Writing: Observation Deck

Citizen’s Charter
In times of human error and apparent divine abandon, providing for the general welfare may in mission, action, and purpose lay in the hands of the populace. Where strife will surmount every act of good will and defense of civil justice, each citizen need be charged with the yoke and burden of protecting, insulating and stabilizing the national infrastructure, till said time that the federal government is confident and prepared to return to its function as a protectorate, benefactor, and interpreter of civil good.
Making objections to policy is not a suggestion of substitution for current government practice; it is a call to mind and it encouragements, not arms. The act is a good will offering in the stead of protecting our lives and hand built investments. Goals set are to reestablish a national climate that once preserved the sanity of poorer classes. With this act and question we commit to bolstering the foundations of our economy by securing the fruits of the environment, nay infrastructure which we have become entangled and grown symbiotically with over centuries. As the climate in social, political and cultural waves turns and branches so we live and die in its life. Taking charge of securing life and artifact when and if our government fails to tend and take steerage at well side and ocean fare, in the stead of a democratic republic, taking umbrage is not enough. Taking to arms may be too much. Sailing and scaling the divide to reunite desperate parts and opening older byways may help us all find shelter in the coming storm.
When water runs the hills for centuries and finally chooses not to feed our lakes and streams, we cannot pause for sorrow and prayer. Action is the only choice. Dying of thirst in a land called our own is not acceptable. Even the slightest thirst must be quenched even if by digging deep into a shifting water table with bar hands. Where ever the watershed, we will learn to supplant the growing crops, the peering towers, and healthy living for the sake of survival and longevity. If the day water no longer flows in the creeks and streams, preparing for action is all that separates us from death. Be ready.

Fluted Frog, Esq.

---

4/15/2015

Part II is being written. Slowly, but is is in the works.

Thanks for the interest,

Fluted Frog, Esq.

Walking Two Worlds

Draft:(Freessay..Thanksgiving  for Maximillian)

There is often a upturned lip, a scoff or a lowering eye behind downturned glasses from this woman. When you sit at this angle of the dinner table with the someone elses great-grandma’s rolls making the distance even further. Understand, neither one of us is related to this great grandmother. And I know the resentment in me is that I’ll never know my own blood for true. Substitutions like white vinegar and milk for buttermilk get made in my family. I take on and attach myself to someone blood kin like flies t molasses, enjoying the stickness of emotinoal interplay and taking the remanants of sweet stickness should I leave and fly to solitary shores. When you opt in to some one elses family by friendship, by neighborly kindness or by in-laws yo uhave an ability to become involved or not. There is a careful distance and some modicum of objectivity you can keep, where withyour own, you can easily lose your head. I want to know where my great grandma’s roll recipes are. I want to know where all those invitations to my blood family’s house went. Or where there none?

Can me strange, call me schizoid, call me eccentric if you want to. Still when I figured out that I could trace genealogy but what people cook, I never understood the complexity of it all. Well, rather how important it was. If you as a researcher have only one minor scrap of connection to an event. Can you recreate a whole world view from it? Some look at genealogy as a pin prick of blood on a swab. I balk. Too many reference to the movie Gattica run through my brain. Too many time hurting over not being able to give a blood transfusion. Too much shock at knowing blood magic is the most dangerous magic to practice. Besides, a computer print out of what family tree I might tap into does my nerves no justice. Read an entry in some dustry tomb in the library gives me no peace. How the hell does any of this relate to me? What’s the connection? How can my ancestry point me in any direction besides who has what propensity for a genetic disease? Or where is the hidden inheritance and can I tap into JP Morgan fortune? Blood tracings like that irk me. There is something so clinical, dishonorable and devoid of care in collection, that is turns my stomach. When a former mentor told me about reading peoples blood, I was fascinated. She, this mentor is part native american and was trained in some techniques. For instance, she can build and run a sweat lodge from scratch. She told me that she started out as a water bearer and worked her way up in each skill. Selecting the stones and findingth right spot where willows (?) cross to build the lodge. Anyway. She told me about the night her blood was read by another tribal woman. Told her who and where her ancestors where from. Even down to the features on her face from what I am guessing. From the smell no less, the color I guess and what ever the skill great spirit gave her. Needless to say. I honor blood by keeping it in my body.

I decided to go further, I started tracing my intellectual heritage. Where does what I believe and my habits come from? Little things like what I ate triggered a thought of whatever my genes may have a tendency towards health wise. While recipes that have been passed down for generations would tell me what groups of people my families lived with, what area of the country did the ingredients come from. Its like living in wisconsin and eating great great pawpaw peacan pie recipe in the dead of winter while your familyhas been in the north allegedly since the Mayflower. Considering Pecan Pie is a southern delicacy you gotta wonder where g.g.pawpaw was and what he was doing. Especially if you meet your distant mulatto cousin from Corpus Christi, Texas who looks exactly like you. hmm.

One thing that got me going was remember ing cooking in the kitchen with my Grandfather, maternal. Clearly, he being a diabetic meant there where things that we were not going to eat. Eating a whole McRib, large fries, large coke at age 7 is unhealthy. That is all I am sayin. But what are grandparents for, but to spoil grandchildren? Granddad made succotash. I started researching succotash and found out it was a Amish and native American dish. Fried bologna cut in the shape of a Matese Cross umm.. Grandad’s involvement in World War II. I know bologna comes from Italy, but I never remember granddad eating italian. I have other things to think over with his style of army like cooking (Though I found out he was in the navy(YES!) from these papers I found on ancestry.com.). Thinking it through, helped me to understand the type of person he was and where he grew up. Maybe at somepoint everybody gets over there levels of selfishness and want to know about someone else(i.e. begining to truly love). This way I get to know my relatives in hindsight giving me foresight. One of my greatest joys was researching the Siouan tribes, which Lakota is one. Santee is another. I had memorize five and their locations, but I’ll remember another day. Blackfoot is also a Siouan tribe, I got curious and began looking at thier religious beliefs I was warmed in my heart when I read the same thing I hold true secretly in the quiet of night and after people turn their heads from me. Secretly held truths in the smile in me soul that I did not want to share. I dreaded the day when some one says prove your native american. You ain’t nothin. You just want some of that casino money like the rest of them there blankity blank blanks. I did work at a cherokee casino once. (Bear with me.) I was living on a farm and getting closer with nature. I asked Great Spirit for help in the form of a job. That is where I got lead. I was thankful then and am now.

 

~The Underground Librarian

If I was a spy (II)

If I was a spy, I’d be a crafty one indeed.

I would be the southwest talent that passed secrets from Corpus Christi to Mandala down through the jungles of the Mozambique to arrive at the table of the resistance… Any resisitance really. For to be a spy like Humphrey Bogart, an American Mercenary in the Spanish American war, it is about championing and furthering the cause without delay. So I would have to be sure to stay on top of my inbox. Delivering secrets is a business the post office is in, I must learn to do better at cheaper rates. Hah! Take a lesson from the pony express. In truth they did not lose I would say. They just delivered a more secure package a different way.

If I where a spy I’d be a crafty postman indeed.

I would not deliver the goods ever single time, but have multiple channels of delivery and packaging. Taking the most important message from my inbox, because it is not always “first in, first out” for me, I would carefully seal in in fusible web and embed it secure in layers of fabric. Only to arrive in the deserts of Oman as a package from your estranged auntie in America still loves you. Merry Christmas it still gets cold in the dust. A quilt with the directions inside and the key codes embroidered on the outside. If I where a spy I would give great attention to detail.

If I where a spy I send packages with love, every holiday that the U.S. Governemnt sends down from above. If I where a spy, I would still say I love you, but not have to fly to Russia to stage a bomb or two. If I where a spy it would be all about delivery on time and once more I wouldn’t shout about the mail is here and be of good cheer before we through the day old bread out (with the file).

I’d leave the package under the mat but Headquarters front door, because I am brave like that and once more,

 if I where I spy I’d only be on time once a year, so please don’t synchronize your watches and check the setting sun. I am often late by the institutions watch, and each second gone has saved my life in the past. To go with the flow my time would be my own, I guess I would have to be a rogue and and be on my own. ‘cept the day some HQ likes the cookies and offers me a chance at a bigger kitchen.

Tell me. How do you sew a Lorna Doone into a patchwork quilt and not have it crumble? Read it like tea leaves, but isn’t it all in the way the cookie crumbles?

I always wondered about cookies on computers and what they actually where. Do you get cookies whe you are good on the computer. Does some mainframe send you a recipe for a cocnut macaroon or almad delight and tuck it away in your computer? Are cookies redeemable at Best Buy with a glass of milk?

If I were a spy, I’d try to make you laugh while I escaped in the other direction.

If I were a Spy (I)

Draft:

If I were a spy, I wouldn’t have a care about my mother, my father or my former shamanic mentors. 

“Till you cut you finger, or had a booboo on your knee”, you say. “And you’d whine when the band aid was pulled off the heal”

No, not even then. If I were a spy, the first route I’d try is to be cold hearted and frigid in bed. In fact I wouldn’t let a single soul come near me. I’d be too afraid I’d blow my own cover and ruin the opportunity for another payoff. Of course you see a job is still a job. Bills are eternal. Eviction is an eventuality. Of course this would make me a hardshelled spy only in for the cash. Whoops! That would make me more aking to a hitman. I would rather take more pride and clever impishness in my work than a cut and dry transaction. Though if I were a spy, starting out, maybe I should start simple and work my way up the ladder. Is there such a thing in spydom? A ladder that is. Hmm, I never quite thought there would be too much organization to it. Even Sean Connery and Kiefer Southerland seemed to have an independent maverick character. They make the rules that they follow and everyone else adjust to them. But those characters work for government entities. Hmm. back to not having a care about relatives. How can you maintain your cover as a spy in front of people who know you (supposedly) that well. If your parents can sniff sex out on you on your sixteenth birthday (no that that was me. Just an illustration) how the hell can you expect to hide the sharpshooter you left out of the case in the bathroom. Well, if I was a spy, I’d have to carefully choose a weapon for depense and maybe another for attack. hmmm. The first few years actually would be easy keeping a low profile from family and mentors, we don’t share that much anyway. I’m sure the whole “scene” would consume my time, but maybe, just maybe to flipthe switch and be someone else for a little while. Ah. Bugger. If I wer a spy.. would I have two personas? One in the job and another around unsuspecting friends? Would I have multiple masks? One for every situation and person? Hmm.. maintaining a mild manner quiet clark kent profile by not saying much, just might do the trick. hmmm..

If I were a spy..

the first type I’d be, professionally of course, is a corporate spy. I’d work for RJ Nabisco in the cookies division. I steal every biscuit recipe ever put to paper. I’d even fly to Jaipur and harrass the mango growers for a new ingredients. Bribe little old grandmas and aunties just in time for Black Friday. The principle is just like the Bush beans commercial in a way. Where the dog knows how to get to the secret recipe. Betcha Tom Cruise couldn’t get in that vault for all the hanging upsidedown in Mission Impossible movies. So, I’ve amassed all these recipes and receipts. If I were c-o-o-p-e-r-a-t-i-v-e I would give over the recipes and get my daily paycheck.. But no… I am a spy of course! Double agent, working for myself. I keep the real recipe and give Nabisco an altered version. With all the money I made from cat burglary in a previous life and a SBA loan, I’ll open up my own company and go into production to put Mrs. Field’s out of business. Of course will my company is building,I’ll go to reduced status at RJ Nabisco and return my sights on my spydom. I’ll go for a step up in spy heirarchy and hire my services out. Meanwhile I’ll have to make my first government hit, just for street cred…. Tack Biscuits. (:))