Evnin’, Frank!
Whaddya think we ought to
Talk about today?
I say, I say, I’m bored somethin’ awful
And want somethin’ better ta do.
Well, how ‘bout a nice lil’ chat
On this nice desert night
Down the ole I-40
Striped cross Arizonian country,
Fredd-ma-friendo?
But, Frank, how do ya know
When the conversation
Has reached the point of bein’ nice?
Is there some way to qualify
And quantify
The meaning of our words?
Not just the words, Fred,
But how they are arranged and disarranged
Lends themselves to greater worth
Than diction on its lonesome –
There’s more art in there
When madness has a method.
Quotin’ Shakespeare on me,
Or some perverse Frankspeare?
Huy-huck! Tell me true
And stop skirtin’ ‘round the question
With yo’ politician’s rhetoric:
What makes a conversation good?
I’ll tell ya, some say worth is made
On scales of subjectivity
Or in depths of genuine emotive whats-its
Or dependin’ the circumstantials of sitiations…
But I think it’s the principle of the ordeal.
The principle, huh? Fine and dandy
Considerin’ the principles of the persons involved
Might as well sit on opposite sides
Of the Grand Canyon isself
And shout at each other that the other
Ought to hurryitup and jump the gap.
No, the principle of conversation I mean.
What would it be like if you and I –
Lone men on a long road –
Kept our radio silent and stared
At what lies ahead and not who
We might find. The road would become
Dry, lifeless, bare, and boring.
Yeh, when yur right, yur right. And
Yur right. Maybe it’s better to
Be right or wrong than without neither,
Both judged and judging,
Than to isolate ourselves and form
One world of one mind
With no purpose other than making noise.
Exacitally, Freddo ma friendo. It’s
All one can do to remember they’re alive
On this bleak road, at this stiff wheel,
And I’m glad I’ve got
A philosophizer like you
On the other end.
Likewise, Frank. Likewise, but I must say
That you’re the philisophier
I think. And now I bid you evening,
For I’ve got a small drive
And a Big Mac
That’ll hopefully take me all the way.
To hear you doing fine, in your
Tone and in your lines, is just
Jim-cracking dandy-do.
But keep your ear pressed to the com
For another question I press to you:
Why do we drive?
Whaddya mean?
Why do we drive these trucks cross-country
For little more than cash
To sustain us in-between
Neglected nights and dreary days
Just so we can get behind the wheel again?
I don’t know, Frank. I
Don’t know. I don’t think I want to.
But I do know this –
When we’re in the seat,
Better to sit, than stand
And tumble out.
True thing – if everyone stood up,
There’d be no one left to drive the truck
But that just begs
Us to ask which matters more:
The truck or the driver?
But you cannot argue that,
To man and his business,
The truck makes the driver
Though the driver moves the truck
And both are worth less
Than the cargo itself.
I cannot, I cannot, you’re right ‘bout that.
But it’s better to have
A truck to drive
And a cargo to carry
Than neither at all.
Isn’t that right?
Am I right?
Frank, old buddy,
I’ve got to go.
Another sun is rising
And I’ve got plains to go before I catch it.
Ah, well, take care of yourself,
Freddo ma Friendo.
And remember that the moon
Is a worthwhile object, too.
Copy. Signing off.
Signing out.
Morning's Early Dark 