I hesitate to peck away here for anyone but myself; me the person. I’m alive, and that is a miracle. I’m not arguing that choice is murder, or evil. Choice is choice. I live with it. I listen.
I listen to the unheard, I see the overlooked, I smell the rose...yes I have a rose, in bloom right now, in my garden ( unless the deer got it last night). The deer love roses, and the coyotes love deer. Now that we have rain, the deer and coyotes are in the hills. I think the rose is there.
I’ve done DC, and NYC, for decades that was me, listening, seeing. I was not unheard, or ignored. I was used, burnt, and used again. I volunteered. After early 1977 nothing I saw or heard was published. Not photograph, not a word, until Open Salon in 2009.
Obama. Eight years of mostly fair winds for me, working a good portion of the country, and for the first time since Carter, feeling better about home.
A swan song, maybe. I’m not sure. I listen, I feel. I see. I see E as five and O as 15, but that’s just me, the person. I don’t expect anyone to see what I see. I also see five as E and 15 as O.
I was killing fish for a living at fourteen, asea, covered with blood, following orders, mostly. I chose other work, and followed orders, mostly...Until I had the choice to give orders too, and I eventually opted for none of the above.
I listen, I peck away, I’m happier than I ever was. I don’t give or take orders, I volunteer. Me the person is a product of our MIC, grateful to have survived the process of becoming a survivor of that process.
I don’t peck away for the MIC, or the shut down government, their toy. I don’t peck for the haters or deluded masses. I peck for the fish, who I murdered without remorse, who have no voice, but listen, like the rest of creation that has so far survived humanity. I hear those fish as I saw them on my lap the moment I removed their guts, many decades ago. They have questions. I try to answer them, wouldn’t you?