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Always steps outside the boundaries
Of self-declared public property
Defiantly planting their feet
Where they think nobody
Has been before.

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I'm sitting all quiet
here in the corner
just wandering into
silence, so pull the curtains
closed, won't you
and just let me be

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Illusions created by surveyors in order to parse ownership. I declare myself owner of everything on this page. I surveyed it. I recorded the deed here and made it public by adverse possession. Deal with it. Update: hey, youse guys owes me rent and even back rent, dontchaknow.  Poney up or I send Guido down the wires to extract a little bit of hide.  Ima not kidding

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Behind big engine 3669
in the bright day of
San Luis Obispo the
mtns. of hope rise
up, treed, green, sweet
— a rippling palm
behind the pot steams —
the young fireman of
Calif. waiting to
make the hill up to
the bleakmouth panorama
plateau of
Margarita where
stars of night are holy —
I love Calif. more &
more — if everyone loved
it as I do, dear
abandoned Jack, they’d
all be here — This
rippling land was the
Pomo’s — There’s
a cool sea wind
this noon — With
F M Hill I’m going
now to swing the hill —
to learn — long after
Neal, & hopeless — a
150 strange estudiante
writer-brakeman
Only when that work
which oertops my
hopeless men-among
bones will save me
up & back to enthusiastic
inside me personal need
breast —
The Pomo word for person is animal —
So they spoke to
spiders & hawks,
& thanked the
ground they slept on

Jack Kerouac from
Book of Sketches 1952-57

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The thump of drums
like heartbeats
primeval to our existence.

The sound of car tyres
on bitumen
necessary to arrive.

The sound of air
through tubes of steel
bittersweet to our ears.

The music reverberates
fluttering nerves
creating memories.

The memory of tunes
effecting the highway of senses
forever in our brain.

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A poem in response to the Rural Blues on Padlet Poetry for NetNarr. See it here: https://padlet.com/w_taleo/zpkmq2ndhusc

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Thinking about traveling and the blues and Mardi Gras and the time I drove from Memphis to New Orleans via Hwy 61.
I remember standing at the Crossroads; where the Southern crosses the Yellow Dog and the place where Robert Johnson perhaps sold his soul to the devil. I visited the statue of W. C. Handy and put a dollar into the guitar case of a Memphis street musician. It's was months later that I recognized the busker on the cover of Living Blues magazine - it was Derek Trucks, son of Butch Trucks from the Allman Brothers, now Susan Tedeschi's husband. I saw the Tedeschi/Trucks band last summer in Victoria, BC and they are better than ever!
I then spent a few hours listening to old songs and watching video before I found this movie made by two Dutch men 25 years ago. It is the most authentic footage I've seen of the rural origins of the only uniquely American art form. Enjoy.

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December 1989, Ko de Korte and Tom Haarsma from The Netherlands, went to Mississippi searching for blues musicians playing the old rural blues. The aim was to record their music on cassette tapes, but they also had a small Super-VHS camera. The registrations took place in the homes of the musicians, sometimes in their bedroom.

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Looking for the origin of the saying; Wherever you go, there you are, I discovered this poem narrated by Jim Garner for a TV commercial. I couldn't resist mashing it into a little digital story.

There's a place that I travel
When I want to roam,
And nobody knows it but me

The roads don't go there
And the signs stay home
And nobody knows it but me

It's far far away
And way way afar
It's over the moon and the sea

And wherever you're going
That's wherever you are
And nobody knows it but me

-Patrick O'Leary

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Looking for the origin of the saying; Wherever you go, there you are, I discovered this poem narrated by Jim Garner for a TV commercial. I couldn't resist mashing it into a little digital story.

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wrote something

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The bell tinkles as you push your way forward into the cold air and neon lights, her voice on the phone talking to a friend about someone else you don't know and a little shuffle of her hands tell you to come on in and make yourself at home, coffee is on the way, and she doesn't stop talking to the invisible line as she balances your cup and slides your coffee into the mug, smiles and points to the menu of specials, so you shake your head towards the eggs and she smiles again, her mouth still moving in full chatter, leaving you alone now with your black gold and memories from the last six hours on the road, as the sizzle of the grill shakes you loose again from the place you were leaving only to find it has become the place you are approaching, and her voice becomes the oxygen in the air as you remain silent, alone in the hub of noise.

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that called you,
is familiar and new
simultaneously,
it points over the ridge,
around a sandstone pinnacle,
past the old ranch,
points to the sky's edge
always beyond reach.

Stop. Get out.
Lay your belly on the double yellows.
Don't think about it.
In the grit,
smell the tar,
feel it's pulse.

Make your circle,
any size diameter,
the end point looks
the same
but never is.

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The plan is a mess
I've spent my coins
the dog is sick
the map is soggy with rain

I'm stuck in the dirt
red dust particles
ingrained in every pore
my heels are never clean

I think I saw
a Google Earth satellite
pass overhead

the highway curves
just out of sight
I'm clutching the edge
My grip slips

I've lost my vision
for what the journey,
the journey,
the journey,
beholds.

Wait,
there is a glimmer of light.....

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Glimmer of Light - from the album Tranquility

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Glimmer of Light - from the album Tranquility by Jonathan Slatter Escape into a world of delicate sumptuous ambient relaxing music More information can be found here: https://itunes.apple.com/gb/album/tranquility/id535752497 https://www.amazon.co.uk/Tranquility-Jonathan-Slatter/dp/B008BSHKAG

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Where pavement ends,
dirt begins
again.
How happy we've been
for the edge to take hold
and remind us of our roots,
for before we covered up the soil
with oil and tar,
this land was alive with possibilities
no map could capture.
Try https://youtu.be/OFgayzZ5KTM

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Provided to YouTube by Warner Music Group Road To Nowhere (Remastered Version) · Talking Heads Once In A Lifetime: The Talking Heads Box ℗ 1985 Sire Records Company Accordion: Jimmy MacDonell Assistant Engineer, Mixer: Melanie West Background Vocals: Erin Dickens Background Vocals: Diva Gray Background Vocals: Kurt Yahijian Backing Vocals:

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Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscovered country from whose bourn

No traveler returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.
The roads goes on forever and
the highway never ends.
So it goes.

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Robert Earl Keen - The Road Goes On Forever

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From the Texas Connection circa 1990. Jonathan Yudkin - violin, mandolin Dave Martin - bass

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There comes a time
when the path you follow
veers off, steers away
from the map in your hands,
and the decision
before you is inked
on the dotted lines,
smudged from the wear and tear
of the years.

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With a sigh for what's left behind,
With foolish hopes for the road ahead,
A high heart, a dog, of course, an apple and a few gold coins for luck...

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Wendy Taleo

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Starts with the mix
Of fuel and ignition
Sparking, moving, heaving,
Returning.