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as a headless horseman. and so forth. it is twelve o' clock, the bewitching hour, and i have been thinking about "paul cox" a lot as a ghost. there in the church we sang of balms. in gillead. the man had a loud angry voice that sang. he was secretly an angry man but is softened when people die. paul the ghost was probably telling us there IS no balm in gillead and we are all a bunch of lovesick fools. everyone is very brave about death. lovesick and brave. people at the lunch table were saying between sobby mouthfulls of green gelatin salad substance, "so-and-so was a ROCK" with a fist on the table for emphasis. the gelatin substance had nuts on it and i watched them shake. it is five hours to tyler, texas and i spent all of it peeking over the back of my seat at the timble dimble drivers driving their machines behind us. people in my car were saying "josey doesn't THIS and josey doesn't THAT and andy is WAY better at everything she is good at anyway" because i am in a great big shadow that i must fill up with my own flesh. i do not think he knows this. he is a better person than i am so he doesn't need to know. the people in the driving machines behind us don't know either. once i counted the stripes on the median. it was something like 1085. but today i counted people who are in love with balms and people who are brave and people who do not know things. they are all ghosts to me. now i sit on a green swivel chair in a thoughtful heap of carbon-based biodegradables:
by The JavaScript Source
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