Sick, Sick, Sick

The Noose (News)
I tried reading BuzzFlash this morning. Jesus. What a, 'scuse my everyday English, fucking mess is going on all over the world. Trains are blown up in India--a country Georgie Porgie, our "president," is trading nuclear secrets for mangoes. "We're gonna enjoy eating Indian mangoes," Georgie Porgie said after his last trip to India--you know the trip where he and Pickles made their unexpected drop off into Afghanistan, where Pickles told Afghani women how much better off they were now suffering under the Bush New World Order instead of that evil Taliban (hey, women are dogs in most cultures--Jewish men pray every morning thanking their Lard for not making them women--you've heard that one all your life, haven't you? Women are certainly like dogs in most Islamic cultures. So, hell, men treat their dogs with more respect, I think. Even in the United States, most males probably consider women dogs--especially men of power like Georgie Porgie, Karl Rove (anybody seen his wife?--I'll be she's a dog), Unka Dick (his daughter sucks--heh, heh, heh, a Beltway joke, son), Rummy--can you women imagine being married to Rummy? Oh, hell yeah, there are plenty of Amurican women who are happy being dogs.

Dogs come from wolves, you know. Female wolves are very powerful among the packs; most of the time they're the best hunters. Dogs were domesticated by man. Man took the wolf out of dogs and left them bitches or studs who toady with tails tucked and wagging to beat 60 and tongues eager to lick both their asses and your face to man's every need, which most of the time is affection. As long as a dog's affectionate, it doesn't get beaten to death or put in a burlap bag and tossed into a local river. Dogs that want to be wolves again are dogs that get beaten, dropped off in lonely areas on highways, are just plain shot in the head.

Killing comes easy to MAN.

I once lived on a 600-acre goat ranch my brother moved onto with the intentions of buying it because it was beautiful land, outside of Austin, Texas, on the famous Barton Creek, an almost river of a creek then that now, I understand, is pretty much contaminated by Dell computers, Austin being Dell's headquarters.

I was staying at my brother's ranch while he was off setting up the first PBS Newsroom for Dallas (Jim Lehrer was one of his anchors). The big house was a gorgeous mansion made out of the limestone from the area, a limestone full of fossils, so you could go around this big house and see fossilized seashells (why do you think Shell Oil is called "Shell" oil?), chambered nautilus remains, fossilized snails embedded in its walls, even the rock-lined den with the huge rock fireplace was covered in fossils. It was a fossilized house.

This ranch was wild land. The nextdoor rancher ran goats on the property paying for the range rights per month. Goats run wild on these ranches. They lived in caves in the many bluffs along Barton Creek and they raised their kids in these areas and at night it was quite scary since a baby goat bleating sounds just like a human baby crying. Babies cried all night along Barton Creek from Frank Dobie's Paisano Ranch onto my brother's place.

There were also deer running wild all over this land.

One of the jobs I took on for my keep was running night patrol on the property, you know looking for rustlers, yep, that's right, goat rustlers, cattle rustlers, usually Mexicans and white trash out looking for meat, who would come on the land late at night and kill a goat or a cow, skin it out right there, then butcher it into sides of meat and truck it off into the night to sell it down in Austin to the Mexicans, who love goat meat, especially young goat which they call cabrito, and I must admit, there's nothing better than cabrito and Superior beer with some pickled veggies and a huge pot of red beans (with onions, tomatoes, and garlic)--that's eatin' the Nortena way--or at least it used to be that way when I lived there--probably all changed NOW.

I patrolled this six hundred acres using an old VW microbus--the first SUV, and from the Hitler Car Company, Volkswagen (Hitler is given credit for designing the first "people's car"). I carried a high-powered rifle and an over and under shotgun with me, plus a baseball bat...I mean, I was serious. The VW had a military spotlite on it, so what you did was, you creeped the VW along these crude backroads that laced the property with the lights out; the VW motor was so small it made only a modicum of noise, unnoticed by the rustlers who were hurrying with their illegal deeds using only lantern light as illumination. That's how we'd spot them. We'd pick up their lanterns winking in the darkness, then sneak drive up on them and hit them with the military spot and then fire a couple of shotgun blasts over their heads. Usually they'd take off like roaches when you turn the light on in your kitchen, but sometimes I'd have to radio the Highway Patrol my location and soon they'd come bumbling out to arrest these geeks. The aftermath always meant a bloody mess was left behind, which we left for the buzzards, the foxes, the bobcats, or the wild dogs to clean up, which they'd do in a matter of hours, leaving great bone piles to bleach out in the following suns. The bleached out skulls were easy to sell to the turistas either in Austin or through mail order catalogs. A longhorn steer skull complete with horns could bring you a couple'a hundred bucks.

One night I finished my run and on the way back to the big house I saw something weird looking on one of the fences--yep, I've built or repaired barbed-wire fences, miles of them, with a post-hole digger, a pair of huge wirecutters, a hammer and some nails, and rolls of barbed wire and hundreds of tree-limb fence posts. When I flashed the spot on this object I found it was a deer caught in a barbed-wire fence. I went over to it and it was trembling madly, trembling to death. Deers caught like that (or caught in the headlights, too; or that military spot) get so scared they actually can tremble to death--they are so sensitive to being hunted and killed by mankind and that's what causes their trembling--hell, yeah. There were also wildcats and lions in the area, though by then not many lions were left--bobcats, yes, but I only saw one puma the whole time I stayed there, which was the biggest part of the year Jack Kerouac was found dead with his head in a toilet down in Florida.

I drove quickly back up to the big house and got the other guy living on the ranch, a young writer who had just been published in the Atlantic Monthly and was big on writing, as I was, too. So I picked this guy up and we went back to the deer, and we tried to untangle it from the barbed-wire but it was just too big, probably weighed at least a hundred and fifty pounds, and too nervous, kicking at us with its sharp hooves, sucking air to high heaven, and trembling something awful. We felt obligated to try and save the poor beast; it was a young doe.

It was early morning by the time my pal went down to the neighbor ranch house to see if he could call the wildlife people to come rescue it. He came back about 15 minutes later with the ranch owner, Junior, they called him, a slim, Stetson-hatted, lanky cowpoke who looked like every cowpoke you've ever seen in Marlboro ads or whatever, except this was a goatherder, though he raised cattle and horses, too, which we had to patrol, too, since the rustlers would quickly kill a horse for its meat; even the mules weren't safe from these guys.

He took one look at the deer, took out his pocket knife, I kid you not, and said, "You boys better look the other way," which of course challenged me to look and I looked and he opened his pocket knife to its long "toothpick," what they call 'em in Texas, blade. I thought it was interesting that he wiped the blade across his jeans before he pulled the deer's trembling head back so the neck was stretched out taut and then with a swift, accurate, sort of flip of the wrist, he sliced open the deer's throat. The blood shot out in a stream fresh and deep living red, throbbing out that opened throat a pissing out of blood. "That's the most humane thing you can do for a deer in this condition. Even if you can untangle them from the wire, they still die because of their nerves." He then wiped off his knife blade, this time on the still-dying deer's fur, and said, "You boys want it for meat; it's a young one; make good eatin'?" We didn't want it. "I'll send one of my messkins over; he'll take it."

How easily that dude killed that deer. My pal and I discussed the whole thing over a bottle of Ezra Brooks bourbon later that day. My pal said the guy gave him the shivers he was so methodic in his action. Yep, he gave me the shivers, too. I to this day can still see him slitting that young deer's throat and how sweetly and pure the lifeblood from that animal flowed out of that neck slit to soak into that absorbing soil. We called that spot from then on "The place where Junior killed that deer...right there, see that run of barbed wire there; right there's where it happened."

Killing is very dramatic. Some men must kill in order to survive. It's emotional, isn't it?

Corruption by the Basin
The corrupt rule; the true EVILE are controlling everything these days, and NOW, including our water. Most bottled water is now corporatized--Pepsi has its water; Coca Cola has its water (which they buy from nuclear-powered India, at one time trying to buy all the water in the Ganges River, I kid you not);and now I notice, Poland Spring, my favorite water, is owned by Nestle.

Corporations control most of our energy sources--a lot of our energy is based on water power. Coca Cola is an interesting company; what started as a "soft" drink full of cocaine, thus its name, down in Old South Atlanta, is now the largest landholder in some countries, like Belize. I assume, they are big still in coca leaf production--like back in the jungles of Belize--where there's gold, by the bye, both nugget gold and coca gold.

One of Georgie Porgie's, our "president," old Midland, Texas, buddies was trying to buy the underground water that is bellied under the far west portion of Texas, contain it, and sell it on the world's open water market. You bet there's a world water market. One company, I believe they started in Texas, buys icebergs and pulls them with ships to dry countries and turns it into drinking and farming water. Another water project company, puts fresh water supplies in huge tough-hide balloon-type carriers which they tow with ships to the dry areas of the world.

aquifers, underground sponges really, clays, sandstones, limestones, porous rock, absorb ground waters and hold them underground, just below the ground surface. The definition of aquifers in Wikipedia is extensive and interesting.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_aquifers

They give a beach as an example of how an aquifer works. They say go to the beach and dig into the sand. You are in fact digging a well into that sand. Soon you will see your hole fill with water. That's how an aquifer works; it traps water underground, most of it fresh water, though aquifers in coastal areas can become contaminated by salt water rather easily.

The largest aquifer in the world is the Guarani aquifer that lies under Brasil and Argentina. I'd be willing to bet the farm that Coca Cola owns a lot of land in Brasil and Argentina just over that aquifer. Coca Cola needs water, you know; 95% of a soft drink is water, so these cola companies need that water. The United States has several large aquifers, the largest being the Ogallala aquifer that lies under most of the Central US. Trouble with the Ogallala? It's being abused to such an extent it is drying up in some areas.

The aquifers of Northern Africa have already dried up. Don't worry; Coca Cola will bring them some Ganges River water soon; of course, those poor buggers will die of thirst if they can't afford Coca Cola's prices.

We need water to survive, or had we forgotten that? How dare we allow these corporations to buy rights to what we need to live. Like food. Did you know that giants like Archer Daniels Midland, or ADM as they're now known in this acronym-nuts world, Monsanto, yep, the chemical boys, and the Japanese are buying up most of the world's agricultural lands. Japan owns huge plots of land in Brasil on which they grow the produce and cattle their overpopulated islands crave. Japan is a small bunch of islands. They don't produce many natural resources. They eat so much seafood of every variety because that's their main source of food, the ocean (it's really just one big ocean, to hell with the Seven Seas B.S.). Monsanto's scheme is to buy up all the heritage seeds, make them illegal, and introduce their own seeds--seeds which you cannot reproduce, which means, you have to buy new seeds every year from Monsanto; their seeds are controlled biochemically--they are compatible with one of Monsanto's biggest products, Roundup, which is a herbicide. "Corn protection" is a word Monsanto likes to use in its Roundup brochures in the corn-producing states.

Who do you think is pushing Ethanol? Yep, Archer Daniels Midland. Why not, they control most of the corn production in this country out of which you make Ethanol. Is Ethanol safe? Hell no; for one thing, Ethanol pollutes. Check it out, don't take my word for it. Ethanol is a joke. Why not use the sun for power? Why not use the wind for power? The corporate energy producers cry it's too costly to use those powers. It's not costly at all to keep using fossil fuels. You know why? Because our energy companies are overinvested in fossil fuel reserves. They are banking on oil to the point they are spreading the unscientific fact that underground oil supplies refill themselves or somesuch bullshit as that. It's the same kind of oil-company logic that tells us carbon monoxide is a life giver.

I'm growling out a warning to ya: one day, these corporate assholes will figure out how to market air. Just wait. Pure air in backpack tanks. It will make sense when these corporations have totally polluted our normal air; to the point where we can't breathe it and will need a pure air tank to make it through each day. You don't think Coca Cola's air tanks are going to last longer than a day do you? "A day at a time," will be Coca Cola's air sales department's slogan. How about, "It's hard to survive without Coke." "Coke, or you die."

The "Noose," as we call it here at The Daily Growler, is deflating. There is murder going on all over the world. Now NYC's billionaire mayor is scaring the hell out of us again by herding a flock of big-bellied, sloppy-looking cops into the subway system since he's sure that because some fanatical Kashmirians blew up some trains in India that NYC's transit system is now once-again subject to terrorist attacks, too. Trains and busses blow up in India rather frequently. It's Islamics versus Hindus; it's an ancient war; it goes back to ancient times when the Islamics came riding across the steppes of Central Asia and right on into India. They blow each other up constantly. Remember the busload of Islamic kids the Hindus set on fire and surrounded the bus to keep the kids from escaping the flames and watched in glee as all those kids burned to death spreading the stench of their burning flesh into the widened nostrils of those Hindu killers? Of course, the Islamics will turn right around and massacre Hindus with brutal precision, hacking to death men, women, children no matter their innocence. These people kill each other with
frequency--the Golden Mosque incident, remember that?

India is dangerous, too, because it has nuclear weapons and so does its Islamic bastard brother state, Pakistan, which once was part of India but broke off on religious grounds to form East and West Pakistan back after WWII and they finally kicked the bloody British out of their bailiwicks. East Pakistan became Bangladesh--both countries remain Islamic. God, religions are such crappy ways of defining ourselves; the most wicked nonsense man has ever come up with; afraid man, scared-to-death man, trembling man. A man caught in a barbed-wire fence trembles to death, too. Remember the gay man in the sticks of some midwestern backward state that the "heteros" beat and pummeled and then left naked tangled in a barbed-wire fence where he froze to death? You don't think you tremble when you freeze to death?

Killing is continental. I sometimes think humans love killing more than they love living. Why don't they kill themselves and leave us peaceful people to enjoy this wonderful, to me, awesomely fascinating earth?

thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler