I used to think there was nothing to do...
Special Thanks to Southern Bitch.
I first heard this a few years back, about the fall of 2004. Poetry of our patheticness or rally cry for common sense? Oh, I guess that's for one's self to decide. Maye it's just coordinated noise...Who's John Gault anyway? But, I can't help but think about it when I see what's going on today. We've got busy bodies left and right trying to synchronize every facet of our lives. Where are our principles? Where are our fundamentals? Well, I think we're just spinning around like a top until we can figure that out. At least we're sill spinning. That's the bright side.
You wonder why kids are fucked up today...
The Appalachianist
Special Thanks to Southern Bitch.
I first heard this a few years back, about the fall of 2004. Poetry of our patheticness or rally cry for common sense? Oh, I guess that's for one's self to decide. Maye it's just coordinated noise...Who's John Gault anyway? But, I can't help but think about it when I see what's going on today. We've got busy bodies left and right trying to synchronize every facet of our lives. Where are our principles? Where are our fundamentals? Well, I think we're just spinning around like a top until we can figure that out. At least we're sill spinning. That's the bright side.
You wonder why kids are fucked up today...
The Appalachianist
posted by Hill Billy Rave | Wednesday, September 02, 2009
12 Comments:
Wow! It is early in the morning and I am getting ready to head out to the CAC at Fort Jackson to walk and trying to catch-up on a little Appalachian Patria thinking I might add a little more to the Summer of Love . . . the Plott hound makes it to the tree with a barrel of wiskey . . . only to face the Southern Bitch . . . where is my wiskey . . . where is my beer . . . but there is so much truth in the lyrics . . . it isn't just the kids . . . it's the should be adults, the forty and fifty year olds who can't live on their own or who are burned out and don't know who they are . . . hang on to your Appalachian roots . . . those old codgers were right all along. By the way, were those kids found on the side of the road really selling lemonade? Take care. Bill
"Don't you know it's never going to change if we never make it happen..." Rallying cry but for what? Apathy allows change to occur, but it's seldom for our good.
Pretty sneaky, AI, rigging it to play as soon as the web page loads and making me listen to your music. ;-)
Murf, sneaky is as sneaky does.
Bill, the moral of the previous story was to Make Love, not protests.
But the plain truth, those ol' codgers were right about some things, but Appalachian Culture has a Self destructive streak as well.
Oh, it was lemonade alright.
Sage, you are so right. We're kinda like a dog in the yard, we're barking, but we don't know at what...Just barking.
BTW you'll, I've got another puppy. She's a Cur pup.
I got y'all beat. I actually married a Southern Bitch. Just saying.
I just wanted to mention something that I found interesting as I was catching up. Husqavarna was spelled correctly in your fairy tale post. Which amazed me since the natural tendancy is to follw the q with a u.
One point... He showed her his chainsaws way too soon in the relationship. My opinion.
Ramblin' Ed blew my socks off'n my own two feet. "I actually married a Southern Bitch." My remarks to him are as follows . . . "Why Sir, do you mean to imply by the utmost comparion to my own exaulted behavior and experiences that there are more than one of them there cratures because if there are two of them I more than think that I met and married the other one and having made such a declaration of matter of fact why are they singin' a song about her." Don't worry the Appalachianist will explain it to all of us . . . maybe . . . . just kiddin'. Bill
Ed, that would have made her married to you too. Yeah, showing a gal your chainsaw too early can set a bad precedence. Give 'em a link and they will take the master link...Well, not in chainsaws.
I can't explain none of that, Bill. I'm perplexed.
I would have commented when I read this Saturday, afternoon, but I had been awake since Friday morning. There's some campers that didn't get ny sleep either because that Bear and those Dogs ran not 15 feet from their tent.
Sounds like the bear was tryin' to get somebodies chainsaw . . . don't let nobody get yo chainsaw . . . but they had fine weather to run in this weekend . . . my minister went to Parsons Mountain in SC to camp out with his son . . . of all places. Bill
Sorry Bill. Law only allowed me to marry one at a time.
Wish it were different. A man like me could have gone ahead and gotten all of his misery out of the way at once.
Or double his chances of his you know getting super glueed to his whats-its.
Now go put your socks back on. Nobody wants to look at them tired old dogs.
Ed, I've learned that sometimes true Love is looking back in retrospect and being glad that you don't have to put up with their hang ups.
Bill, Parsons Mountain doesn't ring a bell. But there was a chill Saturday morning just before day light. Hey! You want to start taking my place on my Bn conference calls for me? Just kidding...I wouldn't do that to you. Thank goodness the new Bn Co said he wants to get them back down to 45 minutes.
I've learned that sometimes true Love is looking back in retrospect and being glad that you don't have to put up with their hang ups
What?!
Murf, all of it makes sense if you turn up the volume while you read and listen to the lyrics . . . the drummer is great . . . it has a back beat you can't lose it . . . the Appalachianist has already said, "I can't explain none of that. I'm perplexed." Me too . . . I guess that's what the music is for . . . to explain the unexplainable . . . maybe it's just loving yourself . . . kinda like the great philosopher Rickey Nelson once said at a garden party so long ago and not so long ago at all . . . . ;>) Ain't those morning cool snaps in the fall a gift from God. It was just fun to read the comment. Take care. Bill
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