Where’s the focus in circling like a headless chicken? I work it out along back. There’s a machine god, takes human juices; stores ’em, like electric cells storin’ energy, some time or another that machine’ll come, and we all be fry chicken. What’s the use every living soul grabbing off everybody else, and conceivably there ain’t no tomorrow. I meet a bountiful lot of miserable peeps who state such. ‘People is long gone, them machines is on way, headed to earth and where you safety then? Huh?’
I state one thing for Crow, he ain’t never left my side, for the most part. The previous night for a sample, Crow and me was headed to that hole over the river, a two cents outhouse, abject in configuration yet rich in apparitions, prolly a president still living there, Eisenhower or Jefferson. Old Crow got the time zones jumbled again, so this spot ain’t no lodging, it’s more of a prison. But we running level on cash, so we got to go where things is modest, modest alcohol, modest lodgings, push a trinket or two ‘long the way.
We took our breakfast in the lounge, long, thin gentleman with the rifle, serving us eggs on toast, figures hustling at the counter for eggs, and coffee. Screen mounted up on the divider, yak-yakking endlessly. Some fella talkin’ about his life used, a hunnerd-twenty years inside, all for a wrongdoing he don’t never confer.’
Showin’ up on a screen, with a dead skin, hard mouth, pine needle eyes
The buddy’s acting legitimate moderate, however you can tell he angry as hell, quippin it down is all.
Woman ask, ‘Hey, what it like to be free?’
She needle him, trying to get a teardrop for the folks watching in.
Your faith keep you alive all them years?’
‘Goodness yes, ma’am.’
‘Furthermore, you pardoned your accuser, right?’
‘Goodness yes, surely ma’am.’
The dead eye a flickerin’ now, lips tight, gazing at a broken fingnail, stating nuthin.
‘Great to be exist ma’am.’
‘Anyway you rape that young boy?’ she ask.
‘No Ma’am, never known him.’
‘Anyway somebody did it right?’
‘Yes Ma’am somebody did.’
‘Anyway not you George.’
We sense them wrathful eyes, watchin’ the screen’.
Things adapting in that room now, some gentleman think of a carvin’ blade, only a conventional blade, however he gonna cut the entire damn roomful in two with that blade. Psycho adjust and adjust, rearranging hisself, glaring at all the room, great breathin’, crouchin’ like a bear.
Crow and me, scarps on out a there! We’s pirating a good deal of crap. Goddamn right we’s carrying crap! We took whatever we was able from that mad house. Blades, covers, utensils. Hah! Crow and me, we survive.
I state Crow, ‘what afterward ole man?’
He stated, ‘sumpin happen.’
Granted nuff, we winded up voyaging to Minnesota, then down a New Mexico.
See more of Voodoo Child’s shamanic recollections at The Deadly Planet