Jesup, Part the Tenth (again, expanded)

and the next day he is in the back seat of the family station wagon naked roof rack rusting a bit where it attaches to the back the wood paneling that is really not wood paneling peeling just a bit at the edges lovingly wrapped around about him his family his stereo a trunk and a couple of suitcases

off to atlanta on his way to the new world his new world where he will find his path where he will make his way

off to spend a year in school

where his keseyesque dreams of freedom and love and peaceful coexistence picked up from random local library visits the jesup public library where he had already read every book on every shelf from doctor doolittle to doctor zhivago where he had accidentally stumbled across the electric kool aid acid test because the title sounded kind of different

crazy ideas picked up from well-intended and idealistic mentors who had migrated south a few years ago to avoid the draft via teacher deferment a sense to right the wrongs a jim crow corrective action a stirring of the pot a southern adventure where they could sit on the edge of their own yankee cauldron bubbling over behind them they with no nevermind no sense of irony their revolutionary fervor carrying them feeding them ah a decision some regretted a decision many simply accepted as their lot in life

silly thoughts picked up from his weekly viewing of love american style

all these dreams

all these hopeful peeks into some utopian future of what will be once he sheds jesup all this shit will slam into the late seventies all about me i'm ok you're ok graduates of woodstock those bloodbrothers yes who made the promise to ron and his kin back in the sixties who said keep the faith baby back when ron sat around watching and listening and believing yes believing when they believed the hippies when six turned out to be nine when the sign said long haired freaky people need not apply when they said they were going to change the world age of aquarius there's gonna be a revolution power to the people right on then

they the hippies they these revolutionaries

ron he guesses they got tired of fighting the world they just became the world broke the covenant nineteen seventy seven they had broken their promise and ron johnson on his way to atlanta

to go to college

spend the school year in atlanta

where he will try to love the dead but some new found cynicism some pre-seeded uncertainty will get beneath his skin seep into his blood taint his outlook he will try to love the dead and all their hippie silliness he will try to keep on truckin' he will try to know that rider but his exposure to infection by invisible spores of anthraxian doubt will permeate his miracle his mars hotel his tennessee jed he will eventually fall in with the pistols and the clash and the stooges and get a tattoo and

it is harsh and

it is daring but

he still manages to find sally's name in his darkness

and ron johnson he will have doubts about god herself and the church the one true church jesus yes jesus himself his holy self hell he will get left behind as well after ron's first taste of crystal clear liquid love dripped dropped beneath the tongue just a little dab will do ya plop plop fizz fizz oh what a relief it is hop on the bus tune in turn on jesus hell he won't be so much left behind as he will simply be asked to wipe up all that blood and join the card game like any other schmuck and

ron will accuse the hippies of treasonous high crimes and

ron will find hope in on the road redemption in a sparse naked lunch resurrection in this gravity's rainbow and forgiveness in his basketball diaries

his president his fellow georgian he will hold lust in his heart for fuck's sake ron he will hold his lust gripped in his hand

strong like bull

and ron will flirt with the college girls at the dorm parties at the frat parties and down at everybody's pizza where they will guzzle beers and play quarters and wales tales and sneak drunken winks and tickled toes and invitations to get together outside to share a joint to find himself the next morning sneaking out of alabama hall

sometimes with his momma monogrammed underwear in hand

sometimes with hers

but that will happen only a couple of times maybe four or five some vicious drunken rutting in the stalls

love maybe it really is stronger

he'll go back to jesup on some weekends before thanksgiving and then during the winter it will become harder to break away and then springtime in atlanta oh sugar oh baby ain't nothing like springtime in atlanta when the dogwoods bloom and the robins sing and the dew settles back on the green green grass in the late evening and

the coeds publish all in lullwater park

but he'll still make it home every now and then he'll still make it home and he and sally they'll get together

he'll find his way home every now and then he'll make his way back to jesup something about it has a hold on him he'll end classes on friday something will tug at him sort of like the feeling to light up a cigarette ain't nobody say anything him he just has to go ain't nobody say a word

he will just need to get and go he'll just walk off campus to where he parks his old truck open the door turn the key and head on home sometimes not telling anyone he'll just show up in jesup his momma won't know his daddy won't know his friends he will find them he will find the crowd isn't that difficult not like there are a lot of place to go his friends they'll say

hey ron

like of course he is supposed to be there like it is just another friday night

ron he'll come driving home after classes after whatever might trigger an urge to simply go he'll come driving home find his friends with whom he'll be drinking and smoking and bragging and cussing and spitting and doing the same things that they had always done that those that had come before them had done thy kingdom come thy will be done

sometimes guns might be involved if maybe one of them pulls out a q-beam and starts spotting varmints their beady little eyes glowing out from the edge of the woods maybe a opossum maybe a raccoon maybe an armadillo someone might have a pistol someone might have a twenty-two rifle or a thirty thirty taken from the rack of their truck someone might have a shotgun there might be a cacophony a staccato of shots followed by the cannon like blast of the twelve-gauge overkill a haze of blue smoke hanging in the darkness the sharp sulfur stinging

the eyes might disappear

or not

dead or alive

or not

into the peaty distance they will never have known they will never have cared on earth as it is in heaven

sometimes there might be fights crazy clumsy swinging stumbling bloody fights if quaaludes are consumed and quaaludes are often consumed so there might be a lot of fights a little vitamin q coupled with a few beers combined with a natural ornery tendency to say what one thinks at any given time with an especially blunt drunken honesty drowned in self-important judgement of one's sister one's girlfriend one's momma and grandmomma

hey i like your black loafers speaking of black loafers how's your old man

ah geeze

sorry man that was a dirty crack shit speaking of dirty cracks how's your old lady

and a punch might need to be thrown and another and a circle might be formed and a nose might be bloodied and an eye might go red to black to blue and they might knock the shit out of each other knock each other into a pulpy mess of methaqualone mystery oblivious and numb to the pain confused by the blood streaming into their eyes by the gap formed from a suddenly missing tooth by the mask of spun sanity threading wrapping around their minds with a seven fourteen blanket

pummeling

pummeling

with bloodied knuckles that might swell to bursting the next morning

pummeling each other amidst cheers jeers and beers until one might fall into the arms of his mate collapse into an exhausted embrace before someone steps out from the circle and nobly says in that good old boy meets john wayne the peacemaker voice he might say oh kay boys let's break it up before someone gets really hurt

and they might all laugh except the one on the receiving end of the ass kicking he might be glowering staring at the crowd with that fucking stink eye muttering oaths of revenge

he is a just god he is a vengeful god

but most of the times they might just tell lies and half truths about fishing and fucking mostly about fucking the who the when the how many times the did she swallow and yeah every now and then yeah

on occasion

sometimes

an honest emotion or fear might float around

like when the subject comes around to vance he'd died last summer he'd died last summer in a fucked up way he got really drunk he had a fast car big yellow chevelle with black stripes big tires

wheels that said i'll fuck you leaning over a pine log stretched out in the middle of the meadow in a rainstorm

vance in his yellow chevelle screaming down the road the road curved left yance forgot to follow fucking big ass oak tree defining the bend absorbing the car caressing the chrome crushing the cranium

a bodily trauma on a grand scale

ron's friend billy he might say yeah i hear they found his tongue bit clear off found it stuck up on the tree

then they might be quiet for a while not silent but quiet a quiet sigh exhaled a quiet gaseous burp swallowed a quiet glance around

then

those that had gone away might talk about how they missed the place but can't see coming back those that had stayed behind just not understanding what it was that anyone needed to do anyplace not getting why anyone needed to go outside of jesup georgia

and a couple or three or four that had gone away to the university in athens where their daddies had gone before them their daddies already being the town lawyer the town doctor the town pharmacist they planning to return to step into their daddies' shoes they not really saying much they usually being one of the over-luded prize fighters oft times the muttering one sitting apart from the crowd licking his wounds

Jesup, Part the Ninth

goddamn he misses sally she a year younger she in her senior year of high school while he enters the world leaving her behind

goddamn he misses sally thoughts of that last night on the court house lawn brings about a stirring in his heart in his jeans that last night before heading off to atlanta that first time a sunday night the moon dull the stars covered by a thin layer of clouds late enough so that most of the street lights had extinguished their hissing candescence late enough that the mosquitos had long since retired back to the swamp to fuck breed procreate repopulate on the murky waters late enough that the occasional heat lightening lights up the outside of the courthouse with some random time elapsed strobe light beckoning the beginning of a black and white horror movie on tee vee in the early early morning the sound turned all the way down

they walk along the sidewalk hand in hand the soft pre-dew grass beckoning to them from beneath the shadows of the magnolia they glancing left right behind scurrying across the lawn behind the tree at first leaning against the smooth bark ron presses up against sally kissing her with a going away passion a sailor about to ship out she promising to wait he promising to write both promising anything that would provide the excuse to move to the next base

ron's hand up and under her tee shirt her small pert breasts wanting needing no bra ron's hands lifting the soft cotton skirt sliding slipping down into the soft cotton panties her legs spreading bowlegged she going onto her tippy toes opening up providing succor to the lost the desperate

both of them sliding sliding she scraping her back on the bark leaving scratches to explain tomorrow but that's tomorrow tonight she scrapes her back as she slips down onto her ass ron onto his knees their lips never parting she pulling at the buttons on his shirt

mumbling whispers of encouragement cracker love songs beneath the magnolia ron softly proclaims her beauty as she pulls back the drapes opens the gate her flat stomach a swirling portico of welcome he expressing his admiration of each nipple as his tongue darts back and forth

slowing down as his lips approach her soft tanned throat taking a moment touching her vulnerability her last little bit of innocence his fingers softly about her throat the lightest of touches a tear drops from his dope reddened eyes her eyes give way to a momentary note of surprise of concern before he murmurs his love

Jesup, Part the Eighth

slipping away from the clearing looking into his rearview mirror the orange glow of the tire afire fading into the night

he driving into town to meet up with sally miz sally hopkins

where she slides right up next to him hops up into his truck slips across the bench seat her tanned thigh touching his don't you know she causes him to have that same nervous shiver oh how he fumbles how he knows he'd still be fumbling if he could

his grin a drunken stoned ear to ear wide and toothy and full of expectation and hope

sweet sally oh such sweetness indeed she the honey in his tea long straight hair not blonde not brown depending on the seasons seasoned by the sun such curves oh so hot not by the way she looks but how she carries her look

this south georgia hippie chick sometimes in her peasant blouse and cut off jeans sometimes in a soft tee and a wispy skirt sometimes in her overhauls and tube top the buttons open on one side the top strap longer on the other giving an admirer just that briefest glimpse of sugary seventies small tit cleavage soft and inviting

most of the times barefoot dainty white angel feet those little piggies always out going to the market scurrying about the dry dusty ground happy as can be happy as someone could ever be

ron he wonders how it's possible that he can be so happy around that cute little bottle of bubble up ron he wonders if he'll ever feel that way again god how it might feel to be that happy all the time god how it might be not to know the sadness of her missing from his side from within his arms

the loneliness of a long atlanta winter in the dorms with all these boys from parts unknown to him these boys who just don't understand

what a boy has to do to become a man

all these boys from new york and new jersey and miami and cleveland driving their daddy bought cars wearing their momma bought clothes so easy to come upon such things that just show up not even on their birthdays not even on christmas these boys their mommas don't even bother to use the permanent marker to write their names on their underwear making sure when they go off to school with ten pair of drawers they come home with ten pair of drawers

these boys whose mommas probably brought them breakfast in bed every morning interrupting their weak masturbatory efforts around tucked away playboys and penthouses whose mommas wiped their ass with extra soft charmin right up to the day they left for college

he could tell by the way they walked from the bathroom down the dorm hallway kind of pigeon toed to keep their asscheeks from rubbing

these boys who will never understand who will never know in their bones the tragedy the hole left in their hearts lynrd skynrd ceased to be ronnie van zandt and his plane falling from the sky into those fiery woods the unused tickets from the concert that was never to be pinned up on the cork board above his desk that saddest of sad

last autumn

ron's first fall away from sally his first quarter away at school

that morning before classes after a night of the usual beers and bongs the news comes across the radio a little matter of fact announcement a little interruption on ninety six rock dubya kay ell ess atlanta it has sliced him like a paper cut deep and sudden and painless until he sees the trickle of blood him standing there in the middle of the room his towel wrapped round his waist drops of water beading up on his shoulders dripping from his hair he sees the blood that unexplained loss

he remembers assorted words

skynrd

private plane

mississippi

crash

fire

van zandt dead

rossington collins barely alive

greenville south carolina

hoss sitting on the edge of the bunk his head in his hands looking up at him

they don't speak they can't speak hoss he takes budweisers out of the mini fridge pops the tops ron he loads the gatlin bong they stack all five skynrd albums on the turntable even the brand new street survivors hoss just picking it up the day before they'll be talking about the prophecy for weeks that endless leisure time called youth the frivolity of philosophy the time and will to grieve they play them all the way through flip them over play them through again over and over

lather rinse repeat

until a day later after sitting their southern shiva unshaven stoned and drunk they roll away the boulder before their tomb enter the hallways to find the puzzled stares of those others in the dorm this dorm populated with exiles nay interlopers from new york new jersey miami cleveland ron and hoss outsiders in their own state

these trespassers can not gather the depth of their loss ron and hoss make no attempt to explain hell

a simple man he don't need them around anyhow

ron and hoss

american by birth southern by the grace of god

goddamn

these pussies who listen to those faggots billy joel and paul simon repackaged lounge lizards whose mommas also probably most likely wiped their asses as well

how can they understand when ron and hoss can barely grok the shifting of the winds how can any of them know that the old freak who parks himself daily on the uptown corner right there where ponce meets peachtree like out of some comic strip an old hippie an old man holding the sign declaring the end of world how can he know such truths

such prescience frightens and humbles ron johnson

they these guys n his dorm they don't even know don't understand that ron and hoss could give a shit about flight kay ay el double oh seven about the fucking war in ethiopia about israel and egypt about israel and lebanon these guys who can't understand what ron and hoss know that israel invading lebanon matters about as much as karl wallenda taking that last and fatal fall from the high wires shit happens you buy the ticket you take the ride you build a house out there in the desert some strong wind gonna come down blow you around

Jesup, Part the Seventh

ron and his momma step standing gazing out over the bit of well kept official looking lawn stretching down to the street new brunswick street that tees into cavendish square this wayne county courthouse lawn this lawn where last summer the end of last summer the night before he was taking off for school

sweet sweet sally

she who is so so sweet

after he had been hanging with his friends some of whom were going to altamaha technical college some of whom were going down the road to georgia southern some headed off to the university most just hanging around trying to find jobs maybe a little logging maybe a little farming

hanging around lying about the good old days

hanging out down in the clearing out by the river just outside of town cars trucks pulled up and off into the dark an old tire burning low its rubbery fuel melting into flame its steel belt sparkling molten red before turning a dull dull black

just a bunch of boys with beers and joints

kicking the tire every now and then

sparks sailing up into the darkness framing their faces the scraggly growth on their cheeks and chin their shaggy frizzy stringy bushy hair some held in place by a hat a cap sporting the wayne county yellow jacket or some sort of tractor or chewing tobacco some just flying free along with their freak flag

most wearing tee shirts everyone of them wearing jeans

most of those levis

passing joints sipping something talking story

hey remember when johnny gee drove his truck down into the pond took the left when he should have taken the right took us all night to handwench that fucker out yeah remember when bobby ben was driving his truck down twenty seven drunk as a cooter remember he took out all them mailboxes just out of pure meanness that big old grill guard on that big green monster heh yeah hadn't been for those boxes he might have gone on off into the drainage ditch might have turned that fucker over heh we had a few that night hey remember when sammy steve took all them ludes and picked a fight with those waycross boys he got the shit kicked out of his redneck self yeah but he got in a few shots they left with a few marks

yeah

hey remember when donny dee shot himself in the head with that shotgun when that girl broke his heart

yeah

remember when

yeah

Jesup, Part the Sixth

couple of weeks before school is to start couple of weeks before ron johnson his shaggy red hair before they say good bye to jesup

out by the spring that feeds into the river end of august

jimmy the mad bonger he says sitting injun style cross legged on the rock overlooking the springs the white river sand blending in with the dark thin porous soil somehow someway supporting cypress trees cypress knees young girls on their knees pine trees spanish moss spanish bayonets spanish pussy black pussy white pussy hell it’s all pink on the inside pussy willows ferns poison ivy poison oak and blackberry bushes pushing against the dirt road littered with old crushed beer and soda cans cigarette butts potato chip bags empty liquor bottles of all colors shapes sizes giving lie to the seventies’ hype about the natural rustic beauty of the rural south

a few old tires peeking out from beneath the briars moss growing from within reaching out from their north side cracks

an old washing machine sitting serenely within the chilling chokehold of the invading kudzu

two mismatched deteriorating nylon socks clinging to the spindle entwined with the voracious vine hanging on hugging tightly in places loosely in others simply

surviving

like two lovers living two lives

jimmy the mad bonger he says rather starts to say instead watches preppie george finish off his beer crush the aluminum against his forehead absently toss it on the ground two south florida new york long island hippies

how the fuck did they end up here anyway some stoned sense of adventure got off the freeway said hey let's discover america let's just take the backroads let's make an anthropological study of the local populace the native inhabitants of this strange and naked land

they point complain whine moan george flips them off with disdain his middle finger extended arm angled straight down wrist held below the belt the blow me message directly connected to his cock ron johnson and all the jesup boys they all laugh tell the hippies to fuck off go back to new york and save the world it’s summer of nineteen seventy seven in just out side of around jesup georgia the russians and chinese and goddamn a-rabs are going to fuck 'em up anyway fuck 'em up with embargoes and missiles and submarines and the gulag way before some stray consumer container will capture their collective concern

they’re more worried about getting stoned waste their minds just enough so they won’t have to worry about such shit give 'em a candy jar full of blue valium and bootleg disco biscuits give 'em a cow field after a good summer afternoon rain give 'em a bag of panama red colombian gold jamaican wonder hell even mexican brown they’ll deal with the world in their own sweet way

one two three four
country joe is a fucking whore
five six seven eight
god is dead we’re way too late

they are redneck punks preceding the pistols hiding behind the plastic peace love and tie dye passed along to them by their older california cousins their communes crumbling in the calamity of charles manson their music turning sappy and corporate

pablo cruise and the eagles suck souls dry

anyway simple man don’t need ‘em around anyhow

molly hatchet would have sang holiday in cambodia if they gave a shit but they don’t

jimmy the mad bonger he says sitting injun style on the rock overlooking the springs filling up a big old sink hole must be eighty feet across eighty feet deep crystal cool blue water feeding into miles and miles of underground caverns tunnels roads to hell flowing up and out into the bend that collects the black soup of the altamaha river a giant prehistoric garr breaks the lipton tea surface before diving back down below to feast on the rotting carcasses of fish fowl and beast maybe human too who the fuck knows anything about this litter

along the bottom piss and primordial shit melt into the future

jimmy the mad bonger he says flick flick flicking his bic flame to bowl lips to tube it will take years and years to admit cop to the autoerotic allure such a pose presents leaning over the water bubbling gurgling like he’s gagging on his own cock it’s everyman’s dream to give himself a blow job god if only he had the right combination of proper technique and an extra large cock hell even a respectfully large cock flame to bowl lips to tube

jimmy the mad bonger he pauses he says hey let’s take a road trip

steve oh the wild trombone man he says standing alert holding up the pine tree with his shoulder ankles crossed in that casual lean he’s always so stylish in that momma still buys my clothes sort of way everyone else hell they’re all wearing cutoff jeans it’s the john denver seventies nineteen seventy seven the summer thereof a full decade past that proverbial summer of love summer of lies them cutoffs they be cut mighty short redneck fashion balls and ass hanging proudly their own american flag faggot ugly but they were cute goddamn cute in that don’t give a fuck pop me a bud from the cooler peter frampton coming alive through someone’s car speakers sort of way cutoff jeans no shoes no shirt maybe the occasional zeppelin or skynnrd or dark side of the moon tee shirt long haired scraggly bearded bone skinny stoners hanging in the south georgia sun

but not steve the wild trombone man

he’s wearing white tennis shorts with pockets and an eye zod shirt he’s got that gee cue blond hair combed to the side the only clue that he’s one of the gang is the fucked up grin that sort of cocks to one side and the eyes that sparkle purple an effect due perhaps to some magical blend of his baby blues and the bright ganja glowing maze of red vessels in the sea of white eyeball

steve the wild trombone man he says with a cocky wave of his gooseneck bud he says not knowing what the rest know now not knowing then that he’d find himself in the not too distant future employed by georgia power as a so called nuclear safety check bio technician wandering around the huge expanse of the vidalia nuclear plant on the night shift dragging thirty gallon garbage bags filled with nitrous stopping on a regular basis to medicate himself against the future holocaust three mile island fresh on his mind tis no wonder why those onions are so freakishly sweet

goddamn each one of them what they would give for a whippet right now

steve the wild trombone man he says standing at the edges he is the voice of practical wisdom he is the voice of the world to come he is the voice of a timid jimmy carter lusting in his heart not yet in his hand he says

i’m in

ron johnson hell he's already signed up he's easy and jimmy the mad bonger a couple of years older than the rest matriculating down at georgia southern studying criminal justice a mad man who left his rocker later down the life road fell into the ditch of time lost to most of the gang jimmy the mad bonger he sits cross legged on the rock a wide brimmed leather hippie cowboy hat perched atop his raggedy noggin long black frizzy hair flying everywhere whenever he walks into a room he brings his own ecosystem gurgle gurgle bubblicious he exhales a plume of smoke read by the seminoles sitting around their own spirit rock the next county over

dot dot thumpa thumpa scratch the clouds kiss the sky do the hustle

the bee gees are god’s joke on them all they opened the world up to having sex with little boys transvestites and skinny old men in bus depots goddamn opium is so much better than heroin don’t you think

whatever happened to piss and vinegar

whatever happened to love and chastity

long hair is all about getting laid

ron johnson hell he's already signed up he's so easy the mad bonger he points at steve's cuda he says yo steve oh you driving he grins deep from within baby faced cheeks and sun bleached peach fuzz whiskers he says yeah man i'm driving i’ll drive us straight to hell it’s got to be better than this place let’s go just tell me

where we headed

ron johnson he says he says hey i got a county map three nebutols and a six pack

jimmy the mad bonger he says i got ten joints rolled thirty seven dollars and my old man’s gas card

the seminoles hell they just got a raw deal

a loud piercing rebel yell scream breaks through the planning exercise we look up some white boy soars through the air ay bee sea wild world of sports joy of victory agony of defeat cliffs of acapulco beautiful swan dive from the sun bleached water logged wooden perch eighty feet up the tree a splish a splash bubbles ripples three days later he emerges from the deep sitteth at the right hand of god almighty father son holy fucking ghost

one stoner on the other side of the springs he stands on a rock and claps yells attaboy jeff-ro

three people in black rubber suits emerge from a ford econoline van sporting indiana license plates northern sophisticate thrill seekers carrying heavy tanks and flippers making their way down the path to the water they are on their own they seek to dive deep into the springs explore the secret of the caves maybe fuck a manatee odds are they will stir up some watery dusty silt get confused lost forget which way is up down in out

another dead tourist

and ron johnson and jimmy the mad bonger and steve oh they could give a shit everyone else around there they could give a shit what’s a dead yankee to them they get angry when the locals make fun of them the way they talk their aversion to grits their lack of understanding of basic manners they act superior and offended when the boys do a rising shotgun on the flat rocks reaching out cantilevered out over the water squatting down head between their knees hyperventilating rushing their breath in out in out in out standing up rising as one or the other inhales a stream of reefer smoke being shotgunned from an inversely mouthed joint yet another homoerotic stoner’s dream come true they get pissed when they do their rising shotguns nearly pass out fall into the icy spring water the cold rush of stoned to straight as vicious as straight to stoned fall splash flailing in the water where they seek solace and peace and the thrill of exploration

hey cave diving is dangerous they want the boys to know

thing is they fucking know it’s asshole danger idiot danger down in them caves that’s why they don’t do it stupid fucking yankees the boys they emerge from the water shake their soaking rat’s nest of hair like the dogs they are spraying water all over the store bought yankee cave maps and dive books the boys take deep breaths play gator swim deep follow the rubber suiters part of the way down dropping underwater trou mooning their pioneer facades with ass and attitude an afternoon fight would only break the monotony

fuck dude don't you know preppy george be on ludes

the afternoon fades

the road trip fades with it

red haired weather comes stumbling down the path a mostly empty bottle of jack daniels in his hand the top long since lost he’s mumbling something swinging his free fist at the air mumbling i ain’t studdin’ you motherfucking faggot yankee bastards i’ll fuck your sister and mother and great aunt louise if i goddamn feel like it he perks up when he sees us his grimace turning to grin hey cuz big ton he done left me drove off with some strange blonde chick who wanted to fuck hey cuz how about a ride home his red curly mullet falling down on his tanned shoulders he is a green eyed scotch irish god with a tobacco picking tan

he stops spreads his arms wide looks up to the sky and howls

goddamn i’m drunk

all he wants is to get in a fight so he can sober up before going back into the fields tomorrow ain’t nothing worse than being sloshed sifting through sand for bottom leaf snakes and spiders sliding through the weeds while the bastard sun sucks what little life the bottle didn’t take

nothing worse than the realization that this is as good as it gets summer sundays sure fuck the mondays some of them have escape plans ron johnson he's going to college in the fall off to atlanta little does he know he don't want to come back wild trombone mad bonger preppie george they're all going to college red haired weather he can barely read recognizes his whiskey bottle by the color and shape

road trip forgotten ron nods jimmy nods steve oh he nods to ron johnson says

hey man you drive ron johnson he says

yeah

steve oh he grins gives a thumbs up turning into a peace sign stumbles backwards as he reaches into his pocket pulling out the keys tosses them over to ron johnson as he spins clumsy ballerina tip toes tripping on kudzu while unzipping catches his balance briefly on a young sapling stripping it of its needles fails falls and rolls onto his back as he pulls his cock free

momentarily confused

he normally takes his piss standing up turns his head to look up at ron jimmy red looking down grins says

yeah ron you drive

they pull him up holding him steady so he can properly piss

they finish the beer they split and pop the nebutols anyway they fire up a couple of the joints they pile into the steve's car and let red hair weather sit up front steve oh and jimmy they crawl into the back behind the bucket seats the naugahyde sticking to sweaty thighs allman brothers in the eight track they take back road west toward jesup to avoid the state troopers setting speed traps the roads curve along the river valleys and swampy bogs

the back end slides from beneath them ron johnson turns the wheels into the slide each time wiggle wiggle windows open early evening air pouring through a hot cold furnace red hair weather has one hand on the dash holding steady the three eighteen four barrel bursting with madness pine trees appear as dusky ghosts through the front windshield in the rear view mirror

a lone hawk glides over a fallow field

duane and dickie slide their guitars greg ties himself to a whipping post they're all tied to this fucking whipping post sometimes they just feel like they’re tied to a whipping post

goddamn

the pine trees line up on either side of the road where they're supposed to be all in rows and columns on either side of the car skinny pcp-smoking prisoners awaiting execution rusty dead cars and dead car parts litter the ditches regularly spaced randomly applied three dimensional tattoos permanently staining the landscape the body of some drunken carny strewn across the linoleum floor of the doublewide it’s recognizable as nature but something just don’t look right

red hair weather he bolts upright fist to mouth at first biting the knuckle next his hand spreading across the gaping hole gasping for breath breathing faster and faster no one really notices he whispering dude pull over he yelling dude pull over he grabbing ron johnson's arm he screaming dude pull over no one hearing him until it’s too late he’s leaning out the window ron johnson is doing ninety miles an hour down a rough tar and gravel road

big red he spews vomit

out the window into the south georgia early evening summer setting sun glowing red over the swamp spews chunky jack daniels potato chip and slim jim vomit out the window it pours out his mouth images of astronauts in space weightless pouring of tang from those cool space age pouches pours out of his mouth out into the evening back in through the rear window splatters across the naugahyde splatters onto the passed out drunken sleeping mugs of steve oh and jimmy the mad bonger

chunky monkeys

big red weather falls into his seat matted hair back against the cushioned head rest he looks at ron johnson he grins he says wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he says

goddamn i feel better

he leans over look back between the seats at his two victims mutters whoa sorry cuz falls back into his seat looks at steve one more time hits the last of the jack bottle throws it out the window at a road sign declaring the road county maintained they're going too fast to hear the crash of glass bottle on rusty tin pops a pepsi cola chugs it half way down looks at ron again he says pushing in the lighter waiting waiting waiting pop open up the box of cigs fires up a marlboro red drags deeply exhales he says

goddamn i feel better

ron glances in his rear view mirror steve oh jimmy the mad bonger they sleep peacefully a few chunks sprinkled throughout their shagginess a little splatter on bare skin the wind blows the stench of vomit on out behind them ron johnson he grins takes red's cigarette and nods yeah he says wiping the filter of whatever shit is on his lips he says

gazing out the window the remaining stench of vomit mixing with the wafts of the paper mill and trees spitting pine sol ron johnson he says

yeah i feel good too

down by the river summer afternoon

Jesup, Part the Fifth (an expansion)

and ron he stands next to on the steps below his momma she lightly touches his shoulder ron he nods he slides his hands into his pockets squeezes himself between stiffened arms and extended double jointed elbows and shivers

a nervous shiver and a shake

goosebumps and a brittle grin

she steps down takes his arm she looks up at him while he looks out across the courthouse lawn across the street the screen door to luretta's diner banging open and shut open and shut as a couple of guys in stained coveralls wander out

big quart size styrofoam cups with lids and straws in one hand white paper bags crumpled up hanging from the other

they step up and into a big international harvester truck weighed down with ricks of freshly cut pine logs piled on high syrupy raw turpentine drippings and sap oozing from the severed and frayed edges an engine fires sputters belches roars the truck jumps and bucks down the road out of town dipping down plopping down into and then bouncing up out of the big pothole on the side of the road on the end of the street and they make the turn with the logs swaying squeaking squawking with the ricks

ron johnson and his mom they watch them head of out town and before the truck can disappear around the corner before the belching of the indigested engine fades into the day they see the fuzzy grizzled face of the driver leaning over the steering wheel one hand holding his cup and wheel the other hand ron he guesses he assumes to be gripping the stick shift his head bouncing on the straw like some cheap valium pumped peachtree street whore going down on a pencil dicked geek from georgia tech

ron and his momma they watch them head out of town the burps of smoke squirting out of the tail pipe

gazing after the truck gazing up into the sky gazing down at their feet ron's old brogans his mom's carolina blue espadrilles her soft pink toenails exposed

gazing pretty much at anything except each other

gazing within the wait waiting within the gaze trying to see through from here to there looking backwards

Jesup, Part the Fourth (a re-write)

ron johnson who just this last year walked into the dorm one night

he and his friend hoss big old hoss

the pupils of their eyes wide open and bouncing glimmering flickering oh so slightly in the overhead incandescence

walked into the dorm up the stairs to find chrono kevin eddie sitting idly in their room an album cover sitting on the bed double album unfolded a number of seeds sitting in the crack of the fold some loose shake and tight dry seeded bud decorating peter frampton's blondish tresses casting him further into some sort of three dimensional jesus wearing the crown of thorns

chrono bong in hand he said looking up he said click click clicking his bic he said hey click click clicking his bic he said taking a moment to gurgle up some smoky salvation he said

hey want to play a little twenty one we're about to put on a little lou

ron and hoss they smiled they grinned twenty one being the number of minutes a certain lou reed song would steal from the clock start to finish twenty one being the number of bong hits a participant was expected to complete to execute before that last audible downbeat of said lou reed song

ron and hoss they smiled they grinned they answered with a deafening nervous silence looking from chrono to kevin to eddie glancing and grinning at them at each other

they stood in the doorway shivering two days of freshman growth on their faces faded black swashes of grease or ash or dirt streaking cheek throat hands clothes kevin said what the fuck happened to you where the fuck you been they shuffled they rubbed their hands together on their pants into their pockets then together again ron he said

wiping a sleeve across beneath his nose sniffling back a phlegmy run for the border

he said

we hopped a train

eyes wide eyebrows raised lighter poised above the bowl

ron and hoss they said hoss he said so don't you know we were walking back from dinner just having scarfed down a couple of dagwoods feeling good feeling nice and full and happy lighting up a jay when some sort of premonition came over us like we had been thinking about it the whole time like we were cassidy and kerouac with an ethereal plan with a command from elijah

ron he said yeah there we were all soaking in this evening love when here comes this fucking freight train

the train slowing down as it rounded the bend coming onto campus down near the old depot this old rust colored box car just kind of cried out to us to me and hoss with its big yellow letters declaring

goldkist

might as well have been the yellow neon out front of the plaza theater tempered by a bottle of codeine or a handful of disco biscuits

hoss he said looking at ron like whoa where did that come from hoss he said its big sliding door already open like an invitation to some sweet sixteen spread her legs party we me and ron we thought we'd just jump on go a couple of miles down the track then hop off catch the next one coming back toward campus maybe a couple of hours next thing we know we're fucking rushing through the west fucking georgia countryside cold air streaming through the slats the smell of ratshit catshit hoboshit gagging and choking us as we traveled through the night the train not stopping until we were somewhere the fuck well into alabama

and hoss he said nodding at chrono for a cigarette chrono tapping out a marlboro tossing it over with a lighter hoss he said lighting the cig inhaling he said

yeah and ain't neither one of us too comfortable that far down in alabama

got so cold in that fucking train we hugged each other grabbed hold to each other like two midtown fags

ron he said now returning the what the fuck glance back at hoss ron johnson he said yeah fucking cold he said if i had had a knife i would have slit him open and crawled inside i would have got all call of the wild with his big ol' loving self

ron he said and the goddamn train so fucking loud rambling down through those woods and fields we screamed at the top of our lungs couldn't hear a thing couldn't hear ourselves think just the clackety clack and squealing of metal on metal the whistling of the wind

for hours and hours forever it seemed

hoss he nodded hoss he said fuck we stumbled out into that goddamn next day frosty dawn when that fucking shit stained slave ship finally slowed to a squealing crawl smack dab in the middle of a bunch of tracks all coming together in the dull morning light we had no idea where we were trying to figure out from whence we came trying to figure out which track led back to atlanta

the only hint that we were in alabama really the only clue was this glimpse of an empty bama state patrol car parked fifty yards away over by some depot looking shack

ron he said yeah some slim stream of smoke or steam sliding out of and up from a rusted pipe snaking out of kind of nailed to its ashen wooden side

some old black man wearing two sunday coats a brown felt bowler and boots with no strings came out between two trains popped out like hamlet's fucking daddy of a ghost nearly pissed my pants scared the shit out of me but old hoss he asked him he said ha he was we was so fucking cold he had his hands tucked deep into his pockets his shoulders all hunched up around his ears he said excuse me he said hey can you tell us which train goes back to atlanta

the room burst into laughter stoned giggles bursting into guffaws hoss he said what the fuck else was i gonna ask he didn't seem to be in a small talk mood

ron he laughed he pointed at hoss ron he said old hoss he looked at that old black man old hoss he said hey

which way is home

hoss he blushed turned red shrugged the room it shrugged its agreement hoss he said well this old black man

he stopped he looked around he looked at us two pitiful souls standing helpless there in front of him he looked at the direction from where we had just walked he rubbed his chin in that well let me just take out my trig book i'm sure

the answer is right there

in front of me

but he didn't say a word he thought maybe a full-count minute he shrugged he started walking again

me and ron we're like what the fuck but then the old black man

he stopped he pointed

at the train we'd just departed then he walked on his way never having said a word we me and ron scrambled back into our goldkist cruise liner and hunkered down

ron he said with a little bit of after shiver he said

that was yesterday we just got back

chrono he shrugged he flicked his bic he fellated the bong he looked up he said his words flowing into and out of a cloud of ganjaesque concern he said

whoa well welcome home glad you didn't get raped i mean i hear that there's all sorts of queer hobo rapists riding the trains

ron he said where the fuck did you hear that

chrono he shrugged he said i hear things don't you know

ron and hoss they each took a turn on the bong before wandering out of the room and down the hallway the stench of rodent feces hobo piss dinty moore lingering behind perhaps permanently on chrono's comforter on the faux hippie tapestry that hung in the doorway

the taint meandered behind them as they turned the corner past the bathrooms one guy walking out all freshly scrubbed and nattily if not preppily adorned in his ess ay ee monogrammed terry cloth robe scrunching his nose turning pale saying what horse you been fucking

they ron and hoss they ignored him they walked away from prep boy he in the opposite direction walking upstream into yesterday's adventure its stain neutralizing the hai karate

ron he looked over at hoss he said so hoss man we had a big idea we just couldn't figure out how to get there hoss he said what do you mean man we made it there and back ain't too many can say that

don't you fucking know

ron he paused and then he went on into his room