Public Service: Don't be a Firebug.

Remember this: All it takes is one spark in the right place.

My parents worked with the SC Forestry Commission until they retired from public service life. My mother was a tower operator. My father was a warden. These towers are not in service and in disrepair. I think they are public landmarks that deserve as much upkeep and can be utilized via monetary admission as a learning experience for high school and college students. You never know when you might need to use them again.

In that time as a child, I was able to run amuck with the workers of Smokey the Bear. My father and others went out to California and fought the wildfires. In the local area, fires were just as bad.

The cause of some of these fires were lightning, campfire, smoking, debris burning, incendiary, equipment use, railroad, children, fireworks, powerlines, and structure fires.

When I came back from my debacle of a fishing trip, I was puttering around the boat putting gas back in the line to the motor. My intention was to test the motor to see if it worked. To my success it did. The grass underfoot was brittle and dry. My garden has already died from lack of water. I was walking back toward the porch when I noticed a glowing light in the sky. Someone in the park next door had launched a Chinese sky lantern. I stopped in my tracks. We were in a drought state due to lack of rain.

A Chinese sky lantern has a small candle or fuel cell composed of combustible material that is lit. It stays lit despite the air conditions. I considered it a fire-flying accident waiting to happen.

I watched the wind carry the sky lantern over in the area above bone dry woods and farmland. It was already at a mile away. I imagined it landing on someone's roof, in a dry field, or in the woods. The problem here is: if it were to fall in the right place, unbeknownst to anyone, the fire could grow until someone saw smoke or the fire spread.

I went inside and told my mother. She called the South Carolina Forestry Commission and reported the event to a previous co-worker. The wardens were already out fighting a fire that had been set by someone.

I am not sure who decided to set a sky lantern out, but it was a potentially atrocious mistake. Choices like this could cause a lot of damage to wildlife, life, limb and property.

I remember the times wardens would get down in the woods, in the dark, fighting fire, and almost get surrounded by it. We have people who are employed to do a public service, yet there are irresponsible people doing acts that can bring on putting someone's life in danger and wanton destruction through stupidity.

In the green world right now, it's a good time to use common-sense and good decision-making skills. Use your eyes to see what conditions are. Some of the things you are thinking of doing could cause a lot of problems for someone else to clean up. If you get caught, you will face fines and jail time.

If you are not aware of potential hazardous conditions, please feel free to call your local Forestry Commission. There exists some kind of burning permit number or representative that can steer you in the right direction. They are there for you and would appreciate not having to put their life in danger, if it can be avoided.

If you are not sure what this looks like, visit this: http://www.state.sc.us/forest/ site.

Research the state you live in for the State Agency. These websites would have a Daily Fire Weather Report to help you make good decisions.

I hope this is a gentle reminder of your responsibility as a steward of the land, rivers, streams, wildlife, and forest we all love to visit and enjoy. I am sure I am not alone in thinking I would like to see it green and not charred to black ruins.

Written by: Angelia Y Larrimore

Bunk Bed Buddies: The Walking Dead



Remember this: Sex is not the center of the Universe.

Last night I was watching The Walking Dead’s episode, “Consumed”. I also watched the Talking Dead with Chris Hardwick.

The content on both shows was interesting and thoughtful.

I was impressed by the input of Yvette Nicole Brown. She is the kind of person you can have deep intellectual conversations with because she pays attention. Life is magic when you have a listener.

I have thoughtful perspectives on this and wanted to share for whoever watches the show. I wondered if anyone shared this particular thought.

If I were the character what would I be thinking, feeling, or remembering from history I didn’t know. I was an archeologist digging into the minds of strangers based on my experiences; making up my own tales.

The online fodder revolves around Daryl being gay or hooking up with Beth or Carol, or both. I don’t particular subscribe to this potential storyline. That is the writer’s path. I do find it fascinating the way in which the writers handled this episode.

When Carol and Daryl are on the bunk bed talking, I did not get the feel of any kind of sexual chemistry. Likewise, I don’t see this with Beth either. I was reading the content writ in online conversations and between Hardwick and his panel. The posture by Daryl is of an overly protective brother.

Fathers and brothers can surrogate for the female in a non-sexual way until the female finds a mate. This is why it is important for the male role not be a violent one. This helps the female determine if the potential mate is an asshole-to-be-avoided. She will compare non-relative men to this example. If it is a poor example, God help you man that you overcome her problems if you so desire to pursue a woman that you feel is worth it.

I wondered. Why it is so important for people to see something that is not necessarily there? The viewer wants the idea to be true because it is lacking in their life or they just want to see it to fulfill some fantasy. You must always ask in the back of your mind, is it true or distorted. Is the viewer happy to see traumatized people have a happy moment; a moment in a sea of dead zombie shells. This scenario only complicates the storyline and suffering of the characters. This is great material for the writer. At the basis of this show is literature, which the visual is built upon.

What I saw on the bunk bed was a platonic surrogacy. The universe is always delivering unto its life forces things they need to get them over the hump, if recognized.

In the Walking Dead Cosmos, surrogate benefactors nurture and move the characters on. The reality they knew before is now replaced by a bastardized version of what life is at present. No one is safe. 

Carol, a domestic abuse survivor, probably has thoughts on life being more secure before the zombie apocalypse. Even if it is with an abuser. 

Was it better to be a relationship victim where escape to a normal life was possible? Or is it worse to be stuck in a hell of zombies and good people turning into less-than-human killers? Or is that humanity at its basis form? Those good people you otherwise wouldn’t kill but now have to.

I could say animals but that’s derogatory because humans are animals. There was reference to Rick’s group now being animals. Why treat humans above reproach when humans are not?

This is how I saw Daryl. Daryl at that moment was the surrogate man Carol probably wanted or needed before the apocalypse; the man that would take care of distasteful things in times of emotional and physical lows without the abuse. He’s the guy you will sleep with but not love, have him fix your car but give no thanks as you ride off into the sunset with someone else, and call to whine about your problems while treating him like an emotional dumping ground. The silver lining in the surrogate’s cosmos is he may be used temporarily, but such good karma he has built could be repaid with some gift from the universe; thus rectifying karmic debt. We all want a person or group to alleviate the begrudged burdens that are forced upon us.

When Daryl tells Carol she doesn’t have to act or make a decision in the building with the child and adult zombie, Daryl realizes Carol’s affliction. At times we don’t want to admit our problems when the closest to us see them clearly. The only way the afflicted can come to terms and acknowledge these problems is self-realization. Being told you have a problem tends to flare up the denial in the person it is issued to.

Up to this point, even though Carol is with Daryl moving through a landscape as part of a unit, Carol seems to be thinking in terms of the individual separate from Daryl; making the decision to follow through with complicated problems, not because someone asked her to but because she takes it upon herself. This could speak to Carol’s inability or lack of education on interacting in relationships and distrust of significant others. She sees herself as being more capable to deal with the situation without realizing how it drains her and that someone more capable is standing right there. Carol carries this idea there is no other option but to carry burden, is implied.

There again, another viewer may not see this because that is what I see. I am internalizing the scene in terms of my past experiences.

Daryl’s character punch comes in short bursts, which is more effective than other characters. To some degree, Daryl is unconsciously applying horse training techniques on Carol. He applies pressure on Carol as she moves away in denial.  This tactic is implied with the conversation of who Carol is from Carol’s standard versus how Daryl knows her when they are looking at a painting. Carol moves away in denial because she claims Daryl doesn’t really know her. Daryl begs to differ. Then there is Noah under the bookcase, Daryl moves away to Carol’s panic. Carol goes in and acts to stop the zombie.

How do you get someone to make the right choices with the right pressure without traumatizing them further into mistrust or detachment?

I began to realize there was this pressure from the masses for Daryl to have sex with someone or something. I became aggravated that the character of Daryl couldn’t just develop at his own pace but now was being poked and prodded by unknown assailants that wanted him to bed the older woman, the younger woman, etc.

Carol is the semi-mature, older woman with what some would consider fading beauty or beauty with age and wisdom. Being close to his age would be more socially appropriate. She appears more of a motherly type.

Beth is the nubile youth growing into a woman through brutal acts and situations. On some level, Beth is mentored by Daryl but some viewers want this dynamic to turn into a sexual relationship. This is seen a lot in movies where older men are connected physically with younger women.

I am dwelling more on Daryl’s character here. He is the center of that particular universe through manipulation. He seems to be making or not making the decisions on his ethic where women, age, and who gives a shit comes into play. His character might feel he doesn’t have time for that or doesn’t need it.  Beth and Carol are fruit on a tree and he just has to decide which one to eat. What if Daryl were picked by someone? Someone he wasn’t particularly enamored with immediately; maybe enamored but in denial or just doesn’t notice because anxiety, deranged people, his standing on a constant ledge of madness and mayhem daily leaves him with the decision to not go there. Should Daryl be suspended in emotional animation or moved along into some fate worse than death, love or hate of a particular nature? Why is this so important?

The reactions of the world made room for puzzling over this. Do people really want happy-endings for favorite characters? Are viewers more concerned with who is hooking up with who? Should this be denied to the public or handed over? When you spend time watching a show to see who hooks up, you don’t get the sublime messages that are more meaningful. It is overshadowed by the potential for sex.

Shifting your mentality to what really matters when dealing with people that is not sex driven is where you truly connect to people and yourself. Emotionally developed characters can exist even while occupying a tragic landscape.

Daryl, Carol, and Beth can separately develop while being together and not in a sexual way. The sexual component lessens the family dynamic being built yet chess pieces can move into positions previously not occupied, but at what cost?

Relationship changes are not always for the best on the board. Connecting on the familial level is more important because sex is not the glue to relationships. If it is, the glue can wear away and the relationship shows the hallow emptiness of what was only a voyeur’s desire to see sex. This sex could be a lowering of the character and the spirit surrounding them. The characters are not barflies, getting drunk, and looking for love in all the wrong places while stabbing zombies in the head. Relationships are important components because even the characters walk along stabbing zombies in the head with no second thought to it. Killing the zombies is white noise to the viewer. This hook-up attitude can indicate a degrading of the character.

Daryl is the male sacrificial virgin. He has wings on his back and people want to see the character that has been elevated to archangel status fall to Earth by the hand of a love interest. This only works when it is the right person. Anything less would not get the same effect. It has to be quietly epic. Maybe people want to vicariously experience a perceived supernatural biblical moment. The fallen angel has to burn or become the thing it was before the fall. Do viewers want to see a sullying of characters to make them more sinful, more human, or average in terms of human nature? Handled right it could be the most beautiful thing but always potentially tragic.

After watching so many shows where sex is carnal and debasing to the character but conveyed or interpreted as empowering, I would just like to see a character find their way without being molested for viewers satisfaction on the character’s terms via the writer; not always the helpless badass blowing in the breeze.  

When you like characters equally in these potential hook-ups there is going to be a loser. People want connection but there isn’t thought put into the type of connection or where it is headed. Making sound decisions towards relationships tell you whether they will work out or not.

On-the-fly relationships could develop into meaningful things but only with work.

I began to think in terms of Carol, Beth, and Daryl as an outsider making decisions on what they needed, not what they wanted. Funny, how the outsider always sees something etched on the outer and inner shell of the person. Sometimes that interference from the outside world puts the character on the path or diverts the character off. It could also be a manifestation of the inner self’s development into the end product.

I wondered what kind of character, if any, would best be applied to the character of Daryl. I didn’t necessarily think it was Beth or Carol long term.

To best torture the character of Daryl the opposing character would have to be a sort of wild animal in the form of a devil combined with an angel, which is what Daryl is so the character would be reflective. The character would have to have the ability to kill, save, love, or hate Daryl, who would mutually be tortured by this dynamic yet not want to live with or without the other.  Again, it could be as in real life; nothing, finding no one ever, and dying all alone wondering why you weren’t good enough or chosen.

I refer back to those famous wings. In the strata of God and the Devil, the ultimate reconciliation would be this particular relationship. God must merge with the Devil, as one. This function would be Daryl with Daryl; Daryl with another person(s). There would be no moving on into other relationships without the malice of disappointing failure.  The common denominator is to be right with one's self before being right for another.

As humans we rush in blindly to complicated, torturous unmaintainable love-hate-sex-empty relationships. We even attach ourselves to people out of security and familiarity but does it ever make us feel the way we should? What exactly is that feeling and will we know it or do outside things distract us such as who Daryl will have sex with. Do we just want another image to add to the sex fantasy reel of Daryl doing it with someone regardless of the female face attached? Viewers can transpose their face onto Carol’s or Beth’s and be the one Daryl is with. What does Daryl represent as the male character?    

I really enjoyed this episode and could talk on it more. I’ll just sit here on my perch and read online fodder which tickles me on occasion; people and their online comments.

People do watch the show loyally so it is not just Daryl getting laid. If that ever came out I am sure people would have Hurricane-type parties where they pile on a couch just to see poor Norman Reedus giving it all he’s got. The expectation has got to be either crushing him or challenging him. I would hide on the Mothership to if everyone was peer pressuring me to death with sex. Maybe he just wants a motorcycle ride and a cold Slurpee?

Sex is never the long-term answer. This little monster wears away and you start seeing the real person you are sleeping with. Some poor souls don’t get to sleep in the bed overnight. They get kicked out where the cat stares from the warm cozy window at them out in the snow.  

Sex is a smaller facet of a bigger jewel. Feeding a voyeuristic need to spy on a character solely for the satisfaction of watching a character’s sex act seems to me a slap in the face to the character, especially when the character is being developed into a person with a life of its own. I asked myself this question: If it were my lover or husband would I want to share them, in that way, with the world? Or would I want to keep some things sacred? Would I want them to feel like I put them on the sacred pedestal, protected from grabbing, unloving hands?

It’s like saying to the character, “I don’t care about you. You are just here for my jollies.” I can warrant this attitude in people’s real lives as viewers.

I am not a prude but when did the happy ending stop at the moment two people have sex? Do people live for that magical moment solely and not the millions of moments thereafter with the person? Why in my mind do I feel this empty space of self-induced amnesia or dementia when I hear people talking about “the moment” and nothing of substance follows?

It’s bad enough when you are a teenager going through puberty that your friends pressure you into sex, your relatives constantly ask you if you’ve found someone, or you avoid going out because you don’t want to feel the rejection. The other side of this seedy coin is finding out the other person fragrantly lied to you thus making you a fool and they, a tart.

The ones you were interested in didn’t like you back, making you feel unsexy. Ergo I say this, but you aren’t psychic and maybe they did but your mind talked you out of it.

God help those unwed, deep in their thirties, forties and beyond. People eyeball and whisper they will never get married then give up on them; like you have to make those people with judgey eyes happy.  

I am laughing at myself for saying that but oh well.

Written by: Angelia Y Larrimore

~Courtesy of the AOFH~



Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part IV

Mich sat inside the speakeasy drowning his conscious in the rotgut booze made out back by Frank Delano. He was listening to the songstress belting out rhythm and blues while begging the Lord for mercy because of her devious ways. He stared at her. Her pecan skin and plumb lips quivers as she sang, “I need forgiveness from you”, while hitting the high note. When the song ended, Mich walked up and put five one-hundred dollar bills into the jar labeled Inaskye's Swear Jar. Inaskye looked at the jar now full of money and picked it up. “Hey Candy Man.” She gestured with the jar. “You need forgiveness?” She picked up a lace shawl and put it around her shoulders.

He looked at the woman and she walked off while looking back. “Come on then.” He followed her to a backroom.

The dark shape followed the woman back to her SUV and stood in the shadows. The dark shape was watching and waiting. Waiting for opportunity. The dark shape's need to expose and destroy the woman grew inside with each glance of her. No one would have her.

The shape never saw it coming. The ghost appeared from behind and began to merge into the dark shape's physical being, holding still the dark shape's form. The apparition encircled her arms around the dark shape and began to squeeze. The ghost let go and the dark shape was flung through the air near the clapboard house it was standing next to. The dark shape could feel its soul being ripped from its body. The mouth harboring the last scream, began to crack and the eyes bulge. There was a thud to the body. The dark shape was impaled into the boards of the house by the straggled breathing of a stag, pushing the dark shape deeper into the wood until the wood bowed. There were gurgles as the stag pulled itself away with the dark shape hanging from its horns. Shaking the dark shape like a rag doll, the dark shape slipped free to bleed out on the ground. The ghost hovered above. The ghost turned and moved to where the dark shape stood to see the woman safely get into her SUV and drive away.

Inside the clapboard house, Minnie Miller could hear noises outside. Burglars again. She picked up her 38 revolver from the place she shoved it between her knitting needles and yarn. She slipped on her fuzzy house shoes. She took a first glance outside the window. She didn't see the body lying underneath the window. She went outside onto the porch and walked to the end where she heard the noise. She saw a body under he window, took aim and let a bullet fly.

“If you're not dead. You are now!” Wait until all her friends down at the local Senior's club learn how she thwarted a burglar or worse yet, a rapist caught in the act. She waited to see if it moved. Minnie walked back into the house and dialed 911.

The 911 operator came onto the line. “Hello, 911. What is your emergency?”

Minnie Miller straightened her flora printed moo-moo. “I would like to report a dead body. At least I think it's a dead body. Right outside under my window.”

Eli returned to the area where Hugh took a spill out the deer stand. Night occluded the day and the sounds of the woods began to make their mark on the silence. He wanted to know what was going on. He asked Mich to meet him but Mich had a prior engagement. He wondered why Correlia had not returned his call. He called her twenty times so far. He was beginning to worry.

Eli knew Correlia's stand was not to far behind her father's house which abutted the area the three men had hunted days earlier. He always liked to be close by so if she shot something he and the boys could help her load it up. He walked through the woods to see if he could find her stand. When he got to the lean-to he pushed the nylon screen aside and scooted inside. He sat down and found a journal scrapbook. He wondered should he do some investigative work and spy on what she was into. He thought not to but curiosity got the better of him. He opened the journal and found deeply personal information written in its pages. Some of it disturbed him. He found the entry from days ago to find some photos of Correlia and Hugh trying on wedding dresses and tuxedos. Eli snorted and thought those two. Why would she leave this behind? Eli sat there for a moment then began to feel a little worried. No, this wasn't right. Something wasn't right here. He got up and crawled out. He looked in different directions. He saw a light off in the distance and began walking towards it. He lost track of the time, but walked a short distance through the woods. As he got closer to the edge of the woods, he could see the shape standing. As he stopped, the time it took for the apparition to transverse the distance knocked Eli down as the ghost screamed the wail of a Banshee. He yelled and got up to run but no matter where he went it was there. It growled and moved back to the edge of the woods then disappeared.

Eli recovering his composure crawled across the ground to stare down the path leading to the open area. Woman's things were hanging from tobacco string in the limbs of the trees. Puzzled yet oddly pulled, he got up and walked to the edge of woods to see Old Man Pierce out in his back yard hanging his daughter's things in the trees. It was strange behavior. Eli saw something flutter from the clothes line. It was lace of some kind. He then began to wonder if Old Man Pierce had gotten wind of what his daughter was planning?

Rachel Gray Owl lay on the porch soaking up the night air. The sounds of frogs interrupted what would otherwise be a quiet night. Her Auntie Mallory sat beside her in a white wicker rocking chair. She pulled the Peruvian blanket over her feet. The blanket was one her Aunt had given her after purchasing it at a local pau wau. Red Threads were woven as a background with the image of white fish swimming in a blue and yellow geometrical shape. The borders reached out to the edge. It brought her comfort.

Her Auntie Mallory stared out into the night sky.

“Rachel, do you think you need to go to the Elders? Talk to them about your troubles? I think it might help you.”

Aunt Mallory picked up her glass of sweet tea before removing a magazine from the small porch table. She was thankful for these quiet, cool nights. The mosquitoes were gone and she could engage herself in the sounds of nature while perusing the latest bird and flower magazines. Spring was going to be there soon enough and she had to prepare for the planting. Bulbs, yes that would be nice she thought, some real Dutch bulb from Holland.

Rachel was silent inside her blanket. She thought about the course her life was taking. She didn't like it. She use to believe activism was for the greater good yet she ended up fighting with everyone that had a difference of opinion. Was life suppose to be this way? The constant case of battling with everyone while no one solved the problem. Her Aunt Mallory discarded the current magazine for a fashion magazine.

“Auntie Mallory, I have never tried to be pretensions on my attitude. It is what it is. People want to judge me. I am trying to do good in the world. If it weren't for Correlia Pierce, I would have no problem. She is more of a problem for me with her killing animals and posting her images online. Who does she think she is?”

Auntie Mallory looked away from her scrutiny of the latest runway fashion.

“Rachel dear, you can't help what you feel passionate about. I would tell you that when questing after anything there are going to be obstacles. You have to fight the good fight. Not everyone is your enemy. Stop looking for people to validate your suspicions of them and pushing them away. Just take this investigation to find your half-sister who was adopted out at birth. You haven't given up on that. I hope it doesn't disappoint you.”

A wine colored SUV slowly made its way down the woodland path to the Gray Owl Residence. Amber Jennerett flipped on her high beams as she coasted slowly between pine trees and oaks on the lonely drive. She could see the light of the porch up ahead. She hoped Rachel was ready to hear the results of her investigation. She lived in town and knew the Gray Owl's well. She could see Rachel's Aunt Mallory and Rachel on the porch. She sucked in her breath and took a drink of her soda. Amber pulled up into the yard, parked the SUV and got out. She walked to the other side and opened the door to retrieve a manilla envelope. She shut the door. As she was walking up the drive she waved and called out, “Hello Miss Mallory.”

Rachel Gray Owl motioned for Amber to take a seat in one of the wicker chairs. Her anxiety and excitement began to mount the moment she saw Amber get out her vehicle. She felt a chill in the air.

The ghost was standing in the center of Rachel, Aunt Mallory, and Amber. She wasn't sure why she was here but felt it important.

Amber sat down and looked at Rachel.

“Rachel, when you first asked me to investigate this missing half-sister I wasn't sure if I would find her. I did find her and I hope you will understand that things don't always turn out the way we would like. Not that I am saying this is bad but I want you to keep an open mind.”

Rachel didn't like the sound of where this was heading. “Oh God, is it bad?”

Amber looked Rachel in her eyes. “It will be a bit of a surprise to you.”

Rachel glanced at her Aunt Mallory. “I am a big girl. I can take it.”

Amber opened the envelope and pulled out some documents and a photo. She handed the photo to Rachel. “This is your sister.”

Rachel looked at the photo. Upon looking at it, she realized who it was and put her hand over her mouth to stop from crying out. “No this can't be...”

Her Aunt Mallory got up and looked over Rachel's shoulder. The suspense was killing her. When she saw the photo she even looked at Amber in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

Amber flipped through the papers to find the birth certificate. “Yes. This document confirms it. This little girl was taken from the hospital and raise not to far from here. She never knew who her family was. She thought her father was all the family she had. He was a bad man from what I hear around town.”

Rachel got up and walked off the porch. She couldn't digest this. She could hear her Aunt's worried voice calling to her, “Rachel dear!” The air was getting colder as Rach walked inside of the woods. She began to cry erratically before falling to her knees and burying her face in the leaves. The ghost kneeled down and showed herself to Rachel.

Rachel opened her eyes to see the angry face of the ghost dressed in lace. She screamed, fell back, and began to scramble into a tree. She could hear her Aunt Mallory and Amber calling for her. The ghost blazed. The eyes were the most angry she had ever seen. Eyes of revenge, retribution and fury. The ghost took a step then as if realizing slowly back away evaporating into sparks that resembled fireflies. Rachel turned her head into the tree. She didn't want to look up not even when her Aunt Mallory began to pull on her shoulder.

“What is wrong with you child? What did you see?”

Eli sat in his truck with his bottle of bourbon. He was crying while smoking a cigar. The CD player came on. Ty Herndon's voice came from the speakers. He looked up out of the front window. Coming through the woods was the glow of a light, the ghostly woman.

The radio was blaring the voice of Ty Herndon's bridge:

     Ashes to Ashes dust to dust

     I'll lay beside you forever in love

Eli got out of the truck. He walked toward the visage. He started to run towards it. The glow stopped.

The music from the truck waif through the woods as it changed songs. Eli stopped in front of the specter. She lifted her veil and let it fall away. The ghost of Correlia stood before him. She put her hands out and started to sing with the voice on the radio:

    they say for everyone,

    there's that certain one

    Out there, somewhere......

Eli  walked towards her. She was dead, wasn't she? He thought about it for a second but decided he didn't care. He walked right into her arms.

Correlia murmured. “I want you to come with me.”

Eli pulled away. “I am not dead.”

Correlia laughed and pointed to the truck. Inside was Eli, dead with a burning cigar in his fingers.

Eli looked at the truck in his usual realistic philosophy.

“I guess that solves it then. Can't say I'll miss it.”

Correlia softly laughed. “You are as tart in death as you were in life.”

Eli grabbed her again and kissed her dead lips. “Like I say, to be continued.....”

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part III

Two Days Prior:

Correlia Pierce put on her boots and reached into the gun cabinet to pull out a box of 30-30 rifle shells. She pulled three bullets out and slipped them into the camouflaged pouch. She wanted to keep some handy while she was in the woods. Correlia was sure there were already bullets in her gun. She liked to be prepared. She took a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Pulling her backpack open, she slipped the bottled water and pouch into the bag along with her flashlight and a scrapbook journal. As she was unhooking her cell phone, she heard a horn blow out in the front yard. She peered out the window.

“What is she doing here?”

She walked over to the door with her backpack, opened it and walked outside on the front porch.

“Rachel Grey Owl. What do I owe the pleasure?” Correlia knew this wasn't a good thing. Wherever Rachel Grey Owl appeared, trouble followed.

Rachel Grey Owl opened the door to her sedan and walked up to Correlia. She stared brazenly at her in contempt.

“I know about you and Mich.”

“You do now.” Correlia laughed.

Rachel pulled a photograph out of her pocket. The photograph showed Correlia and Mich in an embrace, kissing. Correlia took the photo from Rachel and looked at it.

“This is nothing. It is an innocent picture of me and Mich. Nothing more.”

Enraged Rachel fumed.

“How can you say that? You and Mich are clearly lovers. How long has this been going on? I demand an answer.”

“Why don't you go ask Mich?” At this point, Rachel was just pissing Correlia off. “He seems to like it by the picture.”

Correlia turned to walk toward the woods. She didn't have time for this. She stopped and turned around in case Crazy Rachel wanted to attack her. “I don't understand you. You are all over the place acting crazy. Did you ever think that might be the reason why Mich broke it off with you? Or can you not get that into that vain head of yours?” She turned back to walk off into the woods.

Rachel Grey Owl glared at Correlia as she disappeared into the woods. She turned around to see the wind had picked up. On the clothes line behind her, blowing in the breeze were curtains and lace bedding drying in the sun.

Rachel Grey Owl thought of all the time logged tracking Correlia's movements online. She followed her from her job and to the laundry; sat outside to watch her fold her clothes. She tried to tamper with her car but someone walked up on her outside of the bar. Someone needed to teach Correlia a lesson.

Correlia walked down the path. Her cell phone began to ring. Hugh's number showed up on the caller id. She answered.

“What are you doing?” She laughed.

Hugh's voice came over the line. “I have the package. I picked it up this morning after I bought groceries. Are you going to be at home later?”

“Yes,but I am in the woods right now. I don't want it left on the porch. I'll come by later and pick it up. Dad is not suppose to be here this evening. I think he is going on an overnight fishing trip down at Lake Mead.”

“Okay Correlia. Just come by after you finish.”

“Okay Hugh. Thanks again.”

Correlia ended the call and put the cell phone in her pocket. Everything was going to be okay. It just had to be.

There was a snapping of limbs. Startled Correlia saw Eli walk out of the bushes.

“Did I scare you?” He began to laugh. “You should have seen the look on your face. It was priceless.” He walked over to Correlia and pulled her close to kiss her. She pushed back.

“Stop being a douche.” Correlia was a bird with fluffed feathers.

“You keep acting like that I am going to cut off the loving.”

“You are not suppose to see me.”

Eli chuckled. “Girl, I have seen you naked haven't I? What else is there?”

“Eli, this has to stop.” She pulled off her backpack and took a swing at him.

“Noooo, it must continue.” Eli grabbed Correlia and pulled her down to the ground.

Mich Blake pulled into the drive of the little, white, wooden church nestled just inside some oaks with flowing Spanish moss. He had been crying for some time. Things were not going as he would have liked. He got out of the truck and walked to the back door of the parsonage and knocked on the door. Reverend Summers answered the door.

“Mich, come in. I wasn't expecting anyone until about 6 pm.”

Mich walked inside the cozy sitting room. He sat down and looked at Reverend Summers.

“I would like to confess a sin.”

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part II

The Next Day:

The next morning, Roger Maldonado walked into Hugh Lorimer’s hospital room. His sharp cut suit was the current bespoke style. He dropped his coat on the faux leather recliner and sat on the bed.

Hugh awoke with a start.

“Hello honey. I just got back from the pastoral conference. Just as soon as you contacted me I hopped the first plane to get here.”

Roger leaned over and kissed Hugh on the lips.

“You are always getting yourself into trouble. When is this going to stop?” He laughed at the grimace on Hugh’s face.

“Now Roger, you know I like to hunt. I simply slipped. I had my gear on to keep me from falling but when I started to get down from the tree I lost my footing.” Hugh picked up a small plastic cup to sip some water.

Roger looked sternly at Hugh.

“At least take some precautions with those ladder rungs. You could have been killed and where would I be then?” Roger started to wipe the creases out of the bed comforter.

Hugh looked out the window like a guilty man. He stayed silent.

“I saw something; out there at the stand.”

Roger looked at Hugh. “What was it?”

Hugh began to tremble. “I think it was a ghost.”

Roger began to laugh. He stopped when he saw the look of worry on Hugh’s face. “Come on now. You want me to believe you saw a ghost?”

Roger was about to respond when the food tray for lunch arrived. He thought it best to question Hugh later. The pain killers must be affecting his mind. Hugh began to eat and changed the channel on the television.

“I did Roger.” Hugh picked at his food in silent contemplation.

Eli checked his cell phone messages. Correlia had not returned his phone call yet. He knew she left town yesterday to visit her Aunt to tell her the good news. It was good news to him but he was sure others wouldn’t think so. He hoped Mich Blake had not gotten wind of the news.

Mich Blake spent the better part of the morning calling local taxidermists to price head mounts for Hugh. Everyone in town doing the work was overrun with pieces not finished on time. One of the taxidermists suggest he call Tim's Taxidermy. The taxidermist did refer to him a Nick the Necrophiliac. Mich thought it was because of the kind of work they were in, mounting dead things and all. He didn't care what the dude was into as long as the price and the work were right.

Mich pulled the head from the refrigerator and walked out the house to put it in his cooler. A gray sedan pulled up behind his truck. Rachel Grey Owl jumped from the car and began to accost Mich verbally.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Mich eyeballed Rachel. “Don't come here bothering me. I got errands to run. Why are you here anyway?”

Rachel Grey Owl pulled out a photo of Correlia Pierce.

“I know this is the tramp you have been sneaking around with in the woods. Did you not think I wouldn't find out?”

Rachel took a swipe at Mich with her hand. Mich sidestepped the blow which landed on his chest.

“So help me God Mich, you and she will pay for this.”

Mich took a step back. Mich thought this sounded like a threat. He didn't know Rachel that well because the relationship started out as a drunk one night stand that developed into a crack habit. She reminded him of the song Jessie's Girl but he wanted to give her back.

“Usually I put up with your jealous crap but not today. I broke it off with you and I mean it. You need to get back in your paddy wagon and head back where you come from.”

Mich crossed his arms over his chest. He had enough of Rachel's melodramatics. It was not like he couldn't find him another woman. He liked Rachel for her activism but when she turned it on him in a conversation right after sex, he figured the relationship was dead in the water.

“I don't know why you came to my yard waving a picture of Correlia Pierce. I can only think you want to fight with her as you do the rest of us. Correlia is a friend. I think maybe you should go.”

The fury in Rachel Grey Owl's eyes burned. “A friend? Is that what you call it. You go down into the woods with her and make biscuits then come to my house to do the same thing. I hope you get and STD.”

Rachel got back into her sedan, lit the ignition and tried to pull over onto Mich's foot as she sped away.

“Screw you and her.”

Mich watched as the sedan tore down the road vicariously. His mailbox suffered the consequences.

“Crazy biotch.”

He opened the door to his truck, hoping she wouldn't come back. He knew it wasn't that Rachel was an animal activist but a deeply disturbed woman. It would seem that was the kind he liked; volatile and nutty.

Mich Blake drove down the dirt road to the small white building beside Yadkin's cemetery. He pulled his truck into the unassuming parking lot to the taxidermy building. A non-descript sign with a duck and deer silhouette in black hung by the mail box. The yard looked a mess with bits and pieces thrown around. This made Mich believe there was no woman caring for the place. He rung the door bell. There was no answer. He wrung the door bell again before trying the door. He turned the knob and walked inside. A radio was playing loudly as a man was doing some work on a deer head.

Mich yelled. “Hey guy! I am here to drop off a friend's deer mount.”

Tim Nicholson jumped as Mich tossed something at him to get his attention. He looked up.

“What can I do you for?” Tim stopped what he was doing.

“My name is Mich Blake. One of my friends said you had the best price for doing a deer mount. I brought my buddy Hugh's head by to see if you could pencil it in.”

“Sure. I am just about caught up with everything here. Go get it and I'll write up a ticket. I do require a one hundred dollar deposit. No refunds.”

Mich moved for the door. “I'll be right back.”

Mich walked back out the door to the truck to retrieve the head. When he returned he set the black plastic bag on the wooden work bench. Tim was nowhere in sight. He saw a door then walked over to it because it was partially cracked and pushed it open with his fingers.

Inside of the room was a bed. On the bed was what appeared to be a woman or what use to be a woman. The room smelled of preservatives. The ghastly face stared back at Mich. Mich was startled when Tim walked beside him and pulled the door closed.

“What is that?”

Tim stared Mich in the eyes.

“A man is entitled to the love of his life.”

(To be Continued)

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Icons

Remember this: Objects in side mirrors may be closer than they appear.

The word icon floated on the radar in the world of hunting, as a bleep here and a bleep there. This word is attached to males in conversation, when referring to other male hunters they hold in high esteem and people of history past. There are some females working on situating themselves as icons, even with a negative stigma.

I said the word icon suspiciously. It conjured up paintings I admired at a local museum. Beautiful, gold treated iconoclastic images centered around religious themes. The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, the Virgin Mary, the cross, the bible, angels, devils, and the Word. The grim reaper is an icon of death but don't fear him.

Madonna, Warhol, Mickey Mouse, buffalo, and Cobra Commander are all icons of some sort.

I researched people considered hunting icons, yet all I saw were current faces questing to find glory. Truth be told, I have no icon of hunting that I look up to. I find some of them highly entertaining but not because of the hunting.

I realized after exploring this word, it can be representative of some image, idea, or person with no religious context. This image could represent two different objects in reality, yet share a metaphoric meaning or symbolism. Icon could also be interchanged with the word idol. An easy example is apple pie. Apple pie is a dessert with apples and pastry. Others consider it a metaphor for the American dream, where it's a comfort and everyone can enjoy a slice of the pie. All that from pie.

I began to square on the difference between historical and current would-be icons. Daniel Boone and Theodore Roosevelt are considered icons of hunting and conservation. These individuals are placed on a pedestal of reverence because of achievements and lifestyles. Work ethic could be relevant to their placement as icons. As people, we tend to look up to people we would like to emulate and pattern our lives after. If it worked for them, why not ourselves?

Boone performed a lot of acts of utility to push progress forward, not to find fame. The mindset is completely different than it was then and is now. Now it is a different kind of agenda being pushed. The Wilderness is in outer space. People want to be icons for fame and fortune. There might be some level of putting back into the system as a balance to greed and vanity.

I reflect on Steven Rinella's fascination for Daniel Boone as an icon. He clearly holds Boone up as a measuring stick. I am not judging but pointing out the obvious. There are other hunters that hold Ernest Hemingway up as an icon. In other countries, the person changes but the sport doesn't. Icons are everywhere and in no short supply.  At least Rinella does do informative media that brings information to the public where issues of public lands, conservation, cooking and different points of view. Excluding Rinella,  it's hard to find a hunting celebrity that isn't sporting pretentiousness.

I considered Roosevelt. He is everywhere on social media. His ghost will never die. Roosevelt realized progress was destructive and decided it needed to be pushed back or lose it all. His mindset came from problems, solutions, desires, and necessity.

These two particular men did not set out to fixate themselves into the minds of a nation as icons. They were simple men working toward goals and their stories were picked up and carried far and wide as legend. In Roosevelt's case, he was already high-profile due to his political shenanigans. Boone was just all over the place on greet and meets in the wilderness. Spin doctors of research could manipulate content and rewrite the way a person is represented to push the capitalist machine. It is seen in media today as mediocre drama and reality television.

Boone and Roosevelt didn't have publicists, lawyers, agents, and a group of people online researching the trending topics to keep them relevant. They didn't have online battles with strangers to fuel causes or the hashtag. They did honest to God work. In today's world, there is no end to the amount of information that can help you build a campaign to promote yourself or something else. There was no Go-Pro to track and record their every movement then upload to the internet.

All you have to do is decide you want to be famous then find someone to plot your course, make pivotal decisions to your image, produce quality product and you are on your way. I do interject here that you would need to recruit someone to hide the bodies as well. The biggest coup is getting the majority vote by popularity, not competency in actually doing the job. When I say job, I do not mean the manipulation of information in a documentary of hunting when the truth is far from the fiction of it all.

I was reading this:

“the soul's reduction to the sheer minerality of an image entailed the elimination of man's highest quality: rationality. The image is “dead”: the icon is idol. The formula depends upon the confusion between the material and formal aspects of the icon: such is , of course, the question of all visual mediation of the concept realm without the added complication of the relations between the sacred and the secular.” ( Weiss 18)

I reflected on hunters that were referred to as icons by their peers. To be honest, I didn't see them as icons or famous. If you have a cult following, you could become an icon to them but not to everyone in the world. This application of the word icon is limited to a pool of people that recognize you as such, not that you fully deserve it worldwide. It does become a little disturbing when it borders on idol worship.  

Does a person looking up to an icon ever surpass the icon and place themselves in the icon's role? Is this the goal ? Are you really competing with an image defined by deeds or misconception of the icon's true reality? How does one compete with dead people?

People can determine for themselves if they are worthy in a pursuit. You don't need to have an icon to do great deeds. Recently, I viewed Leonardo Dicaprio giving a speech to the UN as the Messenger of Peace. He wasn't gunning to become an icon in the arena of Climate Change activism. He merely wanted to point out a truth and incite the people of the world to be morally responsible for our home, each other, and living things that can't make these kinds of decisions to act.  He has moved himself from actor to world advocate in several shorts moves of the global chessboard. It wasn't because he was plotting and planning greatness but the motivator behind the actions.

Moving people to care for their ecosystems is right up there with life and death.  This is critical thought and coming to some truth you can't look away from.  Not I want to be famous, because he already is. There is nothing wrong with finding some meaning in life. To bad we can't have this quality of person running for the presidency. Right now, we are coming up craps in the candidate department.  Scientists, where are you?

I will also say here, as hunters, even though DiCaprio or  Somerhalder doesn't probably approve of the hunting lifestyle, we should put this aside and support this Climate Change endeavor. It does affect those components that hunting is made up of. Humans, animals, ecosystem, and life in general are affected, so why would we not get behind this concept? I always try to find a point where I can arguing that it is a bigger thing for me to put aside differences and find that one thing in common to jusitify doing something. Even if that one thing is because it is the right thing and only thing to do.

Once again, here is another famous face, Ian Somerhalder. He was designated a UNEP Global Ambassador and has been working with the United Nations Environmental Program.  He has spoken before Congress and in Barbados on the plight of animal species, environmentalism, and the need to make better choices when dealing with out use or abuse of the planet's resources.

Yes, these are celebrities but the younger generation can be influenced by the right idea regardless of the person. Parents should get more involved with these ideas to better our world, alleviate suffering, and treat our fellow main in more respectful ways.

I do believe an outlet for people to stand up for such things should be generated to open public dialogue to these issues, instead of forcing people to take to the streets to show they are serious about issues.

Getting back on topic. 

Competition does drive some people on to out do another, even if that other person is dead. There is a constant running of the rails, as in horse racing, where once pointed down the track, at the sound of the bell, you find the finish line and the winner's circle. Is this at the expense of a fractured leg? Who knows. One must try anyway without completely trying to kill yourself or someone else.

I am not saying one should never have role models. Icons are role models under the label icon. Should one be the very best they can be without using someone else's accomplishments as a meter stick ? Yes. I do believe that your shenanigans and word of mouth can increase your chances of becoming a famous or infamous icon. If you are going to elevate a person or thing to icon status, it should at least have a truthful, unselfish concept driving it. Otherwise, it is as shallow as the meaning or motive placed upon or driving it. It should never be because someone pointed you out as the icon of something to make you famous.

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

Literature cited:

Weiss, Allan S. Perverse Desire and the Ambiguous Icon. State University of New York, Albany. 1994. Print. pp. 18

For links:
http://www.unep.org/wed/ The United Nations Enviroment Program.

http://www.leonardodicaprio.com/ Leonardo DiCaprio

http://www.isfoundation.com/welcome Ian Somerhalder Foundation

Identity

Remember this: Your identity is who you innately are. An activity is something you perform, or take part in.

As of today, I have not purchased my hunting license. The weather has been wet with a barrage of red bugs and mosquitoes. I have not seen deer or heard gunshots. There is just this uneasy feeling within me akin to something missing. My way of dealing with these emotions are to revert to nonchalance and caring less. I was in a pickle.

Is it my aversion to not wanting another bad experience? Who doesn't?

I wished I could purge what truly plagues me right now, but this wouldn't be a prudent thing. It is just the offending thorn in my paw and a problem I wish would finally resolve itself.

Lately, I have seen posts where several people reported their hunting was hindered for various reasons. When I examined people who were not experiencing this issue, there was an undertone concept underlining the attitude. I reflected on myself and other hunters.

What people identify with in terms of the self was a mystery I was toying with when it comes to hunters. Identity seems to be a mysterious woman that comes and goes with no clues left behind. Only a glass with lipstick or a photo of a woman with shades. Who or what is it? Why can it seemingly disappear, then when the truth illuminates it, a clearer image emerges with even more complicated or simplistic definitions. Mirrors are not even able to distinguish between the truth and the image. The truth lurks down in the recesses of the mind. A card catalog of life events, with meanings, distortions, revelations, and lies. Illusions dress it up and enshroud it in half-truths until the glass breaks and then an ooze drips from the fractures to reveal a hostage of expectation.

Whether it is a truth of yours or not, you will see proclamations from other hunters that hunting is their life's blood. For some, it is their secondary religion. I believe in good gourmet chocolate, heathen that I am. Others prostrate to their followers it is their passion or soul's glue; without it they are nothing. This is done to the disregard of other people whom are just as passionate, if not more so. Followers flock to these types, I would think, because of the shared ideal of complete submersion in an activity's elevation to something more than it is. These followers mimic the patterns of the person they are enamored with and will protect and fight for the stranger with a shared ideal of hunting.

The practice of emulating other hunters that are elevated by social media, endeavors, television, and writings is not a bad thing, as long as it doesn't harm the person's psyche. Hunters of the world can vary in their personal identities. Followers can mimic the object of their affection or idolatry. When you begin to take on another person's identity as your own, when it is not you, should be given great reflection, experimentation in your personal likes and dislikes, and branching out on your own without the influence of a stranger you do not know. Illusions are conjured all the time by less than experienced magicians.

I started examining one of my truths of identity. A truth is something that is a fact and part of your reality even if other people do not like it. It is not for others to like it but to acknowledge your truth.

In 2007, I lost everything maintained by the material world. Like a slow growing moss, I didn't realize how these problems bled into my non-material realm. A series of events after one prayer, ended in more disaster than one could ask for. I was a job title without a name, working for a greatly flawed pillar of the community. I was killing myself at a hard labor job to support my child with no public assistance, child support, or significant other. This didn't make me better or worse than anyone else because all people have their sufferings. It just is what it is. You have to cope because functioning is not an outlet. I do the work and reflect more on my inner self. I forgot myself instead of lost myself. Being so busy ,you pass yourself. Passing yourself is not a good thing.

There are also people that will attempt to turn you into a good little soldier for their benefit. You come out looking like a pod person from the planet Mars that repeats the same thing ad nauseum. Take me to your leader; take me to your leader.

Long periods of extreme, even pressure will do odd things to a human mind. Consider Elk. Creatures do strange and almost epic things under pressure thereby astonishing people when their truth is discovered or spoken.

Here I will interject, it is not the fact that you can't be a single parent with a child and not support yourself. It is the grueling, non-supported wear it takes on your energy and psyche when you realize that there is nothing and no one to help you. If you can't stay afloat, there are some that will lend you a hand and some willing to step on your fingers to watch you drown while they laugh. Others believe it is a warranted punishment for some sin you must or have commited, when in fact it is the residue of cause and effect.

Everyone needs support, even people you dislike and dislike you. Being spiteful is counterproductive and a waste of effort. My support came in the form of a suggestion by my therapist at the time. She tasked me with trying different things regardless of whether they failed or not. I was to build or construct something representative of an aspect of myself or something I was doing. If I were to hold up a picture of something for the world to see, what would it be? Would they understand it? It didn't matter if the world cared, as long as I did.

Of course, there were people that had no clue to this. They only look at the superficial, while having no intentions of forming any kind of short or long term bond with you. There were times other peoples' behavior almost made me reel against my creation. I would destroy it and start over while  never getting anywhere.  I finally decided to pull the bandage off while ripping away the scab of things. New scabs form. Life is a progression like that.

People displace off onto the nearest or what they consider the strongest person. You've proven yourself able to take it; whatever it is. We look at others as indestructible when they are borderline disasters waiting to happen. What if you have reached your threshold for worldly poisons? A human body and soul does have it's limits. That limit, when reached, has to dissipate of it's own accord. We place things on ourselves and other people that shouldn't be there, especially long term.

Due to this life event, I spent several months in therapy suffering from other long standing problems and identity loss. I loved my work in veterinary medicine so much that I took a hit when I was no longer in that field of employ. I suffered some trauma as well due to an accident not of my making. I look back now and realized I missed the diagnostics, the procedures, the patients, clients, and the distraction most of all. Work saw me through any hurtful problem by distracting me from things I could not control. The quality and quantity of my capabilities were centered around medicine of some sort. I took great pride in my work, how people appreciated that I cared, and my ability to move forward even in an emergency situation. I learned how to cut through the crap and find the real problem. Ergo, the solution at hand.

When my son graduated, I wanted to do something for myself. I wanted to do one hunt and then call it quits because I was limited, which is okay. I was talking to this nice hunt broker and mentioned it to him. He asked me did I have amnesia, which will tell you how under the radar this problem is. Identity loss doesn't indicate you are crazy, you just identified with an inappropriate activity. Veterinary medicine was an activity I took part in. It wasn't who I was. After veterinary medicine left, I was still present. I didn't go away, the work did.

It is the same with hunting. You are no more or less a person when you are not participating directly in the sport. Again, there are hunting participants that yodel how they want to be inclusive, then when pressed you learn they aren't really going to do that.  They can't be caught looking bad either; reputation and all. You find other things to do that will bring you just as much joy. This predicament could also put you on the path of something you can love just as much. Enrichment can come from many different sources. As humans, we need to be viable and active.

It could or could not be hard, when we see other people endeavoring in a sport that we no longer can participate in. A truth here is: if you are lucky then things do not stay the same forever. At some point, the tide will turn for your benefit or against it. Either way, in the long run you will see the wisdom of the thing that blocks you, if you give it a chance.

I then reflected on my non-participation. I could wait it out until it gets cooler to avoid the bugs then see what happens. I could also let other people have their turn at a deer. I could spend sometime not staying in the woods isolating myself and actually speak to other human beings. I could do a lot of things. Once you realize your time is now open to doing something else, you could accomplish all kinds of things. Not hunting, is not the end of the world. It is just a temporary chapter in your life or an avenue to do something just as important.

If you have ever felt you have lost something intangible that you considered a part of yourself, think again. If you see someone that might be having difficulty, in a nice respectful way, offer some help with no pressure. Sometimes they just want to know you actually acknowledge their existence.

Building a new identity should be given great care. Completely stealing another person's will not last because it is not you. It is theirs. Selecting the parts of your identity should be given as much scrutiny as you would if you were buying expensive haute couture.  Resurrecting or building a new identity takes a lot of patience and asking  yourself the questions that hurt you the most then finding answers. Other peoples' suggestions on what they think you are should be taken into consideration, but ultimately you are the decision-maker on your innards and outtards. Be brave but be truthful with yourself.

Do not be discouraged because you are not like everyone else. That is the beauty of it. You are not. Go forth and be different if you want.

As for me, hunting is an activity I take part in. It is not who I am, it is something I do. I can't expect others to agree with this. That is their path. My truth is much deeper than hunting yet hunting helps me to visit that place where it exists. I am quite happy with that.

Explore who you are, could be, and will be. Your life is short but there are many hours in it. Those hours could be spent creating, constructing, and implementing a grand design for yourself that speaks of you to others. Why would you wear the outer shell of someone else?

~Courtesy of the AOFH~