Another colored reprint. I enjoy writing rhymes. I enjoy drinking beer. But I don’t do both at the same time. I drink beer with people and write rhymes alone. I drink beer when I need to and write rhymes when I’m ______.
This page is a reprint from the “Family Farm Fun” book, with color added. I used the Bookshelf pages to list some of the ideas that were never brought to fruition. [I still liked them though.]
“Cornithaca County” has almost 700 folders already — most of which contain ideas that will never make it into the book in any form. A handful will be included in some new “bookshelf” pages. The content of the book is mild compared to some of what is being left out.
Another simple code with a difficult question. Doing the right thing is always simple; it’s making excuses for not doing it that’s complicated. The difficulty is that the difference between “simple” and “easy” can be the same as between “life” and “death.”
These coded texts pose the same questions as in my comments on “How many violations can you spot?”
While there is a solution to the code; there is no solution to the questions.
In these days of bashing for self-interest and self-profit — it’s time for some old-school bashing of those who profit at the expense of others. Cornithaca County has more corruption than you can shake a stick at . . . but give it a shot; you’ll feel better.
There’s a very simple [or maybe even stupid] answer to this page. Think outside the book . . . or look at the Solutions page [not included in this post.]
The brittle and harsh tone is meant to remove the comfort that would be natural in this setting.
Industrial agriculture is always unmoved and unchanged by the natural world, “like plastic bottles on the sea,” until, through its increasingly impervious influence; it changes the natural world itself.
It’s a world without beauty; permitted by an age without memory.
This singsong poem is a reprint of the end piece from Family Farm Fun. It’s the kind of repetitious word use that dispels fears. A rant that creates an obstruction, and reinforces the speaker’s beliefs against any threatening idea or thought.
The change in typeface is intended to slow the reader’s recognition and present the words like dropped stones.
In this CAFO version of the sing-a-long, the number keeps on increasing. 40,000 cow CAFOs already exist. Where will it end? 80,000 . . . 100,000?
Locally; the few remaining traditional farms and factory farms alike are being ploughed under as the biggest CAFO in New York State is continuing to spread like a shit stain across the rural landscape. It’s only a mile away.
I tried to keep what I loved about the flow of this great poem, and paint on some of what I hate about the flow of “nutrient” toxic waste. I think the addition of color effectively sets the mood for this reprint of the black and white version in Family Farm Fun.
