I’ve done it!
I am the old New York born Majority Whip United States Army Navy USJFSOC SEAL Ranger Commodore Biologist Senator from Alaska. And yet, despite my supreme rank and awesome power; to win favor with the Federal and State Legislatures and staffs, Military, military industrial, Departmental, and civilian corporate CEO’s who answer to my STRIGIFORM SCIENTIFIC corporation; I shall forevermore get down and dig: rocks, dirt, and equine feces, as I fell, spud and hew timbers for pit sawyering planks, braces, posts and beams into timber construction elements; prior to steam bending snaths and honing chines. Whereupon: I shall reap.
I use the crosscut saw and my upright double bass bow for music that gets me pumped for the splitting maul and peavy work necessary to cook my venison gruel and heat the timber frame camp barrack. I’ve built and raised my abode alone on this mountain top with square and combo, tapes, dividers, auger brace, chisel, rawhide hammer, my unleaded morticer and carving bar husky, axes and adze, etcetera.
My Trapdoor Springfield Saint, with it’s agency operative entrenchment tool, along with my geologist axe, a folding shovel, and an iron bar, helped me set the cornerstones, then marine line, along with a three/two sheave block and tackle, a pow-r-puller, and a vector re-direct pulley raised the structure with gin and derrick saplings. I run the trail to this place in Danner zips with tools and rope in my pack in order to warm up for Olympic lifts with the 7’ bar and bumper plates that have been packed in. Light days make requisite such as the clean and military press. It takes time to reach the mountain top. Perhaps someone should get in with me.
I keep bourbon and cigars in a humidor with a neat double in a rocks glass, evaporating, sealed in that walnut box, fireside. Most of the bourbon is in a Ming vase and a lab cork seals in the ethanol, but I test it periodically with a brix refraxometer that converts for use in the alpine limnology experimentation. A fly stand and a .410 help us catch fish with leucocephalus.
I eat freedom fries for breakfast. Quand je mange le pomme de terre frit julienne avec purée du tomat du jardin et vineguerre; je suis vaux mon sel. Salu!
If necessary, I’ll bend the imposed temporal reality of the media industrial complex, it being so contemporaneous to the NYATL now, and I’ll tell the tale of the eternal aspects of our cowboy culture from Oklahoma to Boston and San Francisco… lore of Paul Bunyon, the Lone Ranger and Tanto, and of Rip Van, who remembered serving George. We’ll remember rustling the levitical cloven hooved bovidae towards and onto the ’62 Pacific Line, bound more frequently for Manhattan than San Fran, and we’ll obtain Manhattan Slaughterhouse NY Strips that are as organic and sustainable as the organic liquid fossil carboniferous fuels of Mesopotamian North Arabia. As a side dish: Normand provincial truffled Russian fingerling potatoes and Missourai collard greens, sautéed in butter and olive oil with delicate Massachusetts fiddle head ferns, California sliced almonds and Connecticut cranberries added at just the right time. Mostly hickory. Some mesquite. I’ll also explain how and why we’ll be eating Maine lobster and steamer clams.
In fact, my leathers are from the old Boston of Massachusetts Bay, West of Quincy Market, where there’s an old shop on the Charles River that’s still there. It was built before the Quabbin valley was flooded with it’s cemeteries like Hetch Hetchy. The pipe is undoubtedly under the pike. Clean limnology is epidemiology.
In winter I ride the parched dry high desert near the Air Force Academy with Vermont woolens as a liner for my suit and a “flag of Columbia” cotton lining that has a Kudzu starched detaching high white collar. The iron for starching with Kudzu has a biblical “7” on it and sits on the potbelly that the pack horse saddlebags were for, before we shot the donkey. A Perry Massachusetts collar has always been a symbol of power. The breadboard makes it functional in gear. Such symbolic cotton was, after all, to Boston, like a minister’s black veil from when an officer wore a C. canadensis pelt felt tricorn with a quill plume and the Buckingham guards started with our black Ursus. Boston, Lowell and Biddeford never wanted to lose that power for themselves, or for London and Paris.
That was all before the Union era Indian campaign when the grizzly and the wolf and the crane were extirpated by New Yorkers like Bill Cody, along with the Sioux. Also, it was before the third Union campaign’s successful conquest of Spain.
My Rhode Island Plantation Gypsy silk tie is custom and tattered with age; and, rare since the moths escaped. In the scabbarded is a transit laser and tripod that’s like an Armillary sphere, and a pneumatic projector with telemetry system computers, telemetry collars and waterproof radio tags. It’s all satellite uplinked, even the silvicultural tags and database system that we adapted from the TAMU meat science ear tag veterinary research program.
…and my past master regalia is sterling silver and green from a Raji shop in Calcutta where a Dutch East India Company Lord lost a Mazaratti. I tend to meet people on the road.
The electric double bass breaks like my agency entrenchment 15 and stows with it in a pelican on the sissies with the loadout. A galvanized surplus ‘54 fat boy style springer with noise suppression pipes and knobbies rarely has scavenge rings or the compression for soy; never mind mixed with that volatile corn alcohol in interchangeable quantities. The pyrometer really guides my regulation of airflow and turbo engagement. Then again, I’ve yet to use the Pendleton roll on the bars.
Another pack in brought the blasting machine. It’s powerful enough to charge batteries or directly power the bass or the uplink. I get a lot of flack from the engineers for not being formulaic.
Incidentally, after UMass via Clemson, there was my 1998 diagnosis around the time I tried to get a CDL-A, when I was beginning to dream about logistical systems and epidemiology. I’ve since written about the Tarhe.
At the universities I meerly needed to follow the narrow black line in the psychotropic classical conditioning and sensory deprivation tank natatorium laboratory to gain 8 blazer sizes in three years. I win! Everything! Had there been dishonor, there was only seppuku and the oblivion of zen. It was motivational. Thus, there was only continuing… Never quitting! …Just keep digging! I have learned that different libraries can be different places.
And, I always try to remember that the weak, too old to ride, and those not psychotropicly conditioned by YALE psychiatry’s supreme dominion PhD OCS leadership school and “order of power”, which inducted me as mentioned in 1998, are ever cautious and perhaps dismiss just and true hubris as being megalomaniacal, delusional, and indicative of irrequisite malfeasance.
Yet, having reached my totalitarianist acme, my psychiatric ailments are now irrefutably a mere concocted “supreme dominion vantage” and, they need to become foundational to the hubristic and fantastical paradigmatic mantras of others. Thus, all souls whom are by my decree enveloped within the dominion mantras of these my now prescribed ideations, which I do hereby disseminate downward upon the collective intellect of the earth sapien population via my altitudinous reprogramming of NASA and NOAA, doth now at my command proceed in this quest fourthward as the 7 horsemen with the 7 trumpets in conquest of and in accordance to my purview; towards their glimmering service in pursuant fervor within the abject gravitas requisite for the vanquishment of the calamities and plagues within and beyond the Limitrophes of our quantum nation and faith.
And, from my precipice, you will hear this voice.