Roaming the asphalt prairie

On the freeway we travel like a pack of animals, alert, touchy, hierarchical, shifting in an instant from revery to battle.

By Ranted by Cary Tennis
September 6, 2001 12:00PM (UTC)
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Steeped in the rough-and-tumble spoken-word movement, boiled in punk rock, roasted in alcohol, pressure-cooked in American literature and turned like a newel post on the lathe of American journalism, Cary Tennis brings his angry oratory on arts, politics and culture to Salon every Thursday.

This week, he performs a meditation on childhood and the freeway, and tries to evoke the peculiarly primitive yet often elegiac spirit we inhabit while driving.

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