Like a Sovereign

Unlike the

idiot masses

of mental

slaves,

I’m not limited

in my thoughts

and values

according to

the time and

place my body

happens to

inhabit.

Just recently

I’ve immersed

myself in

old-timey

“Hillbilly”

Life,

though I’m

a modern

Northerner

by birth.

(vicious fate).

Of course much

of the old

Appalacian

ways have

been destroyed

by the forces

behind modernity,

but I can imagine

a life of pure

mountain

air, log cabins

built a kingly

distance apart,

barefoot Ellie

Mays, and blue-

grass energy.

It’s just what my

city-soaked soul

needs. And while

I can only live

there and then

mentally

for now and

perhaps the 

rest of this life,

( or at least

until the aliens

agree to whirl

me back to 1893,)

in the

meantime I can

dream and play

those old

Appalacian

melodies

on my dulcimer

and stand atop my

solitary mountain

like a Sovereign 

looking downing

on a life that 

I could choose

to lead,

compete with a

a no-mortgage

log cabin, rows of

corn, and kids who

feel and

think like me.

(There’s no

generation gap

in a real society.)

And I’ll love in 

my mind that

mountain flower

of a wife

waiting in the 

bedroom with

a banjo on

her

knee.

 

— Fyodor Bukowski

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When it was Clear that the Battle was Lost….

When it was clear

that the battle was

lost, the Cimbri

women, swords in

their hands, slew

their fleeing brothers,

fathers, husbands.

When it was clear

that the Romans

had won, the Cimbri

women strangled

their children, then

took their own lives.

Now that it’s clear

that love and poetry

has lost to modernity,

what are we to do? I

don’t believe in killing

children, whether in

the lost world or in

the womb; and you

could argue that to

bring them into this

age, without money

to their names, is an

act of bravery. As for

me, I chose to not

create any, because

I know the fate of a

wage slave. Which

course the Cimbri

women would call

brave or cowardly,

I can’t say.

 

— Fyodor Bukowski, author of Mail-Order Annie

Dumb-Ass Cowboy Hat

How can cowboy hats

look so good in the old

Westerns, when they look

so dumb in real life these

days?

 

Saw this guy striding

across the lot today, a

pristine snow-white

cowboy hat squatting atop

his bovine head. Could

hardly keep my soy burger

in.

 

Sad truth is we just can’t

transcend this sad unromantic

reality the big bad director

in the sky has miscast us in–

not by wearing some too-clean,

well-kept “cowboy” hat that no

desperado would ever be caught

dead-or-alive in.