Thursday, October 20, 2016

Gold Rock Notebook #11



Gold Rock Notebook #11

How many jobs were you asked to resign from as you stalled-out, drank from paper-bagged cheap bourbon pints, as you daydreamed nineteenth century cattle drives, saloons, robbing trains with Frank 'n Jesse James? Then, in an effort to correct and sophisticate yourself, you were reading Auden at work, some poem about a cat and paint-peeling row house doors. The women at that place spoke of outlook, complexity-of-feeling, and they traded stories about crash pads and cigarette-stench weekly rates motels.  The one called K.H., peasant blouse and long thin-fabric skirt, took you to lunch afterward, said she was trying a progression-based life. Though you had no potential for comprehension, you nodded, desperado-grinned, said, Yep, in a Gabby Hayes voice. She asked if you received any benefit from being sort of dumb.

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