<<Compared to the Northeast corridor (the most developed part of the US), the interior of the US, the Pac NW, and the South are unpopulated. You can drive 10 hours without seeing any sign of human life. What, that's not unpopulated to you? What is, then?>>
Guest, you say that as if overpopulation is a good thing. In my humble opinion, it is far from it. I would agree the North East is the most overly developed part of the U.S. We have done a very good job of turning what was once a great verdant forest into a hell hole of cement, glass, and steal beams.
But as far as stating that you can drive for ten hours without seeing any sign of human life, well, I am currently living the least populated state in the country and couldn't drive for an hour or even twenty minutes without seeing another person. I don't think this can even be managed in Death Valley or on the Alaskan Highway. I have lived in a metropolis and I've lived in a town of two thousand. And I've found that I like a nice medium sized city. I don't have to deal with the traffic, the smog, the high crime rate, and if I want to, I can be out touring the countryside in fifteen minutes where I don't need the artifice of a city park to feel close to my ancient arboreal niche. It is very ignorant to think, that in this day in age—with computers, cell phones, the internet, and I-pods— any part of the United States could be out of touch with the mainstream.
From Howl Part II, Allen Ginsberg
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows!
Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long
streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose fac-
tories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose
smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch
whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch
whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch
whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen!
Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream
Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in
Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom
I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch
who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy!
Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch!
Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs!
skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic
industries! spectral nations! invincible mad
houses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pave-
ments, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to
Heaven which exists and is everywhere about
us!
Italian Music in Dakota, Walt Whitman
["The Seventeenth - the finest Regimental Band I ever heard."]
THROUGH the soft evening air enwinding all,
Rocks, woods, fort, cannon, pacing sentries, endless wilds,
In dulcet streams, in flutes' and cornets' notes,
Electric, pensive, turbulent, artificial,
(Yet strangely fitting even here, meanings unknown before,
Subtler than ever, more harmony, as if born here, related here,
Not to the city's fresco'd rooms, not to the audience of the opera
house,
Sounds, echoes, wandering strains, as really here at home,
Sonnambula's innocent love, trios with Norma's anguish,
And thy ecstatic chorus Poliuto;)
Ray'd in the limpid yellow slanting sundown,
Music, Italian music in Dakota.
While Nature, sovereign of this gnarl'd realm,
Lurking in hidden barbaric grim recesses,
Acknowledging rapport however far remov'd,
(As some old root or soil of earth its last-born flower or fruit,)
Listens well pleas'd.
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