Came into the world quite backward
But you nailed the scene with a grin
Conceived by the pack in a Packard
And born on the day of your sin
Working for your turnips and your chard
Well kept the hand firmly within
The grocery sack of a slackard
Just keep your mitts off of the gin
Confused you found your life awkward
Continually trying to fit in
Street clogging plaque with a placard
As the world revolved ’round it’s spin
Some communist Chinese corporation. The middle kingdom. The official color of the realm, Red. Red on the head like a ……. .
I was reading that yesterday after I coined the phrase. The more I think about it, because I’ve thought about it before, the more intrigued I become. Communism. The collective. Everybody through everybody owns everything. No one through themselves owns themselves. You do what you’re told for the good of the collective. No individuality allowed. All like one and one for all. Stray off the beaten path and you’re beaten beside the path. Best to stay in line and be beaten there. Much less exertion then. Odds are you’ll live to be beaten again. And even if not, with all like one yourselfy will go on for infinity without you. Short of a colony collapsing disorder. Did you know there were species of bees who live a non colony life? An independent little nuclear family type life. Free to adapt to whatever it takes to survive. Free to be?
When I think of communism I think of the collective. Resembling a honey bee colony. An unyielding gang of think alikes that allow no individual thought to creep in. When I think of corporatism I see the same thing. Collective capitalism. Add the facts that in the twentieth century communism equaled death, the root of the word corporatism is corpse or dead body and I think I may be on to something. Death is right there in the word. That both are soulless goes without saying. If corporatism and communism weren’t the same thing China wouldn’t be allegedly taking over the world. The fact that the Red Army already owned that population is the reason they were so easily sold to the western corporations. There’s no slavery like wage slavery. People will stand in line at the “try outs”. They will smile and jump up and down when they’re both “hired” and “raised”. So uplifting. Oh, those nets are there for safety! Yours. Your corpse.
You kill the cow you pull the plow
You’re captured in the rye
Say it’s cred you will be fed
The bovine need not die
You kill the shot The pill that got
You up and to the bar
Let’s you down as you leave town
Later on In the car
Deep in the ditch you made the switch
One more breath for your soul
From then you’ve cast Tied to the mast
No longer in control
This twist of fate that’s made you late’s
Been produced just in time
Interest’s accrue & become due
@ dollars on the dime
You may ignore Head out that door
And not listen to me
Go on your run & have your fun
Living like you’re carefree
I must retort Our stay is short
The end a guess at best
But then it’s gold as I’ve been told
If you can pass the test
It’s hard to call it a dry lot when it rains every day. Now it’s a mud lot. Pity the cows of summer. I’ve been letting the herd out to graze during the mornings. They have started coming back into the lot to drink on their own. Two days ago the whole herd came in and all I had to do was shut the gate. Yesterday they congregated just outside the gate and a few came in to drink at a time. Some weren’t going to try it after being “caught” the day before by the gate. Once my oldest at home daughter and I ran the whole herd in they all drank heartily, since they were already caught. I’m running out of firm places in the yards to place the hay rings. I may have to move outside the yards into the loafing lane that we were running them down to drink in when we started this dry lot experience. I don’t know who will give up first, the rain or I.
The fence on the north farm is two thirds torn out. We would be pulling the rest of the “T” posts today had we not been rained out by 9:00 AM. With the rain came the chance to post this. It had been coming in the afternoons like the monsoons but today we are strait into the rain forest. Thank God for the new tile lines. They are running full time. Now if I can convince the absentee landlord to lay some tile on the five plus acres of his that amounts to nothing on these wet years. Even if it turns back dry like last year the damage is already done on those soaked and standing water acres. This spring when we laid the tile and I was saying to the contractors I’d be better able to point out where they needed to lay the line if it was still wet they said the stunted stalks and cobs would show them. Their the experts. The division of labor paying off Adam Smith style.
Speaking of the division of labor I’m still waiting on the truck to haul the corn out of the storage bins. I may have to divide that labor up into more than one trucking firm. If my older brother can’t get to it my other older brother has a son who started farming last year and he has bought his own truck. The boy went to college so his truck business card reads “Commodity Relocation Specialist”. Newspeak for trucker. College loans, where would we be without ’em. Oh that’s right, solvent. Out of the red and into the black. Making the green. Solvent green. Aka capital. Yes, that’s capital. Not loans. Debt is the opposite of capital. It leads to farmers working for the shit when it comes to hogs. I can remember when the shit was the by product and the farmers got the money for the hogs. Now they don’t even own the hogs. Some communist Chinese corporation does. The other white meat is now Red meat.
It’s still raining on the scarecrow.
See ya then see ya there …….
Cc
Replacing road fence. On the north farm. It is a farm with a mile of road fence. We have to replace all but the fence along the building site. We don’t own the building site thanks to a brother that sold it off after he built a new house on it. The main reason my father would never sell me the building site here on the home place. We tried that with your older brother and it didn’t work. I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard that growing up. You can’t go out for band, we tried that with your older brother and it didn’t work. It’s a wonder I was asked to farm. But I was. Two years before I started. My dad had a way I could get started without using much if any money. How often does that come along. Once if ever.
The only problem is I never took the offer. It was 1982 and Congress had just adopted Reagan’s new PIK program to help rid the US of it’s surplus corn stockpile. After Carter put the infamous great grain embargo on the Russians for invading Afghanistan we were getting quite a pile. It created a lot of knock on effects. America had been planting fence row to fence row corn in the Midwest to meet the Russian demand. Puling the rug out from under the (other) farmers, Carter reshuffled the whole world grain trading deck and America was losing out the most. Payment In Kind paid farmers in grain to not grow grain. A kind of genius way to let livestock producers have their cake and let their animals eat it too.
Dad wanted to bid the farm into the new program 100%. We would have to sow the whole farm program’s base acres down to oats and hay. Then the government would give us a PIK Certificate we could take to a delegated reserve elevator (one approved to store Commodity Credit Corporation crops) to trade it in for the number of bushels of the commodity grain we were eligible to receive. That figure was determined by how many acres of the commodity you had in your farm’s crop base. A number determined by your cropping history on that particular farm. All you had to pay for was the trip home with the corn. All we had to do was promise not to grow corn and they would give us corn for free.
According to Dad it was a no brainer. Sow down the farm to a non program crop. Buy a bunch of heifer calves to run on the sowed down farm. Fatten the cattle up on the corn the federal government doled out. Either sell the cattle as beef when done or, if they weren’t worth what we had into them by then we would keep them for breeding. There was only one catch. I would have to have faith in the federal government. After two years wrestling with the US Navy trying to get the degree they promised me I was no longer going to trust them crooked bastards in the federal government. I told Dad I didn’t trust them. I further told him if he did then I couldn’t trust him.
Needless to say we waited a couple of years before we started. The program had been modified by then to something that wasn’t workable in the sense Dad had designed his system. We still had Payment In Kind but the program was so successful at clearing out the surplus it was scaled way back and became a fraction of it’s original size and scope. So I got started the hard way. The only saving grace was my timing. I was going in when everybody in was going broke. I was able to buy farm machinery on the cheap. I’m still able to buy machinery from that era cheap. Over production of corn led to the over production of machinery.
Especially when the feds idled 30 million acres permanently into the Conservation Reserve Program at about that time. The number thirty million was significant. That was how many acres it took to feed the horses that used to power the farms and transport across rural America. Ever since the adoption of tractors, cars and trucks that 30 million acres had been excess production. Handy to have during the second world war but other than that, not needed. Twenty five million of that is still in reserve. Four dollar gas didn’t even make hardly a dent in it. 13 billion gallons of ethanol production hasn’t made too big of a dent in it.
World hunger ???
Yea RIGHT!
Cc
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