Hop on the Bus, Gus.

Summary

Scot Butwell envisions a spontaneous journey to New Orleans on a Greyhound bus, embracing the spirit of jazz and poetry, and inviting along those who are often marginalized, to experience a sense of freedom and creativity.

Abstract

The author, Scot Butwell, paints a vivid picture of an impromptu road trip on a Greyhound bus, where he imagines taking control of the vehicle and steering it towards New Orleans, the cradle of jazz. This journey is not just about reaching a destination but about embracing the unpredictable rhythm of life, much like the improvisational nature of jazz music. Along the way, he welcomes a diverse group of individuals, including mental hospital patients and suicidal poets, to join in an adventure that defies conventional norms. The trip symbolizes a break from the structured and often stifling aspects of society, encouraging a celebration of impulses, creativity, and the beauty of the imperfect, reflected in Butwell's affinity for off-rhyme poems which mirror the unpredictability of life.

Opinions

The author values spontaneity and the breaking of societal norms, as evidenced by the idea of hijacking a bus and driving it to New Orleans.
There is a deep appreciation for jazz music and its improvisational nature, seen as a metaphor for living life freely and creatively.
Butwell expresses a desire to connect with and give a voice to those on the fringes of society, suggesting that their perspectives are valuable and should be included in the journey of life.
The author's love for off-rhyme poems indicates a belief that life's beauty lies in its imperfections and unpredictability.
The narrative conveys a sense of escapism, where the journey offers a temporary respite from the pressures and expectations of the world.
Butwell's mention of a professor who inspired him suggests that mentorship and personal influence play a significant role in shaping one's passion and career path.

We don’t need to discuss much on this bus.

At this moment, I could hijack the driver of a Greyhound bus.

Convince the passengers to let me drive them to New Orleans, the birthplace of jazz music, to hear the barbaric cry of Coltrane’s sax, to fly like an abandoned kite, eating highways, crashing picket fences and mending walls.

Never stopping to question the right and wrong of actions, to think too long, ready to unravel the strings of impulses on dust-strewn roads, a band of Walt Whitmans, riding like a second-rate sonnet, off-rhyme, unpatterned and disordered, shaking the dust and rust off our bodies.

No one discussing silly poetry theories. I’d stop to pick up mental hospital patients, bridge-jumpers, suicidal poets, veranda leapers. “Hop on,” I’d say, twitching my eyebrows. “The ride will be good for you.” And we’d escape our hearts flapping our own rhythms, catching an unrehearsed harmonica chord, a free uninhibited almost satirical wild sound, and we’d go with it.

Hi I’m Scot and I love off-rhyme poems because life is often off-rhyme

Here’s my story on the professor who lit my fire to become a writer:

Or take a peek at my journey as a writer on my YouTube channel.

Hop on the Bus, Gus.

We don’t need to discuss much on this bus.

The Teacher Who Lit My Fire

A belated thank you to the man who inspired me to write