Mulletized!

He was thinking of changing his name as he was walking. He was thinking of something baddass. Hes a tough guy, see this jaw, see this frame. He could knock out people twice his size. Johnny-be-Cool stuck with him - a greaser hybrid and 70’s Tarantino alter universe of always slickness. Then he was sidetracked.

Is the road hes walking on a man or a woman? The straight looks simple, archaic. Maybe its a man? But if he float upwards the curves will be revealed. Its a woman clearly. Magical. Genius is in simplicity and complexity he thought. The basic structure hides the seductress, the mercurial beauty, the unseen. The captivating charm is in the unknown, the mystery behind the possibilities. When the hard sun cascades up from the gravel upon sunset and makes him squint, she might be punishing him for staring at her winding curves too longingly, for thinking of her as he walks head down. She might be smiling at him, she might be laughing at his manly stupidity, she might be looking kindly. She will make him second guess his direction as she changes form like vapours. Roadsigns invert at every look. Solitary confinement thoughts cannabilizing themselves - playing games with his isolated road walking sensibilities. He falls in love with her. That’s the most natural thing. His steps echo like a hypnotising trance spell around his heart. It will resonate. Forever. The cold wind aches his knuckles. He enjoys it. Its intense feeling. Alive. Out of mind. And for a moment he understands why people self inflict cuts in thin chapters for pleasure and the ecstasy of unworthiness. His imagination might betray him. Perfectly formed hills will look like tender breasts in the distance. Everything looks like a woman now. Everything may seem out of reach. Antennas on top looking like tophat nipples teasing heaven above. Pervert.

Kicking a stone. Back to the name. It really sucks, but its all hes got. It wont leave him. He realizes that If someone pauses too long between Johnny and be Cool, it’ll sound like they’re telling you to be cool, to relax, instead of emphasising the unity of Johnny and Cool. Totally undercutting the intention. Badass becomes Softass. That’s the illusion anyway. Names, roads, woman, men, intention. Its all in the space, and its not there at all.

There is no illusion. There is no imagination. Its just the climate of the road. Its what it is until you make it what it isn’t. Its all simple, all beautiful, all genius. He reluctantly sticks to his old name - Gertrude. And if you snicker he will come out punching baby.