I declare this painting, found by Hilary, as the best painting in the history of human & ferretkind and dedicate it to my very own ferret, Lady.

Amnesic Heart

Military man took the journey to a dry land where a family sought peace
Exploited man stole the bread of everyday to feed his young ones
Working man shot sticky fingers in the back to preserve those he loved
Our commonality is we seek no common understanding and common ground is the least occupied
Hearts are the most amnesic where no common ground is found.

Paraguay's Indigenous Peoples in peril

More tragedy
For Amnesty International article

Papa's stories

My Sister asked my Father to write a couple of stories about his youth. Here is what he wrote:

And now to my youth. My first real memory of growing up was when I was about three years old. I remember that I had red suspenders and grandpa's red cowboy boots. They were fancy dancing boots from his youth when he was dating grandma. I wore those boots out, they did not fit and I had to drag my feet to keep them on but they were the only shoes I would wear. I loved those boots and wish I had them now, not to wear but as a part of my life.

We did not have much as I was growing up. All of my clothes were hand-me-downs from my Aunt Mary, grandma sister. she had two boys that were a couple of years older than I was so when they grew out of something they passed it on to me. By the time I got them they had already been through two boys. It seemed that everything had patches. I hated patches and would pick them off. To prevent that Mom would sew them from the inside of my pants. Aunt Mary gave me a pair of wool Sunday pants that I hated. They itched so bad but grandma made me wear them. I would have gone naked to church rather than wear those pants given a choice.

We were a poor family but I did not know that. Everyone I knew was poor and dressed much the same as I did. We all worked, we had to but it did not seem like such a big deal. We did not have a TV until 1961 and then we only got one station from Idaho Falls. We raised rabbits and sold them to 'Green's Market' which used to be across the street from the post office and the Western store. Dad would butcher the rabbits and I would deliver them. Mr. Green would give Dad the money or more often would write it against the balance we owed him.

In the fall we would all work in the potatoes fields picking 'spuds'. We got paid a nickel a bag which we split. On a good day we could earn a couple of dollars but only when we picked with grandma. She could fill a couple of bags in the same time that Linda and I used to fill a basket. It took two baskets to fill a bag and sometimes it was a long haul to get enough to fill the basket. I work the fields until I joined the Army and went from picker to 'bucker'. A 'bucker' would walk along the side of a flat bed truck and pick the filled bags up and throw them onto the truck while another person would stack the bags on the truck. Once you got the hang of it you could throw the bags up eight or nine feet. We thought we were the biggest studs and the absolute peak of the potatoes harvest crew. The most I ever got paid was .13 cents a bag and would earn thirty or forty dollars a day.

With my wages I would buy all of my school clothes and supplies for the year. I was king of the hill when I could buy a pair of new levis'. No patches!

As I earned more than just a few dollars I would give most of what I earned to Dad and Mom. I remember one time giving them my whole earnings for the season. It was $383 dollars which was a lot of money and even more sweat. It did not seem strange or like they were demanding that I give them what I earned, it was just the way it was. It was 'our' money. We were living high on the hog that year, store bought bread and real cereal, not just cracked wheat, but corn flakes.

Well enough stories for today.

Love ya - Dad

unfinished alliteration

11/8/09
Fall is forgiven faults found
in my mounds matriculating mountains of
dismay downwards to
obviously oblique optimistic
persona's purposely penetrated...

11/20/09
Death deals the devils distant
punishment of pure poverty
in colloquial concepts comes
to say that social stratification
is just justified
by nature not nurture...
I say it is bullshit.

Non-alliteration, just feelings to an experience:
Sept 2009
"There is always one of those"
and I'm sorry for my rebuttal,
sorry to have offended.
Where I thought opinions could be entertained
without the damage of offense
was just another illusion
and here is not a safe zone.

flash from the past

10/23/09
Mad vengeance is upon this scene
where atrocities were performed
and is found unforgiven
to whom left the charred remains
unidentifiable to all.
But he who knows
what was burnt
is a madman of satire
so dance and chant
on the lovers ash
stomp the bones
of that which is unknown.

10/25/09
HYPOCRITE?
how dare you call believers "HYPOCRITES"?! Do you even know what that word means? You do not make me feel uplifted by your preaching. You have no Spirit and your competitive mindset is contrary to Christ. The Gospel is no competition and God cries when we patronize his children. You are far from representing the Mormon doctrinal value.

The Guarani need help and this site has a fund set up to support them. This fund supports the Guarani in Brazil but there continues to be the same tragic problems in Paraguay. Read the story and watch the videos here:
http://www.survivalinternational.org/tribes/guarani