Monday, May 17, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
No Evil Part 2
Part 1
Stepping inside the tent, Andrei has the sensation of crawling inside an enormous kaleidoscope. Glittering butterfly-acrobats drift to and fro carrying colorful streamers; throngs of disfigured mortals rummage through gilded oaken chests like fevered hallucinations. Exotic monsters from alien shores mingle with man and man-beast alike in a spectacle of glamored biology.
"Theo told me you've got a bone to pick with Popa," said a startlingly corpulent mustachioed man wearing muddy slacks, suspenders but no shirt. Andrei had not noticed him a moment earlier. "Makes no difference to me, long as you've got the money. Better hand it over now, too, bub. Once Popa gets a hand on you you'll be out like that deadbeat Zoltan."
That deadbeat Zoltan rests blissfully, enjoying one of the long periods of heedless tranquility which are so frequent in his life. From an early age, Zoltan learned to live in brief sprints, interspersed with heroic naps. Growing up in the Ukraine he spent most of his time searching for comfortable places in which to lie down and rest, a difficult task in the small wooden farmhouse shared with his mother, grandfather, four brothers, two sisters, and six cousins. He developed a virtuosic ability to wake at a moment's notice: to bolt to his feet and grab a broom in feigned obeisance to his mother's shrieking orders or evade a salvo of rotting oranges launched by rivalrous kin. So exhausting are these snap reflexes that Zoltan spends almost all of his unsupervised time conserving energy with sloth-like efficiency.
Which is how he has spent the better part of this particular warm summer morning, snoring behind a stack of powder kegs in full costume, leather goggles strapped over his eyes. Zoltan the Human Cannonball is primed for action.
Popa is bored. And hungry. Hungry, warm in tent. Itchy-sticky.
"Sir I must say I am glad for the challenge," Andrei said confidently as he removed his hat. "Where is the unfortunate creature?"
"I'm looking at him. Waheee!" The fat man laughs like a donkey whines. "But if you're meanin' the monkey, he's back in wardrobe, getting ready. Wa-waheee!"
The jeers are like waves crashing against stalwart Andrei's mountainous ego. For he is not a fool. He knows well that the arm of human ingenuity is longer than the arm of bestial violence.
Andrei traces his intellectual lineage back to the great minds of the Enlightenment: Descartes and Locke. A train of thought which began with those geniuses who dared to claim, "God wants us to think" continued to the Galapagos where Darwin dared to say, "God weeds out the unfit" and made its final stop, by Andrei's reckoning, in the steam engines which carried him across the Atlantic to the steel mill in Pennsylvania where every day he goes to pray, in his own fashion, to the God-given human intellect which makes Man master of the elements.
Andrei melts and molds steel into the implements of ascendancy. His sweat and labor is a testament to God and to Mankind that he is fit; that of the natural world, his race is exalted. Sometimes Andrei offers this testament in other ways as well. At 19 he became a celebrity in his village for killing a wolf. The people of the town wanted the wolf dead because it had been taking goats in the night. Andrei wanted it dead to prove a point.
Stepping inside the tent, Andrei has the sensation of crawling inside an enormous kaleidoscope. Glittering butterfly-acrobats drift to and fro carrying colorful streamers; throngs of disfigured mortals rummage through gilded oaken chests like fevered hallucinations. Exotic monsters from alien shores mingle with man and man-beast alike in a spectacle of glamored biology.
"Theo told me you've got a bone to pick with Popa," said a startlingly corpulent mustachioed man wearing muddy slacks, suspenders but no shirt. Andrei had not noticed him a moment earlier. "Makes no difference to me, long as you've got the money. Better hand it over now, too, bub. Once Popa gets a hand on you you'll be out like that deadbeat Zoltan."
That deadbeat Zoltan rests blissfully, enjoying one of the long periods of heedless tranquility which are so frequent in his life. From an early age, Zoltan learned to live in brief sprints, interspersed with heroic naps. Growing up in the Ukraine he spent most of his time searching for comfortable places in which to lie down and rest, a difficult task in the small wooden farmhouse shared with his mother, grandfather, four brothers, two sisters, and six cousins. He developed a virtuosic ability to wake at a moment's notice: to bolt to his feet and grab a broom in feigned obeisance to his mother's shrieking orders or evade a salvo of rotting oranges launched by rivalrous kin. So exhausting are these snap reflexes that Zoltan spends almost all of his unsupervised time conserving energy with sloth-like efficiency.
Which is how he has spent the better part of this particular warm summer morning, snoring behind a stack of powder kegs in full costume, leather goggles strapped over his eyes. Zoltan the Human Cannonball is primed for action.
Popa is bored. And hungry. Hungry, warm in tent. Itchy-sticky.
"Sir I must say I am glad for the challenge," Andrei said confidently as he removed his hat. "Where is the unfortunate creature?"
"I'm looking at him. Waheee!" The fat man laughs like a donkey whines. "But if you're meanin' the monkey, he's back in wardrobe, getting ready. Wa-waheee!"
The jeers are like waves crashing against stalwart Andrei's mountainous ego. For he is not a fool. He knows well that the arm of human ingenuity is longer than the arm of bestial violence.
Andrei traces his intellectual lineage back to the great minds of the Enlightenment: Descartes and Locke. A train of thought which began with those geniuses who dared to claim, "God wants us to think" continued to the Galapagos where Darwin dared to say, "God weeds out the unfit" and made its final stop, by Andrei's reckoning, in the steam engines which carried him across the Atlantic to the steel mill in Pennsylvania where every day he goes to pray, in his own fashion, to the God-given human intellect which makes Man master of the elements.
Andrei melts and molds steel into the implements of ascendancy. His sweat and labor is a testament to God and to Mankind that he is fit; that of the natural world, his race is exalted. Sometimes Andrei offers this testament in other ways as well. At 19 he became a celebrity in his village for killing a wolf. The people of the town wanted the wolf dead because it had been taking goats in the night. Andrei wanted it dead to prove a point.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
No Evil, Part 1
Eyes with too much white in them stare out from under a vast brow, on which brown tufts of hair grow like a treeline on a frozen mountain. Not a handsome man but he has a strong back and a ready will. No enemies and few friends. He's learned to eat sour lemons. Not unhappy but never satisfied, he is a tired soul who wakes before dawn without knowing why.
Andrei Ilyko is his name, and he stands under a noontime sun in conversation with a dwarf. The dwarf lounges in a tiny chair made of tin, while a toucan perched on his shoulder pecks at almonds balanced around the brim of his dusty top hat.
"What's your problem, fella?" implores the dwarf. "I can't get you. You got an education, I can tell by the way you talk. You got a good job, too, down there at the steel mill. I bet you got an old lady sweet as mince pie waiting for ya in a house with apple trees in the backyard. Now what in the hell do you want to go and fight that monkey for? Why do you want to risk your life? He's just gonna clobber ya."
A cool breeze blows a cowlick free of the top of Andrei's carefully coiffed scalp.
"The beast's very presence is an insult. It is an aberration, an anachronism. His odor and his appearance offend me."
"Why? What did he ever do to you?"
Nostrils flaring, "If you have to ask, sir, then you would not understand even if the skies were to open and the Almighty himself descend to inscribe my sentiments in clay tablets," cheeks flushing, "with lightning bolts cast from his fingertips! If you'll excuse me."
Andrei pulls his coat in around him and strides past the miffed dwarf, dropping a nickel in his lap. As he parts the gaudy green and yellow flaps of the main circus tent, the dwarf makes this remark to the toucan:
"He's nuttier than a fruitcake."
But through the wind Andrei hears,
"Reminds me of Don Quixote."
and his heart is bolstered by the compliment.
Andrei Ilyko is his name, and he stands under a noontime sun in conversation with a dwarf. The dwarf lounges in a tiny chair made of tin, while a toucan perched on his shoulder pecks at almonds balanced around the brim of his dusty top hat.
"What's your problem, fella?" implores the dwarf. "I can't get you. You got an education, I can tell by the way you talk. You got a good job, too, down there at the steel mill. I bet you got an old lady sweet as mince pie waiting for ya in a house with apple trees in the backyard. Now what in the hell do you want to go and fight that monkey for? Why do you want to risk your life? He's just gonna clobber ya."
A cool breeze blows a cowlick free of the top of Andrei's carefully coiffed scalp.
"The beast's very presence is an insult. It is an aberration, an anachronism. His odor and his appearance offend me."
"Why? What did he ever do to you?"
Nostrils flaring, "If you have to ask, sir, then you would not understand even if the skies were to open and the Almighty himself descend to inscribe my sentiments in clay tablets," cheeks flushing, "with lightning bolts cast from his fingertips! If you'll excuse me."
Andrei pulls his coat in around him and strides past the miffed dwarf, dropping a nickel in his lap. As he parts the gaudy green and yellow flaps of the main circus tent, the dwarf makes this remark to the toucan:
"He's nuttier than a fruitcake."
But through the wind Andrei hears,
"Reminds me of Don Quixote."
and his heart is bolstered by the compliment.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
A Dance You Should Know When The Lights Are Down Low
Today I walked for 10 minutes under a noontime sun thinking Nothing. My life flash photography; each moment.
Once I saw a toilet with this inscription around the seat:
"NO SHIT. NO PISS."
Thoughts cast to the ground like a bucket full of child's toys. The pornographic odor of too many blossoming flowers in too little space.
Later with cigarettes and wine we take turns telling dark secrets but I can't think of any. Singing along without knowing any of the words.
Once I saw a toilet with this inscription around the seat:
"NO SHIT. NO PISS."
Thoughts cast to the ground like a bucket full of child's toys. The pornographic odor of too many blossoming flowers in too little space.
Later with cigarettes and wine we take turns telling dark secrets but I can't think of any. Singing along without knowing any of the words.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Atop a Mossy Rock in Unfamiliar Wilderness
Thinking quickly I write before it is too dark; even now the tip of my pen vanishes into infinity and the words appear on the page through sheer force of imagination. A cardinal on her polyester sweater, jeans hugging tiny legs like bent twigs ready to snap. The single scarlet phantom of a tree on a hillside painted dead brown. It is too dark. I follow the memory of my own profane passing back to my bicycle's hiding spot.
The moon's magical 'cause it's the sun we can look at without going blind.
The moon's magical 'cause it's the sun we can look at without going blind.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The Canary and the Coal Miner
(Feature piece written for the Athens News Monday)
As we stepped off the bus the sun was at our backs; we encountered a sea of squinting eyes.
"What are they doing here?" the eyes asked silently. "Why can't they mind their own business?"
It was a valid question. I had spent the last two and a half hours pondering the answer, as myself and roughly a dozen other members of the Sierra Club rode a Greyhound from Athens to St. Clairsville, in Belmont County. Our goal: convince the EPA at a public hearing to deny the Ohio Valley Coal Company (OVCC) a permit to build a new coal slurry pond for its two mines in that area.
Some background: The two mines, Powhatan No. 6 in Belmont County and Century in Monroe County, produce 60 percent of the state's coal. They employ 1,300 workers locally and 10 times that number indirectly. If the company's permit is denied, the head of the corporation which owns the mine, Murray Energy, has stated he will close both mines.
Which explains the cold reception. But there were serious issues with the proposed expansion, I earnestly told myself. Coal slurry, a byproduct from the washing process of coal extraction, is a notoriously toxic substance and has been known to seep into groundwater or spill into local drinking water. One may recall the Buffalo Creek Disaster of 1972 in Logan County, W.Va, in which a slurry spill left 125 dead and 1,100 injured out of a population of 5,000.
The most recent spill at the OVCC mines occurred in 2008 and blackened 10 miles of Captina Creek. Before that there was one in 2005. So accidents are not a remote possibility.
The line of people waiting to speak their mind on the issue stretched out the door of the James Carnes Center and down the road. Judging from the looks we were getting, around 90 percent of them were coal miners, forced to choose between their jobs and water quality.
"Coal Miners Never Die, They Just Keep Digging Their Graves Deeper" read the backs of the shirts of the broad-shouldered men ahead of us.
"It gets colder the closer we get to the door," commented one of my companions, and I knew what she meant as we shuffled past metal detectors into the main auditorium.
Sitting near the front, I took a moment to survey the audience. Businessmen with folded legs and workers with folded arms wore similar stern expressions as we waited for the fireworks to start. I noticed one man in an expensive-looking suit staring at me with a look of exasperation.
"When will you learn?" he seemed to be asking.
Eventually four men seated themselves on the stage in front of us, two representing the Ohio EPA and two the Army Corps of Engineers. Jed Thorp of the former group was the first to take the mic. A squeaky voice asked the attendees in the back row if they could hear him.
"Passions run high on both sides of this issue," he observed. "Everybody here has a right to be heard."
After a fairly dry description of the issue, the panel heard questions from the audience, which would not be recorded as public comments. The first question regarded the 2008 spill.
"We don't have that information here tonight," Thorp weakly explained.
One person misunderstood the meeting format and took the opportunity to make a comment in defense of the mines.
"I dirty more streams fishing than these coal companies do."
"What's he fishing with?" I heard someone whisper behind me.
Lights flicked on as the sun sank beneath the horizon ominously: it was time for public comment, the reason we were all there.
For the next two hours a surprisingly diverse procession of concerns were heard.
The businessman I noticed earlier was the first to step up. Revealing himself to be John R. Forrelli, vice president of Engineering and Planning for Murray Energy, he carefully explained his company's commitment to improving the Captina's water quality, though there was "no cost-effective alternative" to the plan being debated.
The loudest response from the audience was earned by John Conway, a resident of Belmont County "for about 100 years."
"I want to point to an endangered species." He gestured dramatically toward those seated behind him. "These coal miners."
Sierra Club representative Nachy Kanfer acknowledged that coal keeps the lights on, but stressed that it wouldn't always be so. "We call on the governor to start working on clean energy jobs in coal country."
When my turn came I didn't use half of my allotted three minutes. My heart pounding in my ears, I tried to argue that miners didn't have to choose between their jobs and the environment, that the company could dispose of the slurry in safer ways. My words sounded more like pleas than promises.
Fellow OU student Stephen Swabek spoke more eloquently about the unsustainable nature of coal power. "In 25, 35 years, when it's all gone, what's going to happen here?"
Perhaps the most poignant comment was offered by a young woman in a pink tee-shirt which read "Wife of a Coal Miner."
"No one is here to say, 'if the coal mine shuts down, we're here for you.'"
By the time the last comment was heard there was a distinctly different atmosphere in the room. Tensions had eased, while the worry remained like a sore thumb. Panelists lauded the audience for their civility and attentiveness.
Col. Michael Crall of the Army Corps called it "a testament to the character of the citizens of Belmont County." The miner's slogan came to mind.
Looking up at a clear starry sky as we filed out of the Center, the words that resounded in my ears more than any other were those offered by an elderly miner, Christoper Rogers, near the hearing's close:
Whatever you decide, he said, "Be smart. Be smart and do it right."
As we stepped off the bus the sun was at our backs; we encountered a sea of squinting eyes.
"What are they doing here?" the eyes asked silently. "Why can't they mind their own business?"
It was a valid question. I had spent the last two and a half hours pondering the answer, as myself and roughly a dozen other members of the Sierra Club rode a Greyhound from Athens to St. Clairsville, in Belmont County. Our goal: convince the EPA at a public hearing to deny the Ohio Valley Coal Company (OVCC) a permit to build a new coal slurry pond for its two mines in that area.
Some background: The two mines, Powhatan No. 6 in Belmont County and Century in Monroe County, produce 60 percent of the state's coal. They employ 1,300 workers locally and 10 times that number indirectly. If the company's permit is denied, the head of the corporation which owns the mine, Murray Energy, has stated he will close both mines.
Which explains the cold reception. But there were serious issues with the proposed expansion, I earnestly told myself. Coal slurry, a byproduct from the washing process of coal extraction, is a notoriously toxic substance and has been known to seep into groundwater or spill into local drinking water. One may recall the Buffalo Creek Disaster of 1972 in Logan County, W.Va, in which a slurry spill left 125 dead and 1,100 injured out of a population of 5,000.
The most recent spill at the OVCC mines occurred in 2008 and blackened 10 miles of Captina Creek. Before that there was one in 2005. So accidents are not a remote possibility.
The line of people waiting to speak their mind on the issue stretched out the door of the James Carnes Center and down the road. Judging from the looks we were getting, around 90 percent of them were coal miners, forced to choose between their jobs and water quality.
"Coal Miners Never Die, They Just Keep Digging Their Graves Deeper" read the backs of the shirts of the broad-shouldered men ahead of us.
"It gets colder the closer we get to the door," commented one of my companions, and I knew what she meant as we shuffled past metal detectors into the main auditorium.
Sitting near the front, I took a moment to survey the audience. Businessmen with folded legs and workers with folded arms wore similar stern expressions as we waited for the fireworks to start. I noticed one man in an expensive-looking suit staring at me with a look of exasperation.
"When will you learn?" he seemed to be asking.
Eventually four men seated themselves on the stage in front of us, two representing the Ohio EPA and two the Army Corps of Engineers. Jed Thorp of the former group was the first to take the mic. A squeaky voice asked the attendees in the back row if they could hear him.
"Passions run high on both sides of this issue," he observed. "Everybody here has a right to be heard."
After a fairly dry description of the issue, the panel heard questions from the audience, which would not be recorded as public comments. The first question regarded the 2008 spill.
"We don't have that information here tonight," Thorp weakly explained.
One person misunderstood the meeting format and took the opportunity to make a comment in defense of the mines.
"I dirty more streams fishing than these coal companies do."
"What's he fishing with?" I heard someone whisper behind me.
Lights flicked on as the sun sank beneath the horizon ominously: it was time for public comment, the reason we were all there.
For the next two hours a surprisingly diverse procession of concerns were heard.
The businessman I noticed earlier was the first to step up. Revealing himself to be John R. Forrelli, vice president of Engineering and Planning for Murray Energy, he carefully explained his company's commitment to improving the Captina's water quality, though there was "no cost-effective alternative" to the plan being debated.
The loudest response from the audience was earned by John Conway, a resident of Belmont County "for about 100 years."
"I want to point to an endangered species." He gestured dramatically toward those seated behind him. "These coal miners."
Sierra Club representative Nachy Kanfer acknowledged that coal keeps the lights on, but stressed that it wouldn't always be so. "We call on the governor to start working on clean energy jobs in coal country."
When my turn came I didn't use half of my allotted three minutes. My heart pounding in my ears, I tried to argue that miners didn't have to choose between their jobs and the environment, that the company could dispose of the slurry in safer ways. My words sounded more like pleas than promises.
Fellow OU student Stephen Swabek spoke more eloquently about the unsustainable nature of coal power. "In 25, 35 years, when it's all gone, what's going to happen here?"
Perhaps the most poignant comment was offered by a young woman in a pink tee-shirt which read "Wife of a Coal Miner."
"No one is here to say, 'if the coal mine shuts down, we're here for you.'"
By the time the last comment was heard there was a distinctly different atmosphere in the room. Tensions had eased, while the worry remained like a sore thumb. Panelists lauded the audience for their civility and attentiveness.
Col. Michael Crall of the Army Corps called it "a testament to the character of the citizens of Belmont County." The miner's slogan came to mind.
Looking up at a clear starry sky as we filed out of the Center, the words that resounded in my ears more than any other were those offered by an elderly miner, Christoper Rogers, near the hearing's close:
Whatever you decide, he said, "Be smart. Be smart and do it right."
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Patty Revere Pt. 7
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Alex barely makes it to the door handle. The tall man is on him with the righteous zeal of someone whose privileges are endangered.
Patty screams for no reason she can articulate.
A cheetah and a man do battle before her. The man is armed with technology but the cheetah is wild: scratching, biting, hissing.
The man prevails. Patty remains at her door, wailing like a kettle.
Alex spits and cries from the chemicals in his eyes. The tall man rises to his feet, his quarry subdued and restrained. He lingers there, his legs astride the beast.
"Ma'am, I'm going to ask you to calm down. Please calm down ma'am."
Patty will not calm down. She watches the tall man standing over her cat, sees the scratches on his arms and face from the recent struggle. Alex is lying on his side sobbing, pulling his knees towards his chin with his hands still cuffed behind his back.
Patty can not hear the tall man because she is no longer standing on her front porch. She is standing in the woods with her father. At her father's feet is a bleeding doe, in his hands a rifle. The doe lies on its back in a perfectly inert state, its haunches splayed open frankly, the tendons in its legs having lost their ability to constrict.
Alex is lifted rudely to his feet. Blinded, he's led to the special car. The tall man pushes his head down.
With a large knife Jay begins to slash the doe near its hind legs. Sticking his fingers into the gashes he tugs and like an onion the beast loses its skin. Underneath it is red and purple. Patty screams and she will not calm down. Dead leaves crumble under her boots as she turns and runs. Jay calls after her and she hears him but she will not respond.
The tall man is about to turn to tell Patty that if she doesn't calm down, he'll have to put her in his car too. He doesn't get the chance. The impact in his lower back makes his arms flail out at his sides and his knees buckle. As he falls his forehead slams into the car in the same spot where Alex's would have if he hadn't pushed it down.
Alex makes a yipping noise more reminiscent of a hyena than a cat. Blinking, he rolls out of the special car and joins the rag doll on the ground. Patty has stopped screaming, her massive chest heaving. She is slowly coming out of the woods.
After frantically fidgeting with the keys attached to the tall man's shiny belt, Alex rises to his feet, his hands unbound. He runs to the front of the car and jumps in, gesturing wildly to his friend Patty, who, after hesitating for only a moment, steps over the tall man and into the passenger's seat.
The inside of the car is clean and smells like nothing. Alex smiles at Patty and brings the car humming to life. He leans over to press a button in the center console. Patty gasps and then giggles as the car lights up and plays a song. Alex drums his fingers on the steering wheel and squints into the sun.
END
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Alex barely makes it to the door handle. The tall man is on him with the righteous zeal of someone whose privileges are endangered.
Patty screams for no reason she can articulate.
A cheetah and a man do battle before her. The man is armed with technology but the cheetah is wild: scratching, biting, hissing.
The man prevails. Patty remains at her door, wailing like a kettle.
Alex spits and cries from the chemicals in his eyes. The tall man rises to his feet, his quarry subdued and restrained. He lingers there, his legs astride the beast.
"Ma'am, I'm going to ask you to calm down. Please calm down ma'am."
Patty will not calm down. She watches the tall man standing over her cat, sees the scratches on his arms and face from the recent struggle. Alex is lying on his side sobbing, pulling his knees towards his chin with his hands still cuffed behind his back.
Patty can not hear the tall man because she is no longer standing on her front porch. She is standing in the woods with her father. At her father's feet is a bleeding doe, in his hands a rifle. The doe lies on its back in a perfectly inert state, its haunches splayed open frankly, the tendons in its legs having lost their ability to constrict.
Alex is lifted rudely to his feet. Blinded, he's led to the special car. The tall man pushes his head down.
With a large knife Jay begins to slash the doe near its hind legs. Sticking his fingers into the gashes he tugs and like an onion the beast loses its skin. Underneath it is red and purple. Patty screams and she will not calm down. Dead leaves crumble under her boots as she turns and runs. Jay calls after her and she hears him but she will not respond.
The tall man is about to turn to tell Patty that if she doesn't calm down, he'll have to put her in his car too. He doesn't get the chance. The impact in his lower back makes his arms flail out at his sides and his knees buckle. As he falls his forehead slams into the car in the same spot where Alex's would have if he hadn't pushed it down.
Alex makes a yipping noise more reminiscent of a hyena than a cat. Blinking, he rolls out of the special car and joins the rag doll on the ground. Patty has stopped screaming, her massive chest heaving. She is slowly coming out of the woods.
After frantically fidgeting with the keys attached to the tall man's shiny belt, Alex rises to his feet, his hands unbound. He runs to the front of the car and jumps in, gesturing wildly to his friend Patty, who, after hesitating for only a moment, steps over the tall man and into the passenger's seat.
The inside of the car is clean and smells like nothing. Alex smiles at Patty and brings the car humming to life. He leans over to press a button in the center console. Patty gasps and then giggles as the car lights up and plays a song. Alex drums his fingers on the steering wheel and squints into the sun.
END
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