Friday, April 1, 2016


I don't know what to tell you; I never
know what to tell anybody. My life is
as dumb as a cinderblock, so don't 
look to me, except perhaps to tell
you where the best free parking is or
something like that. Here's an example
of how I think  -  I'm pretty certain
it will show how how, in most ways,
I'm just stuck in a pliant ditch of
not thinking as others think: All 
around us now they're putting up
these 'monopoles'. They are tall,
singularly tough-looking power-line
towers slowly replacing those old 
1920's steel things that look like
Erector Set towers. The old is old,
and these newer ones bear the 
presence of a totally different 
time and place. All that is as it 
is, I neither care the need for 
them or the practice of accepting 
them (hideous, gross, awful).
My point is, when I myself see 
one of these things, my first 
thought, right away goes to the
mechanical physics of them. The
roundness. At the bottom, they are
pretty large-circumferenced; a big,
round bottom, so to speak. That 
is placed onto the ground into a 
concrete holding structure, prepared
and pre-dug. I always wonder the
mathematics of the relationship
ratio  -   what is the ratio of the
bottom, round, to the very top, 
round? Is it a fifteen-to-one step 
down? Ten-to-one? Five-to-one? 
I can never tell. At what point does
the tip-factor override the stability
factor? How broad have they 
figured out that the bottom must 
be to properly support the graduated 
height, in storms and winds, etc., 
and who and by what means was it 
all figured? Computerized programs? 
Real-world experience?  I'd love 
knowing all that.
Is that sort of thinking different? I 
don't know. If there are others who
read this to whom that same line of
thinking initially occurred, I'd actually
like to know that. I have trouble at
time focusing or landing in on the
'essentials' of what I see  -  I mean the
appearances and realities of them. I 
figure you're just supposed to see 
things like these, accept them, and 
not try to think them through  -  so 
that, over time, they just become part
of the fabric of your life. I remember
being a kid and seeing those things,
as if they were giant monsters traipsing
all over the landscape. For the longest
time I couldn't figure them out, and it
was only later, after learning about things,
and the Tennessee Valley Authority and
Rural Electrification and things like that,
when I finally realized that a grand, huge 
and interconnected power-grid had been 
placed over everything, in some strange
and almost secret format, to step up
and step down and transport electrification,
for people's toasters and televisions and 
all that goofy house stuff we just take for
granted. Without that grid we'd still be
lighting fires, in a sense. Those big, 
marching figures carry themselves to
all sorts of places  -  over hills and 
valleys, down and up, towers along 
rights-of-way torn and mowed and 
cleaned through everything we have.
Of late now, it's monopoles; so I guess
the beat goes on.
You see, out in the real world I'm 
kind of helpless. Not yet used to 
things, as crazy as that sounds. I am 
hesitant in situations where I have 
to interact with others, or be
introduced to others, get my 
'point' across. I shy away, as 
much as I can, from that sort 
of thing. It all just doesn't much
work. Or so I say anyway.
Yesterday I made mention of that
barn and the 5 cars that were left 
there, the Mercury Turnpike Cruiser 
specifically. It was all kind of dreamy, 
like a sequence you can't quite put 
back together the next morning. I
used to always refer to all this as my
'Ruritania'. A far-away retreat. It was 
only a bit amusing then to realize how
these left-behind automobiles messed
with that concept. Like having a delivery
truck full of apples pull into the Garden
of Eden to make a delivery. Here were
5 leftover cars, sunken into the soil and 
just rotting away, each probably 5 years 
past their last use. Mercury, Corvair,
another Mercury, Ford, Chevrolet, and
then, in another location about 300 feet 
away, a couple of trucks. I was surrounded
by cast-off, leftover steel; iron-age monsters
cluttering up my Eden. What would I do?
Well, I'll tell you. We used them for target
practice. it began with cans and bottles 
set up on the tops of the car, and then cars. 
From a distance, firing at them, eventually 
windows were shot out, and holes in the 
facing sides became fairly prevalent. 
We'd shoot from farther away, and then 
closer up. Idiot stuff, the way time is 
somehow passed in the middle of nowhere. 
Who'd have ever thought we were making
 a statement? Blowing the Industrial
Revolution to smithereens! If only. It
was all unsaid, and all my occasional
visitors got to shoot. Eventually, yes, 
when rubble just became nothing more
than rubble, it was all carted away. One 
car at a time, dragged off to a local wrecker.
The trucks? They just stayed there.
A far cry from Walden Pond then, you night
say. But, not really. My intensive eyes were
open and ready at all times for each bit of
awareness and knowledge I could get : there
were mysteries everywhere. Weird objects
in the evening fields  -  deer, running bears,
foxes, whatever. One by one our geese and
ducks began disappearing -  only after a while
did a nearby farmer drive over to tell me there
was a silver fox they'd been seeing, sunning 
itself often on a not too far off tree stump.
The fox that had been feasting on our geese 
and ducks. The fox that these farmer guys 
were intent on eradicating. Which they did,
in short order a few days later. One less
Summertime fox, and a nice silver-fox
hide for someone. (They skinned and sold
it for what to them was a satisfying and
happy sum). I plinked dead cars. 
They plinked live foxes. What's
the difference there?

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