Driving 95 and cruising down the road, I just killed a guy to loosen our load. It’s not that i wanted him to die, it’s more that I didn’t want him to be alive anymore. Anyway, we must drive on, the blue lights are chasing us and we’re only human after all..
I’m not guilty; i’m a witness, which is worse. Once they figure it out i’ll be sent onto some witness protection program, which means i’m still a wanted man, trapped in a new life in some boring apartment complex in Florida. i need a decoy.
The car we’re, i’m, driving is a rocket 455 Chevrolet with a big bore straight 6. Trouble on wheels basically, it’s not a question of if you’ll get attention, but what for? The odds however are in our favor; we have money for rope, and the last time we stopped for gas was yesterday. We turn onto a straight empty road in a deserted industrial park somewhere in south-west Detroit, slowly I put my foot down and let the engine breathe. As the air intake valves open up, the engine roars to life, but all I am hoping is that it doesn’t seize or explode in some sort of heat death.
Time is on our side, or so the song on the radio tells me, but i’m not so sure. It is sucking away at our possibility of freedom, a time vampire which won’t ever stop. The logical conclusion is that we will die, one way or another.
A t-intersection is coming up fast, this is it, possibly the only chance to lose those fuckers, I steer out to the other side of the road, so that I can take the corner wide. 30 yards to go I slam the brakes, blip the throttle as I gear down, and we go side-ways. Still revving the throttle as I hold the skid we drift around the corner, the revs of the engine bounce of the side of the buildings in the night, and it feels like I am in a dream.
Coming out of the skid, the car snaps back, as if onto rails, the tires once again finding their grip on the road. But there is a car coming towards me, it’s headlights are closing in fast, and I am still on the wrong side of the road. I yank the wheel hard left, purely instinctively, the sound of car horn rushes past and somehow we miss, but only just.
Still trying to figure out what the fuck just happened, I look into the rear-view, for a split second I see the blue flashing lights again, but then there is screech of tires, a loud smash and then fire. The cops have driven head on into the car I just missed, those twerps. The fireball slowly diminishes in the mirror, another long straight road invites me ahead, and I am free.
I am sitting on a beach on some Hawaiian island, rockabilly is playing softly in the background, sipping a cocktail served to me by a girl in a bikini. Maybe I am? When i’m stoned it’s like the world has a glint in it’s eye. and sometimes it winks at me! Anyway, it’s always a pleasure to have a beer in the evening, especially on these hot summer nights
First of all, are you fucking mental? ‘Push back’?? What the fuck is that? All we’re accomplishing is a world were everyone pushes, and you know what that means, a world full of Stubborn Fat Americanos who start wars. All push and no give is like two magnets with the same poles. We repel each other.
Second, what if two people came out of this thing dead? Toxic places create toxic people. This is a toxic wasteland, pollution rises to the top.
It brings out the worst in you, me, Wendy and the trendy pervert in the corner. Everyone is driven by fear, advancement means compromising values, ethics and even decency and common manners.
There has to be a better way.. Being can replace having, you realise that there is another world out there, one in which you don’t have to pollute yourself to get through the exhaust fumed haze. Fuck, you don’t even need that much money to have a good time, let alone survive…
Anyway what the fuck would you know about being driven by fear? A lot I should think, you’re the fucking driver. But you know what my ragarre friends would think of your managerial Mercedes? They would aim a fuckin’ bazooka at that slug transporter and yell out ‘Die Fat Americano!!’ before blowing it to thousands of pieces of burning shrapnel. That’s what. Then they’d share a few beers and blast some Chuck Berry out the car door.
Ragarre is a name for what we might equate rockabilly culture to in Sweden. Fast cars, 50’s style, respect and rock’n’roll with a gentlemanly sensibility is what it’s all about. I agree with this type of culture immediately. Last weekend I was in Castlemaine, which could be considered Victoria’s raggarre capital (maybe even Australia’s after Newcastle). But if you slick back your hair and drive a cool old car are you living a lie? Half right, half wrong; lies become the truth; create a fantasy and talk it up until enough people believe it to become reality.
And you know all about ‘keeping it real’ don’t you slug? Yes i know. You read books. You have insight and oh that’s right, you read books. Hell in you’re private life, you’re even a ‘nice person’ and you make this known to me. But nothing is more boring after a while than someone who screams, “I’m not boring! Look–I’m singing, I’m dancing! I’m showing my arse! Isn’t this fun?”
Yes, a nice person in your private life.
from Latin. privare
1. To deprive, to take, to rob.
So please, deprive me of your ‘niceness’. Now also might be an opportune time to look at the etymology of the word ‘idiot’.
from Greek. idiotes
1. Literally “private person”.
To act privately in a public context is to act idiotically. For example, when asked by a stranger for directions, you, the idiot, might answer “Take a left at my place” or even act nicely in your public sphere. But you won’t. Forget your private niceness and be a cunt, then bring people together, and give them something to do. I like it.