Abyss
We’re not supposed to be here, like this, we never were supposed to, and now that we are here, none of us really know what we’re supposed to be doing. That’s lost, long gone, so far removed from who we are it’s unattainable. There is no path back to us. We are going to die and the only thing that’s barely possible is not to drag the entire planet down with us.
We are our own asteroid.
Imagine the fate of trillions of lives, our lives, the lives of plants, animals, insects, fish, whales, birds, bees, snakes, earthworms, all of those lives, everything, depending on some aging white guy somewhere not starting a nuclear war over someone else’s territory.
That defines who we’ve become, until of course, it doesn’t anymore. But since white people first used nuclear weapons on someone else’s territory, it’s been a constant threat.
Don’t think of the term “white” as a color or a race. Think of it as a culture, a sort of system of values that determines how its members treat the earth. In nearly every town, large and small, all across white culture, the largest structure they have created is a landfill. Their waste is bigger than any building they have erected, it is more massive than any school, any hall of learning, any museum of art or hospital. Their waste is packed into the ground, poured into dying rivers, pumped into the air, and it is so ubiquitous, that no square inch of any human city can be seen without some piece of waste, trash, a cigarette butt, a plastic detritus, or litter on it.
Unlike cultures from this distant past, whose stone tools and cave painting leave us scant evidence they were here, our existence is going to be a scar, long, deep, colored in the hues of massacre and extinction. But only for a little while longer, until we fling ourselves into the abyss we have worked so hard to create in our own image.
As Black as Night
The branches of the live oaks look like clouds, when they are backlit by the stars. The sensation is more like looking down into some dark liquid with points of light, with the clouds reflected in this vast sea. There’s more, much more, but the human need for light at night ruins any chance of seeing real night.
When I first moved here to Hickory Head, the neighbors had a security light, but three or four years ago everyone moved out of the old house and the electricity was turned off. New neighbors moved in, friends of the family of the old neighbors, and eventually they got a security light, too. There for a while, it was dark again.
Back when I lived on the other side of the state, I lived in a subdivision where everyone had security lights, before that I lived in an apartment in Tifton Georgia that was downtown. So this is the first place I’ve lived that had true darkness at night.
Before I die, I want to go somewhere it’s totally dark at night, somewhere the stars reflect in still water, and imagine what it would be like, to have half the day bathed in true darkness.
Virus
If Trumpism has served no other purpose, it has proved definitively human beings would rather die than change their minds, and once a demographic gets heading in one direction, much must happen to redirect.
The Plague taught us many lessons, some unlearned, and some of those lessons were taken to heart by people who are intelligent and educated enough to realize there is no pathogen out there so scary that people won’t kill and die to keep from modifying their behavior in the slightest ways.
If the Plague was actually some man made virus unleashed to test our response, no one alive can say we did anything but failed, or in the case that someone was looking to destroy the population of humans down to a safe level, it was a roaring success.
The lethality of COVID was about 1%. If it mutates to a more deadly form, let’s say 10%, then we can look for somewhere around ten million deaths in the US alone. But if virus mutates to the point of Ebola, then we’re talking about many times that number.
The great thing about high kill viruses is they usually burn out fast because they kill off their hosts so quickly.
But in a crowded environment where the victims willingly spread the disease and do not care who or how many they infect, and they take no precautions whatsoever to prevent spreading the disease, there would be a much higher death toll.
If you think for a moment, there isn’t a person out there, or a group of people out there, who aren’t thinking about how to lower the human population in the name of saving the planet from certain destruction, and those people would not use a virus to get the job done, you either have a greater faith in human beings than is sensible, or you have no idea how dire the situation has become in regard to what shape the planet is in.
Clearly, human beings will take a path of certain destruction rather than suffer any discomfort in the short run. It is insane to think no one is going to try to stop this, by any means available.
Take Care,
Mike
The Moon and Trees
With a full moon, and a cool night full of stars and stillness, a walk in the woods is a good idea. I slip away, slowly, quietly, so even the dogs do not realize I am gone. The cell phone stays behind, too, for this is something strictly between starlight and myself, and the trees.
Years ago, when Bert and Sam were the only two dogs here, and the only two there had been, I went out in the woods, in the cool night, but the wind was already awake, and the clouds roamed the sky.
They cast great moving shadows on the ground, did the clouds, and I could see their shade moving through the woods, over the pond, and full moon light in between, and as one of the shadows reached me, I thought, “A great beast has passed over me, and left me unharmed,” for they seemed alive in a way that matters.
Tonight the sky is full of stars, empty of everything but the moon and her slow dance across the sky, and the reflection of light from yet another star, but one much closer. I must do this, betimes, for the creatures in the woods need to know I am here, this is my place, and also, I do no harm when I am afoot with stars overhead.
The moon tosses a thousand acres of light over the woods, and the trees soak in the gentle balm of autumn, the harsh summer now removed. I stand in the moon shade of a tree older than any human who ever lived, who might have been an acorn when this nation was born. There is no photograph, no painting, no reproduction of produced by our species that can relate this to you. Being in the presence of such a giant, of a creature with no worries or wants, or greeds, or needs, yet larger than any other tree I know, and mightier than humans will ever make, is humbling in a way that should matter to our species.
We will die because it does not, to far too many.
Trump is a Coward.
Photos from The Thunder and Lightning, Heat Wave, Felon Melon Sellin’.
Sunday Morning Grifers
The interstate is like a blood vein that transports people from one place to another, but it also transmits sexually transmitted diseases as well. In the world of transportation, Grifters are the disease of travel. To wit: Pulling into a gas station within spitting distance of I-75, I notice a guy standing outside, out of view of the cashier, and he’s watching people pull in. He waits until I start pumping gas, smiling, ambling over slowly, he strikes.
“Good morning, sir, would you like to have some free money today?” he asks.
“Oh my, a preacher, first thing in the morning,” I reply.
“I, what, what makes you say that?” he’s still smiling, but he’s stopped his spiel, and the advance on the would be victim.
“No one is giving away money these days, or any other day. Your con looks like this, you’ll offer me something of value, get me to agree to either listening to you, or agree to some sort of invitation, then you’re going to tell me heaven is worth more than money. It’s bait and switch, the oldest con in the books. It still works, that’s why it’s in the book,” I put fifty bucks worth in the truck, and the pump clicks off.
“But how did you know?” he asks.
“The smell of deceit and greed,” I tell him, hanging the pump up. “Go. Away.”
“I’ll pray for you,” he calls out.
“Good. It won’t hurt me, and it will keep you from active mischief,” I say loudly.
And away I go.
I’m looking for a life vest so I can go out with the kayak. Some places require you have one onboard, so I have to hit a retail store. I rather chew glass. But there is no other way, other than Amazon, and I do not want to wait.
I used to park in the back of the parking lot, and near a cart corral. But believe it or not, Grifters have started staking out cart corrals at retails near the Interstate. I’ve seen them take a cart from someone who has just unloaded it, push it five feet to the corral, and then ask for money, as if they’ve worked for it.
Now, I try to park in the middle of the parking lot, and across from a corral. Grifters have always been around, but they’ve become more numerous in the bad economy, and they’ve become creative. Anyone standing around talking to someone else is suspect. It’s damn early on a Sunday morning so I should be okay, but a man standing in front of the door draws my attention. Right. In. Front. Of. The. Door. It’s a good ploy because people have to walk around him, through him, or stop. I slow down, and he spots me. He looks around and realizes I’m waiting for someone else to get to the door before I do. A woman is headed in.
He knows what I am doing. But two points in time confound him. The woman is an easier mark, for women are more compassionate than men are, and he’s smoking a cigarette. Right. In. Front. Of. The. Door. He doesn’t want to move before the woman gets there, and he doesn’t want to ditch his smoke. I stop and take a photo of the sun barely burning through the clouds. The woman, who seems to understand the assignment, stops too, and she is texting someone. The Grifter doesn’t know what to do.
“The sun ain’t coming out today,” he calls to me, and I glance over to see the woman slipping towards the door, thinking the Grifter is distracted. I know she’s going to get there first, so I start walking, too. The Grifter is pleased I’m headed his way but sees the woman at the last second and turns. I go in through the out door, and the woman, who certainly has figured this out, points towards the other side of the parking lot, and when the Grifter turns to looks, she dashes through the door with a grin.
She and I trade a fist bump as we enter the store.
I drop back in the clothing section and watch. The Grifter has been had, and he knows it. In Grifter Code, nothing could be worse. He finishes his cigarette and decides to go hunting inside the store. I’m kind of hoping I’ll run into him, but I don’t. Once outside again, I sit in the truck and watch a woman with a suitcase waiting near a cart corral. Just another five Grifters before the end of the month, and I get a free set of steak knives, but enough is enough for one day.
Take Care,
Mike.
The Hickory Head Hermit 