Parables Preclude Any Final Word

Rumble, grumble. Bumble, fumble. Oh, hell, add stumble. Rehearsal should follow reflection, and then reflect some more. Call it trepidation, unsaid as much as unknown. Commitment or fixation cannot preclude the wonder of wandering. I'll trip past my typos like shoelaces untied while others take note. And, please do. It's just that I won't answer should you comment. There is a vast difference between oblivious and overwhelmed. And I am neither, or rather, not wholly, but both. Ain't we all?

OK, it works like this:

I had an idea a few years back, on which I followed through, pissing on a thistle everyday until it died. Except we had to go away for a week before I had killed it off. And when I came back home, it was completely brown. Now, even though it worked, I was a tad upset. See, I had been videotaping the process, and I couldn't very well go out there and tape the dead plant when the last footage I had had it still green. So, I started another project, this time on bedstraw, a most pernicious weed. For over three weeks I peed on that tangle, finally knocking it back to a point that showed progress. But there was still alive stuff showing in the frame. Cute, but not perfect.

Some time passed. Seven years to be exact, and I tried it again on a thistle about thirty-inches tall. Every day I pissed on that thistle, only to watch it grow larger and larger, and getting more and more flower heads on it. And the larger it grew, the closer in to it I had to get with my exposed peeny. Pretty risky, let me tell you! The flowers started blooming when the plant reached six foot, and I was faced with a choice: Continue to pee away, knowing full well that the flowers would mature and spread seed all over the field, or chop it down. Well, I continued to pee, and in fact increased my frequency, and the thing grew another six inches and started spewing.

Funny story: That first thistle way back when? I was filming one day and when finished, pecker still out, I happened to look up to see a van full of female Jehovah's Witnesses in our drive. Ain't been back since.

Lest one begin to think I am... wait for it... fixated on my member...

It might be fair to say that if I am not, at one point in my life, I was more so.

It's never cut and dry.

Yessir/ma'am, I cut that thistle, my indulgence, down to a nub. And then I went around the rest of the place looking for other thistles, took the machete to them as well, and buried the lot under a pile of mule turds. Now, everything depends on my industry. If I turn the pile, compost; and if not, fertilized.

But the day is not without reward:

I take joy in black, muddy boogers on a cloudy day
noting the buzzard didn't take the day off either,
even if it means flapping a bit more.
Hey!
I got some mowed-over voles
and who knows what else for you down here!
Better come get them before the crows do!



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