back on route 61, the gas station, the old bloke took nearly all my cash, gifting me though with a tank full of gasoline. i was not hungry, i hadn't been hungry for days, the old blue machine of mine satisfied all my needs, it consumed hell loads of gasoline, sucking as if a baby craving for a mother's full milk tanks. i didn't mind. the sound of the engine was content, stable, giving me enough insurance for the next few hundred miles, guaranteeing a long term relationship, it did not need to sleep and neither did i. i just needed to gear up the old bastard, making her cough and i loved suffering her.
i couldn't find a good channel, weather forecasts, more news, more elections. i did not care. where i was going, i did not need any of those. it smelled nice for a while, good old sun melting the asphalt, exposing its intestines, ewww.. and squirel carcasses, smashed turtles, limp dogs decorated the road, better than any kandinsky painting, other than that it was goddamn graveyard and a little bit of a hospital emergency with no doctors. fuck, i hated doctors, always acting so full of themselves, acting like a little deity, owning people's lives, wanting to see the prayer in their eyes. well i am not ready to die, and a fucking prescription won't change a thing. chemicals won't last forever but willpower will.
i hadn't thought of the music thoroughly, bought some classic rock cds but then i ended up in an old car (no offense sweetie) with only a cassette player, it limited my options, only cassettes i found was in the glovebox: some british pop singer from 80's, a funk band whose name i cannot recall (something like angelic something maybe), falco's debut and a strange mixtape with some annoying commercial jingles compilation. horrible. falco was great, accompanied me well, replenished my long forgotten german. listening to music while driving listening to classical rock songs seemed like the real deal, but soon i came to a realization that the road itself had a strange melody, the tree chants, the wind, engine roar, all in unison, like a never-to-be-composed drone music. john cage was the dude, i told myself hundreds of times, he was right. there was a true genuine music somewhere waiting to be discovered and all we did was to clog our ears with other sounds so called music.
oops have i just run over a hedgehog? well.. something tells me that hedgehog had serious problems, commitment issues and suicidal acts. maybe i did fine by running over him, somehow my concious was clear, he was in hedgehog heaven now, trying to get a hug he can never have, poor sod... aw... should i check my tires? naaahhh. everything's fine just keep going. tires left no blood, that's fine, maybe i didn't squeeze the poor fella, maybe just chopped half his body. should i pull over? i'm a bit tired anyway. and all that thought about death, animals and heaven made me hungry. sick was i? well everybody gets hungry.
under some pine trees, i camouflaged the blue princess, checked the tires which they turned out to be perfectly fine, no blood. the bastard could be alive after all, but he's gonna have a mental breakdown for the rest of his life, maybe next car won't miss him. having breathing clean air into my lungs, i lit a cigarette. i hadn't smoked for 5 years, then i got my old habit back. nothing like a mixture of clean air and hazardous smoke in my lungs can match a dozen orgasms. i was clashing yin and yang and so far yin was doing me in. i always loved the first inhale, nothing is more tasteful than deflowering the virgin cigarette, the rest drags were just imitations of the first. but the first hit always joyful. i ate some pretzels, i still hadn't eaten my last twinkie, but i was saving it for someone.
all those thoughts made me too sleepy, somehow i needed to sleep, blue thunder was sleeping, it had nowhere to go, no one could steal her, only i now the secrets of bypassing her heart. but i needed to rest..
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