“The American Indians were victims of war. The Cavalry raised hell with them and they got murdered or put out. The descendents of these Indians have survived and some ride trains. The Indians got put out, along with the Civil War vets, the Vietnam vets, the drunks, the confused, the uninspired—all the men and women of ‘moronic’ or ‘inept’ personality. They are the railroad hobos and turnpiker tramps.”
–Eddy Joe Cotton, Hobo.
How many terrorism fighters will ride the trains? How many will become “drunks?” “Confused?”
These men are the new cowboys
And when these bridgers pass away
‘Take the westbound’ as they say
Their offspring will safeguard the cannonball secrets
carry the tradition
to a land far far away
And no matter which vice they stop to please
they will always know their place—
in the trees
out of sight
a whisper below the breeze.
———Eddy Joe Cotton, Hobo
The train thunders through town right now.
“Ride the train,
Ride the train,
Wherever I’m goin’ I ride the train
Sleepin’ in a boxcar when it rains
Ride the train
Ride the train”
————Alabama (the country music band of yesterday)
Haditha and Ishaqi are not the crimes of single soldiers pullin’ triggers. They are our crimes, collectively.
Will we all be ridin’ trains? Doubt it. Most of “we” will all be livin’ large while the maimed in spirit and mind will be on the trains leading anywhere but here.
“A clown in the rain
He thinks about having a nice home
A place that would keep him out of the hard
But he knows that would break him down—
Trying to keep up and feel right
Fly straight, think straight in a crooked world
Easier to catch a cold and a freight
Like a clown in the rain”
——–Eddy Joe Cotton, Hobo
A crooked world, indeed. A war is going on. Do you feel it?
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