PIGPEN'S BLACK FOREST BLUES

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FROM A STARLIT SHORE a novel

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From A Starlit Shore (Excerpt)

AND NOW HONK HONK and the others found themselves at the very Gates of the Games! It had been a bit of a push, getting one or two of them to hurry along, with so many interesting attractions along the way, but they were now at the Gates of the Arena, two kilometers away from the city and town of Sil, and the children gazed in awe at the grounds that lay before them – from the vast, deep amphitheater holding thousands, to the deep pool that lay off to the let, where rowing and swimming competitions occurred, Or maybe the wide track that ran in a circle roundabout the arena, with guards at the entry points to assure no spectators could interfere by accidentally walking out into it while a race was being run. Banners flew from poles at precise thirty meter lengths. On the stone seats of the amphitheater, workers had spent the day laying programs for the events, so that the seats were covered each in large white paper. On the seats of the well to do VIP section, these workers had also each lain a rose, as a memento they might cherish later for years on a dusty mantelpiece.

Tomorrow was the Day of the Game Song Sing. At the occasion, groups of men and women from the different provinces all grouped together at the start of the ceremony, and sang the Anthem to Tudops, the Anthem to Palacha, and the Anthem to Corocovo, now in his twelfth year or ruling. Of course, it was yet unknown whether or not the King might actually appear at the Games this year or not, being out of his league in the matter of his boudoir and Lady, but yet it would be certain that those charged with upholding the traditions of the games- the Sponsors, the Maintainers of the Arena, the Boroughmeisters of Sil- all these forces worked in concert so that when the King would decide whether he came or not all things would be under control and proceeding to plan with or without him.

All round the Arena nestled in little niches were statues of past celebrated champions -of decades past- and representations of various sports that took place therein. Huge torches blazed from cornices in the arena’s pavilion stands, and at the time of the Song, their would be groups of athletes chosen to represent, gathered in the Pit of the Arena, all hoisting their respective banners, and singing the Praises of their benefactors- Sun, Nation, and King.

The children were not as anonymous as they had been left to feel however- for the news of the missing children had traveled to Sil at the time of Orodam’s departure, and there were a crew of town dignitaries assembled not far from where the kids found themselves. The leader of this bunch, one Glanza, approached Honk Honk with three of his men. The staffs they carried were imposing, as were the men’s gruff appearance and clothing. Obviously they had been targonid hunters at one point in their lives, thought Honk Honk. But if I get a chance, I’ll show them I am just as tough and fierce!

“Ho there! You must be the Ransomed Ones! We are here for your behalf! As members of the town council of Sil, we have made all accommodations for you! You will not need sleep in the fields this evening, nor any other as long as the Games are on! Won’t you come with us? We have a celebration planned for you at our favorite tavern!”

Honk Honk didn’t speak. He looked at the others. It would be just as well with him if the girls went with this offer, but he and Rlok and Matim and Jonc better be left out of this! He had big plans- of the chickens he could steal, of the apple orchard he knew would be just ripe enough at this time, and the idea of sleeping in some house in a bed at a time like this- what sort of adventure was that?

Yoni made her way through the throngs of the streets of Sil. Everywhere preparations had been made, and people were in the process of both welcoming the tourists like herself, or putting the finishing touches to the town’s decorations. Coming here as a single woman, she would not be looked upon in any ways different from so many of the others who came, although there was no need in her life for partnering, nor parenting. And so there would be little reason for her to be involved in so many of the different games that went on with the women of Palacha behind the scenes, at the Games. She had no rivals, no others who were obvious competitors to take the one man she had set her mark on.

Although when she left that morning she barely thought it, by the time she had made her acquaintance of her taverner for the night, she had put her mind on the Duron she had known as a younger nymph. Back when there was little to wonder about about anything other than, how was that man built, beneath his toga? All the same, it would be only a matter of time before she would run into him somewhere here in Sil or the Arena, and she made herself comfortable in her room going through the various spots around where it might be that she eventually did.

Duron had been twenty two and as the bulkiest and strongest man of his cohort, the Farmland Champions of so many years past, and Yoni had been two years his junior but speedy and primed for marathons. The attraction had been mutual, and so had the parting. Or so she had thought. On the morning of the Games Song Sing, however, he was nowhere near.

Duron had begged off from Craald about getting themselves a Sil slut to share like they had the other night, and booked himself into a small room near the great Ovens of the Games, where the targonids were roasted, and all manner of food for the thousands of spectators primarily prepared. At least, that which came on the public dime, that of King Corocovo. He settled into his own dreamless pillow, thinking only of how the next day he would have to go to the King and report on the episode of the children. The children were free, but safe? He laughed. When he was young he had runaway to the games himself, only two years before he had met that … usbanler Yoni. He didn’t think about her but how he had won at darts and made his way back up to champion and in such a position that he was in effect, one of the King’s most trusted outriders. And what sort of things could he say to his liege?

Yes, the children were safe, but no, we did not catch the rapscallions? For now he knew Corocovo could only put a bounty on the heads of both Congulula and Llnash – a bounty which would likely be sneered at by the peoples of Loronam, but no less, bound to gain the interests of the King’s loyal subjects.

Loronam itself, originally an outpost of explorers to the west of the great dividing range of Gwala, located at the side of a river which flowed from springs high up, home to all manner of outcasts from Palacha, those who had either neglected to join in the Ondinian revolt, but only moved over the hills, or those who came there, like Congulula and Llnash, as fugitives- a center of anarchy in the King’s mind, a haven for a free marketer and profiteer on another’s.

Duron then had to rise early, and make a round trip journey from Sil to Palachina and back, in the company of the King when he returned. For the King not to be present at the Day of Song Sing would be a blasphemy of a kind, and Duron was, at least in his own mind, pretty sure that it would be a priority of King Corocovo himself to want to be ready to ride to Sil when he came to furnish his report.

So sighing wearily from his bed, he took to the small kitchen that lay on the first floor of the inn, next to the bar. Here, he made himself a breakfast of targonid rump and gorgoz, and so feeling heartily prepared, he began the long ride back, taking care to feed and water his horse Blue Willow before leaving.

He found the King just as he would have expected- all the palace guard and courtiers arranged ‘round a King ‘dressed to kill’ for the great ceremony of the Games Song Sing was the most regal presentation of his Majesty conceivable to the average Ztamian peasant. Duron could have laughed out loud at the number of small children from the Farmlands who also had come to gather at the feet of the King’s throne, for some of them were the sons and daughters of men he knew and had oft rode and plowed with. The gang of children laughed cackled burbled and made various eruptive noises as Duron bowed to the King.

“Your Majesty, I report to you- the children are safe, they are free from the kidnappers. But they themselves- we were unable to apprehend. It’s our feeling they rode east to Loronam, and if we wanted to, we could go after them there...”

“But I see no point in that at the moment, Duron. We have these other matters to attend to. And you say they are safe? What of the parents?”

“The parents paid the ransom, and they are in attendance at Sil. Where, I have my expectations, we are soon about to return?”

“Yes, Yes, yes“ mumbled Corocovo. “We’ll get on soon enough. Meanwhile, look what we have here!”

He nodded with a light point off to his side at the children huddled and sitting Indian-style around him.

“These little sprats are off to the games as well. It’s my hope we shall bring them with us, with the other children at the Games? Perhaps some accommodations can be made for them all.”

Beaming generously, Corocovo laughed and took up his royal staff and thumped it three times on the floor.

“We ride, we ride to the Games! And we will bring along this little throng, and everyone will have a song to sing along at the Song Sing!”

With fifes and drums and squires with trailing headpieces, the retinue of King Corocovo III’s court began the trek to Sil. They could arrive in an easy five hours, and by that time, Tudops would hang suspended at the top of the sky. And all the Games players and spectators and the hundreds of different craftspeople of all kinds who lined the roads of the approaches- all the King’s majesty was emboldened now, as Duron rode beside them, and a mob of raggly children followed merrily behind.

The process of the Games- the week of the contests, fetes, feasts, and orgies, took a week. Each day was demarcated with special attention to some aspect of the variety of attentions which could call people from the countryside from all over the kingdom.

The first day was the Day of the Song Sing.

It was followed by the day of the Targonids, the Day of the Bakers, The Day of the Harvest, the Day of the Virgins, the Day of the Champions, and the Day of Tudops. To wit- the Day of the Targonids was devoted to targonid completions, athletic and culinary. From roping and riding to barbecuing with relish, the Day of the Targonids meant that many, many of the crowds around would at least get a good plateful of the succulent meat for their supper, whether at the terms of the King at the end of the afternoon, or the Queen’s judge, comments on chef’ prowess, where free samples were ranged to the first three or four hundred who could pack the square near the great Targonid Ovens that lay on one portion of the Arena’s exterior.

The Bakers utilized their own ovens, on the other side of the arena, the following day, It would be a give that Rolot the baker would be conniving to get one of the various patrons who made up the panel of judges to taste one of his creations. The Day of the Harvest featured a ceremonial parade with a cornucopia drawn on a long low wagon, with marching bands and proud farm boys in line as the King and the Queen gazed over them in reverent praise. For it was hard work making the crops grow. The Ztamian winter was fiercer than would have been Earth’s, with four months of bleak cold edged with terrific rain and lightning storms. The crops needed be in before all that commenced, and it was so that these rude laborers could feel honor in their efforts that a day was given over to them.

The Day of the Virgins was one the reasons all the children were hastening to get to Sil. For to be the first among their cohort to lose this proof of innocence was nearly always some sort of contest for many of the runaways who came of their own to the Arena and the Games for Games Week. A king and a queen virgin would be nominated from among the scrabbly bands of runaway kids, by the acclamation of the children themselves. While it may or may not have been something of a status symbol to be the King of the Virgins, Honk Honk however would rather ready himself for the sacrifice of that detestable title, and more for the Champion of the Bed. He thought that title would suit him a hella lot better, anyway. Once the King and Queen of Virgins had been picked, it would be their due to have to consummate in copulation in front of a thousand mainly elder Ztamians. The old beefy men in their greasy togas kneeling behind their wagons to ejaculate at passerby were always guaranteed to get their jollies, as were the matronly cougars who prowled the amphitheater rows, seeking out tousle- headed young studs for their flattering gigolos.

The Day of the Champions was when the winners from the competitions- a fair majority of which took place on this day alone- were named and celebrated, with crowns of laurel and orgofam, and as well, champions were named from among the semi-official competitions which took place in the many venues of sexual pleasure. That male and female champion were almost always, but not in all cases, called upon by their peers to fornicate in a special grove which had been unofficially created in a vale about two kilos from the Arena- there, in a ceremony lit by torches and on a bed made of orgofam briars, surrounded by dozens of their admirers, the winners would copulate, sometimes for hours, while cheered on by these friends … Who themselves turned to each other, for frolic was the name of the game whenever the races and trysts of the day had been completed.

The final day, the day when everyone took their bets on how they were going to spend the next five days, five months, five years, or a lifetime, with any conceptualized idea of a partner, was the Day of Tudops. This was given over completely to the cult of their star, and all the many different sorts of sacrifice were made. The Song of Tudops was once again sung, lustily by all, for at the completion of this final day would also conclude with another very serious mass orgy. Couples of all kinds made their selves known as such, for in this humid climate, there had never been any impetus for those attending the games to wear any sort of dress. Special houses had been erected in different spots round Sil and the Arena where Games-goers could shed whatever they had come wearing, and have them safely secured and returned when they departed.. It was most people’s hope not to make the return trip alone, for another great benefit of the Day of Tudops was that it was the traditional day of final choice, for women to pick what man they had best been pleasured by over the last week, and for men to make vows unto the women who had chosen them. This was the way things usually went. In most years. But this year, with the King’s situation at the palace with Queen Aashon in such a state, it was unclear if the King would be staying at Sil long enough to hold forth over the great finale Sing, or cast his blessing over the thousands of copulating subjects who were in every position imaginable when he would take the time to take leave of them all.

E Pluribus Pabluminium

      The two party system is taken as more or less an icon of our American politics. It's driven into most of us by an early age that the two main political parties in America are the sine qua non, the be all and end all of American politics. But it's actually unusual for a nation to divide into only two political parties. In many other countries, there's often four, five or even more putting up people for election. And perhaps, that itself might be an incentive toward a more fulfilled democracy, in those places.

     For it seems to me the primary purpose of both of America's most national parties is merely to drive and focus voters in one particular direction. They have been at it for so long now, that the two polarities seem to be straining the population to the point of maximum saturation, in terms of propaganda and rhetorical frenzy. Extremes at the far left and far right begin to coalesce into blocs of more respective power, until those moderates who controlled "the center" of each are marginalized themselves, and the parties transformed beyond recognition. The liberal "Democratic" party toward more "cancel culture" and intolerance of opposing ideas, and the right "Republican" party toward more jingoistic and even authoritarian law n' order tropes. When I grew up it was more a given that Democratic presidents initiated more wars and supported the Blob, or M. I.C., as it's come to be known, and that while Republicans rarely if ever started any, they merely set the stage for the next incoming Democrat. But now the Republican party are both the staunchest defenders of military blob spending and the most vocal about pulling troops out of wherever we've managed to send their poor souls. A Democratic peace movement at the moment seems like merely a 60's memory.

     These divisions of American culture in to these two and separate factions- an intellectual "elite" that looks down their nose at "plain country folks" and ignores realities and grievances, while still claiming to support "the working class", and the other, a population that see outwardly only greater and greater government and corporate intrusion on their personal lives and "educated fools" who want to tell them how and what to think-these divisions are the product of two parties, and two parties alone.

     For what do other political parties add to the discussion? Quite a bit. There are always a large portion of Americans in any election who have been made to feel so tired of the cant and rhetoric of the majors that they deign to remain outsiders. Third parties never collect more than about 6-7 % of any national vote, but what they do and do well is serve to remind the major parties of just where their programs, platforms, and candidates are lacking. Without third parties, how will either Democrats or Republicans manage to improve on those arguments and grievances their own party is ignoring, often much to its own peril? That is why I believe that acceptance for third parties- the more the merrier! would be better for our democracy than joining one of two herds of lemmings, each streaming past the other to an indefinite coastal cliff, from sea to shining sea.

This common complaint of our national seeking unity blinds itself to the reason we can't seem to find it- because these two political organizations, with no real other raison d' etre than to get, maintain and keep control of power, are the very source of the disunity itself.  Free yourself from party affiliations, labels, and all the various silly constructs of ego that help to keep you confused in this age of more information-than-you-can-eat. Think for yourself, believe in yourself- & be the change that you want to see.

For No Rhyme Nor Reason

      Sure looks like one of them "real barnburners" we're all stuck with coming up to the Erections in a couple weeks- and never before have we witnessed the actual underbelly of the American Mind coming unhinged and blasting off in so many directions... Bad Cops popping off randomly, but with much more frequency, across the nation; President Stumpy daring the Virus to come get him, which it does; goon squads volunteering to "oversee" the polling places.... I mean hey what's not to like about the USA this year? I'm sure glad I don't live in some backward place like Bolivia or Bosnia-Herzegovina! 

     Obviously President Stumpy most wants to appeal to those Americans of whom Ben Franklin said because they desire security over liberty deserve neither, and if populations get the government they deserve, then perhaps this was all just as God planned it, because Those Americans have gotten noisier and noisier over the years, along with Stumpy. 

     Well it would be one thing if I had happened to respect what his profession was before election but since Real Estate is anathema to the Indigenous outlook (along with the importation of the European and Oriental concepts of "wealth" and "money" and "commerce") but since I know Real Estate is one profession where everyone must present themselves as exceedingly trustworthy (when their whole industry has been built on theft from the first) by dressing in best "business formal" for PR presentation... I never liked Real Estate people nor even the idea you can buy or sell the Earth Mother itself. Goes to say I couldn't care less about people such as Stumpy himself.

     Sigh. So many things went wrong in that going forward of Manifest Destiny over the original Americans and so much of all them are tied into the future demise of our Earth Mother herself, all rapped up in those civilizational tropes. I see and watch as the Arctic sea ice retreats, Greenland and Antarctica's continental ice shelves unmoor and unglue, as wildfires wreck what used to be everybody's ideas of idyllic California Summer dreams... 

     But why go on? It's duality anyway and more of the Games of mice and men. 

     Me, I think things are gonna get better. They always do, since "even this too shall pass away..."
The karmic pendulum can never remain on one angle anyway, and so, go vote, or not. It's your freedom and how much you value Life maybe. Things won't get better presto change-o and don't ever kid yourself buster that any new president is ever gonna be the Messiah you keep expecting them to be. 

     But you know, you can choose to go under in the onslaught, or you can "resist" by ignoring it, and the loud voices of hate you hear coming from left and right, of a country armed to the teeth ready to take each other on on an issue where the only sensible approach would be nonviolence, period. Those loud voices of hate want to eat out your substance and grind you down until you are in the same hole that they are. Don't listen, if they knew anything in the first place they wouldn't be down IN that hole looking up.

     Think with your heart., and walk your right dharmic path.

     Free your mind and your feet will follow.

Score 2 for the Indians

     This last month has seen 2 refreshing developments in the ongoing struggle of indigenous people to reclaim what once belonged to them, stolen by custom or treaty. In the first, a federal judge ruled that a portion of Oklahoma granted, by treaty, in the 19th C, to the Creek Nation, was still to be officially considered a reservation and under the tribe's, neither state of Oklahoma nor federal jurisdiction. It didn't mean that "Injuns are comin' - t' take away our land!" but it does mean that the tribe is allowed to adjudicate certain cases outside of any "constitutionally formulated" whiteman-style jurisprudence, set up since the great land grab of 1888. The judge ruled that since Congress had never said otherwise since the treaty was set in place, that the tribe still retains its sovereign dominion... over quite a large area of the state, including the city of Tulsa. This can possibly also mean that other tribes such as Cherokee who were removed by Pres. Jackson with the Creeks and Choctaws may themselves have righteous claims to the same opinions.
     In the other development, a ranch that had been out of Indian hands for over 250 years on the Little Sur River in California was purchased by the Essalen tribe, the original inhabitants, and will be a preserve for endangered species such as red legged frog and California condor. In this case, the land itself has been returned from the clutches of the 'wasichus" and every small step forward like this only serves to help to rectify the immense injustices done to the native people in my native state, and country.
     So score one for Sitting Bull  and the good guys. Wouldn't he look so much better than Andrew Jackson on the $20 dollar bill?

Long Hot Summer

     The latest national mood crash centering around race and police violence doesn't escape me, no matter how apathetic I choose to be toward most developments in my nation.
     The fact that cops are violent is no surprise. Neither is it a surprise that so many of them act like goons and bullies, since "that's their job." To be goons and bullies.
     To train for this , they often spend a term or two first in the military, and when they get out, no further ahead than they were before, they are given preference as veterans, in hiring- especially within police departments, where military hierarchy is a simulcrum of "service" life. These folks are trained to see things in confrontational shades, and so, we end up with a country that appears to have been overrun by an occupying army, where those paid to "protect" us bully, intimidate, harass, and kill us with impunity instead, since, of course, the man at the top "has their back." And we still want to think we are a "free country."
     We could go on about "the man at the top" but one thing strikes me as noteworthy at this point- he seems immune to the voices of actual protest against police violence whether directed at minority groups, or just the population in general. I notice he gives great credence to those who fought tfor the treasonous cause of slavery and secession as if they were "braver than you" and yet where's his own bravery to even match those? And why is a representative of the federal government so opposed to excising remnants and souvenirs of an abolished evil?
     Partly because he pays evil no mind, and swims with the likes of evil kings and dictators himself, and having long ago sold his soul (for whatever reason at the time- becoming most powerful man in the world seems to have been an afterthought) sees no moral turpitude in protecting his "friends" from moral and international justice.
     Well I sure would not want to drink a beer with either him, or most cops on the beat for that matter. The only way a President of the United States could ever be received in my home would be on the other end of a search warrant, thank you. And I never listen to his speeches- I only read abut them later, that's how little I think of the "msjesty" of his imperial position.

     Someday, and soon, America will get is head together about the Great Disease, and also, about Racial Equality These things take time and evolution, and often one step forward can mean two steps back will be required. However, since I happened to grow up in one of the world's great cultural melting pots, Honolulu, I could never understand why people on the mainland were so hung up about race, social status, class, and all those other things that go into making up "white privilege"- something I've never felt much of myself being both
a) a longhair and on the "wrong side" of the War on Drugs"
and
b) my partial native American ancestry, dating back to before the Trail of Tears, which gives me a sense and perception of being part of a community established much earlier than 1492.
     I can't yet, figure why people have to hang on to their stupid ideas that there are "races" when there is just ONE human species, our brains are grey, our blood is red, and when our hearts stop beating, we die.