under an electricity pylon carrying five thousand volts
in eugene oregon, in a washed up catawampus house in glenwood, adjacent a wheat field and the rail road tracts, stood a house.
this odd little house had eight years previous been washed clear away from its foundations in a flood, and was carried down stream, to where it then stood – the location of this little narrative.
the house, never again to have a solid foundation, was tilted oddly in a field in glenwood, oregon . the field neither in the eugene, nor the springfield municipality was never removed. and that is were it stood, for eight years, abandoned, and askew. over the years, a new house was built in the neighboring plot, and what a contrast it was, old against new, clean against stained and worn, but something that was of no comparison began to grow around the old, stained, washed up house; fruit trees of wild berries, citrus, and nuts, till it was a fruitful orchard, bearing well in season..
the days past, the sun has sunk into the horizon pulling with it the wool over the eyes of the earth, without a ripple, only a faint whisper and it disappeared. the whole whirlwind that the day was, all the business and excitement, all the to and fro, all the tension-ess buzzing has calmed, or subsided, and has been replaced by merry voices, and cheerful retorts at the dinner table. games and food and company are plenty, and will, like the day, slowly wear down till the quiet creeps in, slowly suffocating the sounds of the day, and for a brief time all that make, and contribute to the sound will be far away, elsewhere in the aperture of their mind, softly distant.
the desert is beautiful, in the mountains the air is cool, the sky’s are clear, and the vegetation lush. driving through the flat lands and plain come to mind. perhaps unprepossessing it is the best and possibly the most descriptive word to use instead. white washed houses with american flags on the front lawn fluttering timidly in the wind, a sign of this patriotic state, still upright and steadfast in this tumultuous time of indecision and uncertainty.
although there isn’t a feeling of anything on this wind. its not whats talked about, but what should be. even the stones should be crying out by now. and now huxely-esque like, the masses, the proles,the citezens are too taken by sex, self preservation and pleasure, and are blinded to the fact that everything they know could shortly come crumbling to its knees. never the last hundred years has the economy, or the housing market looked as dire, and both to look so abysmal simultaneously even more so unheard of, but life with blinkers for the proles carries on as normal.
sitting here at the airport, the last basket ball game is all thats talked about, its the child covering his eyes and thinking that no-one can see him. there are too many conspiracy theories to be dismissed as just conspiracy theories, and it would seem that they, the labeled conspiracy theorists and madmen, are the only truly concerned citizens. its like a contemporary elie wizels night scene, where they have heard, and it is not a reality until its is on their doorstep, and even then it is removed, until is on them a feral beast.
voting also has been reduced to an idols like status, voting for the best looking candidate, regardless of his policy. and if not looks, its a gambling vote, as to who has more chance of bumping out and replacing the current president, who from among the concerned view, is partly, if not wholly responsible for the state that america has found itself in. troops are being recalled, but a major change will be needed if even a ripple is to be felt in the economy. food stamps and the doll have taken its toll for too long it seems. governments as such must once again ask themselves the question as to whether or not they are a capitalist, or socialist state. after all, you cannot serve two masters.
questions of dollar power, trading and world economy begin to surface. for is not the dollar what any currency is compared to then re-evaluated to arrive at an accurate and true exchange. and is not the dollar what countries with their own economic fallout revert to when things get really bad? but what does this all really mean? it can’t possibly change much. the dollar has always recovered. its only paper and politics right?
the desert sprawl carries on, dry and dusty in this mid winter heat wave. the diamond lake sparkles on the distant horizon shrouded, a silver sliver in the atmospheric haze and pollution that has floated down from los angeles. all the while a tempest slowly percolates to the north west.
after being in mexico for a week, time began to slip away, along with my perception of it. the mist showed up in time every day, and the chill set in as did the dusk. the gas fire ablaze int the lounge, with us all congregated around like repenting sinners to a priest. and that is how we spent our evenings. filled to the brim with hearty food, and content, the hours slowly sidled by through to the early morning, then sleeping in to midday, and repeating.