Tuesday, July 21, 2015



Lips whisper creating winds over every little thing, while trash dances ever  with the speed of the breeze always singing an ear scraping Waites tune as it prances down the broken concrete pavement, headed a million miles away where people hold their breath hoping the coming trash arriving meets their untimely but swift death. Racing on the breezes of thought some prey on trash to keep their communities spotlessly focused on acceptable trash type.

Strong God trusted green breezes blow mightily past all the slum trash, men of means have discarded for generations. Crap that lay between immigrant shore breaches and private no go zone no green breezes beaches.. Men are garbage in riptide, wind shear, hurricanes that start on a New York City Street. We like the smell of our unclean ready to stink up every howl of disaster, until the under tow of guessing lottery numbers, spits out a fortune.

Trash though is trash even if the breeze is one of fortune and not inheritance. Men it seems are eveready drumming, always willing to die for an anchor in the storm, even if it pays less than death. The breeze, green and Godly only must needs call us lucky to have survived long enough to die.

Simple Joe a working dude did everything right every midnight as he moved that from there to here punched it and moved it from here to there, again and again, shift after shift, day after day, month after month, year after year, decade after decade until the chain was cut. A new wind born robo Joe in, easily replacing what once was human. Old Joe, made of imperfect flesh and blood was told to hitch a windstorm ride and get the hell out of his life. The bank and county fought over every last bit of his wealth, including his wife, until Joe got too old to stand against the winds of a system that outweighed him and as ever is stacked against men of loyalty. He had no second thought when he expressed his American right and blew his no longer wanted brains out, such became his life.

Lunch breaks the God green trusted breezes told the mean men, were too costly for the factory that chewed up flesh and blood ‘til nothing was left that resembled workingmen only the cadaver of them once young able to compete, still able to actually, but the lie born on God Trusted breezes that burned down the nation’s best interest as the price of peace with others. No one thought anything of it until they finally discovered the winds of Never A Fair Trade Agreement meant they too were like old Joe, not robo’d out of work simply displaced by them who lived better making $5 a day.  

In God We Trust, a howling wind those words. The question I am always asking me, is God green, the same color as greed? I will never know for it is an exclusive church prays that not only for the best rates but humbly for the fear of man—to continue to increase to hurricane levels pushing green tsunami wealth robbing walls of consumption out over a sick frightened population who really do miss consumption. DEBT BEFORE DIGNITY our battle cry resurrected. “Blow me” says I, the words of insurrection.

M Durfee


  1. Storms a coming. Hope the wind at least blows clean.

  2. At the end of it all we either live on the wealth granted us by those in power. Or we live in deference to it. The green God just keeps us in line. And enforcer taking tributes and security payments.

  3. We float on an ocean of debt until the boat owners call us in. Then it's sink or swim.

  4. I am hoping that God doesn't have the same color as green or greed ~ But power tricks us, making us believe we can act like Him ~ Your words have force today Mark ~ I hope the strong wind blows over ~

  5. I often use the "blow me" as an insurrection mantra also...

  6. Powerful and disturbing images... Prophetic!


So Walking Man I was thinking...