”A Wood Dreamers Nightmare”
....coming from the woods into this place of state of mind, where my fingers are given to the rhyme of allowing free rhythm, as they now splay across this keyboard, now shouting words out in this arena of a woodworkers paradise, where some to many gather, after the fashion of like minded minds….
—-and then to whom shall i offer the thanks to, that i can be considered to dwell with those of like minded minds, i am the misfit in a world gone helter skelter, where technology has become the right of passage for many, till the fewer of me are sucked down the plastic tubing lines, into the impellers of human shop dust, where we are told to await our turn at becoming human compost tea….
—-and all the while these many others pass me by, stopping to point and stare as they say amongst themselves, look and see cause there’s not many of this specimen left, till in their pointing i feel their whispers of what shall yet be, when woodworking is gone a thing of the past as is needed no-more, since now we machine as off to other lands where labor is cheap, and no need to wait since quantity is shipped all days of the week, and if you no like well just take what you get as this is all there is….
—-and so my dream continued as going on to a major nightmare, where woodworking was outlawed as unfit for mankind, just as workers of wood where now rounded up as wasters of trees, the many of us were shipped off to like minded processing centers never being understood, since to be translated and transformed was to be better informed, as programmed with hopes that these could also become mindless wonders, who give thanks for better plastic ways of many painted colors, and plastic is king where the gods of techno have said what shall be, after all tis better this way since too many choices are bad for the soul….
—-and some went underground to continue working in wood, since to their addiction they were fed as their hunger cried more, and sacrificing their all they escaped with their minds all buttoned down intact, these were the ones who gathered in secret with awe and respect, just as to hear them talk was glory to behold as heaven come down, their stories they told was of the beauties of wood in the hands of handmade, and you could tell by those hands where once strength and certainty did much abound, now there was sadness as they hid them in pockets so none could tell the scars that were there, and so passed this nightmare before my eyes this dear story to tell, i awoke from my dream in much fit of a sweat…. —-by flp
....and then I decided to dream some more….
“I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see.” —by John Burroughs
-- --frank, NH, http://rusticwoodart.tumblr.com/