Saturday, August 13, 2016

Hunger games for ranchers, farmers and cowboys: Thoroughbred horse racing

Sabbath day.

I send my horses to the racetrack like a mother offers her child to war.

I know the costs.

I know the risks.

I love horses.

I also know certain is the control if you play by their rules.

Fuck assembly line industrial agriculture. I will not be your slave.

Let the games begin.


Friday, June 24, 2016

Gaff

Despite not having a stakes winner (yet), derived from today's Bloodhorse sire list for Thoroughbred horses standing in Texas:
From the top ten, Gaff ranks 8th by gross winnings.
He ranks 1st by earnings per starter.
He ranks 1st by winners per starter.
He ranks 1st by repeat winners per starter.
The year ain't over.

Thursday, June 16, 2016

A book of proverbs

Starting today, good Lord willing, I begin a new book.

It's not exactly new. Version one began to take form a few months back. I began the book ala Chuck Bowden, my writing mentor, in a small note pad, hand written, as thoughts occur.

Alas: version one of the book suffered an ill fate and got left in the wash. The remains were unintelligible.

Ya'll ain't yet saved.

Anything you say or do in my presence is not only your experience but mine as well.

You are warned.

The title:

A Book of Proverbs.

Time to take out the trash

Time to take out the trash.
Libertarian purists don't have answers for running an orderly society.
But theirs is the medicine prescribed for our current ailment.
The old must be removed to make room for the new.
Establishment parties will not remove themselves willingly.

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Mr Obama....

Declare a moratorium, effective immediately.

Given the current state of affairs, where entire states have in effect, legalized the use of cannabis

all the while federal law continues to classify this herb as a schedule-1 drug

large numbers of inmates remain locked up for marijuana offenses.

No more arrests until this law is changed.

Revisit the cases of all locked up for marijuana offenses.

All of them.

Now, please.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

My generation: a parable

A parable:
My generation.
The box arrives. 101 yellow chicks, hungry, aside from one which lays dead. Hard to tell it was once a chick.
They are placed in a Hilton Hotel of sorts, where chickens are concerned.
Food, the best Purina makes, light, heat, temperature all controlled.
They eat.
They shit.
They grow.
At about five weeks the provider culls 50 of these almost five pound birds.
They go to the low rent neighborhood.
Near my house.
He gives them away. No way in hell he'd accept the full value of a prepared meal made from one of these animals in exchange for killing, plucking, gutting the bird.
He has never known hunger.
His birds, now my birds, live in a makeshift coop made from pallets, baling wire and scraps of mesh wire.
I have known hunger.
Meanwhile, the few remaining birds from the Hilton sit in a cage, 8 pounds already. Winners at the livestock show. Never mind they cannot walk.
Back in low rent village, someone shows up and picks up all the birds that cannot walk.
They are taken, killed and gutted, one by one.
Over the next few weeks, more become immobile, unable to support their weight.
I open the door to the cage and leave a space large enough for them to come and go.
Many die.
Their carcasses mostly fed dogs or pigs.
Some were so nasty that not even the dogs were interested.
Today there are fifteen healthy birds from the original one hundred, healthy, active, coming and going.
Fifteen more sit, immobile, depressed.
Waiting.
This is my generation.