Monday, August 8, 2011


Ok, I feel better that I do not have a detached retina but the conjunctivitis/red eye makes me a pariah in the hospitality biz. I will be delayed in all transit until I can use both eyes. The road to Blanc Sablon is hard enough with two eyes but when driving like One eyed jack the pirate it is nearly impossible to navigate my 1969 Ford Trappers Cabin.
If anyone wants to defend the united states because they "love freedom" or other such bullshit they should get an eye infection and then see how much of their money is wasted in trying to get treatment in the States. Canada has a health card...and you pay a bit above the cost of the medicine. This leads to no frivolous MRI tests on a leaky prostate or broken flux capacitor that will be billed to your vulture blue cross. See, private enterprise, like democracy, only works if everyone is educated and everyone is sober and everyone is honest. Unless you can guarantee those three things then you will have a corrupt enterprise that LOOKS LIKE THE UNITED STATES HEALTH CARE SYSTEM. So, the theory of private health care is generally defended by rich looters/pharaohs or ignorant slaves/drones but really it's a train wreck in practice sort of like communism, which requires everyone to be benevolent anti-Semites...hahahaha.
If the government has a say in health care it should look like Canada, which is to tax cigarettes to $11 a pack ($13 American) and booze ($15 6 pack) and everyone gets a health card which you bring to the clinic and they see you in a few hours and fix your problem and no one gets rich but MRI tests are not included if your back hurts after your kid jumps on you. Your cost will be $7.90 and when you try to pay $20 "and call it even" they will stare at you like you are a barbarian. You tip waitresses here but do not tip nurses or hospitals. Look up Rupert Grenfell sometime and you will see what a real person acts like. Americans got shafted with corruption like Dick Nixon and send Seargent Shriver into the dungeon of political banishment. We got what we deserved which was rich industrialists looting the land and poisoning the wolf while the working man is served vocabulary to piss in his neighbor's face with and the political puppet will dance on strings for the benefit of everyone while television and corporations COMPLETELY DOMINATE THE CULTURAL BATTLEFIELD. Congratulations for your petty civil war, America while the carpetbagger named Steve Jobs cleans up with faulty rare earth metals stolen from Chief Seattle's great land that was renamed Walmart by our political heroes John Adams and Sam Walton.
At the dump today we found a broken generator. Looked brand new.
"One season, and this shitty Chinese generator broke."
"No," said Kirby, "He die after one day."
There are your rare earth metals and the piss in the face of Chief Seattle and the bones of the Great Auk all rolled into one fuck you.

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.


Aside from goofing off with a newfoundland rangers pistol harness I love working here because the chores I'm doing aren't different from 1890 chores. I still chop wood and pump water and paint and clean. But I know these building were restored with pain and love but still I have two pieces of chopped wood in my hand and so I heave them across the salt store and they bounce off the 200 year old floor that people come from Vancouver and Japan to see and touch. But there is no way I'm going to place those logs down so as not to scratch the floor. And I'll tell you that the floor loves it. It wants to be used. The church wants people in it. No building wants to be a museum and the people who come here breath life back into the wood planks and ship beam rafters.
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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.