Hobo Jungle

[Rufus T. Firefly]

Is your e-mail still the same? Remind of your real name or simply e-mail me at .................. I have cool photos for the hobos.

Mail sent

[Tramp]

Rufus, please remove my e-mail now that you have it. Thanks for all your help!

[Rufus T. Firefly]

Rufus, please remove my e-mail now that you have it. Thanks for all your help!

Sure. You do know that there was a typo in it making it non-functional as posted?

[Tramp]

Is it gone?

[Rufus T. Firefly]

Is it gone?

Like the wind.

[Tramp]

Seems like the fire is about out. Way of all things. Lost three close friends in November. Now this.

[Tramp]

It started here. Might as well end here:

TRAINS

What these vague memories drawn through
The mind like a restless tremble of fever?
What has informed these blurred images?
This night train halt in a Pullman sleeper,
Sentinel platform lights wreathed by fog,
A face white against the moist glass,
These moving lips are whispering, as
Steam caresses the locomotive's drivers,
A wet cement platform glistening empty,
As an ancient conductor calls, All-laboard,
As a whistle signs to departure's darkness.

More steam now in a vast passenger shed,
Overhead the engineers' crisscross of iron
Like a hallucinogen's etched pattern, the
Soot patina of endless departed consists.
A baggage cart creaks, languidly pushed,
The leather of the stickered trunks and bags,
Eased along the polished baggage car floor.
A small lighted kiosk way down the platform,
"Paper, sir?" and yes, wrapped sandwiches,
magazines, candy, and the always cup of coffee.
And then the pale long legs of a woman as she
Hands herself up through the open Pullman door,
Her red coat for an instant offering precious inches.
The blind wander of the travel weary,
The tossed minute firework of a cigar end,
The crash of two couplers’ metallic mate,
The violent outbreath of an air-hose release,
Why are these fragments so known?

And now these thin oriental rugs and hardwood floors,
There, metal tracks to carry voltage from room to room,
There the locomotive smoke and the haunt of the whistle
Runs along the wainscoted walls and marble fireplaces.
The passenger cars light the loomed wool and waxed wood,
Move through each darkening room with the certainty of time,
This twilight caressing the mind, till it reaches level, like
A ship rising slowly in a lock.
This is not my childhood!
Whose memories are these?
For they can not be mine.


[Tramp]

Good-bye, hobos. It was a wonderful thing!

[AG]

This is not my childhood!
Whose memories are these?
For they can not be mine

At night, your soul travel
and talk with wandering memories,
memories that are waiting for a train,
but they don't realize the rails are rusty
and wood already rotten.

You are not leaving anywhere.
those lights are just glint on floor.

the platform is empty again but tomorrow
will be full, full of stories of wandering memories.

AG.

[MurphOnMillerAve]

Good-bye, hobos. It was a wonderful thing!

Fare thee well, trouper.
Murph

[Rufus T. Firefly]

This is not my childhood!
Whose memories are these?
For they can not be mine

At night, your soul travel
and talk with wandering memories,
memories that are waiting for a train,
but they don't realize the rails are rusty
and wood already rotten.

You are not leaving anywhere.
those lights are just glint on floor.

the platform is empty again but tomorrow
will be full, full of stories of wandering memories.

AG.

Look who's here!!!!

[Rufus T. Firefly]

It started here. Might as well end here:

What? Over? Did you say 'over'? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!...

It ain't over now, 'cause when the goin' gets tough, the tough get goin'. Who's with me? Let's go! Come on!

[AG]

It started here. Might as well end here:

What? Over? Did you say 'over'? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!...

It ain't over now, 'cause when the goin' gets tough, the tough get goin'. Who's with me? Let's go! Come on!

I'm with you.
AG.

[rogruth]

Maybe if the originator of the Jungle would would visit it more often it might not die.

[MurphOnMillerAve]

Maybe if the originator of the Jungle would would visit it more often it might not die.

Use it or lose it, huh.
There is such a huge amount of stimuli in our modern world, these days, that if something cannot keep our attention, it follows Howdy Doody out the door.