...
Of some old timey Oregonian woods rapists last night, and even while I want to poke someone in the nose for the kid-in-a-candy-store attitude toward the consumption of venerable souls, I still can't help loving those hardworking men. I don't know if we'll ever see their like again.
I don't know if it's possible to put back the love that was just plain everywhere when we were young, the power of it, the cosmic safety of it, the human wisdom of our civilization back then... despite that certain heedlessness that exasperates me still.
Though everyone was guilty, Oregon was something of a problem child. I don't know anybody who could defend their rapacious logging ethic for more than, say, a minute, because they've always been in-your-face "they grow back" types and liking to flaunt their merciless clearcuts to the point where the boys from California try to pretend they never met them at conventions.
There's a happy medium. Happy for loggers. Happy for trees. It stultifies vampire capitalists.
Anyway, all this aside, I know loggers, and love them all. I want to be able to make a movie of my reasons for posterity. I want all the fucked up youngsters and whoever they spawn to catch a glimpse of it.
EVERYTHING was prettier. EVERYONE was nicer. Where the corrupt came to ruin it, they did not long prevail. They were forever in check. We do not seem to be able to exterminate them. They keep being born, but we did not let them ruin us back then like we do now... like we've done now.
I like to take refuge in the memories of it.
Like maybe I can see and feel it so well in there it will transmit to sensitive people, psychic people.
pipe up any time....
