I DID NOT AGREE TO THIS SHIT!

The TPP.  The Trans Pacific Partnership.  

Our President, along with most of Congress are for it.  Hilary Clinton claims to not favor it.  Bernie Sanders feels it is utter bullshit.  The fully loaded clown car of Republican Presidential Nominees Hopefulls?  I could care less what their opinions are- they're all friggin' nuts.  

Me?  I think it's just another raw deal for everyone but Big Corporations and their Wealthiest Stockholders.

It's being negotiated in secret.  The little we do know has only come to light through leaks.  And judgin' by the previews, it's on track to be yet another Corporate Protectionism Plan implemented across National Boundaries.  

A couple of the larger points- the TPP seeks to expand and extend protections on Intellectual Property, which, in turn, stifles competition, which then results in higher prices for consumers.  (But bigger bonuses for CEOs and other corporate officers.) This will be of particular benefit to Big Pharma, as well as Big Ag. 

Another primary tenant of the agreement will allow Corporations to sue National Governments where they operate for any legislation enacted that impacts, or even might impact, profits or projected profits.  This would place sovereign authority in a position where they could be held responsible for any legislation, let's say somethin' like anti-pollution laws, for instance, if a Corporation can prove that such laws reduce their profit margins.  And the Corporations won't have to prove that they lost money, only that they might lose money.  And Taxpayers, here and abroad, will be the ones on The Hook.

Historically, free trade agreements have little or nothin' to do with free trade or creatin' or protectin' jobs.  These "agreements" are constructed by Big Business, in secret, with the primary goals of squelchin' competition and ensurin' the continued profits of the organizations that use their great wealth to strongarm 'em in place.  (Incidentally, TPP ain't the only trade agreement slitherin' around boardrooms and law offices right now...)

 

We can look back at the failed promises of NAFTA, (which, incidently and ironically, was supported by President Bill Clinton), particularly the broken promise of more American jobs, and with the benefit of hindsight, see the real reasons it was championed by Politicians and Corporations.  Strictly Greed.  

The Rich get richer, while the rest of us just get poorer.  

Unfettered and Unregulated Capitalism ultimately destroys the Consumer-based Economy that it relies on for its Profits by reducin' or even doin' away with the capacity of the Middle Class to participate through their ability to purchase goods and services.  (The Poor and Unfortunate?  They never really even get to play.)

The Money-Grubbin' Über Rich have created a system that is both untenable and unsustainable.  Like a snake eatin' it's own tail...

Fish~

HERITAGE or HORSESHIT?

I realize that the recent dust up over the Stars and Bars bein' flown over the Capitol Building in South Carolina has been pretty much addressed by the legislators in that state, but it seems fairly clear that the discussion is far from over.  

I just finished readin' over a short exchange on the Facebook thing between some longtime friends of mine, and some of their friends, regardin' the flyin'- or not flyin'- of the Confederate Battle Flag.  It was a reasonable, non-toxic exchange, which was refreshin', since all y'all know it can sometimes be really easy for these kinda things to disintegrate pretty damn quick into bein' not much more than an insult/name-callin' session that ain't worth a damn.  (I admit it: I'm as guilty as anyone of participatin' to some degree in that kinda shit on occasion.)  Hell yeah- people actin' like they got some sense.  More Rarity than Regular these days.  

Anyway, on with it.

The Confederate Flag Uproar has yet to turn into an assault against anyone's Personal Freedom, and I seriously doubt it will, regardless of what a buncha agitators wanna incessantly repeat.  No more than, after a number of mass shootings that have and still continue to plague our country sparked most Americans to favor common sense changes such as waiting periods and background checks for gun purchases, meant that the Government was "comin' to take all our guns away".  Again, the same buncha folks makin' the same kinda extreme exaggerations in the hopes that we'll be distracted from the Genuine Bullshit that's bein' perpetrated by 'em.

Flags.  Any flags.  No one's "comin' to take our flags away".  Or tryin' make it to where ya can't fly a flag.  It just ain't happenin'.  Just people blowin' smoke up our ass.

 For the sake of this last point, let's even take Slavery entirely outta the equation.  

Okay. 

 Now:

The Stars and Bars is the battle flag of the Confederacy, and is therefore a symbol of Treason and Sedition used by enemies of the United States of America.  You can disagree all you want, but it's the truth, pure and simple.  

Fact: More Americans died in the American Civil War than all other American Military Conflicts combined.  

That flag, the flag of an enemy of the United States of America, should not be flown by our Government any more than our Government should fly the flag of any of the other nations with whom we've been at war- wars that resulted in the loss of American Lives.  

Anyone can fly the Stars and Bars should they choose to do so- just as it's anyone's Right to fly the Rising Sun of the Japanese, or the Union Jack of Great Britain, or the flags of Russia, or North Vietnam, Korea, or that perrenial favorite, Hitler's Swastika, or even the freakin' Jolly Roger if they wanna.  But the flags of our enemies- those responsible for American deaths- it's sorta ridiculous for any part of our Government to fly those flags.  In fact, I t's an insult to those that died in defense of our Country and the Stars and Stripes.  The flag of the Untied States of America.  Our Flag.  The one that represents Our Country.  All of it.  All of Us.  

Fish~

Additional Bonus Fact:

The Great State of Kentucky was never a part of the Confederacy.  Never seceded.  Never tried to secede.  You're welcome.

COLD, COLD HEART

I can remember a particular Summer day up above Chapel Gap,  my Uncle Roy's farm, the farm my grandparents lived on.   I figure I woulda been around seven years old, maybe eight.  I had a cane pole and I really wanted to go fishin' in a tiny pond not too far from the house.  A bunch of us kids were there that day, which was typical.  Brother, sister, cousins.  A lotta kids within a fairly narrow range of ages.  No matter how hard I tried, no one wanted to go fishin' with me.  

Already no stranger to doin' my own thing, I got the classic tin can from my Granny, flipped over a couple rocks down by the barn and came up with a few worms, which I dropped into the can, along with a little dirt.  I was doin' it just like I'd seen on TV.  Just like Opey, exceptin' the Dad part.

My Uncle Roy had tied a hook on my line and fastened a bobber a couple feet on up.  I made my final plea for company, then set out alone.  Up the bank, through the garden gate, then on to the pond.  Maybe a couple hundred feet away, tops.

The pond wasn't much more than a bigass mud hole- shallow, orange/brown water.  A place for Uncle Roy's few head of cattle to drink, wade out and cool off a little.  Shit.  I'm sure it was a hot day, Summer and all, but I don't remember it exactly.  Relief from the heat at Granny's was screen doors and noisy, old floor fans, round cages welded in circles and spokes.  Heavy things.

I don't know how much time passed, me impatient, loftin' my line out as far as my cane pole would reach, my bobber and the unfortunate worm, it's tiny body punctured and slid mercilessly along the steel hook, hittin' the surface of the dirty water with a couple tiny splashes.  Then, nothin'.  My eyes glued intently on the red and white plastic ball attached to the nearly invisible plastic string, I watched for the slightest movement.  Dragon flies hovered, then tapped the surface of the pond before jettin' off, like they were tryin' to get away from somethin'.

Then, after what was a near eternity to a little kid, the bobber seemed to slide along as if pushed by an imperceptible breeze, and vanished with a jerk. Completely.  Thrilled, I backed away from the bank, but couldn't get any line back.  The bobber remained under the water's surface.  I dropped my pole and ran back toward the house as fast as I could, shoutin'.  I was sure I had caught a whopper.  The others would envy me, wish they had accepted my invitation.

I ran in the house, heart poundin', arms flailin' as I explained what was happenin'.  I believe it was Uncles Roy and Bobby and Donnie that followed me back to the pond.  The other kids followed.  They took hold of the line and slowly dragged in my catch.  But it wasn't a fish at all.  It was a snappin' turtle.  A prehistoric monster.  Small, but a monster just the same.

Uncle Bobby freed the creature from my line, then headed back to the house with the turtle hangin' from his hand by its tail, hissin', mad as Livin' Hell.  We all followed, awestruck.

After some discussion, a few of them took my turtle, cut off its head, nailed it to the utility pole, then proceeded to dress it out.  There was talk about how different parts of a turtle supposedly tasted like other animals- like chicken, or beef, or fish.  

They cut off the turtle's stubby legs, it's tail, and cast them aside.  My Uncle Keith showed us how the turtle's disembodied head would still bite when poked with a stick.  The story of how a snappin' turtle would latch onto you and not let go until it heard thunder was told.  Aside from the older ones, who were busy situatin' twigs just right so as to watch the turtle's head flinch and snap 'em in two,  most of us steered clear of the head that lay on the ground.  I wasn't wearin' shoes and the sky was clear.  Nightmares were certain to follow.

The butcherin' continued, with none of these boys seemin' to really have a grip on how to proceed or just what parts were supposed to be worth eatin'.

Other than the head, the rest of this creature's discarded extremities seemed to pose no threat.  The tail would even move when the flesh of the cut end was pinched.

I would wind up with the heart.

The turtle's heart continued to beat.  If it stopped, you could press on it with a finger and it would resume its designated function.  I went inside and asked Granny for a jar, which she immediately scratched up for me.  Going back outside, I dipped my small jar into the bucket that was used to prime the pump when drawin' water.  I dropped the still beatin' heart into the jar.

With the jar set at the edge of the porch, I squatted as the heart continued to beat, pullin' the well water in, then pushin' it back out  into the jar.  As I watched, the little color that the heart initially had began to fade, the beatin', almost imperceptibly, began to slow, until it ultimately ceased altogether.  Still.

I dumped the contents of my jar on the ground beside the porch and collected the heart.  It was now a pale grey, nearly white.  It had become hard, even colder than before.  No longer did the heart respond to nudges or pressure put upon it.  It was thick, lifeless.  Without purpose.  I spent a while longer with the heart, thinkin' I might get just a little more from it, but I did not.

Fish~

FREE STUFF

So, today I'm attemptin' to put the beat-down on this three acres or so of lumpy, former tobacco field that now serves as my yard.  

I figure I'll mow the patch down along the creek first;  That's where the grass is highest.  And there's a coupla places along the bank where sobriety can be a plus, seein' as how windin' up in the creek with this big ol' mower on top of my skinny ass would almost certainly destroy my weekend... If it didn't kill me.

Anyway, with my early-in-the-season zeal, I manage to slide down into the creek bed on the very first pass.  

Fortunately, it happens to be in the spot where the bank is the lowest.  

Unfortunately, there's also a shitloada rock that's been deposited exactly here by the recent deluge, and I drop in hard- blades a'churnin', slate rock splinterin' and scatterin' like organic shrapnel.  

But, I am the captain of my ship.  

With a slow motion Dixie Chopper drift, I maintain correct orientation, (wheels down), and spin 'round in a tight circle in the shallow, mossy water.  After after a few attempts, PTO disengaged, I ultimately scale and bounce back up over the creek bank.  Back to where the grass is.  On my mower...

I continue on with the mowin' of this little patch and notice that the mower ain't fared so well durin' my unintentional foray into micro-terraformin'.  Those few seconds of plowin' into a pile of stones have rendered my blades no more than dull, spinnin' slabs of steel.  Like giant butter knives.

Undaunted, I push forward.  

Now, however, the longer, thicker blades of grass withstand the attack of my Compromised, Gas-powered Machine of Mayhem,  bendin', then poppin' right back up, practically unscathed. 

A worthy adversary, indeed.

I decide to let it be what it will be- bust out this patch as best I can, then return to the house and commence with the ritual Sharpenin' of the Blades.  No one comes down here but me, anyway.

As I run the edge of the stand of trees that separates the higher land from the creek bottom, I see the wildflowers- protected from my onslaught by the small understory trees and bushes- that spring up every year.  Some are the result of the re-seedin' of perennials that I scattered years ago. Others are things that occur regardless of me.

This causes me to think, as I'm rollin' and whippiin' on my Smoke-Belchin' Noisemaker,  about the these little things- these little things that I have the good fortune to witness this time of year: tiny flowers- so precious, fragile.  Beautiful.  Just what is it that makes these colors and forms so pleasin' to gaze upon, to study intently with no real purpose or goal?  What explanation is there?

I got nothin'.

Seasons will change, petals will drop, foliage will fade.  Stem, stalk and leaf will ultimately wither and vanish.  And these things, fleetin' and wonderful as they are,  will somehow be pushed down, buried beneath a mass of work and worry. Things to do.  People to see.  The Suffocatin' Minutiae of the Day.  

Should I have the good fortune to survive another cycle, find myself witness to this recurrin' miracle once more- the colors, the fragrances- the feelin' will be resurrected.  

And I'll wonder to myself just how in the Hell I ever allowed the experience and the resultin' memories to sink so deep, even if only temporarily.  And I'll find a degree of comfort in the knowin' that, at least for now, these things will continue to take place, should I happen to live to once again bear witness, or not.

Forgive me- got to ramblin'.  Gonna take a shot of the Clear, jam a dark beer, then climb back on this damn machine and get back to the task at hand....

~Fish

THE HIDDEN

NEW THIRD WORLD

Been thinkin'.  Got a little food for thought I'll share with y'all.

People seekin' a better life here in our country are lured by the chance to find work, and they are willin' to work hard.  They don't find work here because they pushed someone out of line, they find work because there are people that are anxious to exploit 'em by payin' 'em less, not matchin' FICA, not offerin' holidays/sick days, safe working conditions required by law...  Even refusin' to pay 'em for time worked or time and a half for any hours over forty in a week.  (That last one?  That's what that phrase "Wage Theft" refers to.  Think of it as makin' your employee act as your part-time slave.  That sums it up nicely.)  All in the name of Increased Profits, aka More Friggin' Money.  

The "Illegals" ain't takin' jobs from Americans.  Businesses are.  It's scarcely different than when American Jobs are moved Overseas.  It's the Same Sorta Thing for the Exact Same Reason- Increased Profits.  

If many of our politicians, particularly Those on the Right, have their way, (which is the Way of Those To Whom They Are Beholdin'), the jobs that have left this country may possibly one day return.  After the destruction of safety requirements, the right to bargain collectively, the rights to safe food, water. air, after the repeal of the Minimum Wage, Child Labor Restrictions, Overtime Pay, Social Security, Unemployment Insurance, Protection from Discrimination, etcetera, perhaps then these so-called "Corporate Leaders" may decide to move jobs back here to the country that provided 'em the opportunity to prosper and profit in the first place.

When Our Middle Class has been sufficiently beaten down and forced into a dangerous, unhealthy subsistence living, then some of our jobs may return.  If They feel like bringin' 'em back.  But no guarantees!  They don't have to guarantee anything.  Just like They don't have to guarantee job creation or any other types of returns in exchange for more and more tax cuts, these self-described "Job Creators".  And we'll be expected to grovel and show Our Everlastin' Gratitude, gratitude for bein' given the opportunity to dine on their Scraps as they grow ever fatter as Our Unfortunate starve and die.

Huh.  I just described a Third World Country, didn't I?  Just the kinda place where they shipped our jobs to begin with...

Now how crazy is that!

Fish~

LUMPY THINKIN'

Couldn't sleep the other night.  Been thinkin' of the Track of Common Discourse.  Perceptions, Attutudes, Opinions.  That kinda stuff.

So- I got up, poked around in the fridge, came up with a slice of cold pizza and a nearly full can of Pepsi, and grabbed the remote.  Slim pickins' that time of night: Infomercials, Ancient Aliens, Miracle Diets.   Typically, I opt for the Ancient Aliens thing: wide-eyed characters with crazy hair positin' even crazier theories, cheesy re-enactments, even cheesier special effects.  Good stuff.  But that night, I found myself slowly clickin' further and further down the digital dial.  Down to that Dark Place where Twenty-four Hour Cable News lurks.

I knew better.  But I thought I'd just zip through...

Didn't take long.  Bad stuff.  All of it. 

Particularly all the Meanness.  The Hateful.

And then I got to thinkin' about some of the folks I know and have known.  People and families that have a damn tough time makin' it- good people. People that work hard, raise good kids, go to church (or don't), help their parents and families.  Good people.

I even know some people that used to be in a decent spot- maintained a comfortable, if modest, livin' for them and theirs, but now find themselves in a bad way through no fault of their own.  I've also known some that never had nothin', and never would.  Not because they missed or misused a chance, but because they just never really got one.  And from the look of things, I'd bet money they ain't about to get one any time soon.

Know what?  Everybody that falls on Hard Times ain't a Sorry-Ass Slacker.  The World just ain't that damn simple.

Sure, there are plenty of Takers around.  With a population of over three hundred, seventeen million, the rough number of people in our country alone, it would be ridiculous to think otherwise.  Again- ain't that damn simple.  But, there are also a whole lot of other people, people of all kinds, people from a near-infinite number of backgrounds in a near-limitless set of situations.  Plenty of Users.  Plenty of Liars and Cheats- some Poor, some in the Middle, some Rich as Hell.  Hippocrites, Bigots, Racists, Extremists, Fools and Intellectuals, Greedy and Giving, Compassionate and Cruel... on and on, ad infinitum.  (I use that a lot, I know.  Sorry...)

But, when we choose to embrace the Bullshit spewed by parties with somethin' to gain through redirectin' our gaze in a particular direction, when, in Times of Great Frustration and Confusion, we allow ourselves to be conned into feelin' the Need to Lay Blame so intensely that we choose to lock arms with folks that paint our very own people with such broad strokes that Common Sense and the Simple Law of Averages alone would prove it a Falsehood Absurd, when we choose to participate in the Wholesale Condemnation of large groups of our citizenry en masse, then we are guilty of behavior that is neither Devout nor American.

It's time for us to once again view television and radio as forms of Entertainment, as Diversions.  Time to stop turnin' to 'em for Advice, for Moral and Spiritual Direction.  It's time to Think for Ourselves and scrutinize the Words and Deeds of Others and take them to task when we witness use of the Media to spread Dogma and Supposition as though it were Irrefutable Fact.

Time to end the takin' of pride in our Selective Ignorance.  Time to wake up, open our eyes, and engage our brains.

Time to stop bein' so damn lazy.

Fish~