On a slow train to a place that doesn’t matter.
As the gleaming train whipped by the hobbling man in flip flops stumbled for a second before raising his hand over his face to shield his…
As the gleaming train whipped by the hobbling man in flip flops stumbled for a second before raising his hand over his face to shield his eyes from the dust and debris that the train was firing in his direction. The diesel missile of blue steel screamed out with an ear piercing crescendo before silence fell. Pebbles pressed and twisted into the earth the only sound now as the man crossed over the train tracks and into the train itself.
The train departs.
What do these ducks eat in this grey brown muck?
Holding a child 4 people wave at the train as it passes- one man points his oversized smart phone at it to capture a moment he will never revisit whose experience is forever lost.
Tiny dilapidated wooden houses collapsed under the weight of the burden of time and lead based graffiti.
Giant mud puddles with sea birds in them searching for sustenance.
An orchard of tumbleweeds waiting to be set free and see the west at 180 degrees.
A huge pit of excavated concrete lie in the middle of a field of dead grass.
An oversized truck with oversized tires sits alone on the side of the road higher then its automotive peers because the owner feels so low. Solo.
A mass of green rusted pipes from a smoking factory filling dark round train cars with unknown chemicals to power faceless machines in another county.
Fenced in lot of abandoned cars stored for future use of dreams that will never come- they wait to be dissembled and melted down when the fearful dreamer dies, rusting in a sacred place protected by barbed wire, dogs and alarm systems that go off routinely and make the owner feel as if everything is safe when nothing is alive.
A huge satellite dish half the size of the backyard it protrudes from is a beacon of boredom and listlessness.
A tall ivy covered wall half heartily protects the cookie cutter condos from the blaring horn of the train and the unstoppable reality of the chaotic shanty towns that lie on the other side.
Murals on the banks of filthy storm sewers filled with trash.
A banged up shopping cart stands alone waiting for the train to pass- its owner wandered off far away to another corner of their mind, just as cluttered as the cart.
Overflowing dumpsters in an empty parking lot outside of a grey apartment complex.
Two rusted faded shopping carts standing next to each other against a crumbling wall covered in graffiti having a conversation about the weather.
A single car tire next to the tracks- rolled? Thrown over a backyard fence?
Luggage with the stuffing ripped out lay open and exposed surrounded by dirty grey debris in the dull Sunday morning California sun.
Another shanty town hidden amongst the trees where the train tracks split- hiding from the sun or the judgmental eyeballs of those that pay their taxes and give their souls to a god that taxes them accordingly without mercy beyond death.
“Niles” it says on a rolling golden brown hill behind a group of three different colored porta-potties parked next to a tiny vintage train stop.
Backyards brown, golf course green.
A woman in her 50’s with shining, curly hair fresh out of the salon can barely walk down the single flight of stairs to the lower level on her own.
Razor wire- razor wire everywhere- protecting empty lots, dumpsters, storage containers, public storage, dead architecture whose music will never thaw because its just one note over and over arranged in the same way- auto-tuned. Add automated LFO for appropriate pop culture response.
Call box 130 04- a bright blue sign with a solar panel atop its erect robotic form.
Twin surveillance cameras sit side by side pointed in the same direction on a black twisted iron bar protected by razor wire- two eyes from the same brain or the type of paranoid and wasteful redundancy that makes for such a place.
A large colorful mural with the words “rebels” hangs over the grey concrete facade of what is probably a high school- a public prison built to break souls and fit molds.
I unwrap the tight plastic on my premade turkey sandwich that I hurriedly purchased at whole foods with an empty wallet and a plastic card. I had to cross a marathon twice to make way in flip flops as the ticks tocked to catch a train.
A yard of scrap metal and crushed cars protected by razor wire rusts into a sagging broken face as it clings onto a newer fence with shiner razor wire.
Oakland coliseum next stop a woman says over the loud speaker as I dig into “Moms macaroni salad” with a plastic fork that I also purchased pre-made in a plastic tub at Whole foods with an empty wallet and a plastic card. I wonder if I could save money I don’t have by eating plastic?
Baseball fans wearing the jerseys of men who will never know them pay large fees to see other men in tight pants swing big wood while being paid big. I used to be a baseball fan until one night I was at a game- seventh inning stretch I didn’t stand for patriotic song and wondered “what am I doing with my life?” I never went back or cared ever again but I retain enough knowledge of the sport to small talk with new people that are uncomfortable with healthy silence- a very useful ability.
Passing over another freeway filled with metal boxes spewing poison that kill small animals that situate lone humans moving in the same general direction wondering why they feel so alone and unattached from the all.
A woman holding two bags stands on the corner of some hood- trash littered sidewalks and graffiti stained buildings stand behind her- she stops and changes direction staring down at her smart phone- the train lay idle waiting for another to pass on adjacent tracks- I stare off at the tired and worn neighborhood. The train rolls slowly forward as I can see new high rise private prison like condos lurking behind the hood protected by high concrete walls and razor wire.
A black hummer sits outside of a light brown Mexican restaurant- the large boxy car a relic of waste. An unwieldy container of dashed dreams guzzling life by the gallon- all the while being big and stupid, boastful even in its decadence and ignorance.
A large shanty sits in front of a skyline of short skyscrapers of uninspired architecture as a line of cars wait for the train to pass. The drivers arms hung out the windows of their cars- tapping the sides- waiting for life.
Extra space storage in a round green sign to hold your belongings that hold you back from living a life well lived- from giving your all to a cause beyond amassing plastic goods with a plastic card to fill your backyard- you can sell it all for pennies and weep at your waste when times get hard.
A couple of sports fans with slouched posture smirk at each other, oversized smart phones bulging from their pockets- their waistlines bulging from the oversize sugar saturated branded sweet caffeinated drinks in their paws. They sweat slightly moving from car to parking lot to destination. The train starts moving forward again- slowly.
More shanty towns, more razor wire. Tattered plastic bags waving from holes in a cyclone fence.
The train runs parallel with a freeway full of speeding cars like ghosts passing through a zone of forgettable thoughts as a flock of pigeons glide overhead without moving their wings.
A huge shanty town behind a major retail outlet- a shiny red SUV passes through- its driver holds a smart phone to their head while the passengers look bewildered by the surrounding tent and plastic bag city.
The train stops- I watch a white man with dark plastic glasses and white plastic earbuds look into his smart phone as he waits to board the train. A black man with dark plastic glasses and a tall branded coffee cup held high passes through the cabin.
Loops and loops of razor wire protect a lot of unsold cars- the razor wire continues on protecting stacks of wooden pallets and eventually metal waste barrels before it ends at a factory. Shanty towns and mounds of trash lay outside the razor wire barrier.
A crop of private prison like apartments with draconian HOA sits next to the train stop- I watch a white man without plastic sunglasses with white plastic earbuds look at the passing train with smart phone in hand- he probably already finished his branded coffee drink in tall cup.
A couple walks through the cabin and looks in my direction- the man with dark sunglasses and a plastic bluetooth device glued to the side of his head- the woman with microwaved solid hair and an annoyed look on her face- they look at me and reverse direction as if a closed door with a rude sign was presented to them without offering a branded coffee drink in tall cup.
Houses upon houses stacked on top of each other on small hills- a game of leapfrog to outdo each others worth as judged by gpa, gnp, to compensate for tiny pee pee either physically and/or mentally and a general lack of the passions.
This is Richmond- trash and razor wire- warning petroleum pipeline- a dead Bart platform stained with various unknown substances friendly to tattered cardboard shards and cleaning products. Electric third rail. Danger. Keep away. Murder rate- extremely high- third rail aint scaring me around here guy.
I finish my raw cacao unsweetened non state standard brand coffee drink in plastic container that I was supposed to enjoy by 11–10–15. I thank it for allowing me to enjoy it and curse it for making me have to pee.
I sigh as I return from the restroom- the malfunctioning toilet so full of bright yellow urine and bits of fecal matter it sloshes back and forth with the trains uneven movements spilling onto the floor as the flushing mechanism is broken. A white man with tan cargo shorts descends down the stairs as I hear the restroom door close- the horrors that await him and his fancy toe shoes if he is not fleet of foot and agile enough to dodge miniature waves of liquid bad. The last time I took this train two weeks ago the toilet did flush but when it did it burped out water which you had to dodge if you were too close. I’m on edge.
A single green porta-pottie is rooted in the middle of a dusty field- its flushing mechanism can never malfunction but it always holds olfactory horrors inside.
Another man descends the stairs and enters the bathroom- I should have warned him like he was entering a show by a hack comedian that smashes smushy objects- you will get wet.
The man returns with his blank face, darker tan cargo pants and blue button up shirt- he is unfazed.
A shanty town- an elementary school- a factory- a happy family. From birth to death to death.
Oh no a young woman in a bright orange dress descends the stairs now to enter the sloshy horror show- I fear for the life of her frilly orange dress that is sure to be stained with liquid bad. I wait for her screams of terror but they do not come as she quickly comes back up the stairs so search for another restroom- a survivor she is.
OH no another woman descends the stairs- this one holding her purse and in a hurry- what will win- the urgency to do the thing or the fear of all things icky and disgusting sloshing around below you with accompanying aroma that accentuates as it abhors? I await her return if she survives. She walks slowly back up the stairs staring at the ground- a novel of catatonia written on her face- this poor woman- she retakes her seat and stares out the window seeking an escape from the liquid terror that had just held her in its acrid grasp.
I try to forget about the restroom and look out the window at a large body of water with a few sailboats in it. Old broken pier supports jut out of the water like burnt wooden match sticks.
I try to forget about the restroom then something hits me- I peed in the restroom three times- is it me? Am I the perpetrator of this horror that has gripped this train car?! Am I a horrible person? Like the now deceased joker in this latest batman film franchise did I just want to see it burn? Did I just want to see it overflow and wash away what little humanity these smart phone having, bluetooth wearing, branded coffee holding automatons have? initially I deny it- but inside I know it is true- I was the pee pee man that pushes the pee pee over the edge! Its true I did not contribute any fecal matter but I must take some credit for the horrible situation that has now besieged this train car and destroyed the soul of at least one person!
The train stops and more passengers get on- more victims for my pee pee plague! More numbers for my reign of terror! They come from all cultures and all walks of life- descend my victims! Heed the call of your bladders and descend those stairs! Descend and know true horror brought on by distilled water from a large plastic bottle filled in a strip mall water store- its probably just fucking tap water but I don’t care it was all for this! Distilled water isn’t even hydrating- it just goes right through you- you’d have to be some sick toilet bowl overflowing sadist to drink that stuff right before you get on a train.
I might be taking too much credit for this thing as I did not break the toilets flushing mechanism- perhaps I was just an innocent- not a bystander because bystanders don’t pee in things- I would say I was an accomplice- thats the worst of it- I wasn’t the mastermind- I was just the dummy that went along with it- can’t we all say that for most everything terrible?
I am not the bad man- I am not the bat man or the joker- I’m just a guy riding a train to Sacramento that was too well hydrated with mineral robbing water.
My wife replies to the text message I sent an hour ago with this here laptop computer- I don’t use a smart phone myself because I’m afraid it will make me stupid in a social sense. I reply to her text message and I do not mention the restroom as its just our secret now. The train marches on through plains of dry grass and abandoned cars.
Less than an hour from the destination and I’m glad for it as I was only able to sleep 3 hours last night- before I retired at 4 am I talked with a colleague for 3 hours as they searched for consolation within me for them taking their own journey making a feature film- I had no real answers other than just “be stupid” stupid as in risk taking and reckless as it would appear to a normal person- I could have also said just “live life” living is dangerous and unpredictable, dying is safe and predictable.
I don’t mind losing sleep if I can help a friend not lose their real life to fear- there will always be uncertainty as long as you are alive and not trapped in an OCD cycle in a padded room. We all feel fear- but I say use fear to combat fear- I use the fear of living an unfulfilled mediocre life to overpower all the other fears like fear of failure- fear of being homeless- and the other common ones for creative people that want to do something different and away from the mainstream.
Well anyway- the trains horn blares- I try to stay balanced on a shaky, uneven piss stained structure- void of humanity- owned by corporations- lacking a soul-surrounded by razor wire protecting material goods and property at the expense of and to the detriment of humanity- lacking any moral responsibility- Murica 2015- I don’t want it to be easy and full of happy faces I just want to the toilet to work.
Addendum: After I departed the train I went into the restroom at Sacramento station. I walked up to the urinal and looked over my shoulder toward the stall because someone was in there playing music loud on their phone. At first I though “what the fuck is that?” then I listened for a second and it was the Tech N9ne song “Jellysickle” -being a fan of Tech I walked up to the closed toilet stall and said “ DAMN dude got Tecca Nina in the toilet!” and I saw a bearded guy look through the crack in the door and go “yeah mayne” I responded with an emphatic “YEH!” as in “YEAH BOY” and exited the restroom with a smile.