I’m heading home once again to prepare for a trip up north,
and Google tells me to take the TX-78.
With this being my year of birth,
I’m glad to have the hike and figure I’m in for a treat.
With a lousy, long and lazy, but unweary walk across town,
and the baking, blazing, glazing, gleering, seering sun to the ground,
I hit that special highway and a cop calls out.
Apparently, someone fitting my description
has been raising a ruckus at the CVS on the 78.
And even though the officer’s been watching for a while,
knows the direction from which I came,
and just saw me crossing the street
without falling a foot on the pharmacy’s field,
he still wants to waste my time.
I then return to my journey
and as I reach the entrance to the historic section of town,
I find a sanctuary with an electronic marquee
claiming that the current temperature is seventy-eight degrees.
I decide to visit the locals but at this late hour,
there are only two locations open.
I first flirt it up at the coffee shop, ’till I get my free fill,
and then cross the street for a bite to eat.
I hand the hostess a flier as I explain my game,
and she steps back to locate the owner.
He exits shortly holding the piece of paper in his hand
and I give my gig, yet again.
I finish and he says, “OK, but what is it that you are doing?
What’s the point in all this?”
Apparently the guy’s a genuine retard and so I say with a sigh,
“The world’s about to be depopulated
and I’m a prophet of the apocalypse,
provided with information for salvation.
And right now, I’m just looking for a bite to eat.”
The guy gives me a snotty, “I don’t think so,”
so I reach for the flier and say that it’s fine.
But he pulls back his hand and lets out a whine, “No, I want it!”
I snatch the flier from him, my voice rising as I storm for the door.
“You don’t want to help me, but you think I’m still going to help you.
Stupidest crap I ever heard.”
I reach the exit, turn the knob, hear the man say, “Have a nice day!”
and I yell back, “Fuck You!”
I figure the cops are on their way so I duck into church,
where I discover a discussion of Martin Luther.
Before long the police arrive and it’s the same officer from earlier.
We have a nice long chat and even though I let him know
that I sure could use a shower, he decides to let me go.
Before I do go, let me let you know a little regarding Martin Luther
(the monk, not the king).
On November 10th 1483, Mr. Martin Luther
was born under the sign of Scorpio.
40 years later, after causing an upheaval throughout Germany,
the Reformation had been born.
It was then that the renowned Italian astrologer, Luca Gaurico
realized how close Luther’s birthday was to the time
of an already well-known planetary constellation:
the grand conjunction of 1484,
which also reached its astrological peak
during the month of November, in the sign of Scorpio.
It’s Good Friday morning and I’m passing a lot full of junk,
including an abandoned motor home.
Like I say, I’m passing, but something tells me to check it out.
And I find a bed (sized for a king).
I realize it’ll be the perfect place to rest for the weekend
and hide from an expected downpour.
I kill a couple of clock clicks at a corner market
and then cruize back to my convenient crib.
I’d forgotten to fill my water bottle and as I stroll,
retreating to the station, I’m mouthing to myself:
It makes sense I’d rest for the weekend. After all, this is MY holiday.
They ARE in celebration of ME.
I crack up as I enter the establishment,
and Depeche Mode’s ‘Personal Jesus’ begins to play.
On Easter Sunday, after fighting with a heartless white guy,
I’m fed by a Mexican family.
As I pass that same station, again the music’s playing
and I hear this time, somewhere along the lines:
♫ You are the one that I want. I love you when you’re beautiful.
I’ll not waste another minute. ♫
Immediately a police officer shows up
and doesn’t provide much of an option.
He gives me a ride to the next town, buys dinner
and calls a courtesy to get me even further.
I’m lent a lift from Louisiana, all the way to Atlanta,
get around town and back to the highway.
I humbly happen upon an uninhabited home
and before the night falls, I fall ill.
It’s because of something I ate.
Goodness gracious, it ain’t great.
And all night long, I lie awake.
But something tells me it’s fate, because the very next day,
I find myself exit 78 (US-278).
After a two day delay, as away I walk my way,
I discover the US highway 78, leading to Athens.
A year ago to this date, more or less, I met a mate,
who to me did say, if ever it fell in my fate,
I should take the bait and pay a visit
to Georgia’s ‘best little town in the state.’
With two perfectly placed and timely trucks,
as is always my luck, the rest yet seen is history.
♫ In the time of chimpanzees, I was a monkey ♫
Literally. I couldn’t stand the place.
And not because of the town. In truth, I liked it.
Great music, fast friends, a very nice place to be.
But it was a tease... Holy crap!
♫ Butane in my veins, And I’m out to cut the junkie, ♫
Right now, I’ll write down what just happened and then describe in detail,
the events leading up to the coolest thing I’ve seen since...
Page three? No, that can’t be.
♫ With the plastic eyeballs, Spray-paint the vegetables, ♫
‘The Truman Show’ is playing on the TV in front of me.
I’d already written the first few words of this story,
and moments ago, with the movie playing in the background, I continued.
Writing ‘it was a tease’, I ascertained
that I’d just gained the knowledge needed to return and try again.
I stopped for a few moments, contemplating the revelation
and saw Jim Carey enter a bus.
The pretend driver ground the gears
until smoke bellowed from the engine, tears filled my eyes
and it cuts to a commercial announcing,
“You’re at an age, when you know how to make things work.”
♫ Dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose, ♫
Now, follow the bouncing ball:
While crossing Texas, I received a ride from a woman.
She mentioned meeting a couple who made their living ‘flipping cardboard’.
I’ve thought about this myself as a way in the USA
of making my money and distributing the fliers.
Days later, after passing Atlanta, during the hike towards Athens,
I stopped at a service station. There was next to no one there,
but I immediately managed a ride for two measly miles.
At the very moment I was outcast,
another guy gave me a lift all the way to Athens.
During the drive, he explained to me
that although flying a sign is illegal in Georgia,
in the town of Athens a certain law has been
‘grandfathered in’ and for this reason,
you can legally hold up a piece of cardboard
as a way of soliciting money.
♫ Kill the headlights, And put it in neutral, ♫
I arrived in Athens, found a killer campground
and the following morning, I failed at flying a sign.
I wrote ‘pitifully poor prophet’ on a piece of paper
and put a few singles in my hat.
And so I sat, reading a book, paying no attention to the passersby
and they paid me not a single dime.
Obviously, I wasn’t taking the endeavor seriously
and the next day, I headed for the highway.
♫ Stock car flaming with a loser, And the cruise control, ♫
That evening, a discussion was occurring in my mind
(actually, I think it was out loud).
“You have to help me make money,
I’m tired of talking to these people and nothing else works.”
As I came to and began overpassing the interstate,
I saw a man making his living at an off-ramp.
He gave me a wave with a “Hey! Are you traveling?”
I yelled a “Yeah!” and crossed the highway.
♫ Baby’s in Reno with the vitamin D, ♫
He then laid down the 411 on flying a sign.
Where to stand, what to write and how and where to look.
He even donated his own cardboard construction
and a fat black marker.
I tried turning down the writing utensil,
explaining that I already had a smaller marker in my bag,
but he talked me into it (with a giggle),
by telling me that it was a “magic marker.”
♫ Got a couple of couches, Sleep on the love seat. ♫
During that second night in the hotel,
‘The Truman Show’ played on TV.
I’m always joking that the movies are all about me,
and that Jim Carey’s playing the part.
‘The Truman Show’ is especially what I’m talking about
(that and ‘The Number 23’).
♫ Someone keeps saying, I’m insane to complain, ♫
Burbank is surrounded by actors and doesn’t know it.
For this man, all of life is literally a stage.
His family, friends, & everyone else in town,
from which he’s never ventured, are paid performers.
24 hours a day, 7 days a week, he’s followed by cameras,
broadcasting his life into the ‘real’ world.
I’ve entertained this idea myself,
paranoid that my life has been constructed by ‘the man’,
and that cameras are constantly recording.
My understanding has of course matured.
♫ About a shotgun wedding, And a stain on my shirt, ♫
We are each and every one the star of our own personal reality show.
You’re not really the writer, but in the ending credits,
you’ll see your name as a co-writer, co-director and co-producer.
In the film, Truman is surrounded by people
who lead him down his chosen path through life.
It is a path that he has chosen,
however those choices are constantly conducted.
Looking at the life of Truman Burbank,
I contemplated on the previous day.
It’s as if the man had already read the screen play
and was awaiting my entrance from stage left.
And as Truman was realizing that he wanted to get away,
I was realizing that I wanted to stay.
The fact I wasn’t going anywhere was finally fulfilled in my mind,
the very moment that the bus broke down.
I apprehended I now knew how to work that little town
and apparently, the announcer agreed.
♫ Don’t believe everything that you breathe, ♫
This time towards Athens, I was thinking about the look
on Truman’s face, full of frustration.
Were the tears in my eyes those of joy,
because I was returning to Athens,
or was I simply upset, as I would not be traveling.
They were of course neither.
The emotion was of a love, let loose by the light.
I’d yet again witnessed a great synchronization,
a culmination of a long line of events.
♫ You get a parking violation, ♫
An illumination had freed a frustration.
♫ And a maggot on your sleeve, ♫
I was cordially courted for cocktails,
the very night reappearing in Athens,
but the party goers’ ignorance and ignoring indifference
only heavily heightened my craze And all I really received,
was the anger required to ‘get the God given’.
♫ So shave your face, ♫
I did need more aggression in my music,
but it wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for.
♫ With some mace in the dark, ♫
And sitting here now, in a small town,
at a Mexican restaurant, on a country road,
♫ Savin’ all your food stamps, ♫
I know the love for which I seek cannot be found in Athens.
♫ And burnin’ down the trailer park, ♫
At least not the US’s version.
♫ And Yo! ♫
The last random note-worthy nugget overheard was,
“That’s what Athens did to you.”
♫ Cut it. ♫
A glorified version of a pellet gun feels so manly when armed.
♫ Forces of evil in a bozo nightmare, ♫
Just outside Asheville, after making my scene,
I caught a quick commute, and we talked about the green.
♫ Ban all the music with a phony gas chamber, ♫
He was on his way to deliver a bit of the herb
and decided to take me with him.
She had an extra room,
and we discussed my staying a night
but by the end, I was denied.
♫ ’Cuz one’s got a weasel, ♫
It seems the previous tenant tried to rob her,
and she was still a bit nervous.
♫ And the other’s got a flag, ♫
I was dropped off at the highway, around 11:00 at night,
and decided to walk.
♫ One’s on the pole, ♫
Within minutes, I received a ride for over 300 miles,
crossing the entire state.
♫ Shove the other in a bag, ♫
Now, let me process a packaged opinion
and see if I can’t burst the box from the inside out.
♫ With the rerun shows, ♫
Learning lots of love lessons from my latest lot of literature,
I was full of it when I arrived.
♫ And the cocaine nose-job, ♫
Perhaps it’s true with love God blesses you,
because out of the blue appeared a guy.
♫ The daytime crap of the folksinger slop, ♫
Material, Spirit, Fauna or Flora?
“I don’t normally give rides, but you got a good aura.”
This highly religious man, working and western-bound,
went a good way out of his way to drop me off downtown.
Within a couple of conversations,
the love was lost and anger acquired.
Not much of a debate; Thin line ‘tween love and hate,
And as the two went tangled and rising,
my voice went venturing higher.
Leaving town when the deed was done,
		♫ We gotta get right back
		to where we started from. ♫
So I let the love lift and another lift was won.
My place to stay was forsaken by fear,
I forgot and forgave and kept my thoughts dear,
the next ride wrought was more than I sought
and to my destiny, I’m that much more near.
♫ He hung himself with a guitar string, ♫
The question is not where but what is that destiny.
I’m sitting on the shoulder of I-95.
I spent most of my morning, at a truck stop
and have just walked another good six miles.
At the last overpass, I sat and read for about half an hour.
So I’ve been out here for almost two.
Let’s see... Ten cars a minute.
That’s one to two thousand vehicles that have passed.
Finishing the last chapter, continuing my walk,
I had a serious thought about giving in,
abandoning my journey north
and returning to the Latin population of the South.
I closed the book, lifted my eyes
and found myself to be twenty yards from a turnaround.
I never needed a turnaround. I can walk across the grass.
But I will take the sign. The North can kiss my...
♫ Slab of turkey neck, And it’s hanging from a pigeon wing. ♫
Happy Father’s Day! I’ve decided to down-shift my display today,
And find a few things nice to say.
I met a man named Jay, provided a place to stay,
I helped clean a few pools for a C-note’s pay,
And he gifted a gold coin at the end of the day.
I then received a ride to the other side of the state,
Arriving at a restaurant providing a plate,
Continued down the street on nothing but my feet,
And met a man on a mower who shared a little green.
He dropped me off at a dam, half way to town,
And the morning arrived with the police.
They took me the rest of the way, paid a hotel for the day,
And gave me ten bucks for a bite to eat.
A group of girls got me over to the interstate,
I helped a guy get gas to cover a space,
And a church chucked me off on none other than the US-78.
♫ You can’t write if you can’t relate, ♫
In ‘The Age of Complexity’ by Herbert Kohl;
Chapter IV : ‘The Mystery of Martin Heidegger’
‘The philosophies of the pre-Socratics expressed visions of man
as part of the totality of Being.
The various individual beings that existed in the world
(things and objects of all kinds),
were not thought of as isolated, differentiated beings,
but rather as existing parts of a grand whole.’
♫ Trade the cash for the beef, ♫
My thoughts are often brought back to Plato/Socrates.
Some claim that the writings of Plato were in fact,
the foundation for Christianity.
I’m sure this has much to do with Socrates claiming a ‘divine sign’
or ‘supernatural voice’ that helped him make decisions.
Is this not the ‘still small voice’ of the bible?
I’ve also considered the idea that the characters
of Socrates and Jesus were based off the same ‘being’.
♫ For the body for the hate, ♫
‘As Plato says in the passage Heidegger dramatically uses
to open his major work, ‘Being and Time’:
For manifestly you have long been aware of what you mean
when you use the expression ‘being’.
We however, who used to think we understood it,
have become perplexed.’
	✟ In John 9:39, Jesus said,
	‘For judgment I have come into this world,
	so that the blind will see
	and those who see will become blind. ✟
Just like Jesus, Socrates never wrote anything.
All stories about Socrates were written by Plato.
The tragedy of Jesus was written by his disciples
(Mathew, Mark, Luke) and others.
In one infamous anecdote, the redeemer was tempted by the devil.
♫ And my time is a piece of wax, ♫
This happened in the desert, while he was alone.
Did Jesus approach his followers afterwords and say,
“Hey guys, you’re never going to believe what happened
to me on the way to the office!”
♫ Fallin’ on a termite, ♫
If this is the case, how do we know that it wasn’t an illusion.
Perhaps a hallucination from a lack of water.
Or too much peyote. Or maybe it was a lie.
♫ Who’s chokin’ on the splinters. ♫
“But Jesus was perfect. He never sinned.
He couldn’t have lied.”
♫ Soy un perdedor, ♫
“That’s right kiddo! Good Job! Otherwise his nose would grow.
Now, why don’t you go play in the other room, so the grown-ups can talk?”
♫ I’m a loser baby, ♫
Some believe that the stories of the bible
were not necessarily an eye witness account,
but that certain people were divinely inspired
and the stories were delivered via visions.
If this is the case, then the drama in the desert might be a metaphor,
a tale intended to teach.
What is to say the entire book is not just that?
Hundreds of miles of yarn, designed to indoctrinate.
♫ So why don’t you kill me? ♫
In ‘The Trial and Death of Socrates’ Plato describes the dialog
of Socrates while in prison. Was Plato an eye witness?
Did the guards let him in to see the show. Was Plato divinely inspired?
Did the ghost of Socrates pay Plato a visit? Did he have a vision?
Is there any peyote in Greece?
Many believe that Satan was an angel in heaven, who fell from there.
This entire idea was taken from Isaiah 14:12,
✟ How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! ✟
The education the educators are educating
is that with which they were educated.
If a religious leader was to raise his eyes a few inches
above Isaiah 14:12, he would discover Isaiah 14:4,
✟ Thou shalt take up this proverb against the king of Babylon. ✟
Essentially, Isaiah was inicializing an uprising.
The word ‘Lucifer’ is Latin for ‘light bringer’
and is referring to Venus, the morning star.
Not only is the five point star associated with Satan,
but with socialism. Along with the world’s flags,
it adorned the head of Marxist Argentine revolutionary,
Che Guevara.
Quite often, the workers’ revolution is represented
with a fist rising from the famous five points.
On the other hand, the current socialist world movement,
‘The Venus Project’ is not employing the five,
but rather the eight points of the Khatam, or seal of the prophets.
Venus’s sun circle creates an eclipse
five times in eight Earthly orbits.
The images utilized to represent the project’s ‘Venus City’
present a very centralized government,
with roads laid out in concentric circles
and highways connecting eight points.
This is the same exact design used
for the current logo of the United Nations.
These same eight points were also accentuated
by the calendars of the Aztecs and Mayans,
whose primary purpose was to measure that planet,
along with the Sun and the Moon.
✟ Revelations 22:16 ~ I am the bright and morning star. ✟
Not just does Jesus rhyme with Venus
but in Russian, the name is pronounced ‘Isis’,
the very name of the Venusian goddess of ancient Egypt.
In Babylonia, her name was Ishtar,
pronounced much like ‘Easter’ or ‘East Star’.
Venus is known as ‘the Morning Star’
when it emmerges early in the morning
and appears in the East.
Now I’m darting down a darker domain;
I’m saying sights unseen and insane;
Descending, diving to a deeper dimension;
Doc’ said all I’m doing is I’m paying attention;
Now I’m open to a newer exchange;
I’m thinking up and outside of the range;
Capitalizing every competition;
I’m redefining every crazy convention;
Now I’m sitting up on top of the way;
It’s where I’m wanting and stopping to stay;
Rocking & rising to a higher reflection;
I’m parting and planting for a seedier section;
Now I’m waking on another new wave;
And I’m waiting on a soul to save;
In preparation for a scheduled ascension;
Doc’ said all I’m doing is I’m paying attention;
In the blockbuster, ‘Ghostbusters’, two characters are introduced,
the ‘Gatekeeper’ and the ‘Key Master’.
I’ll have to get back to you on the Gatekeeper,
but the word ‘master’ in Spanish is ‘maestro’,
which in English is also ‘teacher’.
I am the Teacher of the Keys ~ El Maestro de las Llaves
The Master of the Keys.
I, Jerry Jones (a.k.a. MajorMigraine) am the Key Master.
Either that, or I’m a narcissistic, schizophrenic,
manic depressant, with ADHD and illusions of grandeur.
Tell you what; Forget about the ‘Key Master’ for now,
while I clue you in, concerning the ‘Master Key’.
While traveling with Michael, he had me listen
to an audio version of ‘The Master Key System’.
He claimed the book had been hidden from the public
for years by the Catholic Church.
Either way, it can now be found for free on YouTube.
Basically, you will your thoughts into reality.
In ‘The Secret’ a man wanted wealth
and painted a giant dollar sign above his bed.
That sign was the first sight seen every morning,
and the final vista before falling asleep.
Money was always on the mind,
and the wealth was quickly accumulated.