The BZZZZZZZZ surrounds with a mighty electronic swarm, especially at my new work. But my blood is thick with rural ignorance, not only here in the white mutt homeland of the American South (technically, Virginia is not entirely part of that anymore, but Southside Virginia - the state's armpit - is most definitely still a tragic gothic place), but back in the old world from my orphaned Swedish grandmother, my son of Ellis Island boat-riding Polacks, the other side of my family which is a hodgepodge of Scottish drunkards and German stubborns, it all coagulates thickly in my bloodstream, and no matter how hard they BZZZZZZZZZZ at me from all around, that blood flow can't be stopped, especially when perfectly thinned down with alcoholic beverages about 0.15%, give or take a few hundredths.
These are strange times for the electronics, them being everywhere, including on our pocket to go straight to our brain on our smart phones while we are tracked constantly like cows with blue clips dangling from their ears. It’s changed everything, including the moon cycles and ocean currents and caused more seismic activty which recently resulted in volcanic ash blacking out the European skies to airline flights. These are the natural repercussions to our natural actions, as we are men, a part of nature, and the eminent domain we declare over everything to recreate and reshape is a natural action, one that is supposed to happen. And what happens in return is also supposed to happen, the pendulum swinging back the other way, whether by global warming or an eventual mad cow/bird flu disease spreading quickly into mass madness as we eat cannibalistic meat products from allegedly lesser animals that are under our domestic rule.
Yet my blood still flows. My brain still thinks deranged caveman thoughts. Sure, sometimes I am distracted greatly by the shiny and bright digital displays of a million things at a million angles at a relentless pace; but I am also still tormented by adrenalin rushed fears of the sounds in the dark and a coyote yelp beyond the line of pines might make me run from my sitting stump by the pig pen back to the safety of the BZZZZZZZ of my house an acre away. But I at least am still pulling away from that BZZZZZZ, trying to settle myself on the stump, trying to sleep in the yard more often, once even in the chicken coop. I wish I had made myself more brotherly to my pigs because cuddling up with them at night in their nest would be perfect on those heavy BZZZZZZZZing nights. But I try to communicate with the pigs, with my dogs, with my chickens, with my children, with my sitting stump and the red maple in the field and the sky and stars and all of it out there away from the BZZZZZZZZ. I can’t communicate with the BZZZZZZZZZZ because I can never get a word in edgewise. I am thankful to be DNA-cursed enough to still realize that.
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