Chillingly Beautiful – Western Mass III

Western Massachusetts is a chillingly beautiful region where creativity comes from blood. -M. Taggart.

Springfield-MA
June 01, 2011 Tornado, Springfield, MA was home to a devastating tornado. I remember watching this image live. I’m sure many remember the same. Photo credit Brewbeer22.

 

Church
This church, located in Gill MA, has been the structure for nightmares for many youthful adventurers. Including myself.
Turners
Turners Falls Indians. As a teenager I was called a river rat. I told them proudly, ‘No. I am a Turners Falls Indian.’

 

Sunderland
Sunderland, MA. Autumn is here. Visit Route 47 and enjoy. You’ll find great views, restaurants, and a number of small farms offering apple cider and maple sugar. After graduating from the School of Management at UMass Amherst I enjoyed living in this town for a number of years. Photo credit John Burk.
brimmfield
A tornado can’t last in the mountains. They can. They will. This is the same June 1st, 2011 tornado that started in Springfield, MA. The tornado was on the ground for over 30 miles. Photo credit wellfleetosprey.com

 

turners mills
Turners Falls, MA. I feel admiration for the structure that was. And for the town. It’s simple when we let it be. I can’t get enough of these old mill pictures. Photo credit WWLP.

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this, you might enjoy my short story. Cheers.

Odd Walking Thoughts – Warning. Adult.

Let me be clear. We’re a nation of pussy’s. That’s not hard to understand. I grew up thinking people around me were too afraid to be themselves, or too afraid not to be. I watched as adults pussy footed around issues like fucking their neighbor which caused a divorce and the kids were lucky enough to be lied to. Mother’s fucked colleagues and had children outside of wedlock, yet didn’t tell the family. It’s a great way to live, to be too much of a cunt to tell your family you‘re a slut. Oh wait., I shouldn’t be writing like this. The PC police tells me what to do and how to act. Then again, I never did care. Our nation is filled with pussy’s who are too afraid to speak exactly how they’d like. I’m not one of them. Fuck off. -And fathers fucked every nice ass they could and we knew because our mothers told us. You can’t hold a job when you’re drunk and fuck. Yet the same mouths that preached this were sucking off their boss because they thought it would never be known. It’s like the fucking church showing young boys how to handle the full blow erection the priest had. Oh, that bother you? Good it bothers me too. I’ve been holding off a while now. I really shouldn’t. People are boring and the worst that’ll happen is nothing. I’ve never been anything but me. Cheers.

The Longest Stairway – Odd Walking Thoughts

It was the longest stairway. Its length ran from the sky to lower than the ground. Constructed of granite; its origin is unkown. We descended, lower than the clouds. Here we found the steps now hung ragged; we were alone. We could no longer be lead lower than the ground. We asked the wind, ‘How do we reach our place?’ The wind howled and crumbled more of our footing.

Safe Doesn’t Count – Odd Walking Thoughts

Look how safe we are. The key turns then the lights are on.  The belt is placed around us and the child is in the back seat. It’s the most safe place to be. The doctors say not to eat red and also not to drink. The church tells us to love God and to know him best we can.  The sinner says we can’t know him unless we take what he has.  Then we know too much and God forgot to tell them the rest of the story. The key turns then the lights are on. It’s a safe vehicle. The child watches as the safe vehicle pulls from the drive and then the child closes the door.  The child is now alone with the ones who thought of creating the safe vehicle. The sinner is upstairs waiting to show.

Bones of Nothing – Odd Walking Thoughts

You can have one structure, but not one thought.  You can do this and there can be many. It’s not church. Though, it may be church and they may say much. If this structure has a home and the home is you and you have many, it’s fine. This happens. It’s not often we get to speak about this, but here we are, collectively, and working. If the structure were a set of bones, and we dug them, and studied them we’d see little.  When will this stop.

Musings – Thanks to Steinbeck. He’s fucking good.

Time doesn’t exist. Thoughts do. In Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath I’m reminded of my opinion of Time.

Walk in my mental hallway a moment. Below is an excerpt from The Grapes of Wrath published in 1939.

“For a moment she hesitated uncertainly. “Well,” she said quickly, “why ain’t you prayin”? You’re a preacher, ain’t you?”

Casy’s strong fingers blundered over to Grandpa’s wrist and closed around it. “I tol’ you, Granma. I ain’t a preacher no more.”

“Pray anyway,” she ordered. “You know all the stuff by heart.”

“I can’t” said Casy. “I don’t know what to pray for or who to pray to.”

This is significant to me. This book was published in 1939. The great depression had destroyed family bonds attached to land that never ought to have been taken from them. What stands out the most within this small sample is Casy’s struggle with his faith. In this book, Casy, had been a preacher. His line, ‘I don’t know what to pray for or who to pray to.’ Rings as loudly now as it did then. And, I’m sure, was among the reasons this book was banned at one time.

I’m not done.

Man-vs-Man. We all know this, along with Man-vs-Nature, etc within writing. Not two pages later Steinbeck put this thought to paper helping it to live on forever.

“Pa said softly, “Grampa buried his pa with his own hand, done it in dignity, an’ shaped the grave nice with his own shovel. That was a time when a man had the right to be buried by his son an’ a son had the right to bury his own father.”

“The law says different now,” said Uncle John.”

Again, published in 1939. Do you see? Here’s what I see. Forget the man-vs-man shit, I’m seeing humans. I’m seeing people having the same thoughts over and over and over. A friend of mine might say, “What’s the country coming to? When I was a kid I…things aren’t like they use to be…The Laws Are Different Now.”

Really? Are you sure? Let’s play pretend. Let’s say that my friend who complained about the country was 38. Let’s say my friend stopped their education at 18 and seldom read. Let’s pretend that my friend didn’t start to have an awakening of the mind until 26 which helped them to actually see the world around them for what it truly is. In this theory, my friend has been an individual thinker for twelve years.

Steinbeck has given us a glimpse into the past with his thoughts. Some of his thoughts are the same thoughts many of us have now. It’s possible another fifty years will pass and I’ll be saying thing’s like the characters in Steinbeck’s book. I doubt it. I think I’d rather prompt the individual probing my mental hallway to read a fucking book.