Saturday, March 25, 2017

his nose ran unchecked

A-gruntin and a-rootin and a-groanin

It'll quit terreckly

a razor-backed hog with warts on its face and horns coming out behind its ears snorted

no hog to scoot down

Poor nasty little thing

alternately to smolder and to blaze

not white trash, just common

And wona these days I know I'll we-eara crown

thin leathery old woman in a cotton print dress. She and Claud had three sacks of chicken feed in their pump house that was in the same print

+++.  +++.  +++ 

Touring a defense aircraft plant years ago, I commented aloud that the A-10 was the ugliest airplane that had ever cursed the skies. An ill-timed if true remark, as a man in the group showing me around had served in its design, and took great offense. I'll never do that again. 

Temptation is to misspeak (for a priest who should sit mildly by lest he offend) myself politically, and call up phrases from such as Flannery O’Connor’s short story “Revelation,”

“Go back to hell where you came from, you old warthog.” 

Politically incorrect, socially obscene and humanely inhumane, Flannery’s stories are amazingly right on for their situs, scraping and revealing, as they do, the bottom of the sociopolitical barrel of ignorant, prejudiced, certitudinous humanity that we are, untermensch.

Yesterday, Friday, I watched television, bemused not amused, as a petty would be tyrant was taught a lesson that was far beyond his ken.

+++.  +++.  +++

In woods around her the invisible cricket choruses had struck up, but what she heard were the voices of the souls climbing upward into the starry field and shouting hallelujah.

with apologies to everything and everyone of common human decency

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