Copyright Billy Glad 2005 - 2018
Will the Hive become a memorial ground for dishwater blonde pinups from Texas? Not that that isn't a worthwhile function in life, better than documenting the atrocities.Glad to be Billy Glad, rehabilitating Texas. Maybe a retrospective on Cybill Shephard back when she was good. Or Kim Basinger when she was doing Sam Shephard movies. Or Nastassia Kinski, made an honorary Texan via her stint in a Paris, Texas peek booth fending off a wrecked Harry Dean Stanton. How come one of these couldn't have been First Lady?
With the appearance of a woman of ill-repute, all seems normal at the hive.We start out for the wilderness tomorrow and back on Sept.4.Wilderness in the form of Sun Mountain Lodge, Winthrop, Washington. Then east to Palouse country-sadly without Hilary, this time.
An easy woman is not so easy to find, it seems. But having GFTB pimp for us, finding the apple of our aye, so to speak, yes, we've survived the floods and are drying out. I even caught Billy whistling earlier today, intimating some kind of joy and optimism's returned to his world. I think he's in love, and I dare not ask with home or what. The stack of centerfolds seem preferable to cranial invasion of several political figures, but I'm just guessing - none of us truly knows what drives Billy Glad's soul.Now, what's this paean to Hilary, girl of the far away eyes, that keeps appearing? I'm afraid the floods did not clear the Hive of all its want.
Hilary is the expert on Palouse Indian burials, sites, and history.
I'm not sure about that!Besides, I think I left a piece of me up behind on that butte above the river. Maybe you'll find it. Better take the Magellan. ;)
Well, Hilary, without you up there, I'm going to need something to find my way. If it's hot, I"m not going up.
Have an enjoyable trip and we'll see you when you get back. You might consider wearing something a little more modern. At least until you get to the desert.
I made a trip to Galveston when I was pretty young, remember fishing off the pier, dying fish flopping on the ground, running into a hurricane and swimming in its aftermath, my older brother petrified, me pissed off he got my Mom to make us come in. Maybe the source of my problems to this day. Remember my rather attractive well-endowed cousin losing her top in the waves, walking down the beach with arms crossed until someone got her a t-shirt. Could have been a match for Valerie Perrine, but later she put on weight. I remember Jimmy Webb. Wonder why he didn't play Woodstock. I remember my uncle pulling out his teeth and showing them to me (did he bet me he ould bite his eye?). Remember spiders the size of table mats, girls in the back of the pickup screaming. Seagulls blown inland 100 miles sitting on Brahman bulls out in the thick green brush. Having the piss taken out of me for telling stupid jokes. Crabs, everywhere crabs. Don't sleep in the subway darling, ticket to ride, Galveston, sunny. Somewhere on a train. Sleepy, very sleepy. Max von Sydow with a Harry Dean Stanton-styled Texas drawl. This is not Europa. This is Texopa. And there's Cybill Shepherd, Jeff Bridges, that I always mix with Leaving Cheyenne, all Larry McMurtry jumbled up together. Pulled up in front of a dust-bowl house out in the middle of nowhere to see an old aunt/great aunt/great great aunt. No cars around, nothing, except this tumbledown shack. And a 3-legged dog. "Watch out for the dog", the old rickety voice from inside warned. We did, got back in the car, big old Mercury, and moved along.Galveston, Corpus Christi, hurricanes, The Birds, dock of the bay, Houston Astros game with Joe Morgan. Texasville. Maybe there was more than one trip, what the hell do I know, I was only a kid.
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