The Invisible Minority

I like to think in terms of a parallel universe that exists somewhere.
I am YOUR leader…
I AM.
Green Eggs and Ham.
Sam, I am. I am, Sam.

The silent majority, retreats underground to a sanctuary of choice.
In the most exotic places, the travel receipt of first class ticketing to Jamaica.
The oil drums beat a luxurious sound for the Steel clad troops on the south pacific.
There’s been a personal interest among the southern Atlantic voyeurs however recently.
An “invasion” of rebel roman followers to claim the land!!

(The Magna Charta)
“No, we refuse you to teach this to us.”
“But we must, it is our duty.”
“We have our own customs and traditions.”
“They aren’t of any use to us postmodern renaissance.”

The mighty Atlantic Ocean divides between each of the continents.
How can a stones throw ‘split’ decide which one of the ‘tribes’ is wrong?
“Propose something to me.”
“I want you to see me.”
The sounds of oil drums echo in the back, while the automatic responsive effort of a psychological nature formed between the tribal councils.

In the future, a reactionary tale accounts for the 2 most unlikely of hero’s.
They’re in a conversation that actually attempts to recount the historical accuracy of the past events.
One is a Fisherman. The other is an ironworker.
They both have different backgrounds and are Canadians.
The fisherman is from Newfoundland and the Ironworker is from Quebec.

Both of the men… worked as lumberjacks.
Oddly enough, as they recount knowledge, resembles how balanced an equilibrium they took as loggers.
The balancing to keep both feet squares firmly and frame equally parallel on a floating buoyant piece of hard wood in the shore water.
They make it look easy in practice. The application seems as though effortless the logs keep rolling.

I was trained to work on the World Trade Center. They interviewed me to ask questions of surviving construction workers that serviced. I don’t know who they were or where they came from or why, I just answered. The interview went well. Okay, I guess. But anyway, I told them everything I had done building. They seemed interested.

The World Trade Center doesn’t exist anymore. Yeah. I know how the planes hit the towers. Man, that wasn’t pretty. But anyway they’re going to build a new Freedom Tower in New York. The city survived King Kong, eh? The Empire State building was big too.

I hear they call you the lying Fisherman. Do you believe in god?

Oh my god… you think I’m using the god argument.

No I’m not. You said the trade towers don’t exist anymore.

Well for starters they call me the sinning fisherman for whatever their reasons are I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you why or how come. Secondly, I’m not called the lying fisherman.

Okay then. Lying Fisherman.

Well why would you care? Anyhow, enough about me (changes the subject…) I didn’t know until now that you thought about apologizing for being rational?

I’m rationally inclined. Naturally, the discussion I expected could lead to this. What on earth happened you knew about the complaints that were made against me?

I read about them in the newspaper interview you gave about the World Trade Center buildings being hit. You said that it was an act of god.

I never said anything like that! The truth that is, I was asked about my construction. Secondly, it was a television interview.

I remember it was in the newspaper.

They don’t call you the lying fishermen for nothing.

Why should I care?

I suggest if you were in the position that Cinderella was in… you should consider not wearing the glass slipper. Even if the shoe fits DON’T WEAR IT!

Not if the shoe is perfect in every detail, shape, size, comfort?

ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY NOT.

What kind of a society do we live in if all we’re being is lied to?
It is not my discretion to answer everything that question entails… but that I do have some idea. Society falls short of building gaps between the cultures. In other words, the essence of humanity hasn’t become as sterile in today’s day and age. Although judging from experience in my field of work as an ironworker. Many judges cannot pretend the same way most others can. You can act as a judge thinks only.

That’s about as existential as my former job; I shouldn’t say that though, I love being a fisherman.

I miss being a logger sometimes.

I don’t.

If you were denied your freedom, how close would you measure it then? How safe are you to imagine it that way.

I never considered freedom as a personal matter; to me freedom is like a bird that’s caged in its cell.

You must always keep your enemies closer than your allies.

Those are words to live by.

Have a piece of the banana bread my wife made for me, …and some monkey juice.

Monkey juice?

Apple juice.

I see I’ve rubbed off on you the right way.

Apparently.

My wife is gorgeous.

My wife is modest.

My wife is simple.

My wife is delicate.

My wife is ordinary.

Your wife is ordinary.

My wife is sexy.
My wife is foxy.

My wife is totalitarian right wing.

My wife is militant left wing.

My wife is anti-fascist.

My wife is anti-socialist.

My wife isn’t independent.

My wife is.

Your wife is independent?

No. Yes she is divine and good-natured, but no is also beautiful inside and out, humble and is great in the kitchen.

My wife loves cooking in bed.

Congratulations.

Pride is definitely a trademark of sorts.

Not I fisherman. Not I.

Are you still in search of blinds?
No the window store closed earlier then usual weekday hours over the weekend, and I’m extremely lazy on the weekends. I’m extremely happy because it gave me the opportunity to afford purchasing these super pair of pants I’ve been wearing.