I May Be Spending My Evenings with James Dickey

I won’t go into all of it, because, frankly, it’s none of your business and it’s craziness anyway so what do you care if you’re getting the whole delusion or just part?

But it was like this.  We were in a clearing and there was a dead deer and He was trying to put the deerskin on, at first, I thought, like some gruesome Cerrunnos, but then, as I help Him into it, I realize that no, He’s going farther than that, to become the buck so that the wolves, which we can hear in the distance, can have the thrill of hunting Him down and killing him.

“What will happen when you come back?” I ask.

“For them, I will be the hunter with the gun and they will run.”

Later, I thought of James Dickey’s “The Heaven of Animals.”

Advertisements

We Are Not Owed Slaves

I’m not sure how to start this post other than to just start it.  Here’s the thing I believe to be true with all my heart.  I believe America was built with a fundimental flaw–and that flaw was the belief that some folks in this society deserve an underpaid or unpaid support system of laboring humans who will invisibly aid them in their successes while remaining themselves without rights or protections.

I believe it’s a flaw that can be overcome, but only if we understand and acknowledge that it’s there and then change how we do things.  It is wrong to use people who are trapped into it to do your work.  It’s wrong if we call that “indentured servitude.”  It’s wrong when we call it “slavery.”  It’s wrong when we call it “sharecropping.”  It’s wrong if we call it “marriage.”  And it’s wrong when we do it to illegal immigrants.

It is wrong to use trapped people to do your work.

It’s immoral.  It’s unjust.  It’s wrong.

So, when I see Nancy Pelosi saying

“Maybe there never is a path to citizenship if you came here illegally,” Pelosi said. “I would hope that there could be, but maybe there isn’t.”

I about want to throw up.

That’s the best we can come up with in the face of injustice?  Maybe?

Let Nezua’s words fall on your ears, my friends:

BURIED in the final paragraphs of this article, the Democratic Speaker of the House offers the LA Times a shocking idea: That millions of immigrants now in the USA—who are currently a deeply-enmeshed part of our commerce and communities—might be relegated to a permanent status of neither citizenship or deportee. What is left after you strike those two possibilities? As Duke said, an indentured class.

That’s what I mean by trapped.  You can’t leave and you have no rights here.  You’re at the mercy of the people who stand to make money off you.

This is playing with fire.

No, this is the alcoholic convincing himself he can work at Jack Daniel’s, no problem.

We cannot have a group of people with no rights and no way to get rights in our society because we commit huge fucking acts of evil when we do.

And I’m sorry, but that Pelosi would even float such an idea…

Just god damn it.

No.

Random Things that Caught My Eye

1.  A 6000 year old homestead.

2.  Do not even try to win this, but tell me, is it not stunning?  All right, fine.  Try to win it if you want.

3.  Mark takes you to school on our “voter fraud.”  There is an underlying sense to this story of the self-importance of some Republican chatterers in this state.  I mean, McCain is going to win Tennessee.  It doesn’t matter if every person here illegally voted for Obama and those votes were all counted.  McCain is going to win.  So why would Tennessee Democrats bother to cheat?  I think folks just wish Tennessee were more important than it is in this election.

4.  Yes, surprisingly, people don’t like to pay people to treat them with assholish condescension.  You needed a study to tell you that?  I think that only doubly proves how out of touch you are with your patients.

5.  I can’t stop watching this.  And I can’t decide if it’s horrid or fabulous.

6.  Lots of folks blogged about this, but Jim Voorhies does it best.

7.  The Missus has toilet paper so amazing I sometimes go to the bathroom at her house just for the joy of feeling it on my nether-regions.  Maybe I should bring Rachel up there.

8.  If this turns out to be true, I’m going to laugh so hard Bill Hobbs will feel it in his gut.

9.  Speaking of Bill Hobbs, I believe I heard God laughing when He read this post.  Do you think the word “honorable” blushes in shame whenever Bill Hobbs uses it?

10.  Tee hee.

Actual Sign in the Window at Noshville

A race for a cure for Diabetes–team name “No More Pricks.”

We can only hope it’s either a lesbian running team or one woman on an otherwise completely male running team.

I thought it was hilarious.  Neither NM nor the Professor seemed nearly as amused as I was.  Though, in all fairness, I also think it would be hilarious to marry Stone Phillips and be obnoxious about insisting on being Mrs. Phillips-Phillips and awesome to name our first son “Flaco.”  In fact, I spent my walk back from lunch just saying “Flaco Phillips, Flaco Phillips” over and over again.

Apple Cider

Some of my favorite memories from grad school, looking back, are of eating and drinking with Dr. J.  Sure, of course, I loved to drink Gin Ginnies (which was a drink I believe Dr. J’s mom invented), and I’ll never forget the time we sat in the porch swing, eating all of the potato salad our roommate had made (girl had some issues, but her potato salad was like a gift from the heavens) only to have her catch us and get so damn pissed.

But days like today remind me of the long days we would spend, each in our rooms, writing away, and Dr. J would put a big stewpot on the stove, fill it with apple cider and redhots and turn it on and slowly let the redhots melt and the apple cider warm, and after a long while, we would go into the kitchen, grab mugs, and drink up.  Then, we’d each go back to our computers, and you’d hear nothing but the clack of keys.

I’m especially reminded of that today because I just caught a whiff of apple, that smell, that is both the crisp of the apple and the crisp of autumn days.

The Professor and I are going to meet NM for lunch and I’m getting ready for my trip to Charleston and… and really, nothing else.

It’s just a nice day and I feel very fortunate to be surrounded by such wonderful folks.

I’m sappy.  What can I tell you?

Yes, More Woo-woo Crap, but World, You’re All I’ve Got

So, three nights down, six to go.  I sat outside.  I sat inside.  I sat outside again.

It’s weird.  It’s the same thing I do every October, but it’s completely new.  I don’t know.  I want to say something profound about it, but it’s hard to talk about.

Sometimes you go drifting around the internet, hoping to find something or someone who puts into words what you’re struggling with.  I did that and instead, I found a site of people who are all the “slaves” of their gods or “belong to” their gods, who are, for the most part, my gods.

And I’ve been thinking about that a long time, because, you know, that level of committment is not something that appeals to me in the least, but nor is it something that I’ve ever felt was wanted from the other end, either.

So, you know, you wonder–are they on the wrong track?  Am I on the wrong track?  What?  And I think I wonder those things because I still have some good old fashioned Protestant bullshit stuck to my metaphysical shoes.  That there is one orthodox way and the rest are capital W Worong.

Two reasons.  One is that I do recognize the Folks they’re talking about when they talk about Them.  I don’t know how to explain it better than that except to say that I read what they write and thing “Yeah, I could see Him doing that or asking for that or liking someone to offer Him that.”  If I recognize the legitimacy of their experiences, isn’t that enough?  Even if we’re all under some mass delusion, it appears to be the same delusion, so I guess you just roll with it.

But second, I think there’s a shared truth there of another sort.  We are weak over there.  It is better to have protection.  Regularly, when I’m over, I’m a little kid.

So, I don’t know.  I’ve just been thinking about how, sitting in the upstairs of the old place, I could just get the world to drop away and I was over one way or another.  But sitting here on my own land, in my own back yard, it’s a different kind of shift taking place.  I’m not going anywhere, but something is opening up.