Sin slidk darkness sky sliding by mesas purple on the black backdrop. Orange ember of my Marlboro as i lean stare out the window. Singing a song, “She railroaded me into the poorhouse.” Gliding down the Sante Fe alone again.
When I see this word I think about McDonald’s Monopoly game. I’ve never gotten all the railroad pieces. Of course, I’ve never gotten all of ANY of the pieces, or won ANYTHING. I think the whole thing is a scam. Meh. Speaking of scams, uhhh, oh no. I… forgot… uhmm… dang.
and then the man would walk across the dark empty park and over to the railroad tracks, lay down, and close his eyes. maybe i wouldnt mind so much if a train came right now to swallow me whole, he thought.
Jimmy’s favorite place to explore was the old abandoned railroad depot on the north side of town. It was full of nothing but towering hulks of rusted out train cars that rested on the gravel lots that stretched out as far as the eye could see; an ancient monument to the times where the town had been prosperous and powerful. Most people left the place alone, but to a boy like Jimmy, the depot was full of secret places waiting to be explored one after another.
My great-grandfather was an Irishman who worked on the railroad. He was very proud of a few things in his life…his family, the fact that he retired from the railroad and that he had read the bible from front to back seven times in his life. My grandmother said he was the funniest person she ever met. I wish I had of met him. His name was John Henry Stewart, a fine Irish name!
i’ve been working on the railroad, all the live long day. i’ve been working on the railroad just to pass the time away. can’t you hear the whistle blowing rise up so early in the morn’? can’t you hear the captain shouting ‘dinah blow your horn’? dinah won’t you blow, dinah won’t you blow, dinah won’t you blow your hooooorn? dinah won’t you blow, dinah won’t you blow, dinah won’t you blow your horn?
The intersecting moldings of hot metal and rickety deep brown wood progress across the forest, interrupting pure, lush nature with the intensity of human mechanism. Interruption.
My dad used to take me to watch the trains down at the railroad station near our neighborhood. WE didn’t live close enought to a station for me to go by myselv, and as a kid, the walk seemed to be about a thousand miles. Uphill. But, I later learned that it was a fraction of that.. a quarter of a mile? I learned the sort of distance when the traions stopped running, and the tracks became a jogging path for the chubby neighbors that sprouted all around our neighborhood.
You didn’t even tell me, so I waited at the railroad crossing. High noon, the sun beating down on my back, my phone sweating in my palm. The street was empty and the crows were cawing. You didn’t even tell me, so I waited for your call, that you had found a better way out of this place.
The railroad was the only way to freedom now. Many leather tramps have travelled this road before, but this, this was his chance. His chance to break free. His one shot to get away from all that he wished to leave. This railroad. Freedom.
And so there it was, the final leg of his journey; the railroad. All he had to do was get on the train and it would take him away, away from his troubles, his past. Lost and foreign he stumbled on.
Yearly trip across the country to visit Grandma Mable
Always, the graham cracker sandwiches
hard backed seats
long, cold trip over Nebraska
layover in Chicago
I sat by the railroad this afternoon. Just sat. I was about three feet from the track. I needed to have alone time. Out of nowhere, a train comes blasting by at 120 miles per hour. I was never the same. I go to the railroad three time a week.
One time I read about a mother and her three year-old kid who were killed because they stopped the car at a railroad crossing and the train came. And she got out of the car but the kid’s seatbelt was stuck, and so she stayed behind trying to free him when she could have run and lived, and somehow that struck me as both sad and beautiful. I wish she had lived.
I see my past and present and future. I see of things that make me happy, sad, and angry. I see a long journey ahead and yet also one behind. I see things left undone and unsaid. I something that seems to never end. Ever.
I got these tracks surfin below me. Followin my feet steps, runnin far a head and even farther behind. This railroad is leadin me away from something big. I can feel it pressing on the back of my neck with the wind and the snow. I can feel it swirling all around me. It’s there and it’s gonna get me. It’s gonna eat me up and swallow me whole. But all I gotta do is follow these metal tracks. I gotta follow them till i can’t feel it no more. And then maybe i can go back…
Once I walked next to the railroad track along the creek. It was an old track, made out of cracked ties and rusty rails. I hopped over the rail to the inside of the tracks and skipped from tie to tie.
Railroad stations are pretty cool. I rode trains in france and Belgium. I ride the subway more often. When I go to new york or also in paris and when i went to england. That’s cool. too many people though. I don’t like that. Trains are cool though; I wish i rode them more often
A railroad crossing… that’s what I’ve come to. I can either drive uncaringly across, or sit on the tracks and wait for the train. Why is it that I want to choose the latter? Why can’t I just roll on across, oblivious to the world with only a minor bump? Why can’t I just let things go the way they should? Why can’t I let go?
trains are all I really think about. My father worked for the cotton belt in early 60’s when he was murdered on trip to St louis. Every night I can hear his whistle blowing as I fall asleep.
The train runs by the house each and everyday. I used to notice it, but now it is just background noise. It’s as constant and unchanging as the noise that astronomers record of the big bang’s remnant noise. It is a comfort when I do notice, but mostly it is just taken for granted.
I’ve never walked along a railroad. I suppose I’ve had many chances, but I’m not one to take chances. Maybe I should live more on the edge. More willingly. More, on the railroad.
when i think railroad, i think monopoly. like the reading and the other ones. railroads are an important for movement of goods and all kinds of things; they employ many people
There was once a girl who lived on the railroad tracks. She was very pretty but sad because she lost the boy of her dreams. At least she was sure that she lost him. Now she tried to hate him but she wasn’t sure how to hate him because she had loved him for so long. She stood on the edge of the tracks, waiting to hear a train. She wanted to hear the wonderful sound of an approaching train, to feel it rush
Smoke filled the engine car when the bridge collapsed on the smokestack. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, and I had to find my phone or we’d all suffocate.
I sat waiting. My life was going to change. I was going to change. The light came through the fog. The sound pierced through my ears. I was at the railroad, and i was going home.
I finally left the buildings of the city behind and came upon railroad tracks. Had they ever been here before? I couldn’t remember. I decided to follow the tracks; they would have to lead to another town eventually.
it’s where the trains go. it’s the whole system, i guess. it must have been a very hard system to come up with actually. we should use it more. it was be way more efficient than everyone driving their own cars. people were fine with it years ago, why not now?
long, it connects from place to place, born under the sweat, blood, longing of many who were never thanked. it is forgotten, long stretches of rails lead through woods, meadows, gray ghettos. sometimes, the bells toll and the cars stretch in long lines, the drivers counting cars, counting minutes. graffiti litters, colors the side of the cars, autographs of its witnesses.
Going to North Carolina with my mom. Pizza was gross. Paid seventy dollars for a taxi? I forgot. Railroads remind me of history with Mr. Jackson. They are essential. They are annoying and scary. Thomas.
The trouble with living by the railroad was that you always found things down along it. Most of the time they were nothing, just discarded pieces of trash or animals that were hit by the trains. But sometimes, every so often, you would find a dead body. Why were there always dead bodies along the railroad tracks?
railroads
intersecting paths of life
of existences
love
friendship
enemies
all a piece of the railroad of each individuals life
Sin slidk darkness sky sliding by mesas purple on the black backdrop. Orange ember of my Marlboro as i lean stare out the window. Singing a song, “She railroaded me into the poorhouse.” Gliding down the Sante Fe alone again.
When I see this word I think about McDonald’s Monopoly game. I’ve never gotten all the railroad pieces. Of course, I’ve never gotten all of ANY of the pieces, or won ANYTHING. I think the whole thing is a scam. Meh. Speaking of scams, uhhh, oh no. I… forgot… uhmm… dang.
and then the man would walk across the dark empty park and over to the railroad tracks, lay down, and close his eyes. maybe i wouldnt mind so much if a train came right now to swallow me whole, he thought.
Jimmy’s favorite place to explore was the old abandoned railroad depot on the north side of town. It was full of nothing but towering hulks of rusted out train cars that rested on the gravel lots that stretched out as far as the eye could see; an ancient monument to the times where the town had been prosperous and powerful. Most people left the place alone, but to a boy like Jimmy, the depot was full of secret places waiting to be explored one after another.
My great-grandfather was an Irishman who worked on the railroad. He was very proud of a few things in his life…his family, the fact that he retired from the railroad and that he had read the bible from front to back seven times in his life. My grandmother said he was the funniest person she ever met. I wish I had of met him. His name was John Henry Stewart, a fine Irish name!
i’ve been working on the railroad, all the live long day. i’ve been working on the railroad just to pass the time away. can’t you hear the whistle blowing rise up so early in the morn’? can’t you hear the captain shouting ‘dinah blow your horn’? dinah won’t you blow, dinah won’t you blow, dinah won’t you blow your hooooorn? dinah won’t you blow, dinah won’t you blow, dinah won’t you blow your horn?
The intersecting moldings of hot metal and rickety deep brown wood progress across the forest, interrupting pure, lush nature with the intensity of human mechanism. Interruption.
My dad used to take me to watch the trains down at the railroad station near our neighborhood. WE didn’t live close enought to a station for me to go by myselv, and as a kid, the walk seemed to be about a thousand miles. Uphill. But, I later learned that it was a fraction of that.. a quarter of a mile? I learned the sort of distance when the traions stopped running, and the tracks became a jogging path for the chubby neighbors that sprouted all around our neighborhood.
You didn’t even tell me, so I waited at the railroad crossing. High noon, the sun beating down on my back, my phone sweating in my palm. The street was empty and the crows were cawing. You didn’t even tell me, so I waited for your call, that you had found a better way out of this place.
The railroad was the only way to freedom now. Many leather tramps have travelled this road before, but this, this was his chance. His chance to break free. His one shot to get away from all that he wished to leave. This railroad. Freedom.
And so there it was, the final leg of his journey; the railroad. All he had to do was get on the train and it would take him away, away from his troubles, his past. Lost and foreign he stumbled on.
Yearly trip across the country to visit Grandma Mable
Always, the graham cracker sandwiches
hard backed seats
long, cold trip over Nebraska
layover in Chicago
Derailed
Tracks
Crossing
Cross roads
Where are you?
I sat by the railroad this afternoon. Just sat. I was about three feet from the track. I needed to have alone time. Out of nowhere, a train comes blasting by at 120 miles per hour. I was never the same. I go to the railroad three time a week.
One time I read about a mother and her three year-old kid who were killed because they stopped the car at a railroad crossing and the train came. And she got out of the car but the kid’s seatbelt was stuck, and so she stayed behind trying to free him when she could have run and lived, and somehow that struck me as both sad and beautiful. I wish she had lived.
I see my past and present and future. I see of things that make me happy, sad, and angry. I see a long journey ahead and yet also one behind. I see things left undone and unsaid. I something that seems to never end. Ever.
I got these tracks surfin below me. Followin my feet steps, runnin far a head and even farther behind. This railroad is leadin me away from something big. I can feel it pressing on the back of my neck with the wind and the snow. I can feel it swirling all around me. It’s there and it’s gonna get me. It’s gonna eat me up and swallow me whole. But all I gotta do is follow these metal tracks. I gotta follow them till i can’t feel it no more. And then maybe i can go back…
railroad tracks leading on. Who knows where, leafy grassy field either side. No train, no noise, just the railroads.
Once I walked next to the railroad track along the creek. It was an old track, made out of cracked ties and rusty rails. I hopped over the rail to the inside of the tracks and skipped from tie to tie.
Railroad stations are pretty cool. I rode trains in france and Belgium. I ride the subway more often. When I go to new york or also in paris and when i went to england. That’s cool. too many people though. I don’t like that. Trains are cool though; I wish i rode them more often
A railroad crossing… that’s what I’ve come to. I can either drive uncaringly across, or sit on the tracks and wait for the train. Why is it that I want to choose the latter? Why can’t I just roll on across, oblivious to the world with only a minor bump? Why can’t I just let things go the way they should? Why can’t I let go?
trains are all I really think about. My father worked for the cotton belt in early 60’s when he was murdered on trip to St louis. Every night I can hear his whistle blowing as I fall asleep.
Railroad schmailroad she quipped, stepping hard off the tree branch. It was the last we saw of her, “she’s in a better place” he said.
The train runs by the house each and everyday. I used to notice it, but now it is just background noise. It’s as constant and unchanging as the noise that astronomers record of the big bang’s remnant noise. It is a comfort when I do notice, but mostly it is just taken for granted.
I’ve never walked along a railroad. I suppose I’ve had many chances, but I’m not one to take chances. Maybe I should live more on the edge. More willingly. More, on the railroad.
when i think railroad, i think monopoly. like the reading and the other ones. railroads are an important for movement of goods and all kinds of things; they employ many people
There was once a girl who lived on the railroad tracks. She was very pretty but sad because she lost the boy of her dreams. At least she was sure that she lost him. Now she tried to hate him but she wasn’t sure how to hate him because she had loved him for so long. She stood on the edge of the tracks, waiting to hear a train. She wanted to hear the wonderful sound of an approaching train, to feel it rush
You take , take me, take me to another place I was never meant to go. That’s how much I love you so.
Smoke filled the engine car when the bridge collapsed on the smokestack. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, and I had to find my phone or we’d all suffocate.
I sat waiting. My life was going to change. I was going to change. The light came through the fog. The sound pierced through my ears. I was at the railroad, and i was going home.
I finally left the buildings of the city behind and came upon railroad tracks. Had they ever been here before? I couldn’t remember. I decided to follow the tracks; they would have to lead to another town eventually.
it’s where the trains go. it’s the whole system, i guess. it must have been a very hard system to come up with actually. we should use it more. it was be way more efficient than everyone driving their own cars. people were fine with it years ago, why not now?
my sentence is already up I just didn’ have an account before. Just look above for my passage.
Railroads are built, but never made.
The intention of them is to clear all paths that seperates us.
long, it connects from place to place, born under the sweat, blood, longing of many who were never thanked. it is forgotten, long stretches of rails lead through woods, meadows, gray ghettos. sometimes, the bells toll and the cars stretch in long lines, the drivers counting cars, counting minutes. graffiti litters, colors the side of the cars, autographs of its witnesses.
Going to North Carolina with my mom. Pizza was gross. Paid seventy dollars for a taxi? I forgot. Railroads remind me of history with Mr. Jackson. They are essential. They are annoying and scary. Thomas.
The trouble with living by the railroad was that you always found things down along it. Most of the time they were nothing, just discarded pieces of trash or animals that were hit by the trains. But sometimes, every so often, you would find a dead body. Why were there always dead bodies along the railroad tracks?
I totally got railroaded once by a coworker. Really threw me off track.
Slow, tedious work results in fast, exciting travel. Building a railroad. I think I can.