Velociworld

A Brief Interlude in the Har' of Georgia

When I'm traveling by highway I generally eschew the interstate for side roads when possible. Interstates are Beelzebub's Byways, forcing you to place speed over essence, homogeny over diversity. Those rumble strips in the emergency lane? That's the Devil beating his wife. Across the ass. With a barbed wire paddle. See?

No, I'd rather take my time, and be late if necessary. Especially going through Georgia. Take today, for instance. As I was driving through Milledgeville I says, V-Man? You need to make two stops here. Absorb some local culture like Marburg virus through compromised alveoli.

The first stop? Andalusia, of course. Flannery O'Connor's farm. The house was open, but the caretaker was nowhere to be found. It was deserted. The only sign of life was a baleful donkey in a pen, looking as if he'd been abandoned thirty years ago, and nobody remembered to come fetch him later. My dog wanted to play with him in the worst way, but I kept her on the proper side of the fence. I did toss the donkey a cigarette, and he dutifully ate it, rolling it around in his mouth to savor the terbaccy goodness. Then Bella left her signature double swirl defecation on the front lawn (still feel bad about that) and we were off. Here it is:

Peacocks? I didn't see none of them 100 peacocks! They must be long gone. Too bad, too. My pimp hat needs a new feather, and a peacock tail feather would have been extremely cool. Damned peacocks.

The next stop was the nuthouse, of course:

Central State Hospital. Formerly known as Milledgeville State Hospital, Georgia Lunatic Asylum, and/or the State Asylum for the Insane. And by God, she's a beauty. I could visualize the screams, the shock treatments, the savage abuse in the shadows, the clubbings, the lobotomies (Those make zombies, Eric).

One of these days I'll get off my ass and create the perfect coffee table book: Insane Asylums of America. Capture all the sweet madness, melancholia, and mania of the 19th century, encapsulated in vigorous, Gothic architecture. One day.

Anyway, my mama used to say I was sending her to Milledgeville I was so bad. ALL kids' mamas told them that. We were thinking Go! We'll have the run of the place! Daddy will be tied up in court for years either trying to get you out or permanentizing the commitment. But one dasn't say that to their mama.

So: A baleful donkey and a creepy asylum. Not a bad detour on the Velocipath of life. Wish I could've heard some screams, though. Guess they keep 'em all Thorazined up now.