The New Wasteland by Nancy Lazar
The New Wasteland (After T.S. Eliot) “I’d rather be a lightning rod than a seismograph”- Ken Kesey I. The Death of Hero Worship Autumn is the cruelest season. Neon martinis and FBI shoes shine like Day-Glo mercenaries with Colt .45’s and everyone in happy ties. Heads in the streets, soles of feet pound a new groove. That year, 1966 everyone knew for certain where Kesey was. Oaxaca , on a steamboat to Canada , Paraguay . No one knew the Ratlands broke him. -They ran into Kerouac but the beat was gone- Huaraches steal the souls of all real Mexicans. Paranoia is a fugitive’s friend, they dined on dead fish suffocated in the red tide. Back in the San Mateo County jail, waiting room crowded as the back door of a rock concert. Where is Superman now? The Prophet stands in the shadows of the Shell station. All he wants is to cop a urination. American flag fragments wave on white cover-alls. The new fantasy is...