I’m thinking of some simpler time where you don’t throw away blenders, cell phones, VCR’s…where there isn’t a culture of planned obsolescence. Where there aren’t superstores, frozen yogurt or radial tires; instead, tell stories, own a goat, go for a walk. If you go too fast, you crash, you die. Finis…that’s Latin. Simple…”
by troy dockins
I’m thinking of some simpler time…where I wouldn’t sit at a computer and write meaningless tripe to no one in particular, where my words would have meaning and where I am on the hunt for literary meat. Instead I sit and type.
I’m thinking of some simpler time…where I wouldn’t hop in my car with it’s complex fuel injection system and commute to my workplace with its computer, where I compose offal that no one wants to read. Instead, why can’t I walk to work, armed with a stone knife and a loincloth, killing dog and roasting it over a small fire? Because I’d be arrested. It doesn’t seem fair.
I’m thinking of some simpler time where the inner mechanics of a wristwatch are unnecessary and unimaginable. Where, when the sun rises; I rise…where the sun sets, I drink beer. And not some beer out of a can, with its pop-top and its dangerous sharp metallic edges, but a beer that has fermented naturally, on its own, in Belgium, near monks in a remote mountain abbey, in a puddle on the ground. I lap at it like a dog; prone, naturally.
I’m thinking of some simpler time where economic difficulty does not exist…sure there are other difficulties; like skin parasites, guys that are way bigger and beat you up and take all the women, no toilet paper, toothaches, and the ever present risk of being mauled by a bear or something. But at least you don’t have to live paycheck to paycheck driving a 10-year-old car and watching your budget.
I’m thinking of some simpler time where there aren’t 80 different ointments you can rub on your ass…a time where you’d mash up leaves and medicinal herbs in your mouth until they became a healing poultice and spread them on thick. Where even if you die because you chewed up something poisonous, at least that ass rash feels better and maybe someone learned from your mistake.
I’m thinking of some simpler time where you needn’t be bothered with trivialities like manners and proper behavior. Where you could eat with your fingers, like in India; or you could burp or fart with impunity, like in high school; where if you had a scratch, you itched it.
I’m thinking of some simpler time where there aren’t machines with gears, pulleys, stupilators, and buckbooster transformers. Where computers don’t need to be always faster, ever smaller. Give me a big old stick and let me hit someone. Dig a hole and call it good. Drive a hard bargain. Sell the cow. Get back to basics!
I’m thinking of some simpler time where you don’t throw away blenders, cell phones, VCR’s…where there isn’t a culture of planned obsolescence. Where there aren’t superstores, frozen yogurt or radial tires; instead, tell stories, own a goat, go for a walk. If you go too fast, you crash, you die. Finis…that’s Latin. Simple.
I’m thinking of a simpler time where you don’t have to read the New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and the National Enquirer each day, every day. Where you don’t need subscriptions to Time, Newsweek, US News & World Report, and the Nation. Where endless analysis and interpretations are the norm, where you don’t need to speak English, French, German, Russian, Spanish, Hebrew, Japanese, Malay, Chinese and Navajo just to get a job at McDonalds or Burger King or Wendy’s or Carl’s Jr. or Taco Bell. Just Latin and you’re self-employed. If you want to know what’s going on you gut a cat and look at its entrails, or maybe a horse if you need to know more than the usual amount.
I’m thinking of a simpler time where I only have to count to 10, or 9 if I lost a finger…19 or 20 tops! Not 37! Or 1003! Or a google! Or infinity! I don’t want fractions…round off! Or geometry, or statistics, or quantum physics or particle accelerators; give me the haunch of a wildebeest, or the liver of the bison! Let me hunt! My belly is full, that’s math. I am nature, hear me roar.
I’m thinking of a simpler time where the earth is the center of the universe, where the ocean is big and scary, where I can be top dog, a big fish in a little pond. I don’t want to contemplate the vastness of space, theorize about relativity, create god in my own image, or seek to know the unknowable. I’ll take a rock and fashion a tool, scrape a hide, invent the needle, rebuild a carburetor. Forget it.
I’m thinking of a simpler time where if you get sick you die; where if you get hurt, you’re lame. A time where you can’t take a pill to get a hard-on, where you have 7-13 kids and you die in your 20’s. Where if you have a hump, you’re a freak; if you’re born at 6 months they don’t incubate you. A place where suffering is a way of life, and comfort is for the birds. Don’t cure me anymore, let come what will. No more antibiotics, penicillin, or sulfa. Let’s hurt a little. Don’t suffer me the little children; let the little children suffer. If I get eviscerated, I want people to say, “Bummer”.
I’m thinking of a simpler time where animals aren’t domesticated. Where cows, pigs, horses, chickens and dogs are a clear and present danger. Where Fido does bite the hand that feeds him. A time where you can shit where you eat, sure you might get sick and die but that’s what freedom’s all about. I want to do what I want…if it doesn’t meet with your approval, tough.
I’m thinking of a simpler time when you didn’t have to follow endless sets of rules like the Ten Commandments. Where you can covet stuff and you don’t have to honor your father. Sure, I’m a father and I’d like a little honor now and then, but that’s another story. I want honor ‘cause I earned it, not because of some damned stone rulebook. And I generally don’t steal, lie or covet…but if I do, I don’t want to feel all guilty about it, y’know?
Well, I’m about done. In looking back I’m kinda thinking that maybe I’m being a bit extreme. But see! That’s the problem, due to the complexity of my world I’m second-guessing myself again. I want to live with my choices. No more express lanes, one-hour photos, or In ‘n’ Out Burgers (even though those things seem pretty simple?) Damn!
Troy Dockins surfs waves and blogs here: Surf In Oregon