Not Just Sawin’ Logs
I like an ax. I like the heft of the head, and the smooth ergonomics of it’s shaped hickory haft. I like the power conveyed when one is cocked overhead, lightly balanced, playing you like a fulcrum. I like the speed with which one falls, the weighted head using gravity for assistance.
An oddly shaped knife is all it is, forged for chopping. A billet of iron, or dense steel shaped and forge welded to a sharpened steel bit for penetration, and an eye pushed and punched through hot metal by a leathery-skinned artisan wielding a ball-peened hammer.
And with it the iconic images of Honest Abe building a cabin, George Washington owning up to the Cherry Tree fiasco, or even Lizzy Borden, who might have just been a crazy woman, or whose Poppa might have been a mean, mean man… history has left us uncertain as to which.
Either way, Lizzy undoubtedly shared mine and Abe’s love for the versatility and practicality of a good, old fashioned ax. Her daddy must have gained a newfound respect for it’s abilities too, right there at the end.
Monetary Systems… and Laser Beams
Monetary systems are typically created to benefit an entire group of people. Sadly, they are inevitably manipulated to mostly benefit only a portion of that group. One of the many reasons the human race is horrible in my mind.
Now let’s talk about what I think should come to everyone’s mind when asked such a question. LASER BEAMS! They can do things like give the family a great show or show the family to a great enemy. Correct a person’s vision or blind them. Remove tattoos from skin or emotional support animals from the living. Kill deadly bacteria or happy, healthy kids. Show what bullet your talking about during a presentation or present where the bullet you’re firing will show. We would all love to think that lasers are only going to be used for good but like the wheels on a bus, they go round & round…. and sometimes kill kids.
I Hate Sleeping with Machines
Much as I hate
Relying on cold calculators
They keep me company
And don’t ask for much
The not so silver screens
With their artificial lifeforms
Fill gaps in a vacant space
That would otherwise collapse on itself
White noises whispered at night
Mingle with voices in my head
Overcrowding in a thick skull
I can never bring myself to cut the cord
It would only leave me lonely
In a mute world that no longer sings
They switch on and I forget
That someday there is an end
Everything forever sliding downhill
They give me something to do
Too busy for anything now
All time is occupied
Disregarding the quiet
Pretending not to hear
When I’m being called back
They execute time quick and easily
Exterminate echoes of emptiness
Spreading through my life
Like pests in a decaying house
Things I’d rather kill than face
So as much as I hate it
Down each night
Asleep with some machine
Freedom of Speech
I live to be able to speak as I will. But sometimes freedom to speak can have someone killed.
To carry an opinion on a matter of consequences. Can lead to devastating circumstances.
If a silent note was carried through a mind of being seen, it would have saved all of the souls that were lost in between.
Yet, deep down inside someone had to be heard. To change history, to create sanity, to make sense of what is absurd.
For that we tip our hats to all of the brave orators in our country today. Stand, Speak, and continue to Evolve us in an American way.
Utensils of my Making.
BEWARE THIS READ. THE SECOND PART IS GRAPHIC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
In the hand of my mother, it was used to feed my brother.
In the hands of my father, it was given with soup when my sister was sick.
In the hands of my brother it was used to paint.
In the hands of my sister it was used to swirl her cereal when she couldn't fathom eating.
In the hands of my lover it was used to feed my ice cream.
In the hands of my enemy it was used to cut off my mothers fingers.
In the hands of my enemy it was used to stab out my fathers eye.
In the hands of my enemy it was used to break my brothers wrist.
In the hands of my enemy it was used to shove acid down my sisters throat.
In the hands of my enemy it was used to rip out the heart of my lover.
How I love spoons.
How I hate spoons.
How they bring memories of good times
and nightmares of the bad one.
Oh my enemy
What have you done?