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~

TO SLIP

Fragile old man

He lies sleeping but not still

On a narrow bed with wheels and motors

The sheet at his back cool and smooth

A vague shape beneath a cotton blanket

Thin but heavy pure white

I look down at him

Paper skin over bones of chalk

I am selfish

I want to wake him

Hear him speak and see him smile

But I do not

His chest rises and falls

Breaths short and shallow

That start with a twitch

A microscopic gasp

Puffed out past dry lips

An exhausted sigh

His hands twitch

With opiate dreams

A brow furrows then melts 

Now a tight-lipped grin

He's holding a small child

Or perhaps turning a screw

The release of a spring

Or a shudder from cold

A leap from a branch

Or stumbling on a ledge

I watch it pass by

But am unable to tell

Another breath

His lips scarcely move

A whisper answers a question

Asked only of him

Another breath

Fragile old man

Fish~

21 September 2014

CAREFUL WITH THAT AXE, ALVEERA

Gotta take a little time to set this one up...

Fifteen plus years ago, me and mine were in Wildie, Kentucky for a reunion of my Dad's people.  Everyone had gathered at Vincent Fish's place- beautiful day, big shelter set up in his front yard, shady, huge spread of good food...

After a couple hours, Vincent's daughter said she'd like to take everyone who wanted to go for a wagon ride over the family property.  She was familiar with some family history, as well as some other local things and would act as our "guide".  A number of us loaded up.   My cousin's husband drove the tractor and we set out.

At one point, we stopped up on a high ridge.  The stone chimney of a long since gone cabin stood lonely.  A hundred feet or so away, right  at the edge of the woods, were the barely noticeable ruins of another small log structure.  My cousin proceeded to share the story of a couple that had once lived in the cabin that Time had all but reclaimed, leavin' only this chimney, like a giant grave marker.

Cut to last summer:  I'm visitin' with an old friend at his folks' new place in Middletown, Kentucky.  My friend asked his mother if she'd fetch a particular guitar he wanted to show me.  As she walked up with the guitar, my friend joked as he reached for it, sayin' to her, "Careful with that axe, Alvira!"

That phrase instantly brought back the memory of the story I had heard years earlier.  

After about a year of messin' around, I wound up with what follows here.  Hope you enjoy it...  Timmy 

CAREFUL WITH THAT AXE, ALVEERA

Among the hills of poplar and pine

Kentucky- nineteen and three

There stood a tiny whitewashed church

As our Lord would have it be

There in that valley, lush and green 

Where runs the Path of Life

Tall and handsome Willie Monroe

Took fair Alveera for his wife

To a cabin small, on a rocky ridge

In a place both lonesome and wild

Willie did bring his precious bride

Where she'd bear him an imperfect child

Willie set out each day before the dawn

To provide his young family a home

He'd work the fields of burley and corn

And leave lovely Alveera alone

Careful with that axe, Alveera

Its trouble you might not know

In Spring, her days were plantin' and chores

With Eelie on her hip

He never spoke, he wouldn't walk

Just bruised her with his grip

Out past the smokehouse, in early Fall

With heart and fingers hurt

Alveera split the Winter's wood

While Eelie squealed and scratched in the dirt

Then Willie took to returnin' late

And set himself a liar

While Alveera lived with Eelie's screams

And stared into the fire

The days grew shorter, the nights grew long

The leaves commenced to fall

Alveera and Eelie would sit alone

And Willie might not come home at all

Careful with that axe, Alveera

Your slight frame might not manage its weight

As Willie rode home, one cold Fall day

In evenin's fadin' light

There on the ground, near Winter's wood

He saw that dreadful sight

Eelie's body, cold and wet

Bespoke a gruesome fate

While his head lay quiet in his mother's arms

As she crouched by the smokehouse gate

What made you do it, Alveera

What made you kill Little Eelie this way

She'd draw a breath, and "Trouble, trouble, trouble"

Was all that Alveera would say

Careful with that axe, Alveera

It may be sharper than you think

Fish~

NATIONAL PORK

Over the past few months, several stories have surfaced concernin' the proposed "openin' of Federal Land, much of it part of our National Parks System, to private  ventures involvin' the natural resources that may or may not happen to be located in these public, but currently protected, areas.  The goal?  To bolster the Fortunes of a Select Few, with little or no regard to the Consequences.  (Not unlike startin' a War based on Lies and Fabrications.)

 

Our National and State Parks are not there for Political Vultures to usurp, then auction off to the Highest Bidders.  They are controlled by Our Government, because that's who, like it or not, had the Collective Intelligence and Foresight to set these treasures aside for Future Generations of Americans to enjoy, and thus keep the Greedy Bastards Among Us from exploitin' and destroyin' 'em in their Vulgar Pursuit of Wealth. They belong to Us!  (Pretty sure that's also why we call 'em "National" and "State" Parks.)  Our Parks have been, up until now, protected from the Carpetbaggers and Corporate Spoilers by Our Government, Our Collective Representation.  

At least until recently, anyway...  

This latest Example of Twisted Socio-Political Capitalist Subterfuge reminds me of all the insanely dangerous Idiots' Indignation that arose when one Crooked Nutjob Millionaire Bastard refused to pay the insanely cheap lease fee for runnin' his cattle on Federal land, like all his fellow ranchers (who knew and acknowledged what a sweetheart deal they were gettin') were doin'. 

Just more Treasonous Prattle used to rile up a Certain Portion of the Population that's been manipulated and bullshat to the point that they can no longer see even the simplest of things because they're too agitated and too narrow-minded and proud to understand or admit they're bein' taken for a ride.  (Not the one they've been tricked into thinkin' they're on.)  

Sorry- that's about as nice as I can describe 'em, and it's far nicer than most of 'em deserve.

None of this has a damn thing to do with a Particular Interpretation of the Constitution or Somebody's Rights.  It is, in reality, just another example of the Manifestations of the Limitless Greed, Hubris, and Unscrupulousness of the Rich, all dressed up, disguised to appear as Proclamations of Inalienable American Privilege.  A Mask covering the Faces of Liars.  All Straight Up Bullshit.

(Gonna leap!  Stay with me...!)

So, just what do all the folks that seem to be just waitin' for their next chance to rally behind the latest Stream of Falsehood, (not all, but mostly from the Conservative Side, insistin' that the only way to create jobs and "save" this country is to continually give the Rich more and more breaks and subject "Corporate Citizens" (ugh!) to less and less regulation), what did they make of former State Representative Eric Cantor (R-VA), that Perennial Cheerleader for Freakin' Big Business, when he announced that he would bail on the remainder of his term to take a position on Wall Street for over Three Million Dollars a year?  Where's the outrage?  Where's the acknowledgin' of the fact that we've all been lied to, hard, and these sonsabitches barely even try to hide it anymore?  Are we so embarrassed when this kinda shit takes place that all we got left is to look the other way and act like it didn't happen?  Have we become that weak-willed, that apathetic?  That ignorant?

Lookin' the other way, puttin' it out of our minds.  I reckon that's what a bunch of us are fixin' to have to do when the drillin' starts in Yellowstone, the loggin' begins in the Smokies, and the minin' commences in Yosemite.  

But wait!  Perhaps Yellowstone could be spared!  Sure:  Divide the iconic gem into large residential tracts, thus allowin' for the construction of New Gated Communities, filled with golf courses and clubhouses nestled among Palatial Estates, Grand Palaces for the Über Wealthy!  After all, they're the Real Deservin' Americans.  Right? 

Now there's some Real Money waitin' to be made!  

Now that's American!

Fish~