Freedom Part 2 "Our Public Lands"

Public lands – i.e. BLM land, national forests, national parks and wilderness areas or lands owned by the public. public lands definition

What do public lands mean to me, and to us, as a country? Our public lands are one of the things that guarantees our freedom. Without publicly owned lands and the right to use then whenever we choose, we become just a bunch of peasants because only the richest people are able to use and benefit from the land.

Think back to the times of feudal systems when only rich lords owned the lands. The peasants owned no land and had to pay rent (usually in the form of crops or a skilled trade) to the lords for use of the land. The peasants could take nothing from the land, like lumber or game, without permission from, or paying a tax to, the lord. Kept perpetually poor and working for the lord, the peasants were never able to enjoy the land they worked so hard on. While, the lords and aristocrats could roam the land freely, taking what they wanted and traveling where they wanted.

With the quickly rising cost and development of precious open space and the increasing fees on our public land that is happening in the west these days, land is quickly becoming the play ground for the rich again. How are poor college students, middle class families on a budget or poor urban families going to afford to visit and use their public land? The answer is they can’t.

Public land is land held in trust by the federal government for American citizens. Therefore, everyone who is a citizen owns public land. During most of our lives as citizens we pay taxes and vote. Through our taxes we own and fund the government. So if the government, that we elect and pay for, then tells use we need to pay an additional fee to use our lands, a fee that many Americans cannot afford, this government begins to look like the feudal systems of the past. It’s like paying your mortgage and the government then slapping a charge on you every time you want to enter your own house. Or, worse yet, the government telling you when you get to come and go from your own property.

When these families or college kids are denied access to land, they paid for, because of financial reasons, they are no longer owners of this land. They become peasants. Their rights and their freedoms have become compromised. Without access to our publicly owned lands we lose our freedom.

And all Americans are buying and paying for the natural resources extracted from our publicly owned lands. Buying because we put gas in our cars and build houses with wood. Paying because our tax money goes into building and maintaining the forest roads used to extract these resources. It doesn’t seem right that we pay twice for the same resource but this is a topic for another essay.

Since we are already paying twice for the right to own and travel our land how can the government justify making us pay a third time?

Without the option of being able to drop everything for a day or more and get away – whether it’s hunting, fishing, hiking, biking, or just a sight seeing rumble down a forest service road – we are forever caught up in the whirlwind of daily life which, unfortunately, revolves around the centripetal capitalist machine.

I don’t have too many beefs with capitalism, just with the way it’s used by some companies and individuals. Capitalism affords me a pretty decent lifestyle. I’m always working to pay bills, buy toys or take trips. But without an opportunity to break out of our everyday consumer based lives for a moment we loose a huge opportunity to gain perspective on our motivations. Without perspective we loose the ability make good choices. Not having land to exercise a lifestyle of freedom and reflection keeps us from being true Americans because with out access to our publicly owned lands we loose the freedom we Americans are so proud of. Without freedom the whole capitalist system is a mute point.

When we cannot use OUR public lands the capitalist system has then become just another form of slavery because all we are doing is working to pay taxes or pay for goods and services. If we are not allowed to travel our publicly owned lands then we no longer own them; we are no longer free. This sounds just like the feudal systems our ancestors died to overthrow.

Letter to Mountain Gazette

Here's a letter to one of my favorite journals, Mountain Gazette, illustrating part of the roll conflict facing both men and women these days. What she has to say could just as easily come from a man:

Dear Editor:

Influenced by Nicole Gordon’s “Twixter” piece (MG #116) and Stephen W. Studebaker’s letter to the editor requesting more female representation in the MG (same issue), I submit some insomnia-influenced thoughts. (The clock currently reads 4:20 am, no joking.) Call me a twixter, Gen-X-er, thirty something-er or whatever have me (a narcissist?), but I’ve yet to sense the proverbial tick-tock of my biological clock. My “sound” wisdom tells me that the so-called biological clock is only part of the reason why humans jump on the baby bandwagon. In my opinion, I believe a larger part of this drive comes from external influences — like the “tender” coaxing from one’s family and close friends, more tax deductions and credits, boredom in the relationship and the “mini-me” aspect stemming from romantic pillow talks of perfect little offspring with perfect little features full of perfect potential. Never mind the not-so-perfect state of affairs on our planet upon which they’ll live. But, I digress.

In thinking about all this — this nagging search for deeper meaning so typical of my “type” — and knowing it will not be fulfilled by the creation of offspring, I’m forced to focus on what is. Not the what can be, could be or hopefully will be of my 20-something mind. What is. What is is the aforementioned planet we’ve all sucked nearly dry for our own short-term benefit. The old cliché “live for the day” seems to have been taken literally by most of the earth’s inhabitants. Build more, consume more, acquire more, improve more, more, bigger, better … We are living the tomorrow created by this way of thinking and continue to perpetuate it. I suppose one could argue with my earlier point — that we need offspring to mastermind the next wave of scientific, genetically modified, homogenized and pasteurized discoveries to “band-aid” the messes created by earlier generations. (The pharmaceutical industry comes to mind). No, the impact I’ve had on this earth ends with me. Call it my contribution. It’s the least I can do.

Lauri B

Aspen, CO

Haiku Crazy

panting brindle sprawls
on shaded brick patio
sun and squirrels won

coffee and bagel
taste better when together
like pen and paper

smell rich emptiness
of lightly abandoned landscape
ridge runs to flake fog

The machine awakes
faces scowl nervousness
class begins today

jeweled blue reservoir
white peaks and soft green forest
chased by horsefly horde

Blueprint for Sunday -
hippy speedball draws the lines
of music for the sun

soft rhythm of sleep
curve of side gently breaths
I kiss naked hip

Freedom

I realize my last entry was a little sarcastic, but don't mistake sarcasm for anger. Sure there's a little anger there but most anger comes from fear. And I'm afraid for my freedom. The freedom to be socially upwardly mobile. I come from a poor rural family. I see the middle class that I'm trying to break into slowly shrinking right before my eyes from rising education and health care costs, just to mention a couple things. All I want is to have a middle class life and some leisure time. This is American freedom. All the other stuff, like the right to vote and freedom of speech, are satellite freedoms there to protect our basic American freedom - the right to be socially mobile and enjoy god's greatest gift which is life.

The true meaning of freedom is a topic that I've been thinking about for a long time. I don't want to scare people off by screaming. I just want people to start thinking about what freedom means to them and how it needs to be protected. Freedom is truth and it cannot be protected by lies and fear.

It's time for bed. I'll have more to say on this later...

oh my god... not... BIRD FLU!!!

Look America. Look over here at the shiiinnyy bird flu. Never mind that man behind the curtain playing you like a puppet. His lies and deceit hidden in the dark won't kill you or your children. That's what the terrorists are for. But this shiny, exotic creature will. Good thing we have a national health care system that will protect all those lower class people with the sons and daughters that are fighting for our *cough* freedom. We had better deal with this future pandemic before it wipes out our future *cough* volunteer army. (Sorry, for all the coughing. I think I have bird flu) Not to mention, if the poor don't have kids, who's going to work for the stale wages eaten away by tax cuts and rising health care costs (assuming you can afford such a luxury as health care these days). Not the kids. Nobody'll be able to afford them pretty soon. If nobody has kids then who'll fight the *cough* terrorists. There's no way to win. They’re either killed by bird flu or terrorists. It's tough being the most powerful country in the world. Especially without kids.

Fuckin' bird flu. I know it can kill but so can a lie. But the lie flu will sneak up behind you, slit your achilles and leave you flopping in the dirt, bleeding to death before you realize what happened. Now that's a horrible death. When I grew up the only way to get rid of the evil lie flu was to get your mouth washed out with soap.

No... wait... Look over here. It's so shiny... It's the new evil... I declare war on bird flu. If our main man does track it down and defeat this evil where it lies than I'm sure the media will beat the shit out of it.

(And the man behind the curtain plays on... Suckers.)

Purple Responds to Red and Blue

People, please. As proper Americans you know as well as I that wars are only fought in other people's countries. True to modern America there is no critical thought within these two comments, just hateful criticism. This is an essay and creative writing blog based not an election campaign. Save your attack adds for a politician. Within these two comments all I see is red states and blue states screaming at each other.

But I will admit both comment are pretty damn funny. I definitely laughed out loud when I read them. It sounded like a couple of my buddies bustin' on each other over beers. But this exchange also sounds like what politicians are truly saying to each other and to the American people. I wish politicians would quit trying to hide this uneducated, power-drunk dialogue with their pseudo-intellectual, spin lingo.

Politicians are corrupting language by turning every word into a lie. Americans can't trust anything politicians say. Collateral damage, healthy forests initiative, tax cuts, democracy, freedom, trust and public servant are just a few words and phrases they’ve turned into lies. I hope Americans relearn how to listen soon so they will laugh both parties right out of power.

We had better vote them out of office before they realize how uninformed and complacent most of us have become. Otherwise the politician may deem us unfit to vote and decide to take that right away from us.

I love my country. It's time to take it back from drunken liars.

(Translation for the two commenters: power drunk politicians talk like meatheads in a bar picking a fight.)

Comments

If you are moved in any way by my writing please post a comment. It would be great to know that people still have a capacity for thought these days.

Goin' South

Sestina
by
DeTrav

Flirtatious wind disrobes yellow dresses
As summer artfully slides to winter;
The sleepy days ask for Earl Grey tea,
Cold sunlight stretches the shadows,
Nights parch the air, leaving crystal moisture,
Song of drops become white floating silence.

The man cups his hands, turns in silence
And walks, ankle deep, in dresses
That snap and pop with lack of moisture.
He takes a deep breath and thinks of winter
Shattered red eyes hang above deep shadows
Coffee and whiskey stain his worn Tee.

Barbwire and chain link cross the T
At the end of the road. Boxcar rolls silent
Until its thunderous coupling with a shadowy
Engine. A distant yard boss dresses
Each car for travel below the blue winter
Clouds enveloping the feathery moisture.

The man leaves red moisture
On barbwire and sprints across tea
Leaves to his rust colored ticket from winter,
Into which he slides with silence.
With a dirty swath the man dresses
His hand, while smiling in the shadows.

The boss, his head in caboose shadows
And glasses fogged by breath moisture
Misses the man in salvaged dresses.
The boss signals the engineer to tee
Off with an oil stained mitt, in silent
Salute. Diesel smoke begins to battle winter

By tugging south towards mild winter
Where adobe softens the shadows;
The man dreams in nervous silence…
And put his lips to brown moisture…
And smokes the strong herb tea…
And the walls of rust with spray paint he dresses…

Each year the land dresses in lady winter
And it’s time for tea in shorter shadows.
The white moisture forever chases in silence.

(There's a picture that goes with this that I'll post in a few days. I need to edit it.)

(4/9/06 - Update - The photo is on my flickr! site.)

Missoula Transitions

Here's a few shot I've taken the last week or so around Missoula. Fall is such an active time. Weather constantly changes, shadows dramatically lengthen, trees change clothing colors than shed their clothes (you'd think they want to keep some clothes for the cold) and animals move towards winter habitats, whether a dirt bedroom or our next door neighbors in the hills. All prepare for the long, stagnant, cold that lies ahead. Get out the synthetics and the ice scraper. Switch from sandwiches to soup....

I personally don't care for fall. I can appreciate it but I don't care for it. The body needs to adjust to the light and cooling temperatures. I have an urge to eat and sleep constantly. Fall is a tease, a flirt, of the white giddiness soon to layer the land. Freshies. "Put out, already!" every bone screams. "Quite givin' me that pillow talk."

Transition times, like fall, are always hard. You never know what to expect and you're always saying goodbye to something. Some people don't like winter. It's long, dark and cold. But at least you know what to expect and it stays the same - long, cold and dark. I guess this is why I snowboard and tele. I have to do something to pass the time; otherwise, I would drink too much coffee and beer, smoke to many cigarettes, and sleep with all the wrong women. But the routine is set. Get up in the dark, put on the poly then the clothes, make some coffee and oatmeal, read the paper, take the dog for a quick, cold bike ride, and watch the sky get lighter as I head to where ever I'm going for the day...

Violence in Missoula, Violence in My Life

Two more men were beaten up on the streets of Missoula last weekend. That same night a friend had her purse stolen, after a rock was thrown through her car window. My friend Marcus is saddened by his friend lying in the hospital. My friend with the smashed window and stolen purse (who is handling it better than I would) must reassemble the life's contents that a purse contains. Both acts were violent and disruptive, but only one sent people to the hospital. This is the crime I will address.

I have so many reactions to violence and they are confusing each other. I want to deal out some justice Wild West style. I am nervous when walking the streets of the city I love and respect. I am pissed that I am scared my property or health might be stolen. I want to lash out. Go huntin' and kick some inbred ignorant asses. I know violence doesn't solve anything. It just generates more violence. I know TV commercials, speeches and essays, like this one, only preach to the choir because people who commit violent acts will only learn when they are incarcerated. But, even then, rehabilitation and education hardly ever work. It's frustrating, scary, emasculating and enraging. Hence the confusion.

So, what to do about violence? Marcus wants to educate and hold a benefit art sale. I applaud this. I'm going to help with this. We both despise violence. I appreciate his advanced evolutionary approach. I am trying to stay on his level because he and I share a similar background. But, I will continue to stay in shape. I will continue to imagine how I will mutilate a person if they ever threaten me or my friends and family with violence. More confusion.

Mutilate. Yes, that's what I said. This is where Marcus and I differ. It's a very strong word. It comes from fear and hate and powerlessness and red, blinding, self-hating RAGE. I will never hurt someone, physically or emotionally, on purpose, but I will defend myself with a force I may not be able to control. I will want to teach them a lesson. This scares the hell out of me. I am a big, self-hating, red head, itchin' to teach someone a lesson because as a child I lacked the power to defend myself...

I grew up in a suffocating, black and green world of violence and powerlessness. I drink, smoke cigarettes and I think about suicide everyday because I've refused to turn that powerlessness, hate and violence out into the world. So I turn it inside where it has created this big giant black hole. It's not just the void. It's a massive black hole and it eats at me everyday, threatening to consume a life that never felt like mine in the first place. This is the other extreme of violence. I don't want to live in a world of violence, internal or external, anymore. I am scared and confused by all of this.

I'm probably not much different from those thugs who beat up those two men. I just deal with it differently. But, like I said: confusion. Why do they turn their hate out and I turn mine in? Why does Marcus want to take the peaceful route and I want to go redneck huntin', even though I know it won't solve anything? Why do those assholes have to corrupt peace lovin', liberal minded, over-educated and under-paid Missoula with that shit? I want peace, but I also want to feel their cheekbones collapse under my knuckles.

It's very confusing. I don't want to live in a world of violence and hate anymore.

Smell Winter (Haiku)

by
DeTrav

Lightly abandoned
Landscape smells rich emptyness -
Ridge runs to flake fog

Sack of Mashed Potatoes

By
De Trav

Breath and blood roar
At the same level and beat.
Toes feel the rotten(!) rock
Fingertips burn small ledges.
Veins in throbbing forearms
Pulse and expand
As agonizing fatigue seeps.

Pumped.

I look up.
Two moves to heaven
Blocked by polished marble
And flaming arches.

I look down.
My last piece of mind taunting
From 15 feet under
As rope slaps blank wall
And wind curls around chalk bag.

On the back of lids
I see the sandy, slopey hold.
I see the slow delicate move.
Here comes Elvis.

Heaven it is.

Sliding breath echoes and shivers in helmet.
Blood river sings from shadowy canyon.
Matching hands reach up
And palm sandy rock.
Gear quietly clinks.
Tip of shoe finds balance on a grain.
Sparks through toes and fingers…
I slowly stand up and…

OH NO

Body tilts sideways
Old holds flash past
I hear my sack of mashed potatoes
HIT

White speckles on darkening gray
Silently, then
Every nerve SCREAMS bright red.

Our Great Country

...Driving across our great country.
No border checks, and the freedom
to think about...

...whatever I want.

Essay on Katrina

Wow. I just went to the "Operation Eden" blog. Amazing pics on this blog. Very personal. I'm sitting here listening to NPR talk about the fiscal impact Katrina will have on our national economy. Now they're talking about oil refineries in the gulf. It takes oil and money to run this country that's understandable but... it just doesn't feel right. The contrast of this man's personal struggle to comprehend this major trauma and these talking heads blabbing about money and oil. It seems to me government and media have forgotten why there is a country in the first place. People make a country. Without people, money wouldn't exist and the oil would continue to hide in the caverns of earth.

So where does a person draw the line between the people and it's oil and money? It's hard to separate the people from money and oil. After all, we have to work to pay the bills and drive our cars. And if you don't work, drive a car and pay your bills you're looked down upon as a bum, mooch, crazy - a half person. I'm not exempt. I smell the bum on the street and pity the half person he has become. But I also wonder how he lost that other half. What could happen to a person to tear them in half? A hurricane? War? Bad genes? A corrupt and cold society? A bad attitude? Addiction? Divorce?...

How many of us now unconsciously look at these hurricane victims as half people because they don't have a home or a job? What kind of flawed society teaches us to view people, our fellow humans, in this way? This is why all this talk of money and oil bothers me a little. Because we're working so hard to make these people whole again by giving them money and oil. But we're not made of money and oil. We're made of water, emotions, bones, thoughts, blood, creativity, memories, values....

You've got to wonder if there isn't a sickness in a society created by humans that tries to fix people with parts that don't fit. How did such a wonderful, exotic and complicated thing (society, culture) created by wonderful, inventive and extraordinary creatures become so sick and perverted that it tries to fix people with the wrong parts? It's like tying to fix a car with tree branches.

Lullaby

This a poem I wrote about.... Well u figure it out. Isn't that what poetry is all about? Marcus Maximus and I put it together as a spoken word piece and he played it on KBGA last night during his Radio Dystopia show.

Lullaby
By
DeTrav

Click, click... The oily metal sings a sweet,
Quiet tune but smells like blood. We dance with
Our finger gently cupping silent end...

We love the dance but hate the music. O, sweet,
Quite freedom, we taste your honey coat
With jaundice rage center. We see the tears,
Ours and yours, as our white silence stares up.
We hear the apologies, smell roses, but
It mollifies and engraves patiently;
My siren, slow and silent, digs my home.

“Hush little baby…” we croon together
As we dance and we cry and we turn in
A giant circle. Neither one knows if
It’s a love of dance or a dance of love.
I ask the question. Empty echo sings.

…A tired finger twitches, pulling hair;
Long cold corridor heats with smoke and flame,
Pushing a train that will not stop for flesh.

Subatomic Particles

well, well. a blog. how novel, how cliche...
will anybody read...
will anybody care...
there's got to be more blogs than insects on this planet by now...
ah, what the hell. I'll give it a try...
becides...
now I'm officially a published writer...
(even if I had to do it myself)...
and all the world will come to read my work...
hello?


HELLO?

Scooby-Doo

Scooby-Doo
By
DeTrav


The same blurry cellar door, the same fuzzy kitchen table. Spinning so fast. I don’t want to stop for fear of getting dizzy. Better to keep the ear fluid sloshing around than stop suddenly and puke. Better to keep my surroundings revolving like a Scooby-doo cartoon than to stop and fall over. Must keep the rhythm.
I can feel all the blood in my head creeping towards my left eye and ear. I can feel the left side of my brain squished against my skull. I hope my suffocating brain doesn’t interfere with my legs.
Must
Keep
Spinning.
Spin too fast and I’ll trip over the carpet. Spin too slow and the nausea hyena will shred me from the inside out.
Ringing. A short burst then silence. Then another blast of ringing in my head. No. Wait. It’s coming from the table. There’s a phone on the table. I put my hand out to get it. Toe skips off heel and rhythm is broken. Tripping. Stumbling. Spiraling. The floor tilts. Left eye swells with blood and binocular vision is lost. The answering machine will have to get it.
Door… Table… Scooby-doo… Where the fuck did Scooby come from? I don’t own a dog. There. There he is again. Except this time he’s dark grey, not brown. Everything is turning grey.
The world straightens for a moment as I regain control. Then it tilts the other way. A forest of shadows ooze out from the walls and enter my eye, forcing my head to bounce off the floor.
I hear my therapist.
“Hey Joe. Just calling to see why you missed…”
The shadow squeezes my brain into coffee grounds and turns the room black.