Monthly Archives: August 2012

Burnt Tinder – A Native American inspired Poem.

Burnt Tinder – A Native American inspired Poem.

I lay before you my ceremonial bed
Inflated with the breath of the wilderness.
I lay before you my nylon cave
kept high and taught by artificial reeds.
I ask permission to pierce the ground,
Keeping my Cave in place.

I walk the trails and burn the tinder,
Bathe in the water and say thank you.

We collect the tinder and kindling
Clearing the dangerous woodland waste.
No longer will your forest beds be littered
With the easily combustible brush.
There will be less for lightning and heat to grasp
And less to grasp on to you.

We walk the trails and burn the tinder,
Bathe in the water and say thank you.

WIth bandana and kilt I explore
Among, around, over, and between.
With Wife and child I appreciate
beside, with, amongst, of.
The trunks and limbs do not waiver
Yet do not force a path.
Simple suggestions of direction and speed
Allow me to meander or walk straight.

We walk the trails and burn the tinder,
Bathe in the water and say thank you.

We take the pictures, in machine and mind
Home with us once more.
We remember the fires and smell it still
In mind and on our clothes.
You have no memory of our visit,
We left nothing to remind you of us.

We walk the trails and burn the tinder,
Bathe in the water and say thank you.

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Posted by on August 31, 2012 in Uncategorized


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Friday Fictioneers – Icy Moguls

This is a photo prompt for Madison Woods’s Friday Fictioneers.  The only requirement for membership is the desire to write 100 words based upon your reaction. All are welcome, All are Judged.

The Moguls on the Way to Base Camp


The icy moguls were hidden under fresh powder. I had assumed that they would all send my knees to my chest, one after another, until I reached the base camp. The first hit sent loose powder into my face, happily received. The ice made a scraaaaaaape against the newly sharpened edge of my homemade skis. The ice beat the edge and my feet fell from under me. My hip bone felt the collision through the thermal underwear and ski-bibs. I got up, looked uphill. Done, I looked downhill, so far down, undone. No wedge, skis parallel, tips downhill, deep breath.


Posted by on August 30, 2012 in Flash Fiction


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Following It to the Letter

The Conservative Hippy has listened to the op-POSE-ition taut their laws and regulations. He has heard the audacity of promising openness and transparency, while insisting laws be passed before they can be reviewed. He watched in what he thought was horror at the sheep and ewe as they get in their corral and do exactly as they are told. The elephants who all at once could break the tiny tether which holds them, cease to resist, The chains of their youth and the traditions of the circus demand that they remain docile. Elephants on a rampage are put down. They are executed and labelled dangerous and a threat to the greatest show on mirth. Even though the natural tendency of an animal is to do just that when threatened, they don’t. Natural tendencies are looked upon as fixable, malleable, xenomorphic.

Conservative Hippyism does not believe in the fixing and shaping of one man’s natural tendencies by rule of law. Not man’s law. Natural order – if any exist- will flush out the fallacies and bark knots of one’s twisted states. The same may be the proper strategy when the twisted states and bark knots are not naturally caused. The law of man has caused enough knots. Those who are not qualified to do anything but legislate against or for those who have qualifications hold a certain contempt it seems. Since they can’t tax one’s feelings of accomplishment or achievement, which is their ultimate goal-the manipulation of behavior- they will condemn those achievemnets as unfair and ill-gotten. Ill-gotten is the only means by which those POSERS can concieve of such achievement. It seems that everything in our lives is either regulated or mandated. That which isn’t, those few things which we are free to experience and achieve on our own, is still relegated by the law-makers as only happening by virtue of their allowance. I remember being told that the POSERS saved my job. My hard work and achievement and the money that my customers earned to spend at my bar had nothing to do with it. THEY saved my job. There is no law against writing blogs, and no mandate that says we have to. All of us who blog are told that we only do it by virtue of the governments allowance. Is this true? Is this necessary?

The same goes for how the Conservative Hippy allows these machinations and false assumptions affect his life. It is a tenet of Conservative Hippyism that in order to become a victim, one has to allow. The knappy-headed-hoes of the Rutgers Women’s basket ball team had to be told what power victim-hood provided before they could be insulted. They allowed that to happen to themselves. To what avail? A few folks followed them for a minute? A tired old hack of a disk jockey finally had excused himself outside of a job just long enough to make people feel better. The news cycle turned and he was back at his job, more popular than ever. External criticism is to be expected. Jokes occur too. Joke you if you can’t take a fu*k. That rule is solid.

When some poser wants to cut down my person or my movement. I have to allow that. I am not a tree. No ax, regardless of swing, can cleave my bark without me first giving it permission. I have been downright despised by some adversaries. There are a few other blogs out there blasting the notion of conservative hippies. It’s not a notion. We exist. They do not apply to me, I do not allow it. Most are tired old hacks themselves espousing and spouting the tired old argument. They continue to call conservatism, “HATE SPEECH” while excusing the same thing on their side, and downright ignoring the real thing since it doesn’t garner attention anymore.  They call the conservative hippy (uncapitalized since ut does not apply to me) someone who hates gay marriage but wants to be validated by claiming gay friends. This is in the same breath which defends the classification of marriage as gay or straight so that they may create the argument which informs their opinion, a self-serving strategy. Be sure, Conservative Hippyism is not a trend. It does not describe the Republican who also smokes pot, nor the Democrat who claims “fiscal conservatism.” It is not a comprimise. The two-party system, however…..

When The Affordable Care Act, which is what I have been told to call it by those who wrote it then demanded it be passed before we could read it, becomes law, I will follow it to the letter. The absolute letter. I will not scream, “victim.” I will allow the attrocity to play out. I will stand in the lines. I won’t say thank you. Thank implies a gift. Apparently other’s long tenure in medical school is a process in securing my right to their services, at others’ expense.  I will obey the law. Problem is: many corporations have been granted exemptions, so the full effect and consequence of the law can never truly be felt. Oh yeah, that and the fact that the law makers, will be the law breakers, as usual. Gov’t jobs will be exempt from the mandate. In order for me to be victimized by a system which constantly shouts unfair at people who have achieved and remain loyal to their stockholders, while providing services to the public with which the private sector can not compete and who is refuses to be accountable to their funders (taxpayers), I will have to accept that system as valid. I will have to attribute some kind of code, or standard to that faulty system before I can claim that it has done me wrong. None applies. Only following it to the letter can draw the vampire into the sunlight. Insisting on back-alley deals and refusing to acquesce gives the falsehood factuality. Play along with the joke, and you will never be it’s punchline.

By the way, I didn’t write this.

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Posted by on August 22, 2012 in Conservative Hippyism Concepts


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Friday Fictioneers- Wood That I Could

My slightly more civilized alter-ego


Friday Fictioneers- Wood That I Could.

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Posted by on August 16, 2012 in Uncategorized


5 Sentence Fiction – The Perspective of Distance

The one word prompt from Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction this week was ‘Distance‘. I am new to this flash fiction, but will attempt to stay current.

He said he was one of us. The more he spoke the more I thought he was, or at least had been. The more he acted I realized he was not one of us; he had probably never had been. The more I experienced the results of his actions, the more I realized that we were polar opposites. We had always been completely apart.

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Posted by on August 12, 2012 in 5 Sentence Fiction


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Tuesday at NSB

This has been a large week. The Conservative Hippy has only published 100 words. I just asked myself what kind of writer does that. What kind of writer has a large week and publishes 100 words based on someone else’s prompt?

In a museum less than an hour away is a vertebrae of a mastodon. How huge this bone is. It is a small bone compared to the rest of the skeleton. I only see one vertebrae and some remnants of a tusk. This huge animal, and presumably a herd of it’s closest relatives, whether they can stand one another or not, once roamed that entire area. Cavemen ( I Know that’s a racist term, sorry) hunted them too. A few dozen feet from that bone are the archeological remains of another herd, the 50’s and 60’s era remains of the New Smyrna Beach Surf Club. A mannequin wears an early wetsuit and some board shorts, called “baggies” made of parachute nylon- I think.

New Smyrna Beach Surf Club Museum Long Board

The Curator and the NextGen

The curator who shows me these artifacts tells me she was a kindergarten teacher for as long as I have been alive, but that was over longer than I’ve been alive. By the way, the first schoolhouse in the area was built with donated labor and $42. Somewhere in between the mastodon vertebrae and the custom-made long-boards are hand stitched tapestries which portray the heritage and history of the area. The Seminole Wars, The Civil War, The Second World War, and the rich indigo production are all sewn into the fabric of the museum. According to the curator, the tapestries were created at the behest of the President Who Would be King, FDR. HE felt that women in the country should have something to do. He declared that they ought to sew and make tapestries. This is what she tells me with a grin. Than she shows the giant iron school bell to the next generation of Conservative Hippyism, and he bullshits a, “WOW.” Makes me so proud.

The drug store nearby has a lunch counter. They still turn away blacks just to keep that old small-town down-south charm. No they don’t. It does have a lot of penny candy and a scale that gives you your fortune. It did a few decades ago I’m sure. Now it just takes pennies.

The printer and copy center has a window full of typewriters. Typewriters.

Antique Typewriters


Old, black lacquered and handsome, with bony fingers begging to be pushed, responding in turn by giving you just one letter with a resounding and confident, “plick.” There are no programs. There is no compatibility requirement. Some have a handle. Most can be operated as you sit, with or without a table. The Crandall and the Underwood, Woodstock, The Hammond No. 1, the New Franklin…all in their resting home.

The shore line extends in a gradual non-committal way into the see a hundred yards or more before a grown-up has to tread water. If you go out that far on the public beach the lifeguard gives you a long and two short blasts on the whistle, and points at you with his runway airplane director flags. Two decades of simmering at low temperatures in the Gulf had given me amnesia. The Atlantic is a bit colder. So be it. We tackle waves and drip castles made of sand, which fall into the sea, eventually.

You know, if you are going to have an Italian deli and import store at the beach, make it an Italian deli and import store first, the beach will take care of itself. The sandwiches are big. The antepast is a salad called “antipasta” and is full of penne and chopped meats and cheeses and peperoncini.


Antipasta salad? Makes no sense.

Whatever. There is also, conspicuously enough, a sandwich in the selection called the Italian Stalian.Italian Stallion

I began to inquire if the misspelling was to ensure that pronunciation was correct, even though it rhymes anyway. All I got out was, “Did you spe…” and I said fuck it. Eat some Anti-Pasta (whatever) and your Big Lebowski sandwich. Yeah I know, the surfers behind the counter don’t care if the dude abides, just eat your lunch, mister.

Stalian…like Italian? Oh, Okay.

The shuffle board courts are in session and many judges and barristers are contemplating and arguing their position. One sign is clear: No Skateboarding on Courts. The sign is mostly clear because a classic “Skateboarding Is Not A Crime” sticker is pasted on it.

Skateboarding is Not a Crime

Take That

Touche. The clouds sneak in, trading shade for dry air.

I have never been to NewSmyrnaBeach without getting ice cream at the Frozen Gold on the way out. Today was great. A young girl in an inappropriate bikini was yelling F-You at a boy at the window of the parlor, she was stomping barefooted down the highway. He just looked at her and ordered her into the truck. She said F-YOU. He said: Mom, go get her before she drives me nuts. The lady to his left did just that. We went inside and had mint chocolate chip and moose tracks. The show outside kept everyone entertained. Once the calamity was contained in the pick up truck, it wouldn’t start. The truck made some clicks.  The ol’ Boys inside kept commenting on how bypassing something with a screwdriver wasn’t gonna work that way. When we left, the two ladies in bathing suits and bare feet were pushing the truck out of the parking lot. The male was steering. Awesome. You won’t find that in a museum.

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Posted by on August 11, 2012 in Uncategorized


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Expose: Paul Ryan is a Jam Band Music Fest Hippie | The Washington Fancy

Early Bird got the Worm…Headline!


Expose: Paul Ryan is a Jam Band Music Fest Hippie | The Washington Fancy.

Jam-Band Music-Fest hippy. Reports from all over Wisconsin are beginning to surface as the media descends on dairy land. Acquaintances, friends, alleged hacky-sack-circle companions and enemies alike have been offering information on the man who will be Romney’s running mate.According to the Madison Dairy News, Ryan’s best friend can attest to a, “photo album of concert ticket stubs…” including passes to South by Southwest, Wanee, Allgood, Coachella, Bonaroo, and a rumored VIP pass to NYC’s Electric Daisy Festival. While photos of the man Wisconsoners refer to as, “Too High to Fall-Paul” at these events seem not to have surfaced as quickly as the rumors, the rumors exist and that is all the public needs.

The Romney Camp spoke through one of their interns this morning during an exclusive Cam2Cam session with Washington Fancy Editor-in-Chief Alec Saffron. Saffron assures that the intern is quality. In the interview portion of the session, it was intimated that Mitt is proud of his choice, stands by his choice, and when he finds out what this “ Music Festival stuff is..” he will have more to release. Until then he stands by his barefoot man.

Paul Ryan’s name had not appeared on many of the political punditry’s short lists. There had been a VW BUS with Widespread Panic stickers parked outside of campaign HQ for weeks. Many assumed it was an OWS vehicle trying to occupy the parking lot. It is now seen as the possible living quarters for Rep. Ryan while he was being vetted.

If the rumors are true, many speculators believe it will bring the small yet vital Conservative-Hippy vote to the Romney camp.

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Posted by on August 11, 2012 in Uncategorized


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