Mythville became a quiet little place, but then the dogs began to bark and I couldn't stand the silence anymore. I'd thought I'd gotten away from the noise pollution. Getting older, my sensitivity to noise increases. Then the builders came. Filled every atom of air with a turbulatin conundrum. I came all the way out here, to a place where I can look over a valley of cottonwood trees and whitewashed cliffs on the other side, black hills and birds and insects flying around, and then the builders came. Civilization is chasing me.
As an embedded reporter here at the fort, I often notice the flag of Mythville flying stiff in a ceaseless wind. Reminds me of Apache hunting days. That flag flying stiff and straight as the one planted on the moon. Stiff as the lockstep mindset of faraway leaders with the voice of god and cannon talking to them, pleading with them, making them do what they do.
Far away from that as I appear to be here, looking over the valley, Mythville is a porous channel for their energies. Everything I have done since my last post on December 24, 2004, has been a slow crawl to find a new Mythville. Well, here it is.
What I can report is the following: Education is dirt poor here and the dialect is rough. People are strange. That's the fun part. Call them hicks if you will but they are fairly entertaining. One of them asked the Mythville town council to set regulations for the proper care and maintenance of the flags. The flags around town are apparently not being properly cared for.
This same councilman has had little to say on other matters. The whole town is being vivisected by developers. Groves of cottonwood are being sold off by realtors for trailer parks. Everything related to town business is done because growth is necessary. Growth for its own sake. Apparently, getting bigger is always better. But on the flag matter, well now that's an issue he can get his mind around. We must care properly for our flags. And if we can't, if they get worn, well then, stiff penalties are needed.
Flag maintenance. Apache hunting daze. Wind blowing in gusts to make me wonder if the earth energies are finally willing to burst. Flag maintenance. Quiet, shady real estate deals. Everything for sale. Open space needs to be filled in. Way up river, they are digging a well so deep a small community turning into a monster community just might dry up the last remaining perennial river of the Southwest because they believe bigger is better. Flag maintenance is needed. There must be a policy. Marshals in the trees. Dogs barking, sniffing out trouble. X-ray eyes, the Fourth Amendment has been runthrough by a templar sword. Flag maintenance. Indeed.
Gotta keep track of this.