Llandudno, Tuesday.
"And if someone were to dig deeply into the K.Sierra situation they might find that it's a whole lot more complicated than anyone thought. They might find out that a bunch of very important (self described) people were pissed off about stuff being written about them and got K. all worked up into a huge fear state so she would act as their mouthpiece. Maybe. That's one possible scenario. But we'll probably never know, will we?"
When I grew up and fell in love, I asked my sweetheart, "What lies ahead? Will we have rainbows day after day?" Here's what my sweetheart said...
"Gornish helfn."
It's Leslie's fault. I swear. She knows too much.
I put through a call to Father Christopher and caught the answering machine.
"The Father, Son and the Holy Ghost | They caught the last train for the coast | The day the music died."
"You're kidding me?"
"Nope."
"But I thought Angel had just returned..."
"...from the coast?"
"Yeah."
"Will I be pretty, will I be rich? Here's what she said to me...
"Bye-bye, Miss American Pie..."
Sea Point, Tuesday.
"Are you the answering machine?"
"Nope. I'm HAL on wheels."
"Gornish helfn!."
"Wikipedia tells us it's '...a popular song written by the Jay Livingston (music) and Ray Evans (lyrics) songwriting team.'"
"What?"
"K Sierra Sierra."
"Fuck 'em."
I saw Satan laughing with delight the day the music died.
"What about Angel?"
"She'll be back."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
I think so too. Still... I think Leslie's onto something. This is bigger than most care, know, or realize...
Don't want to think about it right now.
Got my badge though...
"...fire is the Devil's only friend."
...so in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, all the people dreaming in the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by now the children must be crying in the land where they let the children cry, and tonight the stars'll be out, and don't you know that God is Pooh Bear? the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all the rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what's going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old, I think of Dean Moriarty, I even think of Old Dean Moriarty the father we never found, I think of Dean Moriarty, I think of Dean Moriarty.That ain't poetry, old friend. That's the last line of On The Road.
It's how it always is.
