The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

we've left los angeles, traveled to salt lake city by night to avoid the
heat, at one point i blacked out momentarily, the car rumbled across the
sound strip on the side of the road and all was well. we stopped a number
of times at rest areas, but couldn't. what else, several 18-wheelers all
over the road lane-jamming. the pass through the virgin river gorge and
too-high speed. sickly waning moon. l.a. radio stations for the first 560
miles. learned we never went to the moon and the world trade centers were
exploded by the usual conspiracy group. thought of our useless games. and already wanting to turn
around, head back to the promised land. we couldn't, we'd arrive nowhere,
mouths of ashes trying to speak. narrowly avoided a jackrabbit and two
mice. the useless games: dried bodies in the desert, scrub-sex, useless,
no-sex at all, holes of ashes trying to fuck, the long winter of our
discontent just around the corner

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