gotta pull in life´s own road...

 It came a riding like its own. Red it was. Sure of the metallic surface of its own...its...

own...

Pulled over. I jumped in. I thought I gotta be Beat. Thought I wanna go for a ride. I said I am just like the other boys. On my own. Can´t really recall how I got into that red car. So metallic. It was like riding along through Tävelsås was the far most exotic things I could do…

Threw out words and spitted out hate of the world...gotta be like the boys. Fucked it all. On the road was a film in my deepest dreams.

”Where ya from?” he asked and I had sure way to answer…

”Gotta go back home. Live next village. Been to school today...See?”

”See it all...okey”

”And I am about to leave the domestic stuff. Gotta be Beat, just like the boys…!”

”I dont really follow you gotta be mad just imagine such a horny world out there and u just gotta ride on in my car and still not knowing me gotta think that to become BEAT you really gotta have some brains...But tits? How bout a fuck...on side of the road could move over and...”

As it all came over me the other day I can recall how words were swollen and frozen and got glue into each other had ta leave the old grammar alone had to be dada and dada was a word of arts gotta be like a boy…

”You see in a couple of years all gonna be queer….has felt it starting...”

The ongoing conversation and talks at late nights and red tape methods and that poetrie was my kind of art. Had to getta know it all. Swallowed Bob Dylan and Duchamp – Picasso no not really no…

The car took us further up to Dänningelanda then Vederslöf och sedan Ryd och det var då och där...gotta remember he was from Holland asked about the villages nothing important just like a chat about more than the weather….

”Gotta pull over here comes the cows The small ones and pretty animals How long you been living in this area? Said u were from town, city of Växjö Kronoberg now socken och tocken och sånt och däringa...”

Could not figur out why he served me weird Swedish and still from deep throat. He was boasting about the metallic red car that costed him all. Fancy thing fancy clothes. He asked if I needed money…

I was Beat by now. Cause I was also on my way. Dao had a journey for us all. Cut cut cut, in a film strip I saw the illusionary West and it was growing fast that year 1976. I was round 20 years. Gotta know Beat dada art pop rock fucked it up all on the journey to a star…

Finally he said it was his Swedish girlfriend who taught him his weird Swedish. He was of an old family of Holland. Artists. We stopped. The car brooomed its sound. It sort of hacked and spinned the engine...imagine it all….like two wars had him barren and stripped. He was mad about those in Amsterdam who went on drugs. Destroyed his brother. So he looked at my oldish fur, holes where the seams had gone loose. I could not fix it back...it just looked a hippie...or a BEAT...I gotta feel in and sense the vibration of a past life San Franscisco. Gotta have been all over the place….BEAT IT BEAT IT BEAT IT….

The flow of words had me be brought on into the new world I loved poetic words just any kind...A flow a stream a lovely rosy pattern of languages that rose to a higher level then sank into the lowest skies and up again to feel THE BEAT OF THE TIME gotta be another Henry Miller my chap gotta fuck like the boys…

”You know a thing I better bring you home but it was a nice chatting to you and it was a cool voyage or what they now call it on the road on tour on a DAO way through the villages of a place in Småland. Gotta think to remind me of it in a couple of years from now on and ya see...”

Car pulled in to the side-road of Tävelsås. I said bye and see you. He said the same back to me. Wondered about it as I headed for the house where we lived. Wondered why I had said I should see him. Is that just a way to talk?

Home now. Yellow house boasting of some kind of elegance… Fancy looking...Fancy home. Had to remember several years after that my Conservative parents did let me sort of live my dreams of poetry and drama and art. I had pictures on the walls...I made drawings, had duzzled into oil on canvas...blue and my mum looked a bit angry on the portrait...she sucked really. That mad look of her. No my BEAT ART i had to go out do it. Had to beat down the old structures but knew not how…

One day when I got older. Old as I am today, born 1955, I gotta recall my true youth. Had not been at war for 200 years or so. Well laid out peace and some kind of honesty…

Gotta remind me of how I used to hitchhike in my youth,,,, Nowadays I don´t really understand how I dared. Bravery perhps ...Or innocence of the peace-fuckin-lovin-generation.

And one day as I saw TV. Like I can recall living so desperately safe from things. BEAT GOTTA BEAT THE OLD STRUCTURES...and now

The vehicle pulled over. Red it was. Metallic and sure. He never raped me or anything like that. It was like being raped was not the worst. The war somewhere else was far more worse. So I had faith and trust and kept thinking to myself. Over that rainbow lies another skyline, another horizon and I gotta go on LIFE´S OWN TRIP. No Hallucination...Just a road-trip on the surface of the earth. Pulled over the moon. Pulled over the LIFE´s OWN VEHICLE and I jumped onto the car of my journey through the existence...it took me apart from structures gotta pee on grammer just like that – what else could I have done? Gotta pee grammar once more. On my Dao...