Tuesday 18 June 2013

Not-to-mention, mentioned -fin)

God bless Mr. Ford! is the long cry across the land in parallel lines. For putting them all to work. Employing the future of America. For inventing an assembly line post, to post up too. All for the purposes of relieving all horses of all human burdens. Under the greater umbrella of course, of relieving all humans of all burdens, human or otherwise! Displacing with proper displacement. Signed, sealed, delivered to small businesses and luxury private drives circuiting out from Detroit across the land. The future of the country, employed at construction and bridge building to infinity. Keeping the economy alive even today, as the clock ticks away the surviving moments before all our country's infrastructure's born-on-dating expires. And all the cars and trains begin to fall into collisions and catch large tracts of land on fire. Wait, wait, wait... sounds bad but in modern day terms couched by poor abstract thinkers with MBAs on couches eating bland roadshow stuffed mushroom caps: population control via attrition and highway roadkill counts, combined with greater economies of construction wokers and soldiers, equals a fatter bottom line, hopefully in black. Puts the death care industry up a notch. Put that mantra on heavy rotation in all your state-sponsored technical schools, long live our inheritance made possible by Henry Ford and the multitudes of his long forgotten (so long now i'm afraid it would take labor we cannot currently risk redirecting to determine) associations.

 Long live Henry Ford! also rings out from the minds and hearts of generations of ecstatic quaker oat-loving wild horses. Whose inheritance was not exactly plain roaming freedom. But hey, they will take what has been given, without complaint. Dressage? Okay. Racing? Yes Yes! Showing? Fine. Even equine therapy would be welcome. Let the humans heal! Or let us heal them with a good swift kick to the lineage. Lasso clinics and cattle roping? BRING IT! Bottome line is this. Had they the education and the five fingers and mastery of the english language, horses would have been churning out missives at a 1:1 ratio, simply kissing Mr. Ford's bony, no longer extant ass to the clouds! Would put the human memorial to the man, to shame. Leaving the original Ford factory amongst the ruins of Detroit? How dare they! What could you expect from humans? Ford's contribution to them looks like satisfying a luxury leisure. Showboating ala high speed chases on unmarked speedscapes like the Germans have. The autobahn. A society, not just a highway anymore.

In equine circles, however, the luxury of leisure makes only for horse manure. Versus the pure uncut platinum of it all. The real authentic value of Henry Ford and the minions. A sort of deliverance. Spiritual, not religious. Having delivered over to an unfeeling machine (they do not have feelings yet, have they?) the great burden a whole species became designated beast to bear (sans choice). The comp? Incomparable. By far greater than any capitalist number scribbling. Or liberal overcompensation. Well, I cannot speak for the horses but they certainly seemed to now be given the gift of pasture, a few of them. With human-worshippers to the end of their days. Delivering obsessive compulsive mane combs and corn rows. Ribbons and bows in the hair. Caviar in the trough. A designated human to scoop the manure out from behind them. Or countenance a hoof for disobedience.They might have the time, now or in the future, horses. It is looking quite good for the horses. The triple crown, with a cherrt on top. Open the dome chakra to the air. No ceiling, mama! The stallions have finally come home to roost. Raise stallions out of distempered future workhorses, after all.  The burden now shouldered by the tributary evolution igniting off cranks all around. Giving gratitude and thanks to those who made it possible to crank up the cranks. Horsepower was likely the only nod they would get from the humans, in history. But shit was already devastated by the human hand, wasn't it? Maybe that's an understatement. Come high water and holy hell, when the atmosphere collapses a couple times, all will be restoratively well. We might be lucky benefactors of an asteroid first, here on earth. All of us minions of the universe. No worries, though. Shit was long lost already in translation. Still, let us be like horses, and hardly complain.

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