G-tigerclaw - Digital Graffiti

The Digital Graffiti Series is dedicated to those free spirits who start out on each journey with no predetermined destination in mind - on that road to discovery.

Prologue - Digital Graffiti

'Mad Road Driving' - Kerouac - 'Mexico City Blues'. San Francisco to Mexico City - down the Grapevine - ravines - rusting metal carcases - destinations never made. He ain't been there so he would never know - driving down crazy midnight highways - full moon light - silver insanity - littered with signs - neon signs -road signs - café signs - signs looking for tomorrow - Jesus Saves signs - crazy coloured signs flashing by in the night - And you ask - Are these really signs, hallucinations or - just too much benzedrine? Or, the type of hallucination you get somewhere between Cheyenne, Wyoming and Lincoln, Nebraska out there rolling through seamless infinity - Great Plains - on-coming headlights fracture and shatter early morning highway pipe dreams that vanish into sleepy reality.

Heading east - sun's on the rise. Sleepless night's, driving, driving - pop one more white, shift into fourth - put your foot to the floor - oblivion - madness - in the cool night's air. Van Morrison-circa 1967 - "Madam George" bouncing in and out like soft, blacktop bumps under rubber wheels - fading in and out over some Tex Ridder song - I don't know - driving on across flat oblivion - between starry sky and occasional farmhouse light signaling a life out there on lonely plain nestled in a sea of wheat - illuminated in patchy silver light piercing through cotton-ball clouds drifting westward in the night - GTO - roars-on without shifting gears into the distant night, café coffee bound - metal-flake, baby blue - Micky got killed in a plane crash - shot down - somewhere North of Danang - black night falling - closing in on solider boy - Bangkok opium den. Mickey's just another name inscribed on that wall. And some time later - thought about old Mick - on the train from Dublin up to Sandy Row - just like the song - cold winter night - ain't no stars dancing in the sky - just a train running on into the rain and into fog and into snow and on up to Sandy Row - watching myself from the train station watching me - slipping away somewhere into the lonely clickety-clack endless railroad tracks on cold winter's night - poignant neon reflections streaking - flashing lights.

It's all a blur - Sitting by a fire - Arizona mesa - 1967 - Junky Jane, Jungle Jim, Peyote Tom and me. 7+7 Is - Love - circra1966 - LA speedfreak rock and roll - crackling across the airwaves - bouncing chaotically off the ionosphere - into dying transistor radio - Wolfman Jack from down Tijuana way - and we there sitting and talking about driving from Bisbee via Naco on over to Durango - the Milky Way hanging out there a universe away. The dry, desert summer night and dried salty, sweat clinging, and the smell in the air - savoury like sage - somewhere between Phoenix and Tucson about a mile or two down past the end of Tom Mix highway - Superstition Mountains silhouette in sight.

Santa Monica to Chicago - Flagstaff, Santa Fe, - Highway 66 - and catch the sunrise on Lake Michigan - then down Highway 61 - that boy ain't never been there - so how can he see? Crossroads - Clarksdale, Mississippi then Biloxi, Mobile, and sitting on a sailboat - Coconut Grove - How can he understand the neon signs, road signs, seedy prostitutes lurking outside cheap, roadside motels - cockroaches scurry across the bed - then disappear at turned on light hanging on fabric covered wire - musty room - flickering neon signs stay awake all night long -Then twilight - crepuscular, dusty amber - ambient light beginning to fade into night - driving down through Mississippi on into Louisiana watching the black kids on the side of the road - in the ditches - catching crawfish with tattered nets made from old window screens that used to keep mosquitoes out.

Me and sweet, dark-eyed Martha Lorraine - somewhere down on upper Grant St. - had a head on drinking wine - a bag - Zig Zag man in hand - neon lights ripple across rain soaked street - explode into fractal universe - car splashed puddles - all there in the absence of white. Sometimes - that's what I'm driving at - highways littered with signs, signs, signs and hallucinations of flashing - flickering signs - midnight highway madness splashing across my field of vision.


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	The Digital Graffiti Series is dedicated to those free spirits who start out on each journey with no predetermined destination in mind - on that road to discovery. Prologue - Digital Graffiti 'Mad Road Driving' - Kerouac - 'Mexico City Blues'. San Francisco to Mexico City - down the Grapevine - ravines - rusting metal carcases - destinations never made. He ain't been there so he would never know - driving down crazy midnight highways - full moon light - silver insanity - littered with signs - neon signs -road signs - café signs - signs looking for tomorrow - Jesus Saves signs - crazy coloured signs flashing by in the night - And you ask - Are these really signs, hallucinations or - just too much benzedrine? Or, the type of hallucination you get somewhere between Cheyenne, Wyoming and Lincoln, Nebraska out there rolling through seamless infinity - Great Plains - on-coming headlights fracture and shatter early morning highway pipe dreams that vanish into sleepy reality. Heading east - sun's on the rise. Sleepless night's, driving, driving - pop one more white, shift into fourth - put your foot to the floor - oblivion - madness - in the cool night's air. Van Morrison-circa 1967 - "Madam George" bouncing in and out like soft, blacktop bumps under rubber wheels - fading in and out over some Tex Ridder song - I don't know - driving on across flat oblivion - between starry sky and occasional farmhouse light signaling a life out there on lonely plain nestled in a sea of wheat - illuminated in patchy silver light piercing through cotton-ball clouds drifting westward in the night - GTO - roars-on without shifting gears into the distant night, café coffee bound - metal-flake, baby blue - Micky got killed in a plane crash - shot down - somewhere North of Danang - black night falling - closing in on solider boy - Bangkok opium den. Mickey's just another name inscribed on that wall. And some time later - thought about old Mick - on the train from Dublin up to Sandy Row - just like the song - cold winter night - ain't no stars dancing in the sky - just a train running on into the rain and into fog and into snow and on up to Sandy Row - watching myself from the train station watching me - slipping away somewhere into the lonely clickety-clack endless railroad tracks on cold winter's night - poignant neon reflections streaking - flashing lights. It's all a blur - Sitting by a fire - Arizona mesa - 1967 - Junky Jane, Jungle Jim, Peyote Tom and me. 7+7 Is - Love - circra1966 - LA speedfreak rock and roll - crackling across the airwaves - bouncing chaotically off the ionosphere - into dying transistor radio - Wolfman Jack from down Tijuana way - and we there sitting and talking about driving from Bisbee via Naco on over to Durango - the Milky Way hanging out there a universe away. The dry, desert summer night and dried salty, sweat clinging, and the smell in the air - savoury like sage - somewhere between Phoenix and Tucson about a mile or two down past the end of Tom Mix highway - Superstition Mountains silhouette in sight. Santa Monica to Chicago - Flagstaff, Santa Fe, - Highway 66 - and catch the sunrise on Lake Michigan - then down Highway 61 - that boy ain't never been there - so how can he see? Crossroads - Clarksdale, Mississippi then Biloxi, Mobile, and sitting on a sailboat - Coconut Grove - How can he understand the neon signs, road signs, seedy prostitutes lurking outside cheap, roadside motels - cockroaches scurry across the bed - then disappear at turned on light hanging on fabric covered wire - musty room - flickering neon signs stay awake all night long -Then twilight - crepuscular, dusty amber - ambient light beginning to fade into night - driving down through Mississippi on into Louisiana watching the black kids on the side of the road - in the ditches - catching crawfish with tattered nets made from old window screens that used to keep mosquitoes out. Me and sweet, dark-eyed Martha Lorraine - somewhere down on upper Grant St. - had a head on drinking wine - a bag - Zig Zag man in hand - neon lights ripple across rain soaked street - explode into fractal universe - car splashed puddles - all there in the absence of white. Sometimes - that's what I'm driving at - highways littered with signs, signs, signs and hallucinations of flashing - flickering signs - midnight highway madness splashing across my field of vision.

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