I hate vending machines. They are nothing but physical manifestations of the greed and wanton disrespect corporate America has for the consuming public. You have no choice as to what is offered and no complaint if what you picked does not come out. And then you have maybe an even chance of not receiving your money back.
I have always hated these box like clerks who stand there woodenly, silent, with suspicious brightness and cheery demeanor. Their cover tempts us with visions of Palm Trees and bottles with droplets dripping seductively, giving the impression that once we have punched in the $1.25, 12ozs of thirst busting pleasure will envelop our taste buds. And what pops out, a warm coke that got dented on the way out and then explodes as you break the seal and raise it too your lips. There's your thirst busting pleasure fella. Right there in your face. Enjoy!
The above is an edited repeat of one of my first blog posts from 2004, which was my grand entrance into the World of Blogs and the wacky folk who live there.
I only bring it up now, because of a recent run in with yet another electronic vendor. I put in my 2 bucks and watched the mechanical screw move the bottle to the drop box where any second now my mouth would be wallowing in expected sugary fizz. ...................
Instead of dropping dutifully, that bottle rebelled and became hung up just behind the glass. It mocked me as only a rebellious bottle of soda can. And no matter how I tried, my hand would not reach it. So close, yet so far.
My hatred of coin operated anything goes back to my childhood. I learned early to never trust a box with pull handles or buttons. They are a pox on our civilization.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ........................................
Monday, March 12, 2018
Sunday, March 11, 2018
It was mine and two others first trip in 1967. We swallowed some microdot Strawberry Fields. I sat and watched an ant hill for maybe a couple of hours. Maybe more, Time takes a back seat when under the influence of LSD. I was so focused with my eyes but a couple of inches from the ground, the ants loomed large as they went about their scavenging.
In retrospective, that might give appearance I was just another drug befuddled and bewildered teenager with nary a whisper of a clue whatsoever. I mean, who in their right mind would think watching an ant hill for a couple of hours was a normal activity.
Well Duh People, ...... I wasn't in my right mind. I was tripping fer chrisakes. My experiences on LSD became much wackier over time. LSD definitely twisted my normal take on the existence around me.
So anyway ......... those years tripping the light fantastic were not a complete waste. I learned some patience and better appreciation of the beauty around me. LSD always intensified every situation I was in, whether it be dancing in the pucker or cooling my heels in a local lock up. Not always pleasant, but always interesting in retrospect. Each were experienced outside what would be considered my normal sanity center point. Since I was convinced perception is the key ingredient needed for Reality to exist, then it was not me who was trippin, it was the World beyond my eyelashes that was. ............... LSD only helped me see the world for what it really was ............... Nothing but a Fig Newton of my imagination.
I derived the above image out of this rather pedestrian Kodak moment in my dooryard. I snapped a picture of the weeping cherry that has graced the front of my house for the last 50 years. It has been on Death's Door for at least the last 20 years. Yet each year, it tosses out new growth. I think it comes back every year because there is a creature living inside it just below its outer surface.
He has yet to introduce himself.
Saturday, March 10, 2018
Yet, on its surface, an over crowded and chaotic population is doing what it can to destroy the Rock. They scorch it here, dig at it there, and pave the rest so their machines running on the remains of long dead animals can make it from here to there and back.
Blind to the damage their active lifestyles have done, they throw another rack of ribs on the barbie, park their asses in a lounge chair and sip on drinks festooned with celery or the occasional umbrella. They may light a big fat cigar or a huge blunt. Sinking deep into that lawn chair, they will be satisfied with their place in space. Life can't get any better, right?
Oh sure, many of the inhabitants are aware of their parasitic behavior. Figuring what they have, will have, or might have won't make a difference in the big scheme. Let someone else sacrifice. Besides, chosen leaders have ensured them, there is nothing to fear about melting glaciers, rising seas, and those chemicals that have enslaved them.
Consuming is good for All their chosen honchos say. Spinning the natural into permanent trash is how its done. Facing any future bogeymen, well, we will face them when it is too late. Okay?
Meantime, the Rock shrugs, travels its well established path and waits patiently for these assholes to die off.
Written while listening to Sprung Monkey.