172 lines
5.0 KiB
Plaintext
172 lines
5.0 KiB
Plaintext
***MAN EATEN BY LARGE CANOE***
|
|
(APWN)Quinektukut-- Holy Fuckin Shit!
|
|
Those tiny little waves wailed on me.
|
|
The boy scouts taught me how to paddle
|
|
on a lake. I was NOT prepared for my canoe
|
|
ride in Mystic Harbour this morning.
|
|
Not at all.
|
|
I think I travelled about 800 feet in
|
|
an hour flat. My hands are still soaking
|
|
wet. Wet from all the hard splash I had
|
|
to do just to keep inside the Grumman.
|
|
I'm facing away from this post I tied
|
|
onto.
|
|
I am going NOWHERE.
|
|
Yet this landlubber still must look
|
|
back behind him to reassure he's not
|
|
going to smash into the pole he's tied
|
|
onto.
|
|
Pure science is that he's being
|
|
pulled away from the post constantly.
|
|
However eyes and settling stomach
|
|
tell him the opposite.
|
|
You look down beside you and you're
|
|
travelling about 3 MPH backwards. Look
|
|
anywhere else, you're going nowhere fast.
|
|
Triceps are severely pumped. Feet and
|
|
ankles are torn to shreds. Driving an
|
|
'87 Chevy S-10, you dont know what a
|
|
struggle is.
|
|
Step onto the back of this Canoe
|
|
and I will relax in front of you...
|
|
watching. Waiting patiently as you
|
|
throw your paddle around fighting
|
|
the quarter-inch waves.
|
|
Humbling.
|
|
|
|
|
|
***MAN EATEN BY LARGE CANOE (CON'T)***
|
|
(APWN)Quinektukut-- I lay back and
|
|
sun myself.
|
|
Close my eyes, I'm a Pequot. I
|
|
haven't slept in 3 days. Her lady,
|
|
Tracy, has teased me all week leaving
|
|
me frustrated, blue, balling in my tent
|
|
at night.
|
|
A settler would cry himself to sleep.
|
|
I cry long long enough 'til I am
|
|
severely spooked. I close my eyes and
|
|
see Her Lady standing in front of me.
|
|
Not a thread of clothing. Only a tiny
|
|
triangle of hair marking the place
|
|
where she does not allow me to touch.
|
|
Just yet.
|
|
"Girls," you say to me; in your
|
|
colonial tone of voice. "Can't live
|
|
without 'em; can't live with em."
|
|
"I cant live," I say so only I can
|
|
hear. I will fast for three more days.
|
|
I will weigh less than I did before.
|
|
I will be weak, sleek, and slender,
|
|
the sex god you want me to be, my
|
|
Lady.
|
|
I will return, we will feast. You
|
|
will break my fast.
|
|
You will adore me; I will return.
|
|
I open my eyes, you are paddling
|
|
down the Thames. We must go around
|
|
the point and meet the eastern dark
|
|
teenagers.
|
|
They signalled us they have some
|
|
killer tobacco, right from the Cubano's
|
|
private stash.
|
|
We will smoke, and dance, and talk of
|
|
warring against the elders and their
|
|
segregated style. Their bitter grudges
|
|
on those who dont look or act like
|
|
them.
|
|
We all fall to the ground exhausted
|
|
from our battle rehearsal. Smiting
|
|
takes a lot out of a Pequot like I.
|
|
But it must be tougher on you, my
|
|
colonial friend.
|
|
I wonder if the darks know about
|
|
hatred; back in the Giant Island in
|
|
the Orient's way.
|
|
I ask of you.
|
|
"Let's find out," you suggest. We
|
|
turn toward our tobacco friends.
|
|
"Do any of you hate," you ask them.
|
|
Nothing but silence; suddenly 3 no's.
|
|
"I know survival and pride," says
|
|
one dark friend.
|
|
"I cannot hate," says another. I tell
|
|
you all WE CAN PULL THIS OFF.
|
|
We will build a raft. I will teach
|
|
you how to grab fish right out of the
|
|
water.
|
|
You will show us your medallians--
|
|
tell us of all the wrongs your father
|
|
locked into your head.
|
|
|
|
***MAN EATEN BY LARGE CANOE*** (Con't)
|
|
(APWN)Quinektekut--This is a
|
|
continuation from ATI 15, and 16.
|
|
That black and the Tan One and the
|
|
one who is light from the far east will
|
|
teach you to let go of your hatred.
|
|
I cannot teach that. I cannot even
|
|
learn it. All I can do is hold hatred
|
|
deep
|
|
inside my hollow.
|
|
Inside-- where my stomach pits and
|
|
aches. I hold it in and near my scalp
|
|
there is an emotional brim where I can
|
|
release it-- drop by insignificant
|
|
drop.
|
|
Her Lady pretended to be the one who
|
|
will learn me to let go of my hate.
|
|
"Don't touch," she said. "Not the
|
|
time; soon."
|
|
I wait for forever to finally come.
|
|
Forever.
|
|
We bid our dark friends "til next we
|
|
gather".
|
|
The witches in the sound by the race
|
|
navigate us from the south; our left
|
|
side. The westerly gods of wind push
|
|
us back to the moutn of the thames.
|
|
You tell me: I had my laugh; it's my
|
|
turn to paddle. I smile, as I walk
|
|
lowly
|
|
to the back of our aguatree.
|
|
I kneel and slice the wet ground
|
|
with your dad's sanded and whittled
|
|
two-
|
|
by-four. You Swedish carpenters are
|
|
all so pretty and finished. But the
|
|
form
|
|
overrides the function and I slow to
|
|
start us up the bleeding Thames-- put
|
|
my
|
|
biceps and forearms and lower back
|
|
into the act getting us almost to the
|
|
plank
|
|
that crosses over to the New
|
|
Settlement. You lift the plank 3
|
|
inches, we float
|
|
under. This is the Thames, remember.
|
|
This is my vessel. I built her out
|
|
of a sap. Carved her out myself,
|
|
torched
|
|
her up and waited for the Arsongods to
|
|
finish.
|
|
From the front you see, I have
|
|
shaped her like My Lady... Tracy in
|
|
all her
|
|
frontal glory.
|
|
From the back you will see the horse
|
|
you rode in on. Little or no
|
|
resistance,
|
|
a tail to slice and keep us forward.
|
|
She's our '87 beast. And she gets us
|
|
from A point to B point. I turn her
|
|
over
|
|
and cover her with the quinektekut
|
|
tobacco leaves. They are my padlock.
|
|
I am a Pequot. I have hatred, but no
|
|
mistrust. Night falls, "later", you
|
|
tell
|
|
me.
|
|
You return.
|