah, pretty much did all that too.
So now what?

Shabang!! close the fucken mess down!!

ohhhhhh, came so close.

so damn, damn close.
but then thought,
Hey! I have two blogs i wanna flush down the crapper, so why not start a third?
And here i am.
Spend my days driving from here to there and not very well as I've been told; but yet somehowI almost always get there.
So starting here. Today. Right now from this almost lake behind this shit-ass truckstop a bit north of possum squat, I start my new blog. Which is no blog at all but friggen crazy ass thoughts i get while driving.
Like this one:
Can you see all those trucks shadowed by dusk? Uh huh, dozens of em. Well, they are full of drivers sitting behind the wheel staring at nothing but the truck in front of them. You know, like they did all day-except now they're not moving.
And out here, out back, is an almost lake. Fresh mowed grass. A beautiful dry summer breeze and a sunset to die for-
(by the waqy, if you come here to critique my grammart and punctuation, forget it, Pal. I'm a dumb ass truck driver punchin stuff out on my phone as people honk at me and make strange gestures. Must be my good driving. i'm here to impress no one. Just throw down random thoughts so as to keep me awake til the next state)
Where was I? oh yeah, random thoughts.
Got plenty of those. Reading Sarah Turton's 2nd book for 2nd time. Aporia, I think. Damn she's good and she makes you think. She can be found at her blog Purple Shaggy Cows or some such shit that aliens like her and i can only understand.
Went through nashville yesterday. whatever the papers show-it's worse. I live near there and I swear it had to be twenty inches of rain. Char? You down here these days? Back me up, Sugar. Anyway, what a mess. I got trapped and ended up wading a half mile chest deep through what had been a hay field. Not good in this snaky area.
Got out of the truck yesterday morn and stepped onto a six inch lip from pavement to gravel. went down like a sack of oats. Bang!! into the truck next to me. (He needed to get up anyway)
My ankle is now twice the size of the other one and I limp like Walter Brennan in a bad western.
Beautiful night. Almost dusk. Just me out here, the way I like it. I was lonely driving today, but not now. Now alone feels just right. besides, you're here. aren't you???
time to fall back against the grass and see the first star. Who knew Ohio could be this pretty
Goodnite
~rick