Thursday, October 30, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
will Writing Assignment 2 Final draft
As I watch the sun drip down the rail road tracks like honey my mind wanders. My consciousness drifts away like heat off the pavement in this hazy August afternoon. Green vines wrap around the blocks of wood covered in miles of steel. I am a day dreamer. I dream of past places and times and I dream of the future. I’m waiting for a train headed south. Actually, for all I know it could be headed straight up to Canada. What I do know is that it’s sure as hell not here. Not this small town where train tracks haunt me everywhere I go or where I see my former life in everything. It’s not here and I’m fine with that.
There is something about train tracks that always gets to me. When I hear a train rumbling by I think of freedom, moving on. Sometimes I wish I could just pack my life into a bag and hop on one of those trains. Find a new a town, a new place where I can be whoever I want to be. And here I am. I’m gonna hit the road and go wherever the powers that be take me.
The hobo lying on the bench to the right of me reeks of BO and alcohol mixed with a smell of what I would imagine as “restlessness”. His face is pinkish with a scruffy, short beard and patchy brown hair. He awakes abruptly.
“Where you headed, man?” he says to me.
His age is impossible to tell, possibly late middle-ages. Old enough for him to have had a previous life.
“I’m not quite sure, I’m just getting out of here.” I tell him.
“Hah, I sure know where you’re comin’ from.” He replies in a husky, cigarette voice. He notices my guitar case close at hand. “Play me some music man, I’ve had a long day…”
He goes on to tell me about his “long day” (his dog runs away, loses his cigarettes in a bet etc.). I don’t really need to get into it. As I pull out my beautiful honey-burst guitar along with my harmonica he asks me to play a song about a train. I immediately recognize the sentimental value of this and start up “Slow train coming”.
“I had a woman down in Alabama,She was a backwoods girl, but she sure was realistic,She said, "Boy, without a doubt, have to quit your mess and straighten out,You could die down here, be just another accident statistic."There's a slow, slow train comin' up around the bend.”
My attempt at a Bob Dylan drawl sounds more like a washed up Neil Young but I pull it off.
“That’s some intense stuff, man” He says as silent tears drop like feelings kept to himself.
That was flattering, honestly. I go on to play “Serve Somebody”. I’m no evangelist but I know how to work a crowd.
“It might be the devil
It might be lord
But you gotta serve somebody”
In the middle of the second verse the music is overcome by the sounds of moaning steel coming to a halt. He apparently has decided to rest a little bit longer in his spot under the Amtrack sign and we part are ways. I shake his hand and climb aboard the south bound train with my guitar, harmonica, and a backpack full of an extra pair of jeans, boxers, and plenty of flannel shirts.
There is something about train tracks that always gets to me. When I hear a train rumbling by I think of freedom, moving on. Sometimes I wish I could just pack my life into a bag and hop on one of those trains. Find a new a town, a new place where I can be whoever I want to be. And here I am. I’m gonna hit the road and go wherever the powers that be take me.
The hobo lying on the bench to the right of me reeks of BO and alcohol mixed with a smell of what I would imagine as “restlessness”. His face is pinkish with a scruffy, short beard and patchy brown hair. He awakes abruptly.
“Where you headed, man?” he says to me.
His age is impossible to tell, possibly late middle-ages. Old enough for him to have had a previous life.
“I’m not quite sure, I’m just getting out of here.” I tell him.
“Hah, I sure know where you’re comin’ from.” He replies in a husky, cigarette voice. He notices my guitar case close at hand. “Play me some music man, I’ve had a long day…”
He goes on to tell me about his “long day” (his dog runs away, loses his cigarettes in a bet etc.). I don’t really need to get into it. As I pull out my beautiful honey-burst guitar along with my harmonica he asks me to play a song about a train. I immediately recognize the sentimental value of this and start up “Slow train coming”.
“I had a woman down in Alabama,She was a backwoods girl, but she sure was realistic,She said, "Boy, without a doubt, have to quit your mess and straighten out,You could die down here, be just another accident statistic."There's a slow, slow train comin' up around the bend.”
My attempt at a Bob Dylan drawl sounds more like a washed up Neil Young but I pull it off.
“That’s some intense stuff, man” He says as silent tears drop like feelings kept to himself.
That was flattering, honestly. I go on to play “Serve Somebody”. I’m no evangelist but I know how to work a crowd.
“It might be the devil
It might be lord
But you gotta serve somebody”
In the middle of the second verse the music is overcome by the sounds of moaning steel coming to a halt. He apparently has decided to rest a little bit longer in his spot under the Amtrack sign and we part are ways. I shake his hand and climb aboard the south bound train with my guitar, harmonica, and a backpack full of an extra pair of jeans, boxers, and plenty of flannel shirts.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
will Writing Assignment 2 Draft 2
There is something about train tracks that always gets to me. When I hear a train rumbling by I think of freedom, moving on. I see train tracks everywhere I go in this small town. I can’t get away from them. Sometimes I wish I could just pack my life into a bag and hop on one of those trains. Find a new a town, a new place where I can be whoever I want to be. I think I'll hit the road and go wherever the powers that be take me.
So you say you want to be jaded? Well, we'll see about that. You want to know what freedom really means. We'll see about that too. We could go north or we could go south it doesn't matter to me. Let’s just drive your car, we could drive all day. Let’s just get the hell away from here. We'll be like bandits on the run, pilgrims searching for the unknown enlightenment that only the setting sun has seen. Because I am sick again, just plain sick to death of the sound of my own voice.
Let’s go to Chelsea, there is something about the buildings there that always brings me back. I dream about New York City sometimes. I see the dark waves washing away the night. I see stars that look like suns exploding in the sky that have just now begun to fade away. Whenever I hear that song on the radio it takes me to the city, takes me away from here.
We could head west. Hop a train on its way to California and I've always wanted to go to Mexico. Living off nothing but taco bars and sweet sunshine we could finally fade away. We could do the things, all the things you want to. No one here really cares about us anyway. We could forget about everything and all the memories that keep you down. Simply let go of the things that holds us back. I'll buy some cowboy boots and we'll just drive. It's been so long since I've seen a palm tree.
Some say love is what saves us from ourselves. I say that love is a ghost train rumbling through the darkness, howling on the radio, haunting anyone who happens to see it. I see it every day as the sun is setting in the West. The moaning steel gets almost too loud that I can’t bear it, and then it slowly fades away to an echo in the distance. We could spend all our lives chasing it, following the train tracks until we reach the shimmering ocean on the other side. I'm not quite sure what I'm chasing anymore. Am I searching for freedom from the past and a small town or the ghost train that is love? Could that be the reason for my wanderings? A physical search for one big metaphor which is haunting love. Once you get a glimpse of it rolling on by you cannot resist following it. The irony is overwhelming. Life is one big circle after all. We’ll spend all our lives searching for freedom but in fact we have no other option.
So you say you want to be jaded? Well, we'll see about that. You want to know what freedom really means. We'll see about that too. We could go north or we could go south it doesn't matter to me. Let’s just drive your car, we could drive all day. Let’s just get the hell away from here. We'll be like bandits on the run, pilgrims searching for the unknown enlightenment that only the setting sun has seen. Because I am sick again, just plain sick to death of the sound of my own voice.
Let’s go to Chelsea, there is something about the buildings there that always brings me back. I dream about New York City sometimes. I see the dark waves washing away the night. I see stars that look like suns exploding in the sky that have just now begun to fade away. Whenever I hear that song on the radio it takes me to the city, takes me away from here.
We could head west. Hop a train on its way to California and I've always wanted to go to Mexico. Living off nothing but taco bars and sweet sunshine we could finally fade away. We could do the things, all the things you want to. No one here really cares about us anyway. We could forget about everything and all the memories that keep you down. Simply let go of the things that holds us back. I'll buy some cowboy boots and we'll just drive. It's been so long since I've seen a palm tree.
Some say love is what saves us from ourselves. I say that love is a ghost train rumbling through the darkness, howling on the radio, haunting anyone who happens to see it. I see it every day as the sun is setting in the West. The moaning steel gets almost too loud that I can’t bear it, and then it slowly fades away to an echo in the distance. We could spend all our lives chasing it, following the train tracks until we reach the shimmering ocean on the other side. I'm not quite sure what I'm chasing anymore. Am I searching for freedom from the past and a small town or the ghost train that is love? Could that be the reason for my wanderings? A physical search for one big metaphor which is haunting love. Once you get a glimpse of it rolling on by you cannot resist following it. The irony is overwhelming. Life is one big circle after all. We’ll spend all our lives searching for freedom but in fact we have no other option.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
will Writing Assignment 2
There is something about train tracks that always gets to me. When I hear a train rumbling by I think of freedom, moving on. I see train tracks everywhere I go in this small town. I can’t get away from them. Sometimes I wish I could just pack my bags and leave. Find a new a town, a new place where I can be whoever I want to be. I think I'll hit the road and go wherever the powers that be take me.
So you say you want to be jaded? Well, we'll see about that. You want to know what freedom really means. We'll see about that as well. We could go north or we could go south it doesn't matter to me. Let’s just drive your car, we could drive all day. Let’s just get the hell away from here. We'll be like bandits on the run, pilgrims searching for the unknown enlightenment that only the setting sun has seen. Because I am sick again, just plain sick to death of the sound of my own voice.
Let’s go to Chelsea, there is something about the buildings there that always brings me back. I dream about New York City sometimes and I can see the dark waves washing away the night. I see stars that look like suns exploding in the sky that have just now begun to fade away. Whenever I hear that song on the radio it takes me to the city, takes me away from here.
We could head west. Hop a train on its way to California and I've always wanted to go to Mexico. Living off nothing but taco bars and sweet sunshine we could finally fade away. We could do the things, all the things you want to. No one here really cares about us anyway. We could forget about everything and all the memories that keep you down. Simply let go of the things that holds us back. I'll buy some cowboy boots and we'll just drive. It's been so long since I've seen a palm tree.
Some say love is what saves us from ourselves. I say that love is a ghost train rumbling through the darkness, howling on the radio, haunting anyone who happens to see it. I see it every day as the sun is setting in the West. The moaning steel gets almost too loud that I can’t bear it, and then it slowly fades away to an echo in the distance. We could spend all our lives chasing it, following the train tracks until we reach the shimmering ocean on the other side. I'm not quite sure what I'm chasing anymore. Am I searching for freedom from the past and a small town following the ghost train that is love? Could that be the reason for my wanderings? A physical search for one big metaphor which is haunting love. Once you get a glimpse of it rolling on by you cannot resist following it. The irony is overwhelming. We’ll spend all our lives searching for freedom but in fact we have no other option.
So you say you want to be jaded? Well, we'll see about that. You want to know what freedom really means. We'll see about that as well. We could go north or we could go south it doesn't matter to me. Let’s just drive your car, we could drive all day. Let’s just get the hell away from here. We'll be like bandits on the run, pilgrims searching for the unknown enlightenment that only the setting sun has seen. Because I am sick again, just plain sick to death of the sound of my own voice.
Let’s go to Chelsea, there is something about the buildings there that always brings me back. I dream about New York City sometimes and I can see the dark waves washing away the night. I see stars that look like suns exploding in the sky that have just now begun to fade away. Whenever I hear that song on the radio it takes me to the city, takes me away from here.
We could head west. Hop a train on its way to California and I've always wanted to go to Mexico. Living off nothing but taco bars and sweet sunshine we could finally fade away. We could do the things, all the things you want to. No one here really cares about us anyway. We could forget about everything and all the memories that keep you down. Simply let go of the things that holds us back. I'll buy some cowboy boots and we'll just drive. It's been so long since I've seen a palm tree.
Some say love is what saves us from ourselves. I say that love is a ghost train rumbling through the darkness, howling on the radio, haunting anyone who happens to see it. I see it every day as the sun is setting in the West. The moaning steel gets almost too loud that I can’t bear it, and then it slowly fades away to an echo in the distance. We could spend all our lives chasing it, following the train tracks until we reach the shimmering ocean on the other side. I'm not quite sure what I'm chasing anymore. Am I searching for freedom from the past and a small town following the ghost train that is love? Could that be the reason for my wanderings? A physical search for one big metaphor which is haunting love. Once you get a glimpse of it rolling on by you cannot resist following it. The irony is overwhelming. We’ll spend all our lives searching for freedom but in fact we have no other option.
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