The Bad Pioneer

She never turns on the radio so no one ever knows.

As the sun sets, The Bad Pioneer is abruptly awakened by a mysterious cow taking a big ol' sloppy ploppy of a brown dump of rainbows right next to his stage coach and in insufferable proximity to his brainiacs. Bits and pieces of shit are splattering his face. He hurls his revived corpse up from it's slumber and slams his headbanger hard on the under carriage of his spaceship and yells

"Goddammit!"

He sees the rainbow of brown poo.

"You call that a fucking turd?"

"Wait till I eat your dumb ass for breakfast you fucker and then when I shit you out your mind will be free."

And then with just as much or more passion "Goddamn my fucking head!"

The cow just blinks at him and moos. She is not afraid and walks away slowly towards the beautiful life of nothing that she has never known other than.

Now in so much pain we find The bad Pioneer on his knees rocking back and forth with his head in his hands he draws out of a very slow and deliberate voice to himself

"Separated from the fucking herd."

Overcoming the bewildering pain of hangover, The Bad Pioneer crawls out and rises up. He slowly scratches at his whiskers with eyes closed in reverence to the wisdom of the setting sun. Everything hurts but his heads hurts worst. He takes a few cautious steps around the stagecoach. As he walks around he taps his boot against a few of the empty whiskey bottles scattered about.They slowly spin in their emptiness, spreading dust, and it is immediately clear that there is nothing left to any of them.

"Fuckers" he mumbles at the emptiness of each bottle.

He looks down to realize he is standing inside his smoldering campfire "Ah Shit! Fuck!! Hot foot coming through!" And he pulls open his pants and relieves himself all over his burning feet. The urine hitting the burning flesh sends a cloud of foul smelling smoke up into his face. He waves his hand to bring the aroma directy to his face. "Awwwwright! Smells like the fucking conquest of infinity to me! Smells like fucking paranormal hair activator." He is becoming invigorated and aware of himself again.

The Bad Pioneer climbs up into the stagecoach and reaches into the back and pulls out a fresh bottle of whiskey. "From the top of the morning to the bottom of my balls."He shouts and takes a long drink and shakes his head violently around while expelling verbals is hateful reverence to the aliens responsible for drunk technologies.

The drink begins to steady out the throbbing of his head... but for the most part the world still spins hazily around him. Slowly he lifts his head to the sky. The first stars of the merging of nocturnal consciousnesses are beginning to reflect the intentions of a sky unknown to disbelivers of the visible spectrum of unconsciouslessness. The teeth in the rotten gums of the ancient skies are coming down heavy on the end of the day and biting down hard onto the dream sectors of innocence in high school students with progressive hairstyles.

The Bad Pioneers eyes are being washed clean with blood.

His scrambled mind begins to take control of this region of cosmos. Pre cognizant patterns of light bounce haphazardly and unseen across the sky and satisfies his enlightened eyes of confusion. The patterns criss cross themselves while becoming more and more complex versions of previous individualities. New patterns emerge through events of convergence. These new patterns derugulate their levels of complexity into less effective episodes of prior consciousness...on and on until it gets boring and mini malls and tract houses begin to rise holographic in the ranch lands of the wilderness.

Using his deeply sweat stained hat he slaps the dust off of his greasy, tattered pants. He looks slowly around while trying to get himself more specifically positioned in the Where He Is. Although he is rolling the eyes in his head back and forth, enduring the most painful version of awakening, he cannot shake the experience of interpreting a visual dialogue of The Everything In One Direction except as an exact copy of the experience he records when he looks in another direction.His rolling eyes scan hills of dry brown grass and power lines. Stretched out in a static row from one end of the horizon to the other the hills and power lines upon them offer no perceptible difference in perceptible directionals.

Everything looks the same in every direction.

This brings on a head spinning easily away from itself . The next version of what he just saw begins to stack itself in a lower level of opacity on top of the last one. He is totally confused by this and begins to believe in nowhere again. He also drinks more whiskey. He spends the rest of this period of time known in The Beyond Dimensions as twilight, looking off in one direction and then slowly turning his head in total disbelief towards the other. His vision quest is locked into the empty confusion of distance of the other directions.

Divergent consequences of his inwards looking bring about altered perceptions of possibilities futuristic. Disparate sequences of the events displayed holographic are exposing themselves to him. Their unwritten memories across the barren landscape are projections of prophetic market manipulation where madness itself welcomes itself into itself.

He has no fucking idea which way to go.

What is actually happening is the ignorant constellations of The Imajulistic Realities are taking residency in positions of impermanence in The Between Worlds Dysfunction and readying themselves for manipulation of mind upon Hairstyles For Spaceships which will be executed by The Board of Mutual Of Hairstyles. The overhead lineage of sub futuristic power spreading has commenced. The salves of amateur grooming sciences remain still as dark pools of nothing in the early bedtime nightmare minds of youth gone chemical.

Meanwhile an activating solution spreads itself across the sky and connects all star systems into a collective dissolving of information rich potentials. All of which filter down into the position of The Bad Pioneer and fill his eyes with visions of knowing the way once more. Dormant caffeine buzz reservoirs of mindfulness vibrate inside of sleeping teenage braindomes. Harmonics of The Bad Pioneers pre verbal awareness penetrate the dream voids and bring them into hypnogogic states of vulnerability. Radiant versions of teenage perfection are half awakened by sugar rush echoes of infinities inside the beautiful teenage nightmares scraping on skulls. They crawl out of their beds and walk out of their homes


He does not know he is doing this.

They begin to comb their hairs in their sleepwalk. They apply the solutions.

He does not know this is happening. He just needs to take a leak.

The information contained in each stars light is mis-interpereted in a variety of ways depending on The Bad Pioneers position of reception of this information under the power lines above him and in accordance to the most recent version of interpretation he can recall of importance and the significance of the a fore mentioned power lines.

A gentle summer breeze blows across his shoulders and it brings him inside The Radio station.His body slowly sinks into an old foam and polyester swivel chair pf modesty.He assumes his role as verbal overlord on his nightly barrage of the music of the moving through the night.

Vocal tracks begin to be recognized.

Their sons and daughters are sleepwalking with stars in their eyes. They are becoming lost to them. Lost to themselves, lost to vanity.

The radio station is barely standing any more. The roof has collapsed long ago and there is debris everywhere. Broken records, old papers, cables parts of the wall all lie there in an inches deep mess. The ribbons of old cassette tapes blow in the breeze where they have caught themselves up on something.He reaches down and picks up a couple of old scratched and cracked records and throws them on the dusty old turntables and sets them spinning. He plays one to slow and the other to fast with the needles skipping crazily all over the place on both of them. He drinks some more whiskey and begins to sing;

Come on now children stupid little children come on along with me....I'll take ya to places that you've never been before, take ya to places that you never....bean!

Ha! Goddamn I love me some beans!...

Come on along little children take a little ride with me ...I'm the Bad Pioneer can't see to clear but somehows I always get myself from way over there to way over here....

And then he begins a spoken message..."Well what the fuck. Here it comes again... Another night full a fucking bats and that creepy satellites prolly gonna come on swooping on down again tryin a give some kinda haircut with that fucking awful music. Makes my goddam ears feel like they're gonna puke out my fuckin brains...what's left of em anyway.

Can't hear to good anymore anyways so I don't care if it does gunk up my ears...and fuck, it's what I don't know know is what's gonna finally get me to finally where ever it is I am going...I guess that's what i always say...Just so long as that fucking satellite stays the fuck out of my hair....Fuck!...is that to much to ask?"

This last bit he let's out in a booming voice of absolute threat that covers a sky that will never answer. He takes the silence of these moments as the correct answer "Fucken A right you mother fucker." and takes the bottle down another notch.

As he swallows he holds the bottle up in the moonlight and closes one eye to confirm that there is only a little bit left. He considers the situation carefully. He lets the bottle hang down between two fingers and takes a long slow look around. He has distanced himself from the path he was following along the power lines and is trying to gauge how far off his path he has gone. He tilts his head back and pours the rest of the whiskey into his mouth.When the last drop has fallen from the bottle he leans back ready to throw the bottle as far as he can at the power lines but before he can make the transition and release he falls backwards drunk as shit off the stage coach and onto the ground. He pops up in a cloud of dust and fury cursing every law of physixcs know and unknown as well as all cosmic dental relations.


He passes out on the floor and the children who have been sleepwalking and getting directional information sequences from his broadcast are now lost in the night.