Outlined in Chicongo at the Swissotel: 3/31

Written in Pittsburgh, 4/5/24.

At Salt Lake City a 6’ 6” inch, 60 year old, corn-row haired, homeless man of ashy aspect, wearing a yellow safety vest boarded. He sat and griped, “Where da food—I needz to get mah eats on!”

The sweet as can be jelly-butted Chicongoese coach attendant, who smiled at these old, blue, posterior appraising eyes often, put her hands to his shoulders and “shushed” the giant hood rat as if he were a toddler.

AFTER she left, he muttered, mumbled and cursed under his breath, “Fuggin’ Whitefolk!” and nodded off.

He sat at the very front of the car to the right of a boomer nerd wearing a Miskatonic jacket and the still pretty, dark-skinned Asian lady about my age who had failed to befriend me and had won for herself a less worthy protector, Mister Miskatonic!

He, Ashcan Sam, seems to have been given a train ticket by the well meaning Mormons of SLC—but he had, “No monay! Muvafugga, where I gonna ged my monay! Hows I’s gonna feed?” grumbled the reprobate.

There was a big man of successful character in middle age, large as this old ashcan, who took his obedient wife and two worried children forward to spend the morning in the viewing car. Whenever this man was not in the front of the car, Ashcan acted up.

Behind me, sat a black man my age, who raised pigeons and ran a farm back in North Carolina, returning from California where “I laid my mother to rest.” His trip was spent in ways described in “We Have a Plan For You.” Ashcan Sam, brought this old fella to declare to us crackers, “Sorry y’all—ain’ one a mine, less I’d go up side ‘is head fo y’all.”

As this reprobated groe acted up, Mister Miskatonic went forward, as narrated by Ashcan Sam, “to ged yo white daddy!” He then turned on the Asian chick who I had failed to befriend when she waved to me, batted her eyes, and made nice. As an extraterrestrial zoologist, I try to only observe and not involve my self with the subjects of study. I was curious about the level of menace though, as Ashcan leered across the aisle at her and she shrank and peeped in her seat, back against the window.

I walked forward with an empty coffee cup, stopped in front of him, so he sat back, placed the can in the trash, turned and looked at him, to which he grumbled low, “So it like dat—all KKKay en shid?”

I ignored him, gave no look of disapproval to my errant metaphysical chattel, nor one of hopeful protection and comfort to my discarded slave girl. Ashcan Sam waited respectfully for HIS MASTER to re-seat myself, then looked back to me, and I gave a knowing wink, and he continued, I opening up my scrap paper and applying pen to it to record the song of an ailing Gawd…

…

Ashcan Sam’s Theophony

Quotation marks dispensed with:

Mah feed is off—I needz ta eat.

White muvafugga give me no food—heh, dare food on da train, take dis ticket nigga! Heh—but ain’ no food fo a broke ass nigga!

What I doin’ on dis whitefolk train?

Heh, heh.

[Leers hard, leaning across aisle at cringing Asian woman, who seemed a cross between Korean and Filipino.]

I’s rapin’ Chink bitchez! Mide even eat me ones, iffin’ she fat enough!

Hey bitch, Chink bitch, you gotz a fat friend! Or do I gotta pick you bones?

Heh, heh—muva fucka, I’s killin’ all da white folk on dis train!

Kill you what!

Pow!

Pow! Pow!

Heh.

Ka-pow!

Ka-pow-pow-pow!

I kill you—gonna kill you!

Ka-pow-pow-pow!

I’ll show you my shid!

Look bitch, look!

Pow! Pow!! POW!!!

[Mister Miskatonic returns]

Whatch you gonna do, punk ass white beard-faggot-suck mah dick nigga! White nigga, suck mah dick—pow-pow-pow!

[Latino coach attendant returns and tries to calm down the Gawd.]

You, you, you too pretty ta listen to. Ged back on da porch Uncle Tom! I’m gonna kill you what, gonna kill all dese white folk on my train—datz right dis mah train, fuck y’all—

[Mister Miskatonic cringes back against the window in horror as the hero coach Attendant evacuates the darling old Asian babe and her things and takes her to the back of the car with apologies.]

You, with you faɡɡot ways—no, I ain’ gonna fuck you—done even wan you suckin’ mah dick wit dat bristle hound snout! I’m gonna kill you—Kapow!

Pow-pow-pow-ka-pow-pow-pow.pow.pow—powey!

[When a mere scribe attempts to record the song of a god science gives way to art…]

Kaw-pow-pow-pah, pah, pap-pap-pap…

[Ashcan Sam runs out of oral ammunition as the large pale conductor walks in, looks at him and continues to the back of the car to comfort the Asian babe. If I had handled this differently I might have had company in the bathtub at the Swissotel in Chicongo. This chick even tried to help me with my bags and I callously turned away. The conductor leaves and the theophony continues.]

Datz right, mah train, stay away—my train white folk—you all ‘bout ta die—tink yah can fucks mit me, heh, heh!?”

[Mister Miskatonic is the target now, suffering mouth gun murder and insults. The attendant comes through and assures us that we will not have this to worry about after we hit the station at Grand Junction.]

[Ashcan Sam turns on the honeymooning Brazilian couple behind him, who are very nice and “have no English.”]

Whad kine a weird ass nigga dis—y’all bread out ta near white—y’all can die wit dese whitefolk fo infestin’ mah train, mah fuggin’ train—kapow!

[Announcement comes on that the train will not continue past Grand Junction as we pull in and I rise to pull down my gear. Ashcan Sam then rises to break bad with me.]

Skinhead muvafucka! Tought we was ta baddle to a reckonin’! White supremacist somebody—ged off mah train! No white folks allowed!

[I laughed openly and saluted him.]

I’m kickin’ all dese white folk from mah train!

[He made certain not to make eye contact with Big Dad, me, Pigeon Farm or Zen Mountain, who will be described in the next part, and otherwise said his intimidating farewells as the joke played on us all by the Latter Day Saints.]

Ged off mah train—I’m gonna miss you chink Bitch—you fine enough—lucky you moved—daddy were gonna tax dat ass!

No whitefolk allowed! Heh, pow-pow-pow-ka-pow! Gonna kill y’all!

Thus ended the Theophony of Ashcan Sam.

To be continued in God Works in Articulate Ways.