Giving Thanks

[Bled Welder]

I have a great deal to be thankful for.  A little over a year ago now I was
given an opportunity to wake up and stop killing myself and start learning
and go into middle age like a responsible adult.  Obviously this stuff I
spout angrily is greatly fortified by alcohol, which is that from which I
believe I have the honor of being funded fully by this kind (and harsh at
first) principality.  If I lose this particular battle I can go up a level
where there are more medically advanced prescribers of health.  I'm fairly
well assured that as long as I do not break the criminal law written in the
code books here, then I will be taken care of, for a year, anyway.

But I'm an animal, so we'll see.  Do I think anything I say is correct?  I
think maybe probably, yes.  I believe something is happening, yes, as I've
described.  I may be wrong.  My personal opinion is, to whoever they are,
try being open and understanding and communicating with them.  I may be
crazy, but--

Anyhoo.  What *is* Thanksgiving?  I understand in principal what it is,
obviously, I just opened myself up and gave thanks, and I'll do it again,
thank you.  But what it's based on.  I am currently residing in the
Midwest, in the center of it.  All the streets in this beautiful area of
the world, extraordinarily hilly, right on the edge of the Plains, have
English/British names.  All of them.  But the names of the territories
these streets are on, all *remain* Indian names.  Even all the public
schools.  Everything.  Except the streets.  It's been a privilege to have,
maybe in my wild imagination, contact with the higher, older, ancient
Indian spirits.  Their land.  Yes legally we now own it.  I mean no
disrespect whatsoever to the authorities.

Speaking of old people.  Who are these old people who advance on this home
once a year and claim they are my mother's siblings?  Who, god, oy vay!
 And then there's the old crazy bastards who still live around here in the
neighborhood.  They're so goddam, oy.  I'm just trying to get through to
January over here.  It's an incredibly vibrantly flush almost extravagantly
beautifully grown area with trees and other magnificent shrubberies.
 They're so beautiful, especially the trees.  I've always loved them so
much.  Here's what happens.  The young people who are newly married with
their lil babes are moving in, and they *plant* trees.  The old people,
every year they cut more limbs off the older trees, and each year a handful
of the trees are finally bladed at their base.  And they are not by any
means dying trees.  It's just what stupid old fuckheads do.  They must
begin to believe that the trees are going to collapse on them in the night.
 Or they come to sense that the trees are much wiser than they are.

Then, later in the Fall, now, as the leaves are heavily falling, what these
old time bozos do is, if they don't like leaves, they won't just bag them,
they go out with these eviscerating machines and incinerate them.  Which
causes a massive duststorm in the neighborhood.  You have to buy advanced
systems of windows to keep up with their evernewer leaf-destroying
machines.  The sun at times is actually blurred out by these desperate old
men trying to keep their lawns green.  And of course I live at the bottom
of the hill.

Thank you, neighbors, for the dust up!  Can I have a beer now?
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