The fascination in a chainlink fence, the way it cuts the scene, the hard aluminum wires twisting looping converging to a little twisty tiptop, seven feet of implied menace but not fooling anyone on a gray blusterday, trying to taverse this fence en route to conquering the Beltline of the mind literally and figuratively. Climb over and see, see you on the other side, climb over and try not to rip your jeans on the way down to the other side- forbidden side- but why? Here on the forbidden side are the same forgotten rusty railcars, graffiti’ed nearly out of recognition, forlorn, rusty, rusty tracks seared into the earth two centuries past now rusty and sticky with bum pee, only a hipster photoshoot now- same as the rusty tracks on the safe side, free side, the side with no CSX sign, free-to-rust-free-for-all, no chainlink menace so easily crossed no cross railroad boss no Blazing Saddles silly workmen clogging the jogging yuppies, Golden Retrievers, bums, Wonderroot kids making Beltline art and scowling as you pass, gas station signs from long-ago-abandoned gas stations- Gulf- graffiti’ed as well (they love the Krylon, these kids), and skateboard kids getting their Vans dusty with graveldust, the dust of two centuries, of now and later, forbidden dreamer.
PROPERTY OF CSX
TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
but where are your lookouts, CSX? The rentacops don’t care and the Robocops have better things to do (ostensibly), so who will prosecute, who to prosecute (?) on a gorgeous Mayday when silly kids decide to do the bum, the wild wake of rusty railroads, running up and down embankments careful not to twist ankles (hi-top precaution), spraypainting silly tags, licking the rust from the rusty railcars, making a lunch of it- Dickensian struggle- and dessert with the kudzu, great mountains of kudzu at all sides, the rail like the river of Germany and the kudzu-covered trees the riverside peaks but where are the Disneyland castles? Look and see- the big owlnests at the tops of the Mount Kudzus- there’s your Disneyland castles in this depressing damned doodoo Disneyland. Don’t take your kids here. The winning quarterback is not after the winning touchdown and hometown parade, he won’t wish upon a star, he don’t know the Beltline and he don’t care. And we don’t care.