My OperaThe Messiah
Friday, December 23, 2005 4:49:00 AM
White knuckled digits are cracking leather bound steering mechanisms, grinding gears that push roaring behemoths through the desolate plains tonight.
Coffee, cigarettes, and ephedrine course through my body, fighting the torpid view.
No black dogs, only ice cascading up and around me.
Comrades pass, speaking code of caution, and of loves lost in the western wilderness.
Outlaws, all of 'em.
Brothers...
My only solace, Handel's "Messiah", bombards the walls of my being, as dreamtime wearily creeps up on blurry houses racing past me.
The slithering yellow snake guides my hands, then continues on forever, and my thoughts drift back to when I was a young boy.
I used to hunt sparrows with my BB gun and I was the best shot in Hardin County. I could sink a bird at thirty yards from the hip.
I'd install booby traps in secret forts in the woods that could, still to this day, kill a grown man.
I used to fall out of trees attempting daring stunts, bounce once, and land on my feet...
The fall would kill me now. My life is half over.
I wonder if my boy is asleep yet.
Rain streaked neon pastels filter into my cab, warming me for a second. At least someone's still up.
We’ve been together for ten years, and I actually still think about her every day.
She's not as pretty as she used to be, but that's not why I married her.
She's still got it. My wife. The old lady. My booger butt. heh heh...
Sleeplessness always gets the best of you. The drugs only slow it down.
Rolling down the window gets you wet on nights like tonight, but it adds an hour to your life.
The Messiah howls as he is sucked out and cast into the pillows of snow, creating an eerie Doppler effect for the furry woodland creatures.
What it is all about? Why am I here? If the road goes on forever, then what's the point?
I can't wait to lie down next to her.
Life is good.
I'm almost there, yet for the life of me, I can't remember the last twenty minutes.
What happened? Was I thrown into some vortex of protective consciousness? If I was asleep, was God bowling with the kiddy bumpers on? Am I dead and dreaming I'm driving home?
Only God and my rig know I guess.
"Josephine, that's her name. I been driving this truck for ten years now."
Here I go gabbing to myself again, like there's some hitch hiker riding with me, trying to make small talk.
Hell, maybe there is.
The blinker's clicking with the wipers as I pull into port. My baby let's out gust of steam as she finally beds down for the night.
My door swings open with the warmth of every sun behind it, and the smell of pot roast works its' way into the center of my soul.
"Merry Christmas, Baby...I'm home."
Coffee, cigarettes, and ephedrine course through my body, fighting the torpid view.
No black dogs, only ice cascading up and around me.
Comrades pass, speaking code of caution, and of loves lost in the western wilderness.
Outlaws, all of 'em.
Brothers...
My only solace, Handel's "Messiah", bombards the walls of my being, as dreamtime wearily creeps up on blurry houses racing past me.
The slithering yellow snake guides my hands, then continues on forever, and my thoughts drift back to when I was a young boy.
I used to hunt sparrows with my BB gun and I was the best shot in Hardin County. I could sink a bird at thirty yards from the hip.
I'd install booby traps in secret forts in the woods that could, still to this day, kill a grown man.
I used to fall out of trees attempting daring stunts, bounce once, and land on my feet...
The fall would kill me now. My life is half over.
I wonder if my boy is asleep yet.
Rain streaked neon pastels filter into my cab, warming me for a second. At least someone's still up.
We’ve been together for ten years, and I actually still think about her every day.
She's not as pretty as she used to be, but that's not why I married her.
She's still got it. My wife. The old lady. My booger butt. heh heh...
Sleeplessness always gets the best of you. The drugs only slow it down.
Rolling down the window gets you wet on nights like tonight, but it adds an hour to your life.
The Messiah howls as he is sucked out and cast into the pillows of snow, creating an eerie Doppler effect for the furry woodland creatures.
What it is all about? Why am I here? If the road goes on forever, then what's the point?
I can't wait to lie down next to her.
Life is good.
I'm almost there, yet for the life of me, I can't remember the last twenty minutes.
What happened? Was I thrown into some vortex of protective consciousness? If I was asleep, was God bowling with the kiddy bumpers on? Am I dead and dreaming I'm driving home?
Only God and my rig know I guess.
"Josephine, that's her name. I been driving this truck for ten years now."
Here I go gabbing to myself again, like there's some hitch hiker riding with me, trying to make small talk.
Hell, maybe there is.
The blinker's clicking with the wipers as I pull into port. My baby let's out gust of steam as she finally beds down for the night.
My door swings open with the warmth of every sun behind it, and the smell of pot roast works its' way into the center of my soul.
"Merry Christmas, Baby...I'm home."
