turtle piss & animal rescue – Jul 19, 2006

i wanted to recap the idylic last 2 months when i got home.
now much of that is obliterated by war.

we built a chicken coop and planted some veggies,
every morn Jackie would go out and get the eggs,
Jackie’s car crapped out, and she bought a white Toyota
watering and feeding the chickens, and watering the plants.

whenever we had to drive somewhere
(almost every day, one way or another)
it was likely to blow the whole day.

i did get to help three turtles cross the road, however.
the first one was a really large painted turtle,
maybe half my age, or more.

i heard a gurgling sound as i turned him over to see his belly,
they are so brightly painted, and i wanted to be sure that was what he was.

we all laughed as he sprayed me really well out of the same leg-hole
that was pointed towards my face as i turned him.

he missed my face, but my shirt and arm got wet.

i washed at a gas station, and Jackie had to buy me
a new t-shirt so i could enter the restaurant we were going to.

the second turtle was the only snapper i’ve ever touched
though he was hardly bigger than my hand, it was really scary
his long neck would have nabbed me if i held him much longer.

the third was a small painted, much more what i’m used to.

we also saw a homing pigeon that had been attacked by the side
of the road, and took him home.

while trying to find the right contacts online, we found out her son Rob
knew of a guy nearby, right across the road from where he was moving in,
who kept them. it was within a mile down the same road we found it along
we drove over, and, sure enough, it was his.

we also saw many deer, and took a few scenic drives.

we went to the Midwest Renewable Energy Fair and had some fun
well, that’s the short vers.,
soon i will post more info about occupation and bombing than you could want.

Unbroken hearts for unimaginative pussies… had to go here

as spontaneous counterpoise to my previous post,
none could do better than one of my closest, Anna:
Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Unbroken hearts for unimaginative pussies…

Who do you know whose heart is not broken in some way?
Do you want to know someone with a whole heart?
We are our pain, every one of us.

Our scars and battle wounds are what make us more real…
more recognizable to each other.
When you join two pieces of clay together you have to score each side,
rough it up so that when you press them together they have something to hold onto,
places where they can fold together and can be sealed to make a strong join.

I believe that once broken, there is no going back to a whole heart.
The people and events that cause the breaking never leave us… not really.
I do not think that this is as sad or as melancholy as it may sound.
I prefer the wounded, deep, tried, healed over…
give me substance every time. I despise an unbroken heart.
It implies lack of depth, lack of life.. a grotesque apathy.
I have no end in sight for this monologue,
merely a few (2 or 3 hundred) thoughts on the matter…
It is after all, an unfinished topic with me.

 

Posted for Jeremy Jenson

The people that stand up for this country. For all the free people that still protest, you’re
welcome. We protect you and you are protected by the best. Your voice is strong and loud, but who
will fight for you? No one is standing in your crowd. We are your fathers, brothers, and sons, wearing
the boots and carrying the guns. We are the ones that leave all we own, to make sure your future is
carved in stone.
We are the ones who fight and die. We might not be able to save the world, but at least we try.
We walked the paths to where we are at and we want no choice other than that. So when you rally
your group to complain, take a look in the back of your brain. In order for that flag you love to fly, wars
must be fought and young men must die.
We came here to fight for the ones we hold dear, if thats not respected, we would rather stay
here. So please stop yelling and put down your signs, and pray for those behind enemy lines. When
the conflict is over and all is well, be thankfull that we chose to go through hell.