courage to trash

For the last couple of weeks, this author has been reopening and sorting through the piles of boxes left behind by his deceased parents. This is the third time he is handling the detritus; the first time was shortly upon becoming an orphan after his father's death, when he had put every loose thing in the house into boxes in preparation for selling the place; and the second time was two years after the old drinker had ceased breathing, when it seemed likely that both of his siblings would acquiesce to jettisoning the property. He is glad that he is going back through the boxes, now, four years later, because he has gained the courage to get rid of stuff that has a bit of sentimental but no great monetary value. A dozen years have passed since his mother died, and he has finally reached a point where he is OK with throwing out most of the trinkets she might have ever touched, most of the papers she might have handle; they have lost the binding pull of grief, the sharp edge of loss. Finally, he is able to differentiate between things that are superfluous and those that really matter, such as her drawings and paintings, her wood-block prints and hand-knitted shawls. Oh, but where to put all this valuable stuff once it has been separated from the chaff and this house is no longer ours? Does it get shoved into a storage locker or into the basement of someone else's house? These are questions for another time. For whatever it's worth , this author has done his part in the painful process, said his goodbyes, and sorted out those few things he would truly like to hold onto; now, it is up to the others to take the time to repeat the sorting process on their own, to look through these trifling treasures, to take what things they want, and to burn or toss the rest. Catharsis lies in letting go, in clearing out the cluttered mind, in saying clearly Yes or No, and dealing with what's left behind. Aho.

mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥

on trashing Mother

Please, patriotic citizens of America, please take a moment, at some point during the day today, to consider just how much we litter in this land. For all of the bluster and fuss about everyone being patriotic and waving flags and hanging them from cars and homes and businesses, we show great disrespect, even outright hatred, for the motherland – she who is fair Columbia – by disposing of our trash in inappropriate places. Fast food cups fill meadows and ditches; plastic take-home containers tumble in breezes; and our parks and forests are strewn with waste large and small, tin cans and candy wrappers and all sorts of other items discarded carelessly and without a moment's humble consideration. To claim patriotism is a poor and hollow substitute for acting in such a way as to cause as little harm, and as little disruption, to the natural condition of the many wild areas with which we as a People are blessed. (It is a unbearably shameful that we stole these lands from the First People tribes who lived here first, and that we murdered them gleefully and treated them as if they were worth less than beasts, but that is beside the point of this article.)

Beyond the more visible forms of litter, the byproducts created by the explosion of gasoline inside a car's engine – particulate matters, soots, and noxious gases – are all forms of litter; therefore, it is important for everyone who is capable to ride a bicycle and to avoid driving as much as possible. The true patriot does everything in her power to minimize the harm her actions cause the motherland; just as she would not stuff handfuls of empty candy-bar wrappers into her biological mother's vagina, so she does not toss them heedlessly into her local rivers. Just as she would not douse her birth-mom with a gallon of spent engine-oil, so she avoids dumping any fluids other than water directly into the curb-side drainage pipe.

It would seem, perhaps, that this article covers things that people already know, that it would be unthinkable to imagine that there are individuals in this land who are such tremendous assholes that they would pour our their waste, discard their trash, and flick their cigarettes butts onto the first available natural surface, but it is true. We are a nation of individuals seduced by the notion of a false convenience, tricked by advertisers, pastors, and politicians into thinking that our daily actions do not amount to much, that things shall soon get better. America is great because of industrious, positive individual effort, but our negative, careless individual efforts are costing her dearly, and leaving her stained, tainted, and diseased. So, please, dear friends, please pack out anything you pack in, leave your surroundings better than they were when you found them, and nourish a love for Mother earth as vast as is the love you feel for yourself.

場黑麥 mentiri factorem fecit