My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

tough guy poetry and manly stories of loneliness
all contents copyright Jon Rolston 2004, 2005, 2006

September 22, 2008

odds on

Have a couple more memories from the hour and forty five minute drive north yesterday. Passed a telephone pole with a “Vallejo Gun Show” sign nailed to it, and just below that was a different announcement, “Beat Foreclosure – We Buy Homes”. Every boom cycle someone buys up a bunch of farmland and tries to make their fortune in a development project. Then like a drought on crops, when the fortunes dry up the foundations planted in the soil don’t grow up into big healthy homes and people are cursing the lord for not taking care of ’em.

There was a cross in the North East, made out of clouds or more likely some Piper Cub pilot. It looked like it was calling us out of San Francisco to come find the Lord in the country. We got to Davis and Fisher, who was along to help with the move, showed me another cross, one that caused an uproar in town. People complained that the cross could be seen from the highway. Well why not, they need to get it as high as the McDonald’s golden arches if they want to compete for our dollars.

Sometimes I think I’ll move to the country myself, and be good again, be nice for a few years before I die, so in case there is something to all this religious stuff I won’t be sorry. But I’m never ready to quit all this sinnin’, even when the drugs have me thinking I’m about to die, or the sex makes me think it’s gonna kill me. It’s like that gambler said, “You gotta get up and change tables and you gotta set a limit.” Or else you end up dead in the city that keeps on sinning.

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