people in motion

On a velocipede, or bicycle, a person is a largely independent entity beholden to few others. The velocipedist drags himself across the phaltscape (or asphalt landscape) by pumping a crank with his legs in order to move a thin chain across a series of skinny gear wheels. Beyond the maker of his smog-sled, he interacts only occasionally with replacement parts manufacturers. In order to commute across the face of the Earth, he requires neither filling station nor foreign oil; he has use for neither computer diagnostic tool nor power-train warranty; he spends his money on things other than monthly finance charges, oil changes, state inspections, and car washes; he is one person in motion whose mobility hinges on his ability to balance on a pair of rubber tires and to keep his head on a swivel.

Let us briefly consider, however, the operator of a motor-vehicle, or car. In order for her to move herself across the phaltscape, she needs prospectors, wildcatters, pipeline inspectors, ship captains and crews, deep-bore drill operators, indigenous security forces, foreign policy wonks, navies, supply-chain logistics specialists, fueling-station clerks, unleaded-gasoline delivery drivers, brake-line hose manufacturers, industrial robot maintenance engineers, TIG welding specialists, and many others; in order for her to stay in motion, a thousand other people need to be in motion; her mobility hinges upon all elements of a ridiculously complex system working together in perfect harmony, a thousand different people all doing their job with precision, care, and diligence.

On the one hand, the driver who fills up her car with gasoline keeps the money flowing to a thousand different persons working in a hundred different places; her actions grease the wheels of the global economy and tighten the bonds between peoples; her dependency on the pump, her slavery to the self-propelled chariot, fills the pockets of armies of workers around the globe. On the other hand, however, oil and its derivatives are a dirty business that relies on the burning of a useful and valuable resource; their production and removal taint the groundwater and the soil of any region where they are found; their sale has made the autocratic leaders of oppressive regimes – persons who support and finance terrorism – fantastically rich. The driver's mode of transportation leads to war and pollution, while that of the cyclist promotes self-sufficiency, healthful living, and peaceful interaction with both Nature and neighbor. Free yourself from that self-propelled glass and steel prison; mount a velocipede, today.

mentiri factorem fecit © 場黑麥

on nature's nightly light-show

During these muggy days of summer, when the sun has set and the bats have emerged to hunt, thousands of bioluminescent insects put on a fascinating and free light-show. I do not really see it unless I stand for a while in the bowl of the valley and let my eyes adjust to the darkness; then, however, I realize that nearly every available surface – from the low grasses to the tops of the highest trees – has been taken over by lightning bugs.

Granted, the bugs do not produce the lung-thumping boom of fireworks, their lights are less bright than, say, roman candles, and they generate hardly any unnecessary light or air pollution, but for all of their apparent shortcomings these tiny insects, when occupying a stand of trees in sufficient number, are far more impressive than even the most magnificent and expensive Fourth of July fireworks display. The show they put on is so dazzling, so mesmerizing, that I must often force myself out of my trance-like state and continue on to the small tent by the creek in which I sleep most hot nights. To my knowledge, there is no rhyme or reason to these insects' flashings, no clear-cut code as far as I have been able to see, only thousands of randomly-timed pinpricks of white light winking on and off in the dark and shadowy gloom of the trees in which they sit. Concert-goers in a blacked-out sports stadium will all try to take a picture of the headlining band when it finally mounts the stage; the efforts of these little bugs have a similar visual effect, but to my knowledge their luminescent signaling is a means to the end of getting laid, while a concert-goer's flashings are little more than proof of his foolish exuberance and having forgotten to properly adjust his camera.

So, this week during which we Americans celebrate the date upon which our nation issued the most important document in the history of mankind, don't waste your money on Chinese-made fireworks – wait until it is dark and then go stare at a tree.

場黑麥 mentiri manufactorem fecit