Updates from September, 2015 Toggle Comment Threads | Keyboard Shortcuts

  • hardie karges 5:56 pm on September 22, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: D. F. Wallace, depression, , ,   

    Perfect Day, Infinite Gist, part 3: Bus, Desert, DFWallace, Suicide… 

    Ghost rider

    Ghost rider

    (continued from previous)

    My ghost bus proceeds from Tucson, avoiding Tucumcari, likewise Tehachapi, straight past Tonopah, on the outskirts of Phoenix, known for its wide skirts. The Pepsi soothes my parched throat sputtering and fizzing noisily, much more than a breakfast drink, as we say down south, it almost like elixir… medicine… some kind of magical liquid that lures you into its parlor and creates the future need for itself—it crackling with life when everything around it is dead, it calling out your name when all your friends tend to ignore you…

    No one on a bus wears a suit; that’s what I like about it. We pre-millennial Americans are defined by our suits: collar and tie, cuff and link, symbolized by our chains and the willingness of our submission, as it has been for the last hundred years, gentlemen and their ladies defined by that yoke, everyone else defined by its lack as lackeys… (More …)

    • Esther Fabbricante 8:53 pm on September 22, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      Traveling alone is not in my future – just with family – one or more. Maybe a trip to Dallas/Southlake for Thanksgiving to see my two new twin great granddaughters who are imminent between now and Oct. 10. Greg will be a grandpa again! And 2-year old Jack will be a brother.

  • hardie karges 12:16 pm on September 17, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , Phoenix, ,   

    Perfect Day, Infinite Gist, part 2: Bus, City, Desert, Vaginas… 

    Bus full...

    Bus full…

    (continued from previous)

    1500 Hours: If travel is an addiction, then buses are the junk that courses through your veins. By American standards this is one step above homelessness, the ragged and wretched and the too-afraid-to-fly queuing up for bumpy-road jaunts to familiar locations where unnamed relatives live in uncertain symmetry, silence only occasionally interrupted by the rat-a-tat of gunfire and the backfire of Mexican low-riders…

    Of course it gets boring in a bus station after a few hours, but this is what happens when you go ‘next available’. In any city outside the USA, there would likely be huge crowds, if not actual throngs, of people watching and waiting expectantly to see if their bus will be on time, and if not then why not. People would be shifting body weight from foot to foot over some imagined fulcrum that merely hides the tracks and traces of boredom. (More …)

    • Esther Fabbricante 9:36 pm on September 17, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      What can I say? I liked Phoenix when I visited – but that was in 1976; and Scottsdale – didn’t see much. Sedona was beautiful.

    • hardie karges 10:00 pm on September 17, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      1976? It’s changed…

    • jodie scoggin 11:02 am on October 6, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      travel well,

      jodie scoggin

      • hardie karges 1:33 pm on October 6, 2015 Permalink | Reply

        I will, and you, too… where are you?

        • Jodie scoggin 5:37 am on November 1, 2015 Permalink

          I live off and on in Jackson…work in west Texas in the oilfield ocassionaly as a consultant for a geosciences company…but truth be told I have never worked much. Stayed in Mississippi State chemistry department as a researcher and overpaid grad student for many years….

          It was good to find your blog….as web wilder said ….eat big…grow strong…party hard… And wear glasses if ya need ’em


        • hardie karges 4:23 pm on November 1, 2015 Permalink

          Sounds good and interesting, got a nephew in Art Dept at MSU. Got Facebook? Who’s Web Wilder?

  • hardie karges 7:38 pm on September 14, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , Greyhound Bus, , ,   

    Perfect Day, Infinite Gist, part 1: Bus, Station, Weed, Whacker… 

    Greyhound Buses: main line in the US

    Greyhound Bus: US main line

    1100 Hours: I am sitting in the Greyhound bus station in Tucson, Arizona. I walked here from my house a mile or so (two km) away. I plan to go hang with my wife in LA, if I can only get away, get all my ducks in a row, get everybody on the same page, then just take off; but there is no bus with seats available today Sunday, or so they say. So I get online—in the bus station, mind you—and find one: six hours from now, a bus apparently hidden down an Internet worm hole…

    This is not the same Greyhound bus station that serves as my first memory of Tucson, more than a decade ago. That one was smack downtown, where University of Arizona housing now sits—stands? Tucson is changing. A guy who looked like Randy Quaid once hit me here—for no reason—just whacked me on the shoulder. Then he just kept walking like nothing even happened. So did I. I just now realized that it might actually have been Randy Quaid… (More …)

    • Esther Fabbricante 9:57 pm on September 14, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      You can even write about ‘nothing’ with a flair – I don’t know how you do it.

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