Of Forensics And Tillers…

There are days when I can roll with the punches.  Those days that come easy.  I can chuckle at things that on other days would get me fuming.  It’s down to me.  I guess.  Politics?  No, thanks.  Impending wars?  I’ll pass. Misdirection/Disinfo?  Had some yesterday.  It is like I have just been hand-waxed and these things roll off me like so many beading raindrops.  Then there are other times.  Other days.

Today is such a day.  A day when I’ve had enough of the lying on one side and fearful speculation on the other.  Get with the program. You are either with us or you are against us.
I guess you have guessed that this is going to be a ‘think piece’.  An introspective essay of the maudlin brand.  Well…yes and no.  

I have recently been revisiting the Firesign Theater.  For those of you not in-the-know about this group of four-or-five guys…well, you should be.  When my brain was forming and making all those new synapse paths, they helped create a few for me. I will be eternally grateful for that.  I always felt that without humor there is no truth.  They had both.  In spades.  But they are just an echo now…as indeed they were when in their heyday.  They were very ‘underground’ and had a select following.  Unless you ventured beyond tv and radio in its propagandizing infancy back then in the 60’s and 70’s, you were probably not aware of these ‘bozos’…or bosotros.  But many did the 50’s two or three times, then moved on to the new millennium without a thought. I won’t exclude them, or you, their descendents, here today.  On such a day. A day when I am tired of you.  You and your geeky lineage that didn’t pay attention when they should have.  But you are loveable knuckle-heads and I digress.
I am not on a mission to ‘wake people up’.  Let sleeping dogs lie…I say. It is nice to sleep in.  Of course you pay for it on that morning you were supposed to be doing something while you slumbered…but when you do have to make excuses and apologize for not hearing the alarm…still…you are so rested and ready.  Yes?

So when the world wakes up to the rogering they were getting as they dozed through the alarm…for those that rogered…well the proverbial shoe will drop.  Because, you see…the world is well rested and those that scurried around making a buck selling somnambulists are pretty weary from all their wheeling and dealing. But that’s as may be.  I tend to let things like that take care of themselves.  On such days.
As I alluded to up there, it is not my job to awaken the sleeping. They will get up in their own time.  I see myself, and the wiser of those voicing their opinions out here, as forensic specialists working for the prosecution.  I merely gather evidence for the eventual arrest and trial.  I have been awake far too long.  Going on half a century now.  I am tired.  But still building the case and placing it neatly in the file to submit.  It is not my place to arrest or question the perpetrators of these crimes that I investigate.  Here is the condom…here are the photos of your red anal sphincter…plenty of facts upon which to build a case…in your own time.  I tippy-toe as I do this.  I don’t wish to prematurely jostle this giant that dreams of a better time in which no cult has been taking advantage of unprotected orifices.  That giant will need all the strength it can muster…and the power and enthusiasm required will come from the recharged body and mind.  And make no mistake.  It is coming. 

It will be an open-and-shut case.  When it comes to trial.  Because the tribe has not slept either.  Along with we that watch them…they too have gone without rest.  They are as tired as us.  Believe it.

I know a guy that, as a hobby, is totally refurbishing a roto-tiller.  When it was new, it wasn’t top-of-the-line by any means.  A rather inexpensive model.  But when my friend got it, it was for all intents and purposes, a worn-out hunk of rust. 

He sees it as his raisin-detre to make it run and look like new.  No, actually, better than new.  He has meticulously disassembled it, removed all oxidation, repacked bearings, straightened bent parts, repainted and replaced hardware…improving original design where he can.  He has even ordered new decals for the finished product.  He is obsessive about this project.  An otherwise normal intelligent man has become addicted to this renewal of a merely functional piece of rather disposable garden machinery.  But one of which the original designers were proud, I’m sure.  He has no need of a tiller.  He doesn’t even have a garden.  He works quietly by himself on nights and weekends…when he should be resting.  He will finish it someday soon.  I like that.  When he is finished…he will not use it.  

That is for someone else.  I can identify with this type of behaviour.  It is needed.  I do it here to the best of my ability.  Neither of us care who uses it in the future.  When we are finished. We know it will be utilized.  But we will present it to posterity and the fruits of our dogged labour will be required.  We will build it knowing that others will need it.  On a day such as this.  When gardens need tilling; when prosecutors close their winning cases and the punishments begin.

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2 thoughts on “Of Forensics And Tillers…

  1. weaving tidbits of utlitarianism, logic and faith is a sure sign of a pure heart…glad your brain is functioning in the self preservation mode…in the final analysis..it really is simple math.seems a chorus is joining in, with the six string ochestra…keen observations…Thanks

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