Dear Curtis, A wonderful post. Thank you.
Robin --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, "curtisdeltablues" <curtisdeltablues@...> wrote: > > --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, "Robin Carlsen" <maskedzebra@> wrote: > > > > http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7dSTdHziMs > > > > So uh...let's see now...mmm...you are making the connection between...uh mmmm > uh well I guess you could be...no...could the white whale be...that doesn't > seem like it could...well maybe if you were looking at it from the > perspective of...no that seems unlikely...a whale is not a fish so... > > OK, you got me. > > > Funny you should bring up whaling because outside the context of what I wrote > it makes so much sense you might be able to claim it was all a psychic vision > about me. > > You see I vacationed on Nantucket Island off the coast of Cape Cod for many > years and was well infused growing up with the history of what was arguably > the most important industry in American History, our own Saudi Arabian liquid > gold, whale oil. It literally lit up our nation. This week in cleaning out > our ancestral house with my siblings I took home whaling harpoons that my > father had carefully tied ropes onto, duplicating the complicated knots he > studied at the Nantucket whaling museum. I spent hours there as a ten year > old staring at real shrunken heads and thumb screws and other devices > designed to bring discipline to the motley eclectic crew on a whaling ship > that could spend up to three years to find and process whales, before > returning home to their opium addicted wives on Nantucket. These ships were > a model of multiracial and multicultural society way before their time. > There is a great movie on streaming Netflix telling the story of this history > that I recommend: American Experience, Into the Deep > > As a boy on Nantucket I spent a lot of time picking out sperm whale's teeth > to buy. This was before the ban and they were cheap enough for my thin > wallet. My dad took up the arcane art of scrimshaw and I have a few > beautifully etched teeth telling the story of the ill fated Essex where a > particularly ambitious whale turned the tables and with whatever is the blow > hole equivalent of "no, no fuck YOU" crashed the boat to splinters. > > Nantucket was the whaling hub, the center of the universe long before it > became a place where the hoity and the toity could stock up on highball > glasses etched with sailing ships. What that promo showed very well was how > audacious it was to spear one of these massive creatures and go on a > "Nantucket sleigh ride" until it tired enough for them to get close in their > tiny boat. What they got wrong was how many spears they threw into it as if > that was supposed to kill the whale. What really happened was that after the > whale got tired pulling the boat along and they got close, they used a long > lance that was plunged over five feet into the whale to hit its heart. I > have one of those now too. I am hoping to use it on a home intruder some day > as a distraction while I dispatch him with my Walther. > > I also have a Masey Toggle Iron which was the height of whale technology. It > was a spear that once inside the whale toggled outward to set the lance with > a wider pivoting head to make sure it wouldn't pull out during the ride. All > modern sensitives to these magnificent creatures aside, it was a ballsy thing > to do taking them on in their element. > > So I may have missed your intent but thanks for the nostalgic writing prompt > Robin. > > > > --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, "Robin Carlsen" <maskedzebra@> wrote: > > > > http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7dSTdHziMs > > > > http://tinyurl.com/nwjste > > > > --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, "curtisdeltablues" > > <curtisdeltablues@> wrote: > > > > > > Crowds of people are like schools of fish. They swim by an outside > > > performer with the mentality of a single entity. The trick for a busker > > > is to break them out of the trance so they will pay attention to me. > > > "Pay" is the key word here. I need them to stop their internal dialog > > > long enough to extract something green and crisp from their wallets and > > > purses. > > > > > > Bring on the children! They are perfect for this agenda. Easily > > > distracted by novel things in the environment (me and my instruments), > > > and lacking the intense internal dialog of having mortgage payments and > > > making it to their car before the meter maid, they are ideal > > > co-conspirators. I invite them up with maracas so they can join the > > > show. Parents get it right away, artistic enrichment for the center of > > > their universe. Now that the stage is set, I have something hidden to > > > show you. > > > > > > She was one of those little girls with something extra, the sparkle of > > > magnetic charisma. I see plenty of them coming out of the good homes in > > > Northern Virginia. The right schools, plenty of vitamin D enriched milk, > > > and tons of confidence to project a beamer of a smile full of > > > orthodontist approved, well-flossed teeth. She was around eleven. Her > > > brown hair was pulled into a loose pony tail by some fluorescent pink > > > scrunchy fabric. The only thing out of the ordinary was that she crowded > > > me a bit after she got her maraca. Younger kids will do this, and as the > > > Mayor of Munchkin Land, it is up to me to get them to back off and give > > > me some performance space. Decking one of the kids with my heavy steel > > > resonator guitar in one of my tip inspiring flourishes, leaving them cold > > > cocked on the boardwalk, would definitely cut into profits. But a girl > > > this age usually keeps her distance, so it got my attention that she was > > > standing very close to me with one side of her body. > > > > > > I swiveled my head and my eyes caught something that instantly put me on > > > red alert. The arm she was crowding me with was cut off right below the > > > elbow and she was using me to shield it from the audience. Her arm was > > > not this way from birth. Something sinister and terrible had done this, > > > and it left a fiery red zipper of violated flesh. Our eyes met and I gave > > > her a nod. We were thick as thieves in an instant and she relaxed into a > > > nervous giggle. Like a Sicilian made-man, I was bonded to her through > > > omerta. It was a matter of trust, and I felt it in my chest. > > > > > > We began to play close like Sonny and a miniature Cher. People probably > > > thought she was my niece or something, who else would play together with > > > this familiarity? Her father was all smiles. She was a brave kid, this > > > is not easy performing in front of strangers. A crowd formed supporting > > > the cute little girl and the bluesman. They had no clue to the > > > fierceness of her jagged asymmetry. She kept herself sideways, showing > > > the world who she wanted to be, and they bought it. At the song's end she > > > shot me a conspiratorial look. I sensed something gritty in those eyes. > > > A steeliness forged by the fires of pediatric ward hell. I wondered > > > about her mom and dad, who had spent the hours in the hospital making the > > > painful decisions that lead to this. Oh bullshit, I have no idea. She > > > ran off back to her dad. His look combined sincere thanks with "you have > > > no idea". Or maybe I just read all that in myself, it is so hard to tell > > > sometimes. When our eyes met I forgot to breath for a moment. I saw > > > people moving in with tips in slow motion. > > > > > > Someday I hope she finds a real stand up guy. A guy who will always take > > > her left side, and wrapping his arm around her far shoulder, will press > > > her close, feeling her arm halfway across his own back, and she will feel > > > safe and brave, facing the world. > > > > > >
