Monday, August 8, 2011

20/20 Vision

Kirby hit the throttle and launched the speedboat over a small wave. The sea had risen during the night along with the blindness in my right eye. So I jumped on the speedboat that was taking a broken washer and refrigerator and the fuel drums to the mainland.
"He there come up on the left side of us, b'y" said Kirby in reference to a whale, "and done us a great bit of harm..."
The rest I could not understand as the pain in my eye was paralyzing and I was gripping the frame of the boat to keep my balance when the flat bottomed boat slammed into the foamy valleys.
"I reckon someone put a bullet in him," said Kirby another time in reference to a polar bear.
"And they cut his paws off?" I said because I'd seen grisly pictures of someone with a hatchet chopping at the remains of the polar bear.
"No, his hed."
"His head?"
"Yes, b'y. Took he head."

This is a frontier region where you throw garbage into the ocean or burn it and polar bears get shot and beheaded. I am blinded and my hair is too long. The wind lashes my face and the salt spray enters my swollen eye and makes my head throb. There is no sunlight but the gray glimmer coming from the clouds is enough to make it feel like a pitchfork is penetrating my face. We hit another wave and my knees buckled like one of those $9 folding card tables they sell at Big Lots.
I lost my hat on Great Caribou Island and in my blindness almost lost my mind. The arctic fox and kits were nowhere to be seen. Some of those kits will not survive the winter and they don't know it.
My time is up at Battle Harbour but the blindness is going to delay my escape. It is always this way when things are going well but I'm not deterred and my contentment is unaffected by my blindness. We take our sight for granted but when it is gone then we are like blind babies crawling and bawling. My time here has rejuvenated my spirit with the simple process of addressing only concerns that I have power over. The economy and weather and hemorrhoidal tissue that I left behind in California are beyond my control. Even my blindness is beyond my control. There are only miles to go before I sleep.

Do I resent the mechanized slavery that advances on my brother the wolf? Yes, I do and in my small way I will derail a few treads from that tank but the army will probably win. This is my small war like a Sioux Indian standing alone against the Calvary. It's pointless but what is the alternative? Allow the Steve Jobs' of the world to enslave the wolf? Watch the propaganda machine brainwash my brothers? The Pharaohs of the world always invent the excuses to enslave the people and even invent the vocabulary that allows the service workers to clean toilets for rich assholes. This is a joke to me, that a craftsman would stoop to build a staircase for Kenneth Lay. HAHAHAHA. Or clean windows for the loathsome Lou Pai. Oh, the magician did pull a rabbit out of your ass if you think his money is the equivalent of your skill. No, someone else will be teaching guitar to the looters of the world. Not this nigger minstrel. I have my own songs to sing for my own people in the smoke rooms and steerage sheds of the steamers of the world. I know what it took to learn the guitar. So, tell me where you got your money. Then I might pick a note depending on your ethics.
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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.