I had a perfect American moment the other day, taking a walk along the railroad tracks between mile markers 71 and 70 along one of my concentrated personal power idol locations. I was sticking to the left edge of the tracks, pacing myself to have my right foot miss a tie since the gravel was packed better on that side, being pretty quiet along those steps. My oldest has taken wilderness skills training a number of times, and she always talks about her fox walk, which I’ve tried to show her is necessary even in civilized locations, which we actually ran through when doing a dumpster drive-by the other week. Fox walking, I explained, is no different than invisibility, which can move from wilderness to civilization to anywhere, because it’s not so much that you are invisible or silent as it is you are not seen or heard. This helps when you are trying to blend into the wild or snag things from commercial dumpsters or just not be present for so many people to disrupt your personal flow.
Anyways, I was walking this way, and shifted over to the edge of the tracks and a couple of white-tailed deer took off down by the old abandoned canal, which was covered in a sheet of ice. About an eighth of a mile further, I was startled by another rustling, on my river side this time, and looked over and saw a full-blown eagle leaving a nesting island, eye level with me but about 50 yards away, big ol’ whitehead kicking it. And here I was trespassing along railroad tracks to get a little blood flow going on a Saturday morning. I thought to myself, “America.”
Except I was actually trespassing, and you never know if a railroad worker is gonna be a dick or not if they see you. So when a freight started coming up on me, I had to stumble down the embankment to where the canal was, this spot dry and grown over with nice lush grass, hence all the deer droppings. I took a seat on a fallen tree and watched a recession-short freight fly by, me just another unseen petty criminal not respecting property rights like I ought to be. Or a man on a search for whatever, walking with the railroad like a thousand lost souls in front of me. Either way.
Then I started walking back to where my truck was parked by some dumped deer guts (man, I’m always glad when hunting season is over, because I know I stand less a chance of getting shot accidentally while wandering through the woods). I didn’t hear another animal sneaking up behind me until he got right up beside me – a ragged skin and bones hunting dog with like three electronic collars poking this way and that off his neck, looking for radio waves that weren’t there no more I’d guess. The dog was starved for human companionship, and tagged along with me the entire walk back. I felt bad for the little fucker, and also wandered further on my “America” thought, about how as much as the fairy tale is the flying eagle soaring above a majestic rolling river, I was more like that goddamned skin and bones hunting dog, electronically trapped or at least steered, starving for sustenance, and happy as fuck when someone who looks like they might care halfway comes along. “America” indeed. I went home and wrapped a strand of barbed wire around the top of my chicken run to keep my own dogs from going in at night when they are allowed to run free for a few hours.
We – me and you – are not as useful without our collars, nor as profitable. I cannot even begin to explain to you how fucking awesome Black Oak Arkansas was at their high watermarks. David Lee Roth is basically a pasteurized more profitable (due to control) version of Jim “Dandy” Mangrum, the lead singer of BOA. I mean, it’s fucking ridiculous. And I do not dislike early Van Halen at all, although it all is a little overrated to be perfectly honest with you. It’s like fratboy raw, being rock-n-roll with the knowledge it is rock-n-roll and meant to be consumed. Black Oak Arkansas is raw like a pair of hairy pelvises rubbing and bumping from thirty-nine different angles by sunrise. It could not be kept in control to have radio hit after radio hit, like Van Halen. Black Oak Arkansas is gonna jump over the chicken run fence and eat a leghorn every fucking time.
Sad thing is even David Lee Roth was too raw, and he got run off so that Sammy Hagar could join Van Halen and make light rock-ready pseudo-rock-n-roll that some people actually pretend is good. It’s sad what happens to use when we are starving and stifled by our collars. We start doing some weird shit in order to bond with our masters. And as long as we are useful enough, they’ll rub our belly or throw us a neckbone every now and then.
STEAL “Uncle Lijah”
NEXT UP: Cheating ass woman soul!
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