Monday, March 14, 2016
I write a blog with ice water in its veins. A stone cold series of wry essays, all world weary, wizened, and illuminated by the trickster gods. Sweetness is the dash of exotic spice for us here. When you read clerkmanifesto you follow in the wake of the blade of the subtle knife. "How can I get through here?" You ask. The way I have cut through is fierce and swift and the pace is quick, even if much of the time I don't move much at all. See, you thought I moved there? No, what happened is you thought I was about to move so you moved. I am exactly where I started.
So it may surprise you to find that I, wry, of the tribe coyote, member of the crow family, am an absolute innocent.
I have close personal relationships with stuffed animals. I am happy to watch the same sweet romantic comedies dozens and dozens of times. And, perhaps most astonishing of all, when I walk the river valley, I talk to the animals. Like a child, naive, in anthropomorphic proclamations.
And I don't mean all that shaman stuff. I don't mean spirit turkeys and ancient naturism. This isn't vision quests. I am not a mighty hunter. No, this is the hundred acre wood and love of the cute. When I walk the river I walk a magical storybook for small children, and unbidden, in my mind, I say:
"Well hello to you today Mr. Bald Eagle. What is that stick you have?"
Or to the geese:
"It is ever so warm ladies, isn't it? You may run out of North today!"
"Mr. kitty! Hi. It's me! I don't know where I'm going either, but I pretend to, just like you."
Those among you out there who are sophisticates, and have seen a few things, you who know darkness and can see the works under the thin cheap glamour of our society, you may say "I knew it all along." I know just how you feel. I am you too.
But I am friends with the wee bunnies as well, and the ducks, and Sir Woodpecker, and my cousin raccoons, and I have found, in long association of childlike, anthropomorphizing familiarity, that not a one of them has ever taken any real offense. They all have a secret love for nonsense, just like you.