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I started out to say one thing, but like most of the stuff I post it ends up being way too long for anyone to actually read.
Those who manage it, and actually finish it, I'm amazed by, when I'm done writing, I can hardly finish it.
I write thoes kinds of posts that belong as chapters in some book lost in the back room of some antique store.
So I hit the delet button and hopefully this will be shorter.
We can only hope.
It looks like in a couple of days I'm going to be gone for a while.
I'll probably get to post a couple more times before it happens.
so this is just a heads up for who ever reads my stuff.
If your having trouble sleeping, just pull up one of the longer peices and I promise as your trying to wade through it will have the effect of a text book on you.
You'll sleep like a baby. :)
You'll know when it happens because I won't write any new posts. :)
November 24, 2005
The day they got Big Bird and sacrificed it, and what that all means.
Wild turkeys I'm told are very hard to track and bag. They are smarter than domesticated turkeys. Domesticated turkeys will lift their head in the rain and drown, same as sheep.
Somewhere along the line, some bright entrapenure got the idea that raising turkeys was a good thing.
So, as with everything else that people put into boxes and force to multiply, they ended giving them hormones and made birds so fat so fast that standing up is a challange.
They do the same to chickens.
But the birds are enormous. And I suppose that was the idea to begin with. To have an abundance of birds that are connected and somehow symbolize a day dedicated to survival.
Think about it, the very first thanksgiving was a celebration of survival. These people who had traveled across a really big ocean, and spent a year trying to make a new home in a land that was strange and filled with alot of things that could be potentially lethal.
There were these other people already in this new land who were familiar with the landscape and the animals and all the
other things that make living in a place possible.
These guys we know as native americans.
Anyway, they watched the newbies trying to do their thing. I'm sure they felt sorry for them. Because they came out
of the woods and said something that could be translated this way:
"Hey there, welcome to here. We noticed your having a little trouble and survival can sometimes be a bitch especially
when you don't know what kind of soil your dealing with and what kind of animals around here are dangerous and which
ones are good to eat.
So we got together and had a meeting and decited to lend a hand."
So, the native americans helped the newbies by teaching them how to raise corn. A very important staple in the new place.
And they helped them do other things too.
I think it would have been really weird for everyone when it came to checking each other's clothes out.
You have one group of people dressed in animal skins while the other group is dressed in knickers, and long layered dresses.
Oh yeah, can't forget the hat thing.
For some reason, the european thing has always involved a hat.
Now a hat is a functional object. It can keep the rain off your head, and the sun outta your eyes.
But mostly it seems that people will wear hats as a statement of fashion.
Anyway, so here you have these people who know the ropes teaching the newbies about life in the new land, and what
a harvest means and after all that is said and done, the newbies got together and decited that having a celebration
with their new friends and mentors would be a really kick ass thing to do.
So, immagine this, you have some long makeshift tables, outside in the weather, because they are too big to fit into one
of the crudely built cabins. Tools were not as abundant as today, and it's a given there were no skill saws or electric
nailguns or anything like that hanging about.
So the dwelling places these people built, although extreemly welbuilt and functional were definately not most people's
idea of luxery houseing.
But they kept the weather outside and allowed a person to sleep under a roof, as well as keeping any unwanted preditor outside instead of inside where the pickins for chow were easy. Kind of like shooting fish in a barrel.
So you have these long tables and the food is there and for what ever reason, I'm not sure what the consense was on this, but the turkey, or turkeys was the bird chosen for dinner that afternoon, for the main meat course.
It's a given that they were not eating at night, as it would have been way to cold and the lighting would have been a pain
to see by, as well as the smell of food would have drawn the native carnivors to supper as well.
That's not what they wanted.
So it was an afternoon supper.
I can hear the converstaions now: "We made it. A year of living here and yes, we lost a few people in our group, and we're sad they couldn't be here with us today, but they are with us in spirit and that's all that matters.
We made it because we have these new friends who helped us, by teaching us how to grow food and trap animals
to eat, and we just wanted to let you guys know that we are really greatful for all your help."
(future generations will forget, and they will see you as the enemy, in the way of taking over this awesome place, so they will hunt and kill you, put your children on things called reservations and make you live acording to their rules, and basicly take everything away from you that makes you who you are in favor of their own distructive culture.
And if you knew that now you would have killed everyone of us where we sit.
It's a good thing for us that you don't have forsight. We are really greatful for that)
After dinner, everyone with a full belly and great converstation spent that afternoon feeling many things.
Gratitude with the newbies, and I'm not sure what the native americans were feeling, maybe happiness that
a group of struggling people made it a whole year.
Thinking maybe these people would bring touches of their culture to the land and it would be ok.
They didn't see what was about to hit them, a few years down the road.
So there you have it, the day is here that we all gather around a table filled with modern food, eating like
pigs and watching t.v. and when we can't move anymore, we think about pumpkin pie, another tradition
that got attached to this day somehow, and not really remembering what this day really is about.
We talk about what we are greatful for.
We talk about so many things, the start of the christmas buying madness that starts the day after this,
and when that day comes round, I'll have a few choice notes about it as well.
In all the things that are said and done, we somehow forget why we are doing what we do on this day.
We forget because we are not in survial mode anymore.
Not in the way that they were. There are people who are in survial mode now, but what they have
to fear most is other people.
We have become the peditors as well as the victims.
We have shown ourselves to be the animals we really are. The animals in the wild are more at risk from
us than we will ever be from them.
We are busy distroying their homelands. We are busy conquoring and taking at will. Distroying the balance,
putting what is left of the natural world into parks, nature zoos.
I'm very sure if thoes first native people saw what this place is now they would have killed everyone of thoes people
It would have broken their heart to see the children of future generations being treated like cattle and
how, like the buffalo, almost completely distroyed.
That's not a human thing to do, it's a mindless greedy animal thing to do.
I appoligize to all the four beasts for using the word animal that way.
Animals in the wild stay with in the balance of nature. They take only what they need, never more.
Their survival depends on it.
We have no clue what it means anymore to be in that mode.
I wonder if the people who came across the ocean ever did have a clue what that ment. To take only what
you need and work to protect what remains so that you can continue to eat.
We have poisoned the water. Poisoned the land and desimated the forests. All in the name of modern living.
And it really, really sucks.
I think about all the bullshit that goes on daily. We are now emersed and consumed by the information age.
Newspapers are printed out on trees, I don't know how many of the newspapers are printed on recycled paper,
or if they just take new trees to make the stuff out of.
But most of what is printed on those newspapers is crap. Really bad entertainment designed to compliment the
crap being vomited out of a black box that so many people are so addicted to that they don't even know
they are addicted anymore.
I don't have to watch the news to see the effect of all of this. I just have to go out into it to see it.
People driving like mental patients who have escaped and driving around with cell phones attached by one hand
to the side of their head.
Exibiting impaitents as they rush about. Going to jobs that are stealing their lives, getting a paycheck that barely
covers anything, and eating processed, synthisized food that is irrated, pumped full of synthetic vitamins
and eating birds so full of crap, grown way too fast to be anything but a toxic explosion waiting to happen,
yes, the birds are grown so fast that sometimes they explode inside and die right there in the pens.
They are butchered and washed with more chemicals and packaged and sent out to grocery stores everywhere
and on this day they end up on the tables of americans everywhere.
No where in all of this, except in the remnants of what it's suppose to be helping us to remember, the remnants being
in the thanksgiving programs given in gradeschools, is there any shred of anything that first thanksgiving really
ment or was.
And it's sad.
No one really has any idea of what that first dinner felt like. How awesome it must have tasted. It was a huge celebration saying "we made it this far, we're still alive."
I immagine everything they ate that day was like eating the best dinner ever. Everything probably tasted magnificant.
And I know their hearts were in the right place on that day.
There were no distractions to take any space in that place. Only greatful hearts.
Family. Happiness of the people who's children had not died durring that first year, but were still there sitting now
beside them, celebrating the fact they were still alive.
That's what I believe the first thanksgiving was, and I'm very sure it's not what this day means to most americans
in this modern world.
We have lost much. This day would be more approately spent grieving at what has been lost and what we are facing.
The world is changing. Global warming is fact now. We are loosing species of plants and animals and we are now
in a race to survive the results of our stupidity.
I don't know what the children of the future will think of us, or the people who started all of this mess.
But I do know this, that if we don't stop what we are doing, we are going to sign the death sentance of the planet
and our own speices.
And everyone out there in the universe who is watching will shake their heads and wisper "and they had so much
potential. What a waste of life"
This post was edited by harold_maude on Nov 24, 2005.
This morning, I'm listening to wonderful classical music.
And as I listened the words began to flow with every note.
Ah how I love the creative process...and where it takes me..even when it's to something as simple as mud. :)
Sweet rain. bitter rain, fearful rain...a thousand types of rain.
Odes to their touch upon our soul and state of emotional existance at the moment.
Lover's rain. Pure rain. Rain filled with promise. And clouds pregant with rain.
The land starved and parched, unable to speak for lack of rain. Life giving rain.
Tormented rain, the face of a lost lover in every tear that falls.
Rain hiding the grief of one's soul. A tempered warm rain that makes you want to strip naked
and run free through the shower that fills the air, and takes dirt and makes mud.
An Ode to Mud
Oh glorious mud!
What squishing you offer
to loose my digintiy and defy
this thing called acting my age
and jump with abandon into your arms!
That is what you wisper
as you reflect the sky!
Oh glorious mud hole!
Deeper and wider than I expected
filled with possiblities!
To mud pie and castles
that when sun and wind come
and with brutish hand
deconstruct the creative act
that has caused me to build
with your guts and smile.
Oh glorious mud!
to you I sing praises!
To my tired bones
you are youth remembered
laughter with abandon
and an ivation to play.
Would that I take you up
in hungry hands
and let slippery sweet sucking noises
kiss my ears as I press you between
What a great and wonderous thing you are!
Dirt, only just a while ago
Stodgey and dignified you sat
at my feet.
Reminding me with an air of properness
that dirt is not the thing to leave
on the kitchen floor...
And you would be right
if you were still just dirt.
But heaven said
"To day thou oh dirt
shall become a dream
and with rain I shall make thee fun!
An invation to loose adulthood
even for just one hour,
thoese people down there,
they take themselves
way too seriously!
So from dirt to mud
I speak thee changed!"
There you are.
that makes that clean floor
alive with the memory of this day!
How I love thee oh sweet mud!
To roll in thy goo!
To stain with sweet laughter
your skin upon my flesh!
I am lost within your arms
sweet and glorious mud!
Ner to say upon this day
That I had missed your invation.
I do now, of sound mind
and freedom of body
so that I may land deep
and loose myself
if only for a single hour
in thy sweet and cool repose!
I look in the mirror and see my eyes. Green. The color of pine trees.
The ravages of time are also there, but it's ok. I can live with it. I have to.
I have no abundance to do what other women do when time says this is what it is,
and go to some plastic surgon and plead for the return of youth.
I've been told that I'm many things. Alot of thoes things I can't see.
Alot of thoes things I'm told I get suspicious of.
I tend tord the belief that someone who is saying them isn't really being honest.
They are just being nice.
I don't hate the outside as much as I used to.
I used to burn every picture of me that I got my hands on. All I could see was this hideous
beast, something befitting the monster in a horror flick.
I've had people take pictures of me and hide them from me. Seriously and for real.
The truth is I'm kind of avarage in features on my face. But I like the color of my eyes.
And that's not a bad thing, seeing as how I didn't pick them out, but the color of my skin
and the color of my hair compliment the color of my eyes.
And since I like the color of my eyes, I tend to like the color of my hair.
Even though there are strands of silver that exist there now.
I've been told I have a pretty smile. I tend to ignor that. I'm terribly uncomfortable
They make me squirm. Leave me fumbling around for something to say.
When the only thing to say is thank you.
Saying thank you gives the person saying what they do acknowledgement that they
can see me anyway they want to, and not in the same twisted way I've seen myself
for a long time.
I've come to realize that I see me through a twisted and very broken mirror.
And seeing yourself in that mirror will distort your view.
I've been told that I'm beautiful. And I tend to think the person is nuts, and have said
But as they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
I would prefer to have them get glasses so they could see me the way I do.
All of this stems from a type of self loathing that came from the house I grew up in.
Not a real safe place to spend childhood in.
I can easily see every problem, every flaw that exists externally. And because of that it
took alot of people seeing what I do and telling me how good it was,
for me to look at what I do, namly art and begin to see the value of it.
I used to see it as glorified refrigerator art. Nothing more. I am my own worst critic
in all areas of life.
I tend to think of it as being honest about me.
Others might think differently. What I do know, is that when someone sees me
or sees what I do and there is no reason for them to just be nice so as to not hurt my feelings,
and they like what they see or are drawn to what art they are looking at,
that it's ok to say thank you.
There are no strings attached to that.
Just a simple acknowledgement that someone has found something pleasing about me
and I don't have to do anything to make excuses or explaintions for it.
Doing that, I've come to the conclusion, is like trying to pay for something that someone
is handing you just because.
There is no need.
I can't earn my looks, how ever anyone sees thoes. I didn't go to the looks store and pick out
what I wanted for christmas.
I didn't go to the talent and gift store either and make my choices.
I'm a package deal. And I just have to live with the fact that somepeople find that they like
what they see and what I do.
And I can't talk them out of it. All I can do is say thank you when they say so.
That's all. And that's ok.
It's early monday morning. Almost the end of Novemember. I barely realized that Thanksgiving is almost here.
I had forgotten entirely until just a couple of days ago...
I seem to do that with alot of things. Forget completely.
In my world, much of what is considered normal for the rest of the world is often forgotten by me because of the simple truth that much of it is just there.
It's been that way for a long time.
Especially things that require alot of people being involved.
If most of it actually ment something other than a reason to spend money, maybe it would be easier to remember.
Thanksgiving. Long ago, so history tells us, The very first one was a significant mile stone of celebration because a group of people had survived.
They were greatful, and wanted to celebrate and so they invited their new friends who had helped them to join in the celebration.
And they wanted to remember their survival, so they set aside a day after the harvest and remembered it, year after year.
Kids in school learn all about it.
But as kids grow up, something changes.
They forget why it's there, and it becomes this insane rush of going grocery shopping, getting family together and feeding like crazy, until everyone looks like the bird that is normally eaten only two times a year.
If t.v. is part of the ritual, then it's parades, and football and maybe a movie as dessert.
A far cry from where it started. I think the only real thing that remains from the orginal celebration is the bird.
I think it would be more appropate to call it over eating with bird day or something more in line with what it is now.
At least that would be closer to what it really is now.
To be greatful in a world where survial is something on going for many, and so daily for many that a turkey or a bird to eat on the day is either impossible or a huge chunk out of the food budget.
To be greatful, now that is something that doesn't require a turkey, only the realization of something you could loose at any given moment.
And given that, making it through another day should be reason to celebrate, by remembering and not forgetting.
If you want to throw a party in there somewhere, that's a personal choice.
Why not do something different to help you remember what the day means as a whole.
Something that will remind you why the celebration still is in existance today.
It must have been pretty important to thoes people to want to remember it year after year.
So I guess in the end what I'll be doing this year, is thinking about what I've survived and remember that it was very possible that I might not have.
I have no idea what the food will be.
And that doesn't matter much to me.
Turkey is something I like as a regular part of my meat consumption, that is when I can afford to buy it.
So it goes...
But I do have alot to be thankful for, and in doing that alone, I'm right there with those first people celebrating their survival at a time when doing that for thoes people was pretty amazing.
Worth a big celebration.
This was inspired by a movie about an older man who fell in love with a younger woman who had no idea how he really felt about her
Past all the discomfort of unfamiliarness
we walk through the doors
The first smile breaks in your eyes
drifts down across the plains of your cheeks
a wash of sunshine
settles into warm drifts on your tender lips.
exchanges of expectations
barely given voice.
exploration of new fields
delicate folds and creases
not yet touched or hardened by life's sorrows
that somehow manage to seep into the unprotected places
of the heart and soul.
barely noticeable when your eyes are open
too much floods the view
Only when all else is shut out
can the erotic innocence of such newness be tasted
You over load my eyes
Brilliant beauty shines radiant
shattering the clothed surface
the place my soul's eyes long to see
That place in you not touched or regestered by time
That place not held by the shadows of seconds
That ageless place
a deep pool within
where the songs composed
within the prisimatic halls of your soul drift
and caress your heart to inspiration
They dance within you
floating on strands of air like silvered bits of rain.
Waiting for the invation to drink
to taste the sweet necter that flows from your heart and soul
with a thirst so deep
that waiting is painful.