Chapter 3
~~ol’ Arros~~
, “Intrepid walk down ol’ Arrostook Way….”
Had this really fuckt-up dream during second sleep this morning, …really fuck-dup : Was… …standing @ the Main-New Brunswick border, not in 1939 during the fabled Aroostook War, but in present day America, 21st Century How. While waiting @customs w/ oh, say, 2 hundred or more people in a long double-file line on concrete and there ahead of me was what sure looked like lighted and paired fifteen foot razor-wire on chain link and fencepost rising up off of twin cinderblock guard shacks between peaceful borders, saw it spanning northwest to southeast as far as the eye could see. Good people coming through the border crossing from the Canadian side there-about laughter and carrying on, passing luggage onto a conveyor, driving SUVs filled with camping, fishing, beach, and vacationers’ gear of every kind, smelling like Hawaiian Tropic and entering through the perimeter in a relaxed quicktime file of pedestrians and automobiles; greeted by a Maitre d’, festive like the entrance to Disneyland. While we, all on the American side…entering into Canada were asked out of our vehicles, which were then stacked up two-high on rails with rows o German Shepard clad guardspersons with leashes & All American sidearms & underlings with tasers and beatsticks at the ready, ///everybody in line being lead by other uniformed American sentry slowly forward to what looked far too much like a prison de-processing station. As the next pedestrian in line stepped up to the gateway guards, then handed all their luggage over, fished for documents, as credentials were processed, then, feet on the painted footprints, hands on wall-painted handprints, and a vigorous pat down, all personal, not public, luggage opened, searched & piled into large cloth handbags that were placed on a conveyor that crossed through a small hole in vast hedge of chain link fence; suitcases thrown onto a conveyor carrying them upwards and tumbling them into the back of an Air Force deuce & a dump truck. …Talking heads on large wall-mounted screens warning all citizens exiting America that they are on furlough from Red America only! and that any attempt to remain in Canada would result in federal persecution under HS statute blah blah blah, section, blah blah, paragraph, blah. Aye Mo, the smell is ire born of hope old as fire (our old uncle Sam, caught in a lie, let the gavel fall, “Blamm!”) in the hereafter or herebefore some riled time prime time o shuffling a striped line on this fuckt side o the borderline, trudging & wondering, ...yawning at the post liberties lost not found penal complex atmosphere confronting us good people here: Oh my fellow…vacationers…on furlough…from the hoosegow, once was the land of Us >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
(Not stuck n this dismal situation then) while those reentering, crossing o’er into America with so jovial a scenario, the laughter of children, are not citizens but visitors to a land of plenty; stage is set, come spend ye money, ye won’t regret it, we’ve got crack servers and personnel to suit all your apt entertainment fervors in a general America-in-the-late-70’s-early-80’s outdoor festival motif & manner. Us counting our sorrows, moving thus: one fellowperson closer with each shufflefoot, and one more, then when I’m next to step to soldier/taserguard/bludgeonman as ‘e raps adamant w/, “Papers please!” I look left & right, my eyes follow the continuum o light up to razorwire ops & curving outward into sand and grasslines spanning always outward for miles down the once perfect coastline so effected that I begin to well a bit & rise like steam out from my physical constitution, …beginning to levitate as a copter would ascend in a hover-stream upon horizontal wind intervals high enough to follow the fenceline with my eyes o’er seascapes once thriving. Sis, this prison fence appeared to go completely around the country! …Then I woke up. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I’m glad I came half-aware n laid there in halfawake stasis on a Tuesday ]
early
morning.
You don’t mind zam poetry, Mama, …& I don’t mind yours, nah. So that
doesn’t suck in the 21st Century. Like an open road ride with the top
down back when the petrol was a buck-fitty a gal., sometimes a
buck-forty-seven; I remember picnics late spring softball
Then all this monarchy; Mass malarkey on high
Once saw The Making of Sweeny Todd &
died, dead beneath th barber’s chair.
Nuisance, like no salad days.
Like no familiar tideway
Because the moment
is suddenly silver
w/ashcloud
n blues
now
~~
•
©2080byDaymare O’Doneabout
Cinematography:
The Loss of Sexual Innocence (’99)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0PNrhIgYbAI
notion to suggest we perhaps put a University on the border of Disjointed States and Medee Co.: Anybody who wants to immigrate takes a semester gratis, then earns a Disjointed States work visa with first year's enrollment in a 1, 2, 3 or 4 year College of Unified Civil Citizenry. [or the like, :O).hehe]
