Smokey Mountain Breakdown

2. The Gods Are Bored

Anne Johnson's irreverent examination of past pantheon deities with a sprinkling of politics is described as "Praise and Worship Suggestions for those longing to be Left Behind". She also posts regularly on Appalachian Greens. Anne is a writer, Druid and a DAR member. She posts regular interviews with various deities. Beneath the humor is always something deeper to think about.

From her recent interview with Satan:

Satan: Please call me "Mr. Applegate," Anne. You know I hate all those devil names.

Anne: And I hate you. So there! How about if I call you Stinky? It's more precise.

Applegate: Go ahead. Hurt my feelings. Where's your compassion? How would you like to have my job?

Anne: Not much, Stinky. (For my newer readers out there, I'd like to note that I allow Satan to vent on my blog because I'm not afraid of him. I've got my afterlife booked with a different carrier.)

3. Frogma

My friend Bonnie writes of paddling in the Hudson, sailing and urban gardening. I always feel a bit disoriented on her blog with all the lovely photos of the water and squash blossoms, because I know she lives in Manhattan. She reminds me that you can live in the midst of 8 million people and still remain firmly connected to the earth. Much of her blog is about paddling, but even if you aren't a paddling enthusiast, you will find much of interest. She proves that even in the largest metropolis...there's a flower growing and a river running if you just look for it.



4. The Root Cellar

I have written about Erin before. She never fails to impress me with her pioneering spirit, her poetry and her dignity. She also makes me feel less alone. Many, many people dream the dream of our life of rural isolation. Some give it a whirl, but many fail. She's got cute sheep, too.

Not even the walls of privilege can withstand the flow
violence breaches any green zone
as kings turn to leave with their ammunition heavy plans
lets hold on to whats truly human
seems theres less with every sunrise
or its just harder to find
beneath the clattering weight of spent artillery.

5. Velociworld

Not sure if the meme scene is V-Man's cup of tea, but I really must include him. This guy totally writes me out of the freaking water. And that's saying a lot since I'm a bit cocky about my writing skills. I've learned so much about writing from reading him. We share a connection in that his family vacationed in my hometown, Bluffton. We know many of the same people from there. He had a crush on my sister when he was fourteen. Any of his posts about his relationship with his father, The Senator, are not to be missed.

The Senator was there, of course, but whether he was awake or not was a throw of the die. He generally dined early, and burrowed himself into a mountain of blanketed, snoring content. He thought television was bullshit. Personally I think he was disgusted by the fact there was no pornography. He was an avid aficionado of the naked female form, and likely thought TV was a brilliant medium, wasted. Just a theory.

So anyway, here's how I remember this story. I believe we were all ensconced on the bed, watching The Smothers Brothers or some such. Recollection and legend are uncomfortable roommates, to say the least, but legend wins out, usually. Seems at the climactic point of a show the Senator roused from the fever swamps of his slumbers, addlepated from an earlier bout with John Barleycorn. He stared blankly around, attempting to focus, and blurted out

"Well, Little Miss Earlymouth! What pig are you riding?!?!"

I've tried, over the years, through suasion and necromancy, to enter that dream. It still exists somewhere, a bit of subconscious ephemera, floating like gossamer in the space-time continuum, but to no avail. For that had to be one kinghell dream. Parse it as I might, it could only have been pig races of some sort. Was the Senator racing a pig? Little Miss Earlymouth certainly was. Were the pigs saddled? Who won?