2059. ALL THE WAY ON

ALL THE WAY ON

Just like, that is, any life you would

ever live. The car is in the driveway now

and all things are very modern. There

are metal reds and metal greens going

nowhere. My pitter-patter heart too itself

has died. Long ago, and already on the way

out, I wanted to find a feature : young boy,

and all of nothing too - wishing to be, FBI

agent, priest, provocateur, railroad guy,

tough man in a hoary little western tale.

Emily Emmet McCallister, a good woman,

living all alone and far out in the wilds, on

the prairie somewhere. Then the railroad came

as they laid the tracks - Union Pacific or

Missouri Central or Baltimore and Ohio,

something. Rebel flags and taunted horses;

long ago it was a troubled world.

-

Someone said I had the good sense to lose my

good sense and go mad. I'm still with that thought

in my mind : Emily Emmet McCallister? I built

her a cabin deep in the woods and there she

laid down to die. It was all things, everywhere -

Indian wars and then the Revolution and then

the Civil War, and with all that the railroad men

and the Rebels and the Indians with their squaws,

they all came riding through. Time had compressed

and folded over on itself - it was all over in a

blink that ended all of Time.

-

Just like, that is, any life you

would ever live. All the way on,

and then all the way off again.