Saturday commute c: Transit camp ticket still to punch

   In every parameter, this page

   is an offspring of the twenti-

   eth century. How well one has

   always savoured any opportun-

   ity for rebellion, I think is

   plain enough in the entries

   already presented here. While

   rmbl remains active, the in-

   stinct of that lark must revel

   in something better than sur-

   vival in false security. 

   The transit camp is the signa-

   ture domicile of the previous

   century, and it is appropriate

   for the 100th saturday commute

   to pay it credit. The 21st is

   not a century to put the past

   into boxes, not that this had

   ever been possible, as much as

   we may sense incentives for it.

   Nor was the 20th a century of

   gratuitous bailment to the past.

   The uprooted: politically, re-

   ligiously, intellectually, sex-

   ually, racially, geriatrically,

   financially, industrially, fam-

   ilially, linguistically, eth-

   nically, militarily, epidemiol-

   ogically and criminally are un-

   dead.

   To carry forward is not to look

   back; to draw upon learning is

   not to cringe. Such is the ed-

   ucation of our transit camps,

   proliferating always internally

   as well as throughout the fur-

   thest reaches of dry land, not

   as nodes of topicality but as

   stations of conception, ubiquit-

   ous, hungering to dissolve in

   native peace if not of soil. The

   lark ascends above the stroke of

   exile.